Guido del Duca and Renier da Calboli.
“Who is this one that goes about our mountain, Or ever Death has given him power of flight, And opes his eyes and shuts them at his will?” “I know not who, but know he’s not alone; Ask him thyself, for thou art nearer to him, And gently, so that he may speak, accost him.” Thus did two spirits, leaning tow’rds each other, Discourse about me there on the right hand; Then held supine their faces to address me. And said the one: “O soul, that, fastened still Within the body, tow’rds the heaven art going, For charity console us, and declare Whence comest and who art thou; for thou mak’st us As much to marvel at this grace of thine As must a thing that never yet has been.” And I: “Through midst of Tuscany there wanders A streamlet that is born in Falterona, And not a hundred miles of course suffice it; From thereupon do I this body bring. To tell you who I am were speech in vain, Because my name as yet makes no great noise.” “If well thy meaning I can penetrate With intellect of mine,” then answered me He who first spake, “thou speakest of the Arno.” And said the other to him: “Why concealed This one the appellation of that river, Even as a man doth of things horrible?” And thus the shade that questioned was of this Himself acquitted: “I know not; but truly ’Tis fit the name of such a valley perish; For from its fountain-head (where is so pregnant The Alpine mountain whence is cleft Peloro That in few places it that mark surpasses) To where it yields itself in restoration Of what the heaven doth of the sea dry up, Whence have the rivers that which goes with them, Virtue is like an enemy avoided By all, as is a serpent, through misfortune Of place, or through bad habit that impels them; On which account have so transformed their nature The dwellers in that miserable valley, It seems that Circe had them in her pasture. ’Mid ugly swine, of acorns worthier Than other food for