November Dante's Suffering Trees. ir 



began by following one of the narrow roads which from 

 time immemorial have given access to the interior of the 

 forest. There is evidence that some of these roads 

 existed in the old Gaulish times, and the engineers of 

 those days, trusting to the strength and patience of 

 their oxen, seem to have considered mere steepness as 

 no objection whatever. The road we followed was often 

 closely hemmed in on both sides by impenetrable hedges 

 of old beech, whose trunks were twisted into the most 

 fantastic shapes long ago, when they were young, and 

 have remained so ever since in grim deformity. Some 

 of them were really painful to contemplate, the efforts of 

 nature had been so thwarted. They were like powerful 

 arms of men bound at the wrists to some immovable 

 front of rock, with muscles swelling in vain efforts for 

 deliverance. I thought of that dreadful fancy of Dante's, 

 the suffering human trees, that bled dark drops of blood 

 when a little twig was broken, and asked so pitifully, 

 ' Why dost thou break me, why dost thou tear me, hast 

 thou no pity ? ' 



Perb disse'l Maestro : l Se tu tronchi 

 Qualche fraschetta d'una d'este piante 

 Li pensier ch'hai si faran tutti monchi.' 

 Allor pors'io la mano un poco avanti 

 E colsi un ramoscel da un gran pruno, 

 E'l tronco suo gridb : ' Perche mi schiante ? ' 



Da che fatto fu poi di sangue bruno. 

 Ricomincio a gridar : ' Perche mi scerpi ? 

 Non hai tu spirto di pietate alcuno ? ' 

 After being hedged in by these gaunt arms for the 

 distance of nearly a mile, the road became less distinctly 



