Ed ei s'ergea col petto e con la fronte,
Come avesse lo inferno in gran dispitto.
_Inferno_, Can. 10.
She sat on the terrace of his tower, the aged Farinata degli Uberti
fixed his keen gaze on the battlemented town. Standing at his side,
Fra Ambrogio looked at the sky that was blushing with the rosy hues of
evening and crowning with its fiery blossoms the garland of hills which
encircles Florence. From the neighbouring banks of the Arno the perfume
of myrtles was wafted upwards into the still air. The birds' last cries
had re-echoed from the bright roof of San-Giovanni. Suddenly there
came the sound of two horses passing over the sharp pebbles from the
riverbed which paved the road, and two young riders, handsome as two
St. Georges, emerging from the narrow street, rode past the windowless
palace of the Uberti. When they were at the foot of the Ghibelline
tower one spat as a sign of contempt; the other, raising his arm, put
his thumb between his fore and his middle finger. Then both, spurring
their horses, reached the wooden bridge at a gallop. Farinata, a
witness of this insult offered to his name, remained tranquil and
silent. His shrivelled cheeks trembled and briny tears moistened his
yellow eyeballs. Finally, he shook his head three times and said:
"Why does this people hate me?"
Fra Ambrogio did not reply. And Farinata continued to gaze down upon
the city, which he could no longer see save through the bitter mist
which veiled his eyes. Then, turning towards the monk his thin face
with its eagle nose and threatening jaws, he asked again:
"Why does this people hate me?"
The monk made a gesture as if he would drive away a fly.
"What matters to you, Messer Farinata, the obscene insolence of two
striplings bred in the Guelf towers of Oltarno?"