Dante Book 1 Canto XII Scene II (End of Book I)

 Canto VIII

The Seventh Circle: Violence II

Scene 1

 

“Before going on, I would have you understand,” Virgil looked to the scene before them. “It’s the second small Circle. “And shall be till we reach the burning sand.”

It was the scene of the forest once more in the sight through Dante. He saw the foliage was not verdant, but nearly black. The unhealthy branches, gnarled and warped and tangled bore poison thorns instead of fruit. If there were the track of those wild beasts that shun the open spaces, it ran through no rougher nor more tangled places.

“Behold the ones on the branches. We met them before.” Dante was cautioned and he saw the familiar sight.

“Harpies, with their wide wings and feet clawed, the bellies huge, coved in feathers of the winger creatures, they held the necks and faces of the living human’s.” Virgil described the Harpies to Dante. “It may sound like your nasty aunt or stepmother.”

“I had none.” Dante hit back.

“So, you won’t have a tale like Oliver Twist or David Copperfield.” Virgil laughed. “Boring life then but let me make it eerier for you. look carefully and you will see things in this weed. It will shake the confidence you have placed within.”

Dante leaned forward. He heard cries of lamentation rise and spill but he saw no souls in pain.

“Could it be what I had heard were the spirits of the tree. Tree are living souls too.” Dante said. He then proceeded to the nearest tree. He saw the branches swayed but no sound was heard.

“Perhaps it not alive?” Virgil told Dante. “Break it on the branches. See if it will squeak?”

“You are barbaric.” Nevertheless, Dante reached out and broke a twig.

The tree voiced out.

“Why do you break me?” The sight of blood had then darkened the twig end and the tree continues to cry out. “Have I not suffered enough in silence?”

“I am…I am sorry.” Dante apologized to the tree.

“Why do you tear me? Is there no pity left in any soul? Men we were, and now we are changed to sticks;
Well, might your hand have been more merciful? Where we no more than souls of lice and ticks?”

It was then the green branch with one end all aflame will hiss and sputter sap out of the other as the air escapes – so from that trunk then came words and blood together, gout by gout. Dante was startled and dropped the broken twig he had from the tree.

“Forgive me, the soul of the tree. What grieves me now; and beg to know your name, that to make you some amends in the sweet world when the savior returns, he may refresh your fame.” Dante looked to the grieving tree.

“So sweet those words to me that I cannot be still. I have awaited the savior long before my banishment here. I will tell you a tale of mine, and may it not annoy you if I seem somewhat lengthy in reply.”

“I am he who once held both keys to Frederick’s heart, locking, and unlocking with so deft a touch that scarce another soul had any part in his most secret thought. Through every strife, I was so faithful to my glorious office
That for it I gave up both sleep and life.”

 Dante gave those words his thoughts. He then believed the tree held the soul that was once of Pietro della Vigna; the chancellor and secretary to Emperor Frederick II. He was falsely accused of lèse-majesté; he was imprisoned and later committed suicide.” Virgil whispered to Dante.

“That harlot, Envy, who on Caesar’s face keeps fixed forever her adulterous stare, the common plague and vice of the courts and palaces, inflamed all minds against me. These inflamed chained to mourning. Then, unjustly blame was on me. My soul, in scorn, and thinking to be free, I resorted to self-death. Of scorn in self-death, made me at last, through just, unjust to me I was to be the roots of this tree.”

“The soul here was an honorable man before his death. He thought that honor to his role towards the best interest of the Emperor and the nation, but envy came to harass him from the one thought otherwise of his intention.”

“Honour at times is judged differently. What is just to the holder may be viewed as tyranny to another. The meat to one is food, but the other speaks of it as it was unconsumable.” Virgil gave his reason for the honor. “The tree may think himself like Brutus whom Cassus saw the honor in the character then. When he had done in Caesar, Brutus said these words; ‘Believe me for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor that you may believe. Censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses that you may the better judge.’ But he was viewed as the rogue for he envied Caesar on Rome.” (Adapted from  https://www.sparknotes.com/shakespeare/juliuscaesar/quotes/character/brutus/)

“I know Shakespeare’s plays well.” Dante then hushed the other. The tree was then heard further telling of its plight.

“I swear to you that never in word or spirit did I break faith to my lord and emperor who was so worthy of honor in his merit. If either of you returns to the world, speak for me, to vindicate in the memory of men
One who dies prostrate from the blows of Envy.”

The tree fell silent soon after.

“Tell me now, Virgil instead of whispering into my ears. What do you wish to ask the tree?” Dante asked.

“Question him for my past, whatever you think I would do well to hear; I will not have such compassion that will choke my heart.” Virgil turned away. He felt nothing for the tree.

“Have a heart, Virgil,” Dante told Virgil. The latter then asked how the soul became a tree there.

“I had spoken how I came here. Now I will tell you what happens to the soul where I am bound and bent into these knots, and whether any ever frees itself from such imprisonment.” The tree said.

“The soul tears from the body upon death, as my end was self-inflicted, it was assigned to here to re-lived the journey but we are here as a sapling, and soon becomes a tree; unmoved and daily the harpies feed on our leaves where the pain was incurred. It will be this for a long time for a tree grow long and older, and when he did become a husk, we shall go for our husks on Judgment Day.”

“Man was given what and he throws casually. It’s our punishment that shall we drag them and in this mournful glade. Our bodies will dangle to the end of a lifetime with the thorns of our tormented souls. Be grateful your soul does not remain here.”

“Most of the other characters in Hell have something despicable about them, but the soul in this tree rouses a sense of sympathy. He is a man of obvious greatness that, in a moment of weakness of will, took the irretrievable action, and after a life of noble service and devotions, he is condemned forever.” (Adapted from https://infernobydante.wordpress.com/2015/08/16/canto-xiii/).

The two poets then heard a noise like a hunt crashing through a forest, and two spirits appear. The second flings himself into a bush but is quickly caught and torn apart by the pursuing hounds that carry him off. It was the sight of two souls fleeing their predators. It reminded Dante of his escape in the forest.

What Dante has seen, the souls naked without a cloth, the frame covered with wounds and lashes; they scampered in fear as he had done in the forest. He recalled then his own.

“Stefan---” Dante muttered trying to find words for his prayer. He saw one of the souls hid in the bush by the tree and called out to the other.

“My legs held not the strength to go on. Flee your own and I will take shelter here.”

“The hounds will come for you, Leno. You will be ….” The one waiting to run heard the growls of the pursuing predator.

“Hold your own. May we meet again.” The standing one took to his run leaving the one hidden in the bush tensely awaits its outcome.

The hounds appeared; it was a pack of huge hounds but it held fangs on the jaw like wild boars. The pack sighted the hiding soul. The hounds barked and charged into the bush; tearing with their fangs at the leaves and branches to reach the hidden soul. The predators tore him savagely, and then withdrew, carrying his body with them, limb by limb. Its soul remained in the remaining pieces, and it wailed no more.

Dante approached the soul there, dismembered but still not dead.

“I am short of the limbs on my frame here. Can you please collect the leaves around me? Cover them over to give me some dignity. Do leave what of me at the trunk covered in solitude..” Dante leaned over to collect the fallen leaves. He then looked at the soul there.

“Who are you?” Dante asked. “Before you were here?”

“I am a wastrel. Once I had it all and wasted it to none. This is my punishment.” The soul replied to Dante.

“Your name, wounded soul?” Dante asked again.

“I held a name but shame overtakes me.” The wounded soul looked at Dante. “You held a good look, and I will duly speak. The name is Giacomo of the city of Florence.”

“Another one to seek my cover.” The tree voiced out. It then said to Dante. “The dishonorable laceration that leaves so many of branches torn. Do gather them and placed them at the roots of this sad thorn.”

The tree had displayed care for the wounded soul. Dante thought of them as from the same city although not of the same punishment, the extend of brotherly care was there. He gathered the branches and laid them over the wounded soul.

“Rest well, Giacomo of the city of Florence. I can’t see how I can assist now but I will offer you prayer in your name.”

“My name best not revealed. It may bring hardship to you too.” The soul replied. “Let me rest here, and with the others. We will be fine as part of the tree.”

The lost soul sank into the ground having the branches to cover his soul.