Florence, within the ancient boundary
From which she taketh still her tierce and nones,Abode in quiet, temperate and chaste.
No golden chain she had, nor coronal,Nor ladies shod with sandal shoon, nor girdleThat caught the eye more than the person did.
Not yet the daughter at her birth struck fearInto the father, for the time and dowerDid not o’errun this side or that the measure.
No houses had she void of families,Not yet had thither come SardanapalusTo show what in a chamber can be done;
Not yet surpassed had Montemalo beenBy your Uccellatojo, which surpassedShall in its downfall be as in its rise.
Bellincion Berti saw I go begirtWith leather and with bone, and from the mirrorHis dame depart without a painted face;
And him of Nerli saw, and him of Vecchio,Contented with their simple suits of buffAnd with the spindle and the flax their dames.
O fortunate women! and each one was certainOf her own burial-place, and none as yetFor sake of France was in her bed deserted.
One o’er the cradle kept her studious watch,And in her lullaby the language usedThat first delights the fathers and the mothers;
Another, drawing tresses from her distaff,Told o’er among her family the talesOf Trojans and of Fesole and Rome.
As great a marvel then would have been heldA Lapo Salterello, a Cianghella,As Cincinnatus or Cornelia now.
To such a quiet, such a beautifulLife of the citizen, to such a safeCommunity, and to so sweet an inn,
Did Mary give me, with loud cries invoked,And in your ancient Baptistery at onceChristian and Cacciaguida I became.
Moronto was my brother, and Eliseo;From Val di Pado came to me my wife,And from that place thy surname was derived.
I followed afterward the Emperor Conrad,And he begirt me of his chivalry,So much I pleased him with my noble deeds.
I followed in his train against that law’sIniquity, whose people doth usurpYour just possession, through your Pastor’s fault.
There by that execrable race was IReleased from bonds of the fallacious world,The love of which defileth many souls,
And came from martyrdom unto this peace.”
Paradiso: Canto XVI
O thou our poor nobility of blood,If thou dost make the people glory in theeDown 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 dayTime 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 coughedAt 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 fillMy mind, that of itself it makes a joyBecause it can endure this and not burst.
Then tell me, my beloved root ancestral,Who were your ancestors, and what the yearsThat in your boyhood chronicled themselves?
Tell me about the sheepfold of Saint John,How large it was, and who the people wereWithin it worthy of the highest seats.”
As at the blowing of the winds a coalQuickens to flame, so I beheld that lightBecome resplendent at my blandishments.
And as unto mine eyes it grew more fair,With voice more sweet and tender, but not inThis modern dialect, it said to me:
“From uttering of the ‘Ave,’ till the birthIn which my mother, who is now a saint,Of me was lightened who had been her burden,
Unto its Lion had this fire returnedFive hundred fifty times and thirty more,To reinflame itself beneath his paw.
My ancestors and I our birthplace hadWhere first is found the last ward of the cityBy 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 betweenMars and the Baptist, fit for bearing arms,Were a fifth part of those who now are living;
But the community, that now is mixedWith Campi and Certaldo and Figghine,Pure in the lowest artisan was seen.
O how much better ’twere to have as neighboursThe folk of whom I speak, and at GalluzzoAnd at Trespiano have your boundary,
Than have them in the town, and bear the stenchOf Aguglione’s churl, and him of SignaWho has sharp eyes for trickery already.
Had not the folk, which most of all the worldDegenerates, 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 SimifonteThere 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 peopleHas been the source of malady in cities,As in the body food it surfeits on;
And a blind bull more headlong plunges downThan a blind lamb; and very often cutsBetter and more a single sword than five.
If Luni thou regard, and Urbisaglia,How they have passed away, and how are passingChiusi 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 someThat a long while endure, and lives are short;
And as the turning of the lunar heavenCovers and bares the shores without a pause,In the like manner fortune does with Florence.
Therefore should not appear a marvellous thingWhat I shall say of the great FlorentinesOf 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 ladenWith a new felony of so much weightThat soon it shall be jetsam from the bark,
The Ravignani were, from whom descendedThe County Guido, and whoe’er the nameOf the great Bellincione since hath taken.
He of La Pressa knew the art of rulingAlready, and already GaligajoHad 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 bornWas great already, and already chosenTo curule chairs the Sizii and Arrigucci.
O how beheld I those who are undoneBy their own pride! and how the Balls of GoldFlorence enflowered in all their mighty deeds!
So likewise did the ancestors of thoseWho evermore, when vacant is your church,Fatten by staying in consistory.
The insolent race, that like a dragon followsWhoever flees, and unto him that showsHis teeth or purse is gentle as a lamb,
Already rising was, but from low people;So that it pleased not Ubertin DonatoThat his wife’s father should make him their kin.