brutal hogs, the people of Casentino, and then arrived at the dignity of watering the kennels of the curs of Arezzo, who excelled more in barking than in biting; then, growing unluckier as it grew larger, like the cursed and miserable ditch that it was, it found in Florence the dogs become wolves; and finally, ere it went into the sea, it passed the den of those foxes, the Pisans, who were full of such cunning that they held traps in contempt.

“It will be well,” continued Guido, “for this man to remember what he hears;” and then, after prophesying evil to Florence, and confessing to Dante his sin of envy, which used to make him pale when any one looked happy, he added, “This is Rinieri, the glory of that house of Calboli which now inherits not a spark of it.  Not a spark of it, did I say, in the house of Calboli?  Where is there a spark in all Romagna?  Where is the good Lizio?—­where Manardi, Traversaro, Carpigna?  The Romagnese have all become bastards.  A mechanic founds a house in Bologna! a Bernardin di Fosco finds his dog-grass become a tree in Faenza!  Wonder not, Tuscan, to see me weep, when I think of the noble spirits that we have lived with—­of the Guidos of Prata, and the Ugolins of Azzo—­of Federigo Tignoso and his band—­of the Traversaros and Anastagios, families now ruined—­and all the ladies and the cavaliers, the alternate employments and delights which wrapped us in a round of love and courtesy, where now there is nothing but ill-will!  O castle of Brettinoro! why dost thou not fall?  Well has the lord of Bagnacavallo done, who will have no more children.  Who would propagate a race of Counties from such blood as the Castrocaros and the Conios?  Is not the son of Pagani called the Demon? and would it not be better that such a son were swept out of the family?  Nay, let him live to chew to what a pitch of villany it has arrived.  Ubaldini alone is blest, for his name is good, and he is too old to leave a child after him.  Go, Tuscan—­go; for I would be left to my tears.”

Dante and Virgil turned to move onward, and had scarcely done so, when a tremendous voice met them, splitting the air like peals of thunder, and crying out, “Whoever finds me will slay me!” then dashed apart, like the thunder-bolt when it falls.  It was Cain.  The air had scarcely recovered its silence, when a second crash ensued from a different quarter near them, like thunder when the claps break swiftly into one another.  “I am Aglauros,” it said, “that was turned into stone.”  Dante drew closer to his guide, and there ensued a dead silence.[30]

The sun was now in the west, and the pilgrims were journeying towards it, when Dante suddenly felt such a weight of splendour on his eyes, as forced him to screen them with both his hands.  It was an angel coming to show them the ascent to the next circle, a way that was less steep than the last.  While mounting, they heard the angel’s voice singing behind them, “Blessed are the merciful; for they shall obtain mercy!” and on his leaving them to proceed by themselves, the second letter on Dante’s forehead was found to have been effaced by the splendour.