ERE Nessus yet had reach'd the other bank,
We enter'd on a forest, where no track
Of steps had worn a way. Not verdant there
The foliage, but of dusky hue; not light
The boughs and tapering, but with knares deform'd
And matted thick: fruits there were none, but thorns
Instead, with venom fill'd. Less sharp than these,
Less intricate the brakes, wherein abide
Those animals, that hate the cultur'd fields,
Betwixt Corneto and Cecina's stream.
Here the brute Harpies make their nest, the same
Who from the Strophades the Trojan band
Drove with dire boding of their future woe.
Broad are their pennons, of the human form
Their neck and count'nance, arm'd with talons keen
The feet, and the huge belly fledge with wings
These sit and wail on the drear mystic wood.
The kind instructor in these words began:
"Ere farther thou proceed, know thou art now
I' th' second round, and shalt be, till thou come
Upon the horrid sand: look therefore well
Around thee, and such things thou shalt behold,
As would my speech discredit." On all sides
I heard sad plainings breathe, and none could see
From whom they might have issu'd. In amaze
Fast bound I stood. He, as it seem'd, believ'd,
That I had thought so many voices came
From some amid those thickets close conceal'd,
And thus his speech resum'd: "If thou lop off
A single twig from one of those ill plants,
The thought thou hast conceiv'd shall vanish quite."
Thereat a little stretching forth my hand,
From a great wilding gather'd I a branch,
And straight the trunk exclaim'd: "Why pluck'st thou me?"
Then as the dark blood trickled down its side,
These words it added: "Wherefore tear'st me thus?
Is there no touch of mercy in thy breast?
Men once were we, that now are rooted here.
Thy hand might well have spar'd us, had we been
The souls of serpents." As a brand yet green,
That burning at one end from the' other sends
A groaning sound, and hisses with the wind
That forces out its way, so burst at once,
Forth from the broken splinter words and blood.
I, letting fall the bough, remain'd as one
Assail'd by terror, and the sage replied:
"If he, O injur'd spirit! could have believ'd
What he hath seen but in my verse describ'd,
He never against thee had stretch'd his hand.
But I, because the thing surpass'd belief,
Prompted him to this deed, which even now
Myself I rue. But tell me, who thou wast;
That, for this wrong to do thee some amends,
In the upper world (for thither to return
Is granted him) thy fame he may revive."
"That pleasant word of thine," the trunk replied
"Hath so inveigled me, that I from speech
Cannot refrain, wherein if I indulge
A little longer, in the snare detain'd,
Count it not grievous. I it was, who held
Both keys to Frederick's heart, and turn'd the wards,
Opening and shutting, with a skill so sweet,
That besides me, into his inmost breast
Scarce any other could admittance find.
The faith I bore to my high charge was such,
It cost me the life-blood that warm'd my veins.
The harlot, who ne'er turn'd her gloating eyes
From Caesar's household, common vice and pest
Of courts, 'gainst me inflam'd the minds of all;
And to Augustus they so spread the flame,
That my glad honours chang'd to bitter woes.
My soul, disdainful and disgusted, sought
Refuge in death from scorn, and I became,
Just as I was, unjust toward myself.
By the new roots, which fix this stem, I swear,
That never faith I broke to my liege lord,
Who merited such honour; and of you,
If any to the world indeed return,
Clear he from wrong my memory, that lies
Yet prostrate under envy's cruel blow."
First somewhat pausing, till the mournful words
Were ended, then to me the bard began:
"Lose not the time; but speak and of him ask,
If more thou wish to learn." Whence I replied:
"Question thou him again of whatsoe'er
Will, as thou think'st, content me; for no power
Have I to ask, such pity' is at my heart."
He thus resum'd; "So may he do for thee
Freely what thou entreatest, as thou yet
Be pleas'd, imprison'd Spirit! to declare,
How in these gnarled joints the soul is tied;
And whether any ever from such frame
Be loosen'd, if thou canst, that also tell."
Thereat the trunk breath'd hard, and the wind soon
Chang'd into sounds articulate like these;
Briefly ye shall be answer'd. "When departs
The fierce soul from the body, by itself
Thence torn asunder, to the seventh gulf
By Minos doom'd, into the wood it falls,
No place assign'd, but wheresoever chance
Hurls it, there sprouting, as a grain of spelt,
It rises to a sapling, growing thence
A savage plant. The Harpies, on its leaves
Then feeding, cause both pain and for the pain
A vent to grief. We, as the rest, shall come
For our own spoils, yet not so that with them
We may again be clad; for what a man
Takes from himself it is not just he have.
Here we perforce shall drag them; and throughout
The dismal glade our bodies shall be hung,
Each on the wild thorn of his wretched shade."
Attentive yet to listen to the trunk
We stood, expecting farther speech, when us
A noise surpris'd, as when a man perceives
The wild boar and the hunt approach his place
Of station'd watch, who of the beasts and boughs
Loud rustling round him hears. And lo! there came
Two naked, torn with briers, in headlong flight,
That they before them broke each fan o' th' wood.
"Haste now," the foremost cried, "now haste thee death!"
The' other, as seem'd, impatient of delay
Exclaiming, "Lano! not so bent for speed
Thy sinews, in the lists of Toppo's field."
And then, for that perchance no longer breath
Suffic'd him, of himself and of a bush
One group he made. Behind them was the wood
Full of black female mastiffs, gaunt and fleet,
As greyhounds that have newly slipp'd the leash.
On him, who squatted down, they stuck their fangs,
And having rent him piecemeal bore away
The tortur'd limbs. My guide then seiz'd my hand,
And led me to the thicket, which in vain
Mourn'd through its bleeding wounds: "O Giacomo
Of Sant' Andrea! what avails it thee,"
It cried, "that of me thou hast made thy screen?
For thy ill life what blame on me recoils?"
When o'er it he had paus'd, my master spake:
"Say who wast thou, that at so many points
Breath'st out with blood thy lamentable speech?"
He answer'd: "Oh, ye spirits: arriv'd in time
To spy the shameful havoc, that from me
My leaves hath sever'd thus, gather them up,
And at the foot of their sad parent-tree
Carefully lay them. In that city' I dwelt,
Who for the Baptist her first patron chang'd,
Whence he for this shall cease not with his art
To work her woe: and if there still remain'd not
On Arno's passage some faint glimpse of him,
Those citizens, who rear'd once more her walls
Upon the ashes left by Attila,
Had labour'd without profit of their toil.
I slung the fatal noose from my own roof."
Dante's Inferno eText - Canto 13
ERE Nessus yet had reach'd the other bank,
Dante and Virgil enter the second ring of the Seventh Circle, reserved for those who have been violent against themselves, suicides, and those who carelessly destroy their own possessions, squanderers.
An archaic word for a knot or burl in a tree
Refers to an area of dense brushwood
Both are areas in Tuscany in northern Italy.
The Harpies, described as having the bodies of birds (with metallic wings) and the faces of women, are like the souls of the dead, which are also often depicted as having birds' bodies and women's faces, which makes them an appropriate group of monsters to encounter in the underworld.
This refers to an island on which the exiled Trojans land and set up a feast to celebrate their safe arrival. The Harpies, who have been exiled from their previous home, attack the Trojans and foul the feast with their excrement. Aeneas and the Trojans fight them off in three skirmishes, finally succeeding in driving off the Harpies, but one of the Harpies (Celaeno) predicts that the Trojans will not reach their destination safely until they have suffered such hunger that they will eat their plates instead of food.
The Harpies were often depicted as having feathers protruding from their stomachs, perhaps a symbol of the insatiable hunger.
Dante finally learns that the trees are actually the souls of those who have committed suicide.
Dante refers to Pier della Vigna (1190-1249 A. D.), a Sicilian poet who wrote several beautiful sonnets, who became a high-ranking official in Frederick II's court, eventually becoming the emperor's official spokesman. According to his own account, Pier actually made many decisions on behalf of, rather than at the command of, Frederick II. Pier was eventually accused, perhaps falsely, of betraying Frederick's trust, and Frederick had him blinded and imprisoned. Pier, in despair, committed suicide by either smashing his head against the prison's walls or jumped out a high window just as Frederick was passing beneath.
Clearly, despite Pier's suicide, which is a serious sin for a Christian to commit, Dante is sympathetic to Pier's fate.
Minos, one of three judges in the underworld
Spelt is a form of grain common in Italy.
The suicides, who are doomed to live as gnarled, stunted trees in the underworld, are constantly attacked and bitten by the Harpies. According to Pier, the bites, which allow blood to escape, offer some relief from their constant suffering.
Pier is saying that, because suicides take their own lives, justice requires that they can never recover their bodies, which they willingly discard.
This is the first of two sinners (squanderers) who are being chased by ravenous dogs, Arcolano di Squarcia Maconi, a young Sienese nobleman who squandered his wealth. During a battle, he and other Sienese troops ambused, and Lano chooses to die when he has a chance to escape because he can't handled his inability to control his spending and the resulting poverty.
Refers to the location of the ambush, Pieve del Toppo
The second squanderer, who falls and is torn apart by the dogs, is Iacopo da Santo Andrea, reputed to have once been the richest citizen in Padua, who is most well known for having thrown money into a lake just to have something to do. He also set cottages on his property on fire to impress his dinner guests.
A reference to St. John the Baptist. This speaker, although not identified, is thought to be a judge named Lotto degli Agli, who committed suicide after he unjustly sentenced an innocent man or a man named Rocco di Mozzi, who committed suicide after a business failure. Another, and more intriguing, possibility is the city of Florence itself, which, in a metaphorical sense, commits suicide when it is destroyed during the political struggles of the Ghibellines and Guelphs. In the fourth century, Florence, to cement its Christian reputation, is reputed to have named John the Baptist as its patron saint, who replaced Mars, the Roman god of war.
The fact that Dante begins Canto 13 with the comment "Love of our native city overcame me" is another indication that this refers to Florence.