November Forest-Fear of Dante. 15 



' The inhabitants of cities suppose that the country 

 landscape is pleasant only half the year. I please my- 

 self with observing the graces of the winter scenery, and 

 believe that we are as much touched by it as by the 

 genial influences of summer. To the attentive eye, each 

 moment of the year has its own beauty.' 



It was not without some feeling of anxiety that I 

 quitted that open space, to enter once more the obscurity 

 of innumerable trees. The words of Dante came to me 

 again, this time with a deeper gravity of meaning than I 

 had ever found in them before, 



Mi ritrovai per una selva oscura 

 Che la diritta via era smarrita. 



Ahi quanto a dir quaP era e cosa dura 

 Questa selva selvaggia ed aspra e forte 

 Che nel pensier rinnuova la paura! 



Gradually there came upon me a certain feeling that 

 I had never yet experienced, but which Dante had known 

 well. Hour after hour we walked through that intermin- 

 able forest, and the strange new feeling became more 

 and more oppressive, till at length I realized what the 

 old poet meant with 



Questa selva selvaggia ed aspra e forte. 



We were so hemmed in by millions of stems, that, 

 although free to walk everywhere, we were held in an 

 illimitable prison. The trees began to wear a hostile 

 and menacing aspect, as if we were wandering amongst 

 unnumbered enemies. They had no longer for us any 

 grace or beauty, but united together in one horrible 

 monotony. I remembered the enormous extent of this 



