Purgatorio (The Divine Comedy series Book 2)

by Dante

  49–51. The voices we hear now emanate from the penitents on the terrace, not from unknown sources overhead. As Bosco/Reggio suggest, they cry out only the invocations of litanies because the rest of their texts would not be appropriate here, since these passages regard earthly ills and temptations, no longer of potential harm to these souls. [return to English / Italian]

  52–57. Perhaps no passage indicates more clearly the disparity of attitude required of an onlooker in hell and purgatory. There the growth in the protagonist was measured, in part, by his ability not to respond pityingly; here compassion is an essential part of his ceremonial purgation. See the introduction to Inferno, pp. xxix–xxxiii. [return to English / Italian]

  58. Haircloth, according to Francesco da Buti’s gloss to this verse, both pricks the skin where it is knotted and leaves it chilled, because it has openings as does a net. [return to English / Italian]

  59–60. The envious in life were not involved in supporting others; the contrary was their care. Now their communal attitude shows their penance—as does their mendicant pose, apparent in the following simile. [return to English / Italian]

  61–66. Those who looked upon their fellows in unseeing ways (the sin invidia was etymologized in the Middle Ages as in + videre, i.e., more usually as “not seeing,” but sometimes also understood as “seeing against,” another being [see Bigongiari (Bigo.1964.1), pp. 90–91]) now hope for the opposite, to be looked upon with pity. Like Satan, the avatar of Envy, the envious soul is proud as well. And the proud cannot bear pity. These penitents show compassionate affection for one another as part of their purgation of Envy. The language of the simile reminds the reader of special occasions on which the Church offered indulgences to its flock on a given feast day or similar occasion; such “pardons” provided targets of opportunity to mendicants outside churches or other holy places. Dante’s language also allows us to see the theatricality implicit in the act of begging; we are now, however, asked to believe in the wholehearted sincerity of these posthumous penitents. [return to English / Italian]

  67–72. The aesthetic abnegation of this terrace is eased somewhat by these two back-to-back similes. Fastening our attention on the closed eyes of the envious, Dante compares them to the sewn-up eyes of sparrow hawks, captured in their maturity and temporarily blinded in this manner so that they remain docile in the presence of their handlers. The penitents’ eyes are sewn, not with the thread used on hawks and falcons, but with iron wire. [return to English / Italian]

  73–78. Dante, feeling sheepish about his position of privileged and unnoticed onlooker, is “read” by Virgil as he and Dante have been reading the feelings of the equally mute penitents. Virgil gives Dante permission to address them—and indeed withdraws from colloquy himself for the rest of this and nearly all the next canto (his next words will be heard only at Purg. XIV.143). [return to English / Italian]

  85–93. The protagonist’s labored and heavily rhetoricized captatio (including periphrastic references to the twin rivers of purgatory, Lethe and Eunoe) is perhaps meant to contrast with Sapia’s far more immediate and direct response (vv. 94–96). He wants to find an Italian for his cast of characters and promises, in return, a prayer to speed the process of purgation. How ironically we are meant to take this speech is not clear, but Bosco/Reggio are derisive about Dante’s “overblown rhetoric” here. [return to English / Italian]

  94–96. The response by the shade who, we will soon discover, is Sapia, is a polite but incisive correction of the question she answers. (1) Dante had set the penitent souls apart from others, even from himself; Sapia joins them all in fellowship with a single word, frate. (2) Dante had spoken of earthly territories; Sapia makes all those beloved of God citizens of His city alone. (3) Dante had spoken of Italianness as a present condition; Sapia insists that geographical/political identities on earth were only fleeting and are now irrelevant. [return to English / Italian]

  102. This physical gesture is familiar to anyone who has spoken with people who are blind, since they, guided by their ears, position their faces squarely in line with the source of the voice of their interlocutor. [return to English / Italian]

  105–108. The protagonist’s question receives its first answer, as nearly anonymous as it can be, with the exception of the identification of the speaker’s homeland, and thus responding to only one part of the protagonist’s request (“make yourself known by your city or your name”). Knowing only this much, our memories return to the last shade and, indeed, the last Sienese we encountered, Provenzan Salvani, his story recounted by Oderisi in Purg. XI.120–138. There we heard about his triumph in humility; here we will become aware, between the lines, of the horror of his death.

  The word rimendo (verse 107), meaning “mending,” “stitching back together,” is Petrocchi’s replacement for the former reading, rimondo, “cleansing,” “purifying.” There are those who continue to take issue with Petrocchi’s emendation, e.g., Stephany (Step.1991.1), pp. 76–77. [return to English / Italian]

  109–111. Punning on her name, she now identifies herself as Sapia if not savia (sapient) and speaks of her envious nature (see note to vv. 8–9).

  For the history of the gradually more certain identification of Sapia, see Giorgio Varanini, “Sapia” (ED IV [1976], p. 26). Most now accept the work of nineteenth-century students of the problem, which demonstrated that she, born ca. 1210, was a noblewoman of Siena, an aunt of Provenzan Salvani (Purg. XI.121–142), and wife of one Ghinibaldo Saracini. After the battle of Colle Val d’Elsa in 1269 and before her death (sometime between 1275 and 1289) she gave much of her wealth to a hospital (S. Maria dei Pellegrini) that she and her husband (who had died before the great battle) had founded in 1265 in Siena. [return to English / Italian]

  112–123. Sapia’s narrative falls into two parts, this first containing the evidence of her former sinfulness, exemplified most savagely in her admission of her joy in witnessing the death of her own people, most probably Provenzan Salvani, her nephew.

  As for Provenzan (a rough Sienese equivalent of the Florentine Farinata [Inf. X]), the man who led the Sienese Ghibellines in their triumph over the Guelphs of Florence at Montaperti in 1260 and the leading Ghibelline soldier of his city, he was captured in the battle of Colle Val d’Elsa, some ten miles northwest of Siena, and decapitated. According to Giovanni Villani (Cronica VII.31), his head, at the end of a pike, was then marched around the battlefield by his triumphant French and Florentine Guelph enemies. Since Sapia was also a Ghibelline it is difficult or impossible to know why she was so pleased by his death (most assume that Provenzan is among the “townsmen” whose death brought her so much pleasure). Since her sin was envy, it seems clear that Dante wants us to understand that she resented his and/or other townsmen’s position and fame, that her involvement was personal, not political. [return to English / Italian]

  124–129. Before her death, Sapia’s change of heart brought her back to the love of God and her neighbor. As for Pier Pettinaio, whose second name is not a family name but an epithet denoting his profession, i.e., he sold combs to ladies (pettine means “comb”), it was his prayerful intervention after her death that reduced her time in ante-purgatory. Since she has been dead between twenty-five and eleven years, and since we would assume she would have spent at least a little time on the terrace of Pride, she has surely moved quickly up the mountain, sped by Pier’s prayers. A “native of Campi in the Chianti district NE. of Siena, he was a hermit of the Franciscan Order, and dwelt in Siena, where he was renowned for his piety and miracles. Ubertino da Casale (Par. XII.124) in the prologue to his Arbor Vitae Crucifixae Jesu mentions that he had received spiritual instruction from him. Pier died on Dec. 5, 1289, and was buried at Siena, where he was long venerated as a saint, in a handsome tomb erected at the public expense” (T). [return to English / Italian]

  130–132. Sapia now, having satisfied Dante’s question in both its points, asks after his identity. Having heard him breathe, she divines that he is present in
the flesh (but has no sense of Virgil’s presence as his guide, thus motivating the exchange that follows at vv. 139–142). [return to English / Italian]

  133–138. Dante’s admission of his culpability in Pride is a brilliant stroke, taking that stick out of his reader’s hand and also, in some strange way, convincing us that this prideful poet has become, under the burden of this poem, humble—or something like that. It also serves to free him from the curse of every artist (as Oderisi knew): the emulous consideration of his or her competitors, from which he pronounces himself totally free. [return to English / Italian]

  143–144. The protagonist fulfills the terms of the condition he had offered at verse 93: if an Italian will come forward, he will pray for that soul. [return to English / Italian]

  145–150. Sapia’s acceptance of Dante’s offer of prayer, making him her second Pier Pettinaio, is accepted with a grace that is also morally telling: she may have envied Provenzan his prowess and his fame, but not Dante, who has won the greatest victory of anyone, coming to the afterworld in the flesh. She responds to his charity for her with charity. [return to English / Italian]

  151–154. These four lines produce perhaps the most debated passage in this canto. Before approaching that controversy, it may be helpful to understand some of the rather recondite references in play here. In 1303, Siena purchased the seaport called Talamone, on the Mediterranean coast about fifteen miles away, in order to have better access to shipping routes; the problem was that the dredging necessary to keep the waters between Siena and the sea negotiable was an overwhelming problem. Consequently, the project had to be abandoned soon after the funds had been appropriated to support it. Similarly, another civic works project involved a search for an underground river (named Diana because the statue of the goddess had stood in the market square of the city); it too was a failure. The final frecciata, or gibe, of Sapia is to suggest that the biggest losers in the scheme to acquire a harbor on the sea will be the admirals. This word has been greatly debated: does Sapia refer to actual admirals? to investors in the scheme? to those who sold participation in the enterprise? It seems clear that Dante is making Sapia joke for him (Siena jokes being for Florentines what Harvard jokes are for Yalies). This writer’s view is that the playfully nasty phrase is precisely similar to one still in use today: “the Swiss navy.” The phrase requires that we recognize that the Swiss cannot have a navy because they do not have an ocean to put a navy on—exactly the same condition in which we find the Sienese. For a similar appreciation see Porena’s lengthy discussion (1946) of these verses.

  Sapia, as we have seen, is a moving figure, convincingly grappling with her former sin and seemingly in control of it. It seems clear that every verse she speaks in this canto is stamped by that change in her character, including her shrewd understanding of exactly what she was like within herself, precisely what she sounded like to others. It is a remarkable exercise in self-awareness. On the other hand, some argue that these final lines show that she is still very much in the grip of her old failing. Here, for example, is Singleton’s analysis: “Thus, by this jibe at her fellow-townsmen, it is clear that Sapia can still be malicious and still has time to serve on this terrace, purging away such feelings.” This is a fairly typical reaction. It should be observed that, if these last remarks present a soul still sinful, her sin is not Envy. She may be insensitive, perhaps, but not envious. First of all, she is speaking only of a few Sienese here, the would-be big shots in whose company Dante may find her decent relatives. Second, her remarks are not intended to affect these thieves and fools, but only (perhaps) to aid her relatives in fending off their wiles—if they are intended to have any practical worldly effect at all. Both Cassell (Cass.1984.1) and Stephany (Step.1991.1), pp. 83–86, support the view of Musumarra (Musu.1967.1), pp. 461–67, that Sapia’s words are not to be read as evidence of her slipping back into the sin of Envy but rather as reflecting her desire to help her familiars and fellow citizens escape from the devastations that will befall them because of their misguided civic pride. In such readings, Sapia’s last moment in the poem (and she has been given more of its space, forty-nine verses [106–154], than anyone encountered on the mountain except for Oderisi [XI.79–142—much of whose speech is devoted to the discussion of others] after the extended meeting with Sordello [Purg. VI–VIII]) is not offered up as a kind of recantation. Rather, this sharp-tongued, witty, and self-understanding woman ends her words with charity for all who have chosen the true way, along with acerbic wit for those who are governed by foolishness and pride. If that sounds like a description of the poet who created her, so be it. [return to English / Italian]

  PURGATORIO XIV

  1–3. These words do not, as we might assume, issue from Sapia, but from a new speaker, the dominant presence in this canto. He is Guido del Duca, as we will discover at verse 81 (see note to that verse). His rather salty way of responding to the news (broadcast at Purg. XIII.142, when Guido overheard Dante speaking to Sapia) that Dante is here in the flesh, is a man “who can open his eyes at will and shut them,” will turn out to be typical of his bluntness, which finds its foil in the indirect and extremely polite ways of his interlocutor, Rinieri da Calboli. Guido cannot see that Dante can see him (we recall that Dante was sensitive about his favored status in this respect at Purg. XIII.73–74) but surmises that, as a living soul, Dante has the ocular power that is taken from all those who are purging their envy on this terrace. This does not make him a source of envy for these souls, but of wonder (see vv. 13–14). [return to English / Italian]

  4–6. The second speaker, Rinieri da Calboli (see note to vv. 88–90), a sort of precursor of one of Marcel Proust’s famously overpolite great-aunts, addresses Dante only through his companion, Guido. The characterization of the two respondents to Dante’s presence is reminiscent, in its handling of such dramatically differing personalities, of the representation of character in the colloquy among Dante, Farinata, and Cavalcante in Inferno X. [return to English / Italian]

  7. We here learn that these are speakers we have not heard before. For a moment it is as though we were as “blind” as the penitents and dependent on what we hear said by the narrator to understand who is involved in this colloquy. [return to English / Italian]

  10–13. Sapia (Purg. XIII.130) had wanted to know Dante’s identity; his response was to identify himself only as a person who had (at least until now) been prideful in his life. Now Guido (the speaker is not identified, but we safely assume, both from the rotation of speakers and from the forthright quality of his question, that it is he) asks to know both his homeland and his name; Dante will modestly offer only the first piece of information. He has learned, we surmise, something about Pride in his few hours on that terrace. [return to English / Italian]

  14–15. Guido’s amazement at Dante’s condition does two things quickly and neatly; it shows that he (and Rinieri) are not envious of his condition and it allows Dante not to have to insist pridefully on his uniqueness, something that Guido has done for him. Once we find out who these two are, we realize that these now fraternal souls were, on earth, a Ghibelline (Guido) and a Guelph (Rinieri). These details may remind us of the far less fraternal interaction between Farinata (a Ghibelline) and Cavalcante (a Guelph) in Inferno X. [return to English / Italian]

  16–18. The protagonist introduces its controlling image to the canto, the river Arno. Its source is in the Apennines at Mt. Falterona and it then makes its way, as we shall hear, through the Casentino, then the cities of Arezzo, Florence, and Pisa, before it reaches the sea. Giovanna Ioli (Ioli.1989.1), p. 210, points out that the verb saziare (slake) introduces the theme of hunger to this description of the Arno. The river seems, in order to satisfy its own appetites, not to extend far enough, despite all the harm its approximately 150 miles (and not Dante’s 100) produces. [return to English / Italian]

  19. The protagonist identifies himself as a Tuscan, not as a Florentine. This is perhaps less the result of modesty than the poet’s reflecti
on on his wandering condition in his exile, much of which was to be spent in Tuscany, though not in Florence. [return to English / Italian]

  20–21. Dante’s modesty here is gainsaid by his previous inclusion among the great poets of all time in Inferno IV.100–102. There are those who claim that in 1300 he had not indeed become particularly famous and that this is the reason for his modesty here. It would rather seem to be that he is keeping in mind the lessons in humility he has just learned on the last terrace. Further, he clearly expects that fame will one day find him. However, the only time his name is used in the Commedia it is spoken, not for praise, but in denunciation of his disloyalty by Beatrice (Purg. XXX.55). [return to English / Italian]

  22–24. The rhyme word accarno, a hapax, derives, as commentators point out, from the word used to describe an animal that has caught another and is biting into its flesh (carne). Guido’s third speech unravels the fairly simple riddle that conceals the river’s name. [return to English / Italian]

  25–27. Rinieri once again addresses Guido in order to pose a question for Dante to answer. We can now see that this is the central trait of his personality as explored in this canto. (He only speaks twice, a total of six lines, and yet we feel we know him. We will see his sad expression in vv. 70–72 but he will not speak again.) Guido’s peremptory, forward manner in some ways matches, in bono, the Tuscan (western) side of the Apennines, presented as being ferocious; Rinieri’s diffident attitude is perhaps meant to reflect his connection with the good folk (now long gone) from the eastern side of those mountains, in the Romagna. [return to English / Italian]