The Envious, Guido del Duca, Rinier
"Who is this who winds around our mountain
Even before death gives him wings to fly,
And opens and shuts his eyes just as he wills?"
"I don’t know, but I know he is not alone:
5 You question him, since you are the closer,
And greet him gently so that he will answer."
This way two spirits, leaning on each other,
Talked about me, off to my right hand,
Then turned their faces up to speak to me,
10 And one said, "O soul, you who are still lodged
In your body while you pass toward heaven,
Out of your love console us here and say
"Where you come from and who you are, for you
Make us marvel so much at your grace
15 As one must at a thing not seen before."
And I: "Through central Tuscany there rambles
A little brook that rises in Falterona
And its course runs more than a hundred miles.
"From the banks of that stream I bring this body.
20 It would waste words to tell you who I am,
Since men as yet noise not my name abroad."
"If I correctly grasp what you allude to,"
The one who had addressed me first, replied,
"It is the Arno that you just described."
25 And the other asked him, "Why did he hide
The true name of that river, as men do
When they refer to something horrible?"
The shade who had been questioned commented,
"I do not know, but it is only right
30 That the name of such a valley perish,
"For from its source — where the high mountain range
Which cuts Pelorus off is there so teeming
With water that few places match the spot —
"Downward to where it pours out to restore
35 What the sky then draws upward from the sea
And lets rain down to make the rivers flow,
"Virtue there is shunned like an enemy —
As if it were a snake — either a curse
Grips the place or old bad habits goad it.
40 "And so the dwellers in that wretched valley
Have so changed their true nature that it seems
As if Circe keeps them feeding in her pen.
"Among the filthy hogs, more fit for acorns
Than for the food prepared for human use,
45 The river first directs its paltry course.
"Then, flowing down, it comes to packs of curs
Whose snarling sounds much worse than is their bite
And in derision turns aside its snout.
"Continuing to fall, the more it gathers
50 The more it finds dogs turning into wolves
Along the damnable and fateful ditch.
"Then, dropping downward through the hollowed gorges,
It finds the foxes that are so full of fraud
They have no fear of traps set to outsmart them.
55 "I will not stop, though this man hears me speak,
For it should do him good to learn the truth
My prophecy reveals to him about you.
"I see your grandson turning out to hunt
Those wolves upon the bank of that wild stream,
60 And with the chase he strikes them all with terror.
"While they are still alive, he sells their flesh,
And then he slaughters them like worn-out cattle:
Many he robs of life, himself of honor.
"Bloody he comes out of the sorry forest:
65 He leaves it such that in a thousand years
It won’t rewood itself the way it once was."
As at the news of some distressful menace
The face of the listener clouds with trouble,
No matter from what side the blow may fall,
70 Just so I saw the other soul who’d turned
To hear grow cloudy with concern and sadness
When he absorbed the impact of these words.
The speech of one, and then the other’s face,
Made me impatient to learn both of their names,
75 And so I pleaded with them as I asked.
At this the spirit who addressed me first
Began again, "You want me to agree
To do for you what you won’t do for me!
"But since God wills that such abundant grace
80 Shines through you, I shall not begrudge you this:
Know then that I once was Guido del Duca.
"My blood was then so fired up with envy
That if I noticed someone else made happy
You would have seen my own face turning livid.
85 "From the seed that I sowed I reap this straw.
O human race, why do you set your hearts
Upon the goods you may not share not with others'?
"This is Rinier; this is the praise and glory
Of the house of Calboli, where no one since
90 Has proved himself the heir to his high worth.
"And not his line alone — from Po to mountains
And from the coast to Reno — has been stripped
Of virtues needed for truth and chivalry,
"Because within these boundaries all the land
95 Is so choked up with poisonous weeds that years
Of tillage now will hardly root them out.
"Where is the good Lizio? Arrigo Manardi?
Pier Traversaro? Guido di Carpigna?
You men of Romagna are their bastards!
100 "When will a Fabbro spring up in Bologna?
When in Faenza a Bernadin di Fosco,
The noble offshoot of a lowly stock?
"Do not wonder, Tuscan, if I weep
When I remember, with Guido da Prata,
105 Ugolin d’Azzo who lived among us,
"Federigo Tignoso and his friends,
The Traversaro house and the Anastagi —
Both of these families now without an heir —
"The ladies and knights, the labors and pastimes
110 Which love and courtesy inspired in us,
There where the hearts have grown so villainous!
"O Bretinoro, why do you not vanish,
Now that your progeny has run away,
With many others, to avoid the shame?
115 "Bagnacaval does well to have no sons,
But Castrocaro ill, and Conio worse
In bothering to father counts like theirs!
"The Pagani shall do well when their fiend
Takes his flight, although their reputation
120 Will never last a day again in court.
"Oh, Ugolin de’ Fantolin, your name
Is safe since no one left can be discovered
To blacken it by more degeneracy!
"But go your way here, Tuscan, for I wish
125 Rather to shed tears now than to talk on,
Our conversation has so touched my heart."
We knew that those dear souls heard us depart,
And, therefore, because they kept their silence,
They made us confident about the route.
130 We then had hardly set out on our own
When, like a lightning bolt that split the air,
A voice hurtled against us with the words,
"Everyone that finds me shall destroy me!"
And it fled on like thunder that rolls away
135 If suddenly the cloud is ripped apart.
As soon as our ears rested from the roar,
Listen! the second broke with so loud a crash
It seemed like thunder quickly coming after:
"I am Aglauros who was turned to stone!"
140 At that I huddled closer to the poet
By stepping to the right instead of forward.
Once more the air grew quiet on all sides.
Virgil told me, "That was the iron curb
Which ought to keep mankind within due limits.
145 "But you men grab the bait to let the hook
Of the old adversary pull you in:
And check or lure can offer little help.
"The heavens call to you and ring you round,
Revealing to you their eternal beauties,
150 And yet your eyes stare only on the ground:
"This is the reason He who sees all strikes you."
