Part 145

“From uttering of the ‘Ave,’ till the birth In which my mother, who is now a saint, Of me was lightened who had been her burden,

Unto its Lion had this fire returned Five hundred fifty times and thirty more, To reinflame itself beneath his paw.

My ancestors and I our birthplace had Where first is found the last ward of the city By 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 between Mars and the Baptist, fit for bearing arms, Were a fifth part of those who now are living;

But the community, that now is mixed With Campi and Certaldo and Figghine, Pure in the lowest artisan was seen.

O how much better ’twere to have as neighbours The folk of whom I speak, and at Galluzzo And at Trespiano have your boundary,

Than have them in the town, and bear the stench Of Aguglione’s churl, and him of Signa Who has sharp eyes for trickery already.

Had not the folk, which most of all the world Degenerates, 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 Simifonte There 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 people Has been the source of malady in cities, As in the body food it surfeits on;

And a blind bull more headlong plunges down Than a blind lamb; and very often cuts Better and more a single sword than five.

If Luni thou regard, and Urbisaglia, How they have passed away, and how are passing Chiusi 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 some That a long while endure, and lives are short;

And as the turning of the lunar heaven Covers and bares the shores without a pause, In the like manner fortune does with Florence.

Therefore should not appear a marvellous thing What I shall say of the great Florentines Of 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 laden With a new felony of so much weight That soon it shall be jetsam from the bark,

The Ravignani were, from whom descended The County Guido, and whoe’er the name Of the great Bellincione since hath taken.

He of La Pressa knew the art of ruling Already, and already Galigajo Had 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 born Was great already, and already chosen To curule chairs the Sizii and Arrigucci.

O how beheld I those who are undone By their own pride! and how the Balls of Gold Florence enflowered in all their mighty deeds!

So likewise did the ancestors of those Who evermore, when vacant is your church, Fatten by staying in consistory.

The insolent race, that like a dragon follows Whoever flees, and unto him that shows His teeth or purse is gentle as a lamb,