It was the second circle into which they now came—­a sphere narrower than the first, and by so much more the wretcheder.  Minos sat at the entrance, gnarling—­he that gives sentence on every one that comes, and intimates the circle into which each is to be plunged by the number of folds into which he casts his tail round about him.  Minos admonished Dante to beware how he entered unbidden, and warned him against his conductor; but Virgil sharply rebuked the judge, and bade him not set his will against the will that was power.

The pilgrims then descended through hell-mouth, till they came to a place dark as pitch, that bellowed with furious cross-winds, like a sea in a tempest.  It was the first place of torment, and the habitation of carnal sinners.  The winds, full of stifled voices, buffeted the souls for ever, whirling them away to and fro, and dashing them against one another.  Whenever it seized them for that purpose, the wailing and the shrieking was loudest, crying out against the Divine Power.  Sometimes a whole multitude came driven in a body like starlings before the wind, now hither and thither, now up, now down; sometimes they went in a line like cranes, when a company of those birds is beheld sailing along in the air, uttering its dolorous clangs.

Dante, seeing a group of them advancing, inquired of Virgil who they were.  “Who are these,” said he, “coming hither, scourged in the blackest part of the hurricane?”

“She at the head of them,” said Virgil, “was empress over many nations.  So foul grew her heart with lust, that she ordained license to be law, to the end that herself might be held blameless.  She is Semiramis, of whom it is said that she gave suck to Ninus, and espoused him.  Leading the multitude next to her is Dido, she that slew herself for love, and broke faith to the ashes of Sichaeus; and she that follows with the next is the luxurious woman, Cleopatra.”

Dante then saw Helen, who produced such a world of misery; and the great Achilles, who fought for love till it slew him; and Paris; and Tristan; and a thousand more whom his guide pointed at, naming their names, every one of whom was lost through love.

The poet stood for a while speechless for pity, and like one bereft of his wits.  He then besought leave to speak to a particular couple who went side by side, and who appeared to be borne before the wind with speed lighter than the rest.  His conductor bade him wait till they came nigher, and then to entreat them gently by the love which bore them in that manner, and they would stop and speak with him.  Dante waited his time, and then lifted up his voice between the gusts of wind, and adjured the two “weary souls” to halt and have speech with him, if none forbade their doing so; upon which they came to him, like doves to the nest.[11]

There was a lull in the tempest, as if on purpose to let them speak; and the female addressed Dante, saying, that as he showed such pity for their state, they would have prayed heaven to give peace and repose to his life, had they possessed the friendship of heaven.[12]