by Dante
Jesus as young genius is so palpably present that we need to remind ourselves that he is not the exemplary figure here; that is, indeed, his mother, who scolds him as gently as a scold may scold—as any former child will testify, remembering similar encounters with sterner mothers. [return to English / Italian]
94–105. The second exemplar, once again a parent, is the sixth-century B.C. Athenian tyrant Pisistratus, known to Dante in this particular, according to many commentators (perhaps beginning with Pietro di Dante [1340]), from Valerius Maximus, author of that first-century compendium of classical history and lore, Facta et dicta memorabilia, who tells the tale almost precisely as Dante retells it here.
Like the first of these three examplary scenes, this one also begins with the portrait of a mother. Where the parents of Jesus are united in benevolence, those of the daughter of Pisistratus are divided; this mother, reminiscent of the haughty Michal (see Purg. X.65 and note), leaves the performance of a loving forgiveness to her husband. [return to English / Italian]
97–99. The wife of Pisistratus refers to the myth of the naming of Athens which Pietro di Dante (1340) says derives from Augustine’s retelling of the myth, found earlier in Varro, in De civitate Dei XVIII.9. During the kingship of Cecrops, when Athena (Minerva) and Poseidon (Neptune) both wanted to name the city, the other gods chose Athena because her gift was the olive tree, seen as more useful to humans than Poseidon’s gift of a spring. Pietro also refers to the version of the tale found in Ovid (Metam. VI.70–102). [return to English / Italian]
106–114. The artistry of Dante’s treatment of the third and final exemplar, St. Stephen, the first martyr (Acts 7:54–59), is greatly admired. Among the three narratives exemplifying meekness, this is the only one in which that meekness is found in the youthful protagonist of the exemplary tale rather than in a parent. Arnaldo Bonaventura (Bona.1902.1), p. 29, sees that the progression of figures that benefit from the forgiveness which runs counter to wrath has a purposeful order: from a beloved son, to a relative stranger, to one’s enemies. Anyone would forgive the twelve-year-old Jesus his “night out” in the temple; anyone, upon reflection, should perhaps forgive the youthful flamboyance of the amorous pursuer of a king’s daughter; hardly anyone would choose to forgive his murderers. [return to English / Italian]
107. The youthfulness of Dante’s portrayal of Stephen (as giovinetto) has caused controversy, beginning with Scartazzini’s (1900) objection that here Dante had fallen into a small error, since the Book of Acts portrayed Stephen as a mature man (homo, vir: e.g., Acts 6:5, 6:13). In Scartazzini’s view, in a lapse of memory Dante had conflated the descriptions of Stephen and St. Paul, present as the youthful (adulescentis) Saul as a witness to the martyrdom (Acts 7:57). To this argument Poletto (1894) objects, demonstrating that in Dante adolescence lasted until one is 25, while youth included the period between 25 and 45 (Conv. IV.xxiv.1–3), and also pointing out that Scipio and Pompey (Par. VI.52) are described as “youths” (giovanetti), 33 and 25 years old, respectively, at the time of those great victories to which Dante refers. Sarolli, “Stefano” (ED V [1976]), is also in this camp. [return to English / Italian]
108. In Acts the words of the maddened crowd supplied here by Dante are not given. Wlassics (Wlas.1989.1), p. 170, argues that Stephen’s persecutors shout to themselves, not to one another, as almost all commentators (and translators) insist. Before him Casini/Barbi (1921) do allow for this possibility, but only Mattalia (1960) had previously chosen this option. This interpretation is supported by at least one pressing consideration: in the source text (Acts 7:56) the stoners of Stephen are specifically described as, having stopped up their ears, crying out with a loud voice and rushing upon their victim. They are shouting rather to screw up their courage than to exhort one another—they are shouting as do those who charge in battle, wrestling with their fear. Our translation preserves this understanding of the verse. [return to English / Italian]
111. What is seen by “the eyes that are open to Heaven” is described in the source text in Stephen’s own words (it is notable that Dante suppresses the words spoken by the protomartyr and adds those spoken by his persecutors). Here is what he says he sees (Acts 7:56): “Behold, I see the heavens opened, and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.” It is precisely these words, reporting his vision, that cause his murderers to stop up their ears and attack him in their offended rage. In this moment in the poem, we may reflect, Dante’s eyes (referred to, just before the visions begin, as luci vaghe [eager eyes] at verse 84) are as open to Stephen’s martyrdom as Stephen’s are to his heavenly vision. [return to English / Italian]
112–114. The final action of these exemplary protagonists of mercy is obviously the most dramatic in the program: Stephen forgiving his murderers even as they murder him. His “look” would “unlock compassion” in anyone who beheld it—perhaps even his persecutors, but surely in any decent Christian soul witnessing his martyrdom, including, just now, the protagonist. [return to English / Italian]
115–138. On each terrace there is poetic space reserved for some sort of reaction on the part of the poet or protagonist (and, at times, his guide) to the experience of exemplarity. Of the thirteen other passages devoted to these transitional moments none is even nearly as lengthy as this one, twenty-four verses; in fact only once is such a passage as long as three tercets, while this one extends over eight. It is clear that the poet wanted to direct our attention to the importance of this exchange between guide and protagonist.
Virgil’s reactions give rise to a number of questions. Does or does not Virgil see the visions vouchsafed Dante? Is his response (vv. 120–123) evidence that he does not understand the nature of Dante’s experience (as Dante seems to believe at vv. 125–126)? If a reader believes that to be the case, how does that reader respond to Virgil’s insistence that he indeed knows Dante’s innermost thoughts (vv. 127–138)?
The structure of the fifteenth canto is formed by three moments of Virgilian interpretation of phenomena:
10–39: Dante cannot behold the angel: Virgil explains the nature of the problem;
40–81: Dante did not understand Guido del Duca’s words in the last canto: Virgil gives the necessary commentary, acknowledging Beatrice’s higher authority;
115–138: Dante has a series of ecstatic visions: Virgil insists on explaining that he knows very well what they involved and says that he only calls attention to Dante’s condition in order to spur him on.
In the first two scenes Virgil is clearly correct and thoroughly in control of the situation; in this last sequence he does not exactly issue triumphant. [return to English / Italian]
115–117. The literal sense is not difficult: Dante was not seeing that which was present before his fleshly eyes; from that point of view (the merely physical one) he is delusional, is seeing what does not exist, seeing erroneous phantasms instead of what his physical eyes would report. But such “errors” as these are the very heart of truth, or, in an extreme case of litotes (deliberate understatement), are, at the very least, “not false.” See the discussion in Barolini (Baro.1992.1), pp. 151–53. [return to English / Italian]
118–123. Virgil’s first response to Dante’s “awakening” back in the world of lesser truth is a bit brutal in its colloquial insistence on a less than noble cause for his condition. For Dante’s apparent drunkenness see Glending Olson (Olso.1999.1), pp. 25–26. Olson addresses the relationship between these and the seemingly “drunken” words of Boniface VIII, as described by Guido da Montefeltro in Inferno XXVII.99. The context of Acts 2:13 is clearly present here as well: witnessing the Apostles speaking in tongues after the descent of the Holy Spirit upon them, the cynical pronounce them to be “drunk with new wine.” It is interesting to see that Virgil is associated, in his response to Dante, similarly filled with the Spirit, with those who denied the action of the Holy Spirit in the Apostles (see Seem [Seem.1991.1], p. 74). Here, Seem points out that Dante’s “drunken” condition, shortly after he h
as heard Beatrice’s name (XV.77), mirrors his being “come inebriato” (as though drunk) when he first saw Beatrice, as recorded in Vita nuova III. [return to English / Italian]
124–126. Dante’s response to Virgil intrinsically explains his physical condition as the result of his being in a state which granted him the ability to see that which, apparently, Virgil did not and could not see. If Virgil did not know this before he asked his question, he does know this much now—not what Dante saw, but the nature of his seeing: ecstatic vision. Dante here shares the iconography of another closed-eyed visionary, John the Divine; see Purgatorio XXIX.143–144, where John, represented as the last book of the New Testament, Revelation, is seen, like Dante here, walking in a visionary state with his eyes closed, “dormendo.” [return to English / Italian]
127–129. Virgil’s claim for knowledge of even the least particular of Dante’s mental awareness must be taken with skepticism (see discussion of Musa’s arguments in the note to vv. 134–135). [return to English / Italian]
130–132. What does Virgil know? We have some information with which to answer this question. On the terrace of Pride, Virgil and Dante found the two sets of opposing exemplars displayed in marble carvings. Having seen the first set of these, once they had seen the second they could infer something about the structure of purgation and about its symbolic landscape. As a result, once Virgil hears the voices flying overhead, representing Charity, the virtue contrasted with Envy, he immediately understands that there will be a second set of sounds before the travelers leave the terrace (see note to Purg. XIII.37–42). His situation here is more difficult, for he has seen nothing to indicate this terrace’s mode of exemplary instruction. According to him, he reads Dante’s mind. Perhaps we should view his claim with a certain dubiety. Dante speaks, announcing that he is seeing things that are not visible; as soon as Virgil connects that information with the physical signs that his “drunken” charge is exhibiting, he understands: the exempla on this terrace are delivered through ecstatic vision, an experience reserved for only the elect. He knows that these visions must present positive figures of the opposing virtue, precisely “to open your heart to the waters of peace,” as he tells Dante. No matter who may have been present in Dante’s visions to represent meekness (and even Virgil may have by now divined that Mary will be the first of these), the meaning of the exemplars here will always be the same: to pour the water of peace upon the fires of wrath in the heart. [return to English / Italian]
133–135. Bosco/Reggio (1979) are undoubtedly correct in suggesting that the debate in the commentaries over the literal sense of these verses is less than convincing and go on to plead that in these verses Dante uses “an imprecise expression.” Salsano (Sals.1967.1), pp. 568–70, reflects upon the debate as it came into his time. Cachey (Cach.1993.1), pp. 222–23, offers a more up-to-date review of various interpretations. The only interpretation, however, that seems to offer a clear understanding of the difficult passage is one based on a comprehension of the tensions that exist here between the protagonist and his guide. Such a reading has been put forward by Lauren Seem (Seem.1991.1), who argues that what is at stake is Virgil’s attempt to show that he has indeed known the nature of Dante’s vision, that he did not think Dante was merely “drunk.” And thus we can understand what he says as follows: “I did not ask what was wrong with you because you were having a vision—of course, I understood that—but only because it was now time to get you back on the track.” As Musa has pointed out (see notes to Inf. XVI.115 and XXIII.25), there is no evidence in the poem, despite Virgil’s claim in Inferno XXIII (repeated here), that he actually can read the protagonist’s mind—a capacity reserved for Beatrice and the other saved souls who interview Dante in the heavens. Our reading of the entire passage eventually depends on whether we accept Virgil’s protestations here or question them. For a step-by-step analysis of the difficult details that have so afflicted the commentators, see Seem (Seem.1991.1), pp. 75–80. [return to English / Italian]
139–145. The description of this terrace, postponed from its expected space (see note to vv. 82–84), begins now, as we first perceive the black smoke of anger that will cover the travelers and the penitents for the entirety of the following canto, the darkest part of Purgatorio. [return to English / Italian]
PURGATORIO XVI
1–7. This fiftieth canto of the Divina Commedia is literally its darkest; light finally glimmers only two lines from its conclusion (in verse 143) and its action is played completely in the smoke of Wrath. Technically, the numerical midpoint of the poem occurs between Cantos XVI and XVII, the latter of which also happens to be the middle canto of Purgatorio. Thus, as the poet prepares the entire poem and the cantica to reach their centers, it seems fitting that he first indicates the Comedy’s origin in hell: Buio d’inferno (Gloom of hell).
The sky is “barren” (literally “poor,” or “impoverished”) in that it is “deprived of its precious jewels,” its stars (according to Benvenuto da Imola, mainly found in the eighth sphere but with one “planet” found in each of the first seven), are hidden behind layers of clouds.
The envious are made to repent by being denied their sight; the wrathful are being denied objects of sight because they were blinded by their anger for their enemies. [return to English / Italian]
8–9. It seems that here Virgil has the power of sight, while the protagonist, like the penitents soon to be present, is effectively blind in the smoke. Is this a deliberate recasting of the situation in Purgatorio XV.115–138, where Dante can behold the ecstatic visions apparently denied to Virgil? Once again, Virgil’s state would be marked off as different from that of saved souls.
The smoke that expresses the sin of Wrath on this terrace is referred to five times (XV.142; XVI.5, 25, 35, 142) and marks the last time in the poem that the noun fummo is used to describe a place. It clearly seems to be related to the smoke that marked the Circle of Anger in Inferno, where it is used three times, once (Inf. IX.75) with an adjective, acerbo (harsh), that seems to join it to the smoke we enter here. For the relationship between infernal anger and the purgation of Wrath see the note to Purgatorio XVII.19–39. [return to English / Italian]
10–15. The simile presents an image of Dante walking behind Virgil with his hand upon the shoulder of his guide, otherwise present to him only as a voice. The image prepares us for what will happen once Marco Lombardo is his interlocutor: all he (and we) will be aware of is a voice, close to an ideal situation for a poet to contrive in order to gain undeflected attention on behalf of a presentation of moral philosophy. [return to English / Italian]
19–21. We are presumably meant to understand that all the penitents pray on each of the previous terraces (see Purg. XI.1–24; Purg. XIII.49–51) and on this one as well. The pattern of communal liturgical prayer will be broken, for good reason, only by the slothful: Purgatorio XVIII.103–105.
Fallani (1965) discusses the prayer, instituted as part of the Mass by Pope Sergius I in the seventh century, comprised, once it became a part of the liturgy, of a single line that is then twice repeated: “Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis” (Lamb of God who carry off the sins of the world, have mercy on us); in the third iteration the last phrase (“miserere nobis”) gives place to the words “dona nobis pacem” (grant us peace), a particularly apt phrase for these penitents of Wrath, beseeching the serenity to which Virgil referred in Purgatorio XV.131, “the waters of peace.” [return to English / Italian]
25–27. The speaker can sense that the visitor is moving the smoke that he walks through and thus must be present in the flesh; for this reason, as he correctly assumes, the new arrival is still timebound. The souls on the mountain have their own temporality, but one in which all of time is but a necessary prolegomenon to eternity, when real life begins for them. Thus for them the months of the calendar are real but meaningless. [return to English / Italian]
31–36. Dante’s captatio, his attempt to gain his listener’s goodwill (see note
to Inf. II.58), celebrates the as yet unknown speaker’s freedom from the flesh; his (rational) soul will soon be as it was when God breathed it into him (see Purg. XXV.70–75). The protagonist goes on to offer, in good rhetorical fashion, a reward for his auditor’s collaboration. His insistence that this spirit follow him is predicated upon necessity: Dante’s eyes are closed because his mortal flesh cannot bear the harshness of the smoke, with the result that he cannot see his interlocutor. The spirit, unlike Virgil, evidently cannot see in the darkness and therefore is only able to follow Dante’s voice. [return to English / Italian]
37–38. The image of the flesh as swaddling clothes, the protective cloth in which infants are wrapped, places emphasis on the soul as being the precious part of us, our bodies merely the wrapping that should keep it until it is ready for its better life. [return to English / Italian]
41–42. This is the rather coy way that Dante refers to St. Paul’s ascent to Heaven (II Corinthians 12:4) as being the last before his own. For Dante, that somewhat strange word (“modern”) is not a positive one. (The Grande Dizionario [Batt.1961.1] indicates this as the first recorded use of the word in Italian.) For Dante, in the battle between ancients and moderns, at least when it is waged on moral grounds, ancients are better. For the three subsequent uses of the word see Purgatorio XXVI.113, Paradiso XVI.33, Paradiso XXI.131. [return to English / Italian]
