2 “The infamy of Crete.” The Minotaur.
3 “The feign’d heifer.” Pasiphaë.
4 “The King of Athens.” Theseus, who was enabled by the instruction of Ariadne, the sister of the Minotaur, to destroy that monster.
5 “Thy sister’s art.” Ariadne.
6 Our Saviour, who, according to Dante, when he ascended from Hell, carried with him the souls of the Patriarchs, and of other just men, out of the first circle. See Canto iv.
7 Nessus, when dying by the hand of Hercules, charged Deïanira to preserve the gore from his wound; for that if the affections of Hercules should at any time be estranged from her, it would recall them. Deïanira had occasion to try the experiment; and the venom, as Nessus had intended, caused Hercules to expire in torments.
8 Azzolino, or Ezzolino di Romano, Lord of Padua, Vicenza, Verona, and Brescia, who died in 1260. His atrocities form the subject of a Latin tragedy, Eccerinis, by Albertino Mussato, of Padua, contemporary of Dante, and the most elegant writer of Latin verse of that age.
9 “Obizzo of Este.” Marquis of Ferrara and of the Marca d’ Ancona, was murdered by his own son (whom, for that most unnatural act, Dante calls his stepson) for the sake of the treasures which his rapacity had amassed.
10 “He.” “Henrie, the brother of this Edmund, and son to the foresaid King of Almaine (Richard, brother of Henry III of England), as he returned from Affrike, where he had been with Prince Edward, was slain at Viterbo in Italy by the hand of Guy de Montfort, the son of Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, in revenge of the same Simon’s death. The murther was committed afore the high altar, as the same Henrie kneeled there to hear divine service.” A. D. 1272.—Holinshed’s Chron., p. 275. See also Giov. Villani, “Hist.” lib. vii. c. xl., where it is said “that the heart of Henry was put into a golden cup, and placed on a pillar at London Bridge for a memorial to the English of the said outrage.”
11 Sextus, either the son of Tarquin the Proud or of Pompey the Great; and Pyrrhus, King of Epirus.
12 Two noted marauders, by whose depredations the public ways were infested. The latter was of the noble family of Pazzi in Florence.
Canto XIII
ARGUMENT.—Still in the seventh circle, Dante enters its second compartment, which contains both those who have done violence on their own persons and those who have violently consumed their goods; the first changed into rough and knotted trees whereon the harpies build their nests, the latter chased and torn by black female mastiffs. Among the former, Piero delle Vigne is one who tells him the cause of his having committed suicide, and moreover in what manner the souls are transformed into those trunks. Of the latter crew, he recognizes Lano, a Siennese, and Giacomo, a Paduan; and lastly, a Florentine, who had hung himself from his own roof, speaks to him of the calamities of his countrymen.
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.1
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,