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.
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