Dante Satiro: Satire in Dante Alighieri's Comedy and Other Works (Studies in Medieval Literature) 2020003003, 2020003004, 9781793621719, 9781793621726, 1793621713

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgments
Introduction: Dante Satiro
1: Satire in Dante’s Commedia
1 The Ontoso Metro of Dante’s Sinners
2 Inverted Popes, the Apostolic Succession, and Dante’s Vocation as Satirist
3 “Ed elli avea del cul fatto trombetta” (Inferno 21.139)
4 “Se io mi trascoloro, non ti maravigliar”
2: Satire in Dante’s Minor Works
5 “Ut exinde potionare possimus dolcissimum ydromellum” (DVE 1.1.1)
6 Invective and Emotional Tones in Dante’s Convivio
7 The Conundrum of Genre: Dante’s “Doglia mi reca”
8 Scelestissimis fiorentinis
3: Coda: The American Legacy of Dante Satiro
9 Hell, yes! Dante in Contemporary American Satire
Appendix
Bibliography
Index
About the Contributors

Citation preview

Dante Satiro

Studies in Medieval Literature Series Editor: Albrecht Classen, University of Arizona Advisory Board: Werner Schaefke, University of Copenhagen. Christopher R. Clason, Oakland University. Andrew Breeze, University of Navarre. Connie Scarborough, Texas Tech University. Gloria Allaire, University of Kentucky. Fabian Alfie, University of Arizona. Raymond Cormier, Longwood University. Janina Traxler, Manchester University. Marianne Ailes, University of Bristol. Studies in Medieval Literature invites scholars to publish their most powerful, exciting, and forward-looking studies, which will thus become an excellent platform for Medieval Studies at large. Recent titles in the series: Dante Satiro: Satire in Dante Alighieri’s Comedy and Other Works, by Fabian Alfie and Nicolino Applauso Dante’s Comedy and the Ethics of Invective in Medieval Italy: Humor and Evil, by Nicolino Applauso Prostitution in Medieval and Early Modern Literature: The Dark Side of Sex and Love in the Pre-Modern Era, by Albrecht Classen Chaucer’s Neoplatonism: Varieties of Love, Friendship, and Community, by John M. Hill

Dante Satiro Satire in Dante Alighieri’s Comedy and Other Works Edited by Fabian Alfie and Nicolino Applauso

LEXINGTON BOOKS Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowman.com 6 Tinworth Street, London SE11 5AL, United Kingdom Copyright © 2020 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Alfie, Fabian, editor. | Applauso, Nicolino, editor. Title: Dante satiro : satire in Dante Alighieri’s Comedy and other works/edited by Fabian Alfie and Nicolino Applauso. Description: Lanham : Lexington Books, [2019] | Series: Studies in medieval literature | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “This collection of essays explores the concept and tradition of satire in relation to Dante's Comedy and his other works, and the modern reception of Dante's satire in contemporary American culture. It is the first comprehensive study on Dante and satire within his entire corpus that has ever been published in recent times”-Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2020003003 (print) | LCCN 2020003004 (ebook) | ISBN 9781793621719 (cloth) | ISBN 9781793621726 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Dante Alighieri, 1265-1321--Criticism and interpretation. | Dante Alighieri, 12651321--Appreciation--United States. | Dante Alighieri, 1265-1321. Divina commedia. | Satire, Italian--History and criticism. Classification: LCC PQ4390 .D2833 2019 (print) | LCC PQ4390 (ebook) | DDC 851/.1--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020003003 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020003004 TM

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Contents

Acknowledgments

vii

Introduction: Dante Satiro Fabian Alfie and Nicolino Applauso

1

1: Satire in Dante’s Commedia 1 The Ontoso Metro of Dante’s Sinners: Inferno 7 Franco Suitner 2 Inverted Popes, the Apostolic Succession, and Dante’s Vocation as Satirist Ronald L. Martinez 3 “Ed elli avea del cul fatto trombetta” (Inferno 21.139): Satire and Sodomy in Dante’s Inferno Mary Watt 4 “Se io mi trascoloro, non ti maravigliar”: Peter’s Invective and colores rhetorici in Paradiso 27 Maggie Fritz-Morkin

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2: Satire in Dante’s Minor Works 5 “Ut exinde potionare possimus dolcissimum ydromellum” (DVE 1.1.1): “Dante Satiro” and the De vulgari eloquentia Anthony Nussmeier 6 Invective and Emotional Tones in Dante’s Convivio Beatrice Arduini 7 The Conundrum of Genre: Dante’s “Doglia mi reca” Fabian Alfie

91

v

33

55

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93 117 133

Contents

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Scelestissimis fiorentinis: Violence, Satire, and Prophecy in the ars dictaminis and Dante’s Political Epistles Nicolino Applauso

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3: Coda: The American Legacy of Dante Satiro 9 Hell, yes! Dante in Contemporary American Satire Arielle Saiber

169 171

Appendix

187

Bibliography

195

Index

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About the Contributors

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Acknowledgments

No book is the product solely of its author or editors, and that is true of Dante Satiro. Beyond the individuals whose names appear herein, many people contributed to making this volume a reality, from readers of drafts, to colleagues at conferences, to friends and family who gave us advice and support. That being said, certain people stand out as requiring particular thanks. Therefore, the editors would like to acknowledge the following individuals for their assistance: for their advice and support, Aileen A. Feng and Denis Provencher; for help with some passages in Latin, Philip T. Waddell; for indepth readings and feedback on a previous version of the manuscript, Christopher Kleinhenz and Marcia Colish; to Alison Cornish and the Dante Society of America for their support of our “Dante Satiro” session at the Kalamazoo Conference a few years ago, and to all the people who participated at this session and provided valuable feedback. Last but not least, we would like to thank Albrecht Classen, Holly Buchanan, and the team at Lexington Books for all their hard work.

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Fabian Alfie and Nicolino Applauso

Hic iacet excelsus poeta comicus Dantes Necnon et satirus et liricus atque tragedus. Here lies Dante, the highest comic poet, And also the highest satiric, and lyric, and tragic poet. —Guido da Pisa (ca. 1328), epitaph to Dante 2

The title of this collection of essays has its origin in the fourth canto of Dante’s Inferno. Dante and Virgil are approaching limbo, the first circle of Hell where the unbaptized souls spend eternity, which Dante populates primarily with figures from classical antiquity. Dante and Virgil are greeted by the four classical poets, Homer, Horace, Ovid, and Lucan. The scene is pregnant with meaning, reflecting Dante’s own reception and negotiation of ancient literature. One writer in particular is overtly associated with a specific genre. As Virgil identifies the four authors to Dante, he describes Horace as “Horace the satirist” (“Orazio satiro,” Inferno 4.89). 3 Overlooking other works in Horace’s œuvre such as his odes, the poet treats the classical author as metonymic for one particular style, satire. 4 Throughout the Middle Ages, Horace was considered exemplary of the satiric genre, so Dante’s readers probably saw nothing unusual in Virgil’s characterization of him. 5 For this collection of essays, however, we have adapted the expression to apply not to Horace but to Dante himself. Our intention in doing so is to emphasize the satirical elements of his literary production, and to draw a theoretical link to classical definitions of satire. To judge solely from the characterization of Horace, it is clear that Dante’s understanding of satire had its roots in the classical world. Satire has been often seen through its ancient Greek precursors, that is, comic drama, iambic poetry, or Menippean satire. That said, it is important to approach it as a genre that flourished in the language, literary tradition, and customs of 1

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ancient Rome. The Roman rhetorician Quintilian drew a clear distinction between Greek comedy and satire, claiming that satire was a Roman-made genre; in his Institutio Oratoria, he proudly declared that ancient Romans invented and cultivated satire: “at least satire is all ours” (“satura quidem tota nostra est” 10.1.93). He traced it back from the father of satire, Lucilius, to Horace, Persius, and Juvenal. In her discussion of the genre, Catherine Keane explains that satire consisted of poems in dactylic hexameter varying in length from fifty to several hundred lines. These were collected in books, and recited to or read privately by educated members of society. Their poems typically feature a first-person speaker who mocks aspects of contemporary morality and social life. 6

Scholars such as Mikhail Bakhtin and Northrop Frye have influenced modern scholarship to see medieval satire as the continuation of the Greco-Roman tradition, particularly in regard to Menippean satire, a literary form that mixed prose and verse. 7 The classical tradition of Menippean satire consisted of works such as Petronius’s Satyricon, and Seneca’s Apocolocyntosis. However, scholars have recently argued that the genre of Menippean satire should be approached within its historical contexts, either the classical world or the Middle Ages, and should be more rigorously defined than previously. 8 Satire as conventionally understood emerged from the examples of Horace, Juvenal, Persius, and Lucilius. Occasionally present in numerous genres such as romances, fables, sermons, visions, or songs, 9 satire was clearly redefined in the Middle Ages as one of the canonical literary genres. 10 The versatility of satire is also visible in relation to Dante, who as a poet adapted and reinvented elements of the genre in different works throughout his literary career. There are many ways to understand Dante and his works, of course. During his life (1265–1321), he was the young love poet of the dolce stil nuovo and the man who composed the first book of Italian literature, Vita Nova (ca. 1294). He then authored the unfinished treatise on literature and language, De vulgari eloquentia (ca. 1303–1305), and the incomplete philosophical commentary Convivio (ca. 1303–1305). At midlife, he became a Florentine political actor, chosen as prior for six months in 1300, and as an ambassador in 1300–1301. He then endured exile for the last nineteen years of his life, leaving thirteen extant epistles in Latin, many of which comment on socio-political developments. But most importantly, Dante synthesized many strains of political, philosophical, moral, and theological thought in his magnum opus, the Commedia (ca. 1308–1321). So far as can be determined, Dante did not call himself a satirist, and such a designation is not common in modern literary criticism about him. Nonetheless, to do so is not an imposition on the writer. Throughout his works, he upbraids enemies, friends, and unrepentant sinners, highlights the flaws of

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fellow citizens, and denigrates political malefactors; each example is worthy of study and should be adequately situated in its particular text or biographical context. The composite image that results from all the different essays in this volume, which will be summarized below, can be encapsulated in our title, Dante satiro. To explain further what is meant by “Dante the satirist,” perhaps it is best to begin the discussion with the fourteenth-century commentaries on Dante’s depiction of Horace in Limbo. The commentators provide insights into Dante’s understanding of the adjective “satirist” (“satiro”), which can then be applied to the great Florentine himself. Across the different explications of the fourth canto of Inferno, the commentators offer uniform and succinct definitions of the genre of satire. As but one example of several, 11 the author of L’Ottimo commento (1333) calls Horace a “satiric poet, and a reprehender of vices” (“Orazio fue poeta satiro e riprenditore de’ vizii”). 12 The commentators consistently echo the commonplace definition of satire as the literary medium for the castigation of vices, describing its purpose with the expression reprehendere vitii (to reprehend vice), and phrasing the author’s motivation as moral outrage, ex indignatione (out of indignation). 13 Those very terms appear in the passage from L’Ottimo commento, cited above, and in other commentaries on canto four of Inferno. Dante’s medieval commentators, and almost certainly Dante himself, in short, accepted the widespread conception of satire as the genre dedicated to the reprehension of vice. Throughout the European Middle Ages, satire was considered a moral art, which laid bare the sins of others with the purpose of correcting them. 14 The medieval definition of satire had its roots in the theoretical writings of the fourth-century grammarian Diomedes, 15 indicating that the tradition of satire from the classical world lived on in the Middle Ages. 16 It had the function of holding unacceptable behaviors up for public ridicule, deriding deviations from acceptable norms. 17 As Zygmunt G. Barański writes, therefore, Dante’s use of the epithet “satirist” (“satiro”) alludes to the ethical dimension of Horace’s literary production, in which he castigates the failings of others. 18 With its ethical purpose, satire in the Middle Ages differed little from that of the classical era, and indeed from the satires of early modern Europe. 19 A commonplace in medieval definitions of the term “satire” was its etymological derivation from one of two sources: either from the Latin word satura, a plate of sacrificial offerings; or from “satyr,” the mythological creature. 20 Just as a satura was replete with different objects, as one explanation went, so too was satire a mixed form, filled with a broad variety of lexicon and expressions to discuss vice openly. 21 Conversely, the other explanation was that satyrs were violent, and hence the language of satires was violent; another explanation was that just as satyrs were nude, satire was nude, that is, composed in blunt language. 22 As Michael Seidel notes, in

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classical mythology satyrs were half-god and half-beast, possessed of both profane and prophetic knowledge, and thus with access to terrible information about the ways of the world and profound comprehension of the way things ought to be. 23 The etymological discussion regarding satyrs and saturae highlights an important aspect of medieval satires, namely, that to accord with their sinful subject matters, they employed a low, humble style. 24 No linguistic register, expression, topic, or terminology was off limits to the satirist, who required the verbal liberty to depict the vices in all their repulsiveness, and therefore to castigate them; even the aesthetics of foeditas, deliberate ugliness, was part of the satirist’s arsenal. 25 Literary theorist John of Garland (ca. 1190‒ca. 1270) wrote that satires are nimble like satyrs, laughing at vice and dancing about; Dante commentator Guido da Pisa elaborated on the connection to dancing satyrs, saying that satires dance rapidly from vice to virtue, and from virtue to vice. 26 Satirists, therefore, were understood in the Middle Ages to be in possession of a dynamic flexibility of expression not shared by the authors of other genres. The epigram at the start of this introduction is an epitaph for Dante composed by Guido da Pisa (ca. 1328), who praised him as an author who excelled at four styles: tragedy, comedy, lyric poetry, and satire. Dante could rightly be called a satirist, Guido wrote, because he reprehended vice, particularly in his depictions of the damned in Hell; indeed, according to Guido, Dante might have just as easily named his magnum opus “satire” instead of Commedia. 27 Another commentator, Benvenuto da Imola, also suggested that satira would have been a most appropriate title for Dante’s masterpiece. 28 Given the title Dante actually attached to his poem, there is a lengthy bibliography about the medieval definitions of “comedy.” It is not our intention to enter fully into the debate about the meaning of Dante’s title except to note that during the Middle Ages some confusion existed regarding the definition of comedy relative to satire. With the introduction of Averroes (1126–1198) to European readership, tragedy and comedy were counterpoised to one another, with diametrically opposite ends: tragedy was the art of praising the virtuous, while comedy was the art of blaming the sinful. 29 At the beginning of the Averroistic movement in Europe, Hermann the German (d. 1272), in his translation from Arabic to Latin, conferred upon comedy the moral function—blaming—traditionally served by satire. 30 The conceptual opposition of tragedy (praise) to comedy (blame) did not remain limited to Averroistic thinkers. 31 In the writings attributed to Terence that circulated during the fourteenth century, for instance, the castigation and correction of faults figured prominently in the definition of comedy. 32 Comedies, like satires, had an unrestricted linguistic range. In the treatises of some writers, satire was affiliated with the lowest, most humble linguistic register, while comedy had a middling style; other thinkers simply removed satire as a genre, positioning comedy as the poetics of blame, and

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associating comic writings with both the low and middle styles. 33 However it is defined, comedy for Dante certainly overlapped with satire in its castigation of vice, and its openness to a wide range of language. It would be mistaken, however, to consider one work or biographical phase only as representative of Dante’s exploration of the satirical style. Rather, the derision of vice is a trait that runs through Dante’s entire literary production. In his genre study on satire, Northrop Frye provides a definition that can easily be applied to much of Dante’s writing: “satire is militant irony: its moral norms are relatively clear, and it assumes standards against which the grotesque and the absurd are measured.” 34 On numerous occasions, Dante adopts the identity of the man who stands on the side of righteousness chastising an opponent who is in the wrong (however right and wrong might have been defined in any specific circumstance). 35 He presents himself as a stern moralist decrying the flaws of the ignorant or vices of the sinful. Many of his own contemporaries also confirm this reputation by celebrating him as the whistleblower of his own generation. In doing so, they either remember him as a “censor” or as a man who exposes the wrongdoing of humankind. 36 Literary satire, as Brian A. Connery and Kirk Combe explain, refers to matters outside the text, particularly its author’s intention to attack worldly degeneration; it therefore draws attention to the author as a human being more than other types of literature. 37 Dante’s forays into satire go under many names in Dante criticism: from “invective” 38 or “sarcasm,” to more romantic characterizations of the poet’s “indignation,” 39 “moral anger,” 40 or “religious zeal.” 41 These expressions, and others, underscore Dante’s morally upright literary persona and the moral righteousness that inspired him (ex indignatione). But Dante’s personal motivations are of less interest to us here than the literary vehicle that gave them expression. The thread that unifies these numerous instances is satire, as prescribed by literary theorists: blunt language employed with the purpose of censuring wickedness. To illustrate the centrality of satire to Dante’s work, we will discuss canto 29 of Paradiso for a moment. It is important to identify the satiric elements in Dante’s Paradiso because it has not been traditionally connected to satire like other parts of his corpus such as Inferno and Purgatorio. Nevertheless, as we aim to show throughout our volume, satire is ubiquitous in Dante’s works, even toward the end of his life. At this point in his narrative, Dante is near the end of his journey. He has traversed the circles of the heavens and is about to come before God’s presence in the Empyrean, and yet in the midst of the poet’s awe and joy, he still devotes several tercets to decrying immorality. Here Beatrice launches into an invective against the empty philosophizing of preachers (vv. 85–126). Like numerous authors of satires, Beatrice seemingly presents not an exaggeration, but instead the accurate portrait of a distorted world. 42

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Throughout the passage, Beatrice’s indignation is foremost. She openly derides the self-serving motives of the preachers who wish to appear wise (vv. 94–96), to inspire laughter (v. 116), and to gain through material rewards (vv. 124–126). 43 More importantly, she associates them with the forces of evil, mentioning the devils hidden in their cowls (vv. 118–120). These avian demons call to mind the description of Lucifer at the end of Inferno, 44 and thus echo the discussion of the fallen angels earlier in the canto (vv. 55–58). Furthermore, H. D. Austin notes that Beatrice’s insults form a subtle link to an earlier invective in Paradiso; the preachers’ cowls recollect Peter Damian’s diatribe in the twenty-first canto against corrupt cardinals, during which he asserts that their hats have become containers of evil. 45 Yet canto 29 has links to other satirical passages in Paradiso as well. Beatrice’s reminiscence of the martyrs’ blood (vv. 91‒93) connects to Peter’s wrath only two cantos prior, 46 and her depiction of the preachers’ piggishness (v. 125) recalls the corruption of the modern-day Dominicans in the eleventh canto. 47 In other words, Beatrice’s denunciation in Paradiso 29 serves a second function beyond decrying the idle preachers. It draws to a close a network of anticlerical statements that runs through the entire third canticle of the Commedia, from the corruption of the orders of the Franciscans (canto 12), and the Dominicans (canto 11), to the cardinals (canto 21), to finally the papacy itself (canto 27). Throughout Paradiso, Dante engages in the commonplace strategy of highlighting the clerics’ hypocrisy by contrasting their self-serving actions with traditional Christian teachings. 48 In the literary tradition, anticlericalism, while a topos of medieval satiric literature, 49 is not merely empty rhetoric, but is frequently a reaction against specific historical events. 50 That is certainly true of Paradiso, in which Dante, through his mouthpiece Beatrice, takes to task specific instances of clerical abuses. A series of invectives analogous to that described above in Paradiso, for instance, appears in Inferno as well. Here Dante’s satire of the moral degradation of various Italian cities strongly evokes Juvenal’s harsh criticism of city life. 51 Throughout the eighth and ninth circles of Hell, the voice of the narrator interrupts the narrative, vituperating the cities of Pistoia (Inferno 25.10–12), Florence (Inferno 26.1–6), Pisa (Inferno 33.79–90), and Genoa (Inferno 33.151–57). The poet curses the cities in ways reminiscent of the punishments of the sinners he has just witnessed: Pistoia should immolate itself, like Vanni Fucci; the dragon on the back of the centaur Cacus has wings like Lucifer and the city of Florence; may Pisa be flooded by the waters of the Arno, he proclaims, evoking the traitors immersed in the ice of Cocytus; and just as the soul of Frate Alberigo plummeted from the world of the living, the Genoese should disappear from the face of the earth. And this brief overview does not fully take into account the myriad of shorter, ironic statements that highlight people’s ethical failings. 52

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Satiric statements like these function to draw together the disparate members of the audience, inducing feelings of opposition against the groups targeted by the author. 53 Readers of Dante’s Inferno align themselves with the poet, and by extension, with Christian morality against the characters who inhabit his underworld. For Dante, satire should not be viewed strictly as a literary style, as a specific use of language or lexicon. As a genre it has been found to be resistant to a formalist approach. 54 As Matthew Hodgart writes, satire may assume many sub-forms, including that which “occurs episodically or fragmentarily in works not intended to be wholly satirical.” 55 Rather, the moral intention behind satire is its key characteristic, and this probably explains Dante’s adherence to it throughout his work. Barański observes that Dante’s literary experimentation far surpassed any theorization of the comic style. 56 He concludes that, for Dante, the wide linguistic range of his Commedia encompasses every subject matter and style, so that in the end his title, Commedia, came to stand in for all literature. 57 From Barański’s observation, Dante’s magnum opus can be considered a polylinguistic framework within which Dante situates passages of other genres, from the exalted to the base. His satiric statements, such as those under examination, constitute those moments when the Commedia fulfills its ethical function of castigating the sinful. The scope of this volume, therefore, is not limited to the Commedia because the reprehension of vice is present in most of Dante’s writings, and expressively delivered by him in both vernacular and Latin languages. Dante signed his thirteenth epistle, addressed to Cangrande della Scala, with the designation “Dante Alighieri, Florentine of birth, but not of morals.” 58 He used his signature of the epistle to underscore the wickedness of the Florentines, or to use Charles A. Knight’s expression, to assert that he was exiled from a country while proclaiming that he is not of that country. 59 Dante’s caustic tone reaches devastating proportions with his seventh epistle addressed to the Emperor Henry VII. Here the poet depicts Florence as a petty stinking she-fox, an “ill-omened beast,” “the viper who turns against the vitals of her own mother,” and the “sick sheep, which infects her master’s flock with her disease.” 60 With these memorable metaphors, he mimics the satiro who denounces vices with the humble and sharp speech of satire. In his treatise on language and literature, De vulgari eloquentia (ca. 1303–1305), Dante evaluated the Italian dialects to determine which, if any, had the requisite qualities to be the national language of Italy (1.11–16). 61 All were found wanting. Pier Vincenzo Mengaldo compares Dante’s lengthy assessment of the dialects to the trope of linguistic satires. 62 Indeed, many satirists can be described as “linguists of a special order,” able to identify misleading rhetoric and to imitate decadent verbosity. 63 In De vulgari eloquentia Dante does so as well, describing the Roman accent as extremely

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ugly (“turpissimum”), thus mirroring the ugliness of the morals of that city (1.11.2); he rules out the dialects of Ancona, Spoleto, Milan, and Bergamo because they have been the subjects of derisive poems—and so too have their inhabitants (1.11.3–5); the Sardinians have no grammar for themselves, but imitate others’ speech like monkeys (1.11.7). The poetry of Sicily, written at the time of the noble Frederick II and his heirs, he writes, attained extraordinary heights, but now its dialect languishes and its decay emphasizes the pettiness of its people and their leaders (1.12.5). The Tuscans have become demented in their folly, and thus none of their idioms pass muster (1.13.1–6), and so on. Throughout this sequence, Dante repeatedly uses derisive expressions to highlight not only the shortcomings of the local idioms, but also the vices of the populations that speak them. He composes sentences in imitation of the Italian dialects and, in the process, succinctly highlights the failings of their speakers. Scholars have recently drawn attention to the satirical value of Dante’s other treatises. Ambrogio Camozzi Pistoja assesses the Convivio as a vernacular satire that anticipated his masterpiece. 64 Its polemical content is immediately expressed at the opening with terms such as “vituperate” or “blame” (e.g., “la propria loda e lo proprio biasimo,” 1.2.8). Its very title Convivio (“banquet”) suggests a link with satura in the sense of a full dish filled with various lavish foods, 65 because it will contain a type of metaphorical bread— the explications of the poems—that will cause both enjoyment and pain (“e quelli e questi prendano la mia vivanda col pane, che la farò loro e gustare e patire,” 1.1.13). In addition, much satirical material appears in his political work Monarchia, in which he argues in favor of the emperor over the pope. 66 One example emerges from Book Three (3.17). Here Dante launches an attack against the Guelphs who “bedecked with crow feathers make an ostentatious display of themselves as white sheep in the flock of the Lord. These, the sons of iniquity, who, so that they may perpetrate their shameful crimes, prostitute their mother, expel their brothers, and then refuse to submit to a judge.” 67 Satire as a genre also appears in Dante’s lyric corpus. Some of Dante’s sonnets highlight the immorality of their recipients (e.g., the sonnet to Cino da Pistoia, “Io mi credea del tutto esser partito,” ca. 1306), 68 or slander them outright (e.g., the tenzone with Forese Donati, ca. 1290‒1295). 69 In short, satire is a thread that runs through many of Dante’s works. Dante also was the target of satire. Contemporary poets denigrated him personally in their verse, or exposed the weaknesses they perceived in his writings. Cecco Angiolieri (ca. 1260‒1312), for example, wrote three sonnets to Dante. In probably the last of these, a response to a perceived insult, Angiolieri alluded to Dante’s impoverished conditions after exile. 70 In another poem, Guido Cavalcanti (d. 1300) complained of the “vile” company Dante was keeping, and lamented his “vile” new ways of thinking. 71 Lastly,

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Dante da Maiano responded rudely to the first sonnet of Dante’s Vita Nova. Dante da Maiano explained the dream about Beatrice as a sexual hallucination, and recommended that Alighieri remedy the situation by washing his testicles (v. 7). 72 In these instances and others like them, it is probably better to speak of “Dante satirized” rather than “Dante the Satirist.” The contributors to this collection examine the satirical aspects of Dante’s lyric poetry, epistles, De vulgari eloquentia, and Convivio, with particular attention given to the Commedia. The volume consists of nine contributions collected in two broad sections. Each essay treats the employment of satire in connection to Dante himself: either in his masterpiece or in his minor works; and, in the coda to the collection, to us in our contemporary society. The opening segment of the volume focuses on Dante’s masterpiece, the Commedia. In chapter 1, Franco Suitner examines the reference to the “shameful meter” (“ontoso metro”) from canto 7 of the Inferno, where the avaricious exchange insults with the prodigal. By juxtaposing selected poems from the satirical corpus of the Carmina Burana and by Iacopone da Todi, Suitner finds important parallels with Dante’s Inferno, thus convincingly arguing that the entire canto is framed within the medieval Latin literary tradition of vituperation and caricature. Above all, one song from the Carmina Burana employs the exact verbs (i.e., “dare” and “tenere”) used by the avaricious and the prodigal in their poetic exchange. Furthermore, Suitner includes an analysis of the opening line of the canto, “Papé Satàn, papé Satàn aleppe,” shouted by Plutus, which echoes other earlier satirical texts against avarice and likely contains double meanings and allusions to other anticlerical satires. Lastly, Suitner argues that the canto contains various references to biting and dogs, as well as ironic allusions to prominent clerical sinners, thus suggesting that Canto VII constitutes one of the most eminent examples of gnomic and satirical literature in the Inferno. In chapter 2, Ronald L. Martinez builds upon studies that show the relevance of Horace’s Ars poetica to Dante’s representation of the popes in the third bolgia of the Inferno. Medieval glosses on Horace’s treatise also emphasized his views in ways that enabled Dante’s conception of satire as an inversion of the high and the low and of reversing what comes first with what comes last. By exploring the closely related patterns over the poem of spatial inversion, Martinez shows how Dante renders popes as upside-down, as well as Dante’s chronological sequences in the representations of Boniface VIII, Hadrian V, and St. Peter, along with the final invective in Paradiso. The satirical tenor of the poem is thus closely synchronized with Dante’s fashioning of his poetic identity and his conception of the fundamental purpose of his poem. In chapter 3, Mary Watt explores Dante’s use of the notion of the “world upside-down” to satirize sodomy in the Inferno. Her study starts with an

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examination of the final image of Inferno 15 in which Brunetto Latini turns his naked buttocks to Dante and runs away, and concludes with the final image of Inferno 21 where the demon “makes a trumpet of his ass.” Drawing on Bahktin’s theory of the carnivalesque and Hutcheon’s pivotal study of parody, Watt proposes that these and other similar images work in tandem to reveal a deeper meaning beyond the mere condemnation of sodomy. The study also examines the important role of language as an indicator for the act of turning and/or turning backward so as to present the entire Inferno as an act of sodomy, that is, a metonymic representation of violence against nature. Consequently, Watt considers Dante’s concern, as articulated by Justinian in Paradiso 6, that Constantine’s move to Byzantium has turned the Empire against its natural course. She investigates the extent to which Dante’s use of satire with respect to sodomy might function as a carnivalesque denunciation of the Donation of Constantine. In the last essay of the volume’s first section, Maggie Fritz-Morkin scrutinizes Paradiso 27 and Saint Peter’s invective launched against ecclesiastical corruption. The poet fills Peter’s mouth with a satirical tirade of infernal imagery—blood, sewers, even cannibalism—ensuring that the first pope’s final words in the Commedia are repugnant, in contrast to Paradiso’s ambience of divine resplendence, unity, and harmony. Fritz-Morkin claims that the canto, which has essentially been read as disparate, is thematically integrated by the affective connection of all parts of creation in accord with the Primum Mobile. The fifth essay opens the second section of the volume, dedicated to satire in Dante’s minor works, by examining De vulgari eloquentia. Anthony Nussmeier focuses on the satirical value of Dante’s Latin treatise from multiple perspectives. He takes into consideration the comic derision of Italian vernaculars, the clash between rural and urban spaces, Dante’s use of a satirical lexicon, and poetic examples (e.g., “Una fermana scopai”). Along with its harsh criticism against vice and poetic transgressions, De vulgari eloquentia juxtaposes poetic models of virtue, thus suggesting that its main aim is to correct poetic malpractice by juxtaposing it to worthy poetry. Overall, Nussmeier proposes that interpreting De vulgari eloquentia as a satire is not in contradiction with other more established readings, because it enriches our understanding of Dante’s work. In so doing, it can now be approached as a precursor of modern literary criticism, because it carefully assesses and criticizes individual poets and poetic movements. Beatrice Arduini’s contribution explores one of the most remarkable aspects of the first book of the Convivio, that is, the lack of invective directed toward Florence. She argues that Dante’s concern with his reputation in the early years of his exile extended in particular to his reputation in his native city that Dante evoked as the “sweet bosom” of Florence in Convivio 1.3. The use of emotional and satirical tones in the Convivio expresses the wish to

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return to home and family as a primary motive for writing his philosophical and political essay. Not until all hopes of such a return are abandoned does Dante’s tone shift in his fourth book—its last extant portion—of his incomplete Convivio to castigate Florence for sending him into exile. Among the lexical-syntactic forms of the satire, Arduini includes tropes such as double meanings, sarcastic expressions, forms of comedic amplification, rhetorical questions, invectives, and profane language. Although these are polyvalent constructions and are not exclusive to this genre, they are all part of the instruments of poetic satire. In the seventh essay, “The Conundrum of Genre: Dante’s ‘Doglia mi reca,’” Fabian Alfie discusses Dante’s canzone “Doglia mi reca,” as an example of satiric poetry. Throughout the poem, Dante employs techniques and literary terminology suggestive of medieval satires. The “conundrum” of the title deals with Dante’s reference to the poem in his treatise on literature and language, De vulgari eloquentia. There, Dante treats the canzone as an example of “moral poetry,” thus suggesting that satire belonged to the high style, and not the low as typically described. In the last essay of this section, Nicolino Applauso focuses on the elements of violence, satire, and prophecy in the ars dictaminis and Dante’s political epistles. By anchoring Dante’s political epistles within the tradition of the ars dictaminis, Applauso explores the connection between Dante’s aggressive style and satirical content. Even though the study focuses primarily on the sixth epistle addressed to the Florentines, it also examines other significant letters written by Dante, by focusing on their powerful and polemical style and content in order to assess the role of satire in Dante’s Latin prose. Overall, the essay seeks to gain a better understanding of the ethical value of Dante’s political letters in their double role of reprehending the wicked and unveiling the truth in order to elicit the readers’ response, and ultimately appreciate their original contribution to the ars dictaminis. The volume closes with a coda, consisting of Arielle Saiber’s reflection on the impact that Dante’s Commedia has in modern life as social and political satire. Saiber discusses how and why Dante and his works have been so repeatedly and reductively exploited for contemporary satirical ends. The Dante meme—most frequently employed to signal sin, punishment, suffering, and hot things (Dan T’s Hot Sauce™, case in point)—continues to thrive. Clearly, our modern world, similar but not identical to the Italian Middle Ages, finds these evils, or the mockery of them, both funny and a useful means for socio-political critique. This not to say, however, that our present society does not also venerate and celebrate the Poet whose Pilgrim and verses went far beyond such memorable horrors. Dante’s literary genius, his association with Italy and the Italian language, his exemplary enduring love, his successful journey, his “everyman” status, and his theological learn-

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ing are reverently reflected in innumerable visual, verbal, and musical illustrations, adaptations, and citations. As these studies will collectively show, Dante embraced the medieval tradition of satire best exemplified by classic authors such as Horace, Juvenal, Persius, and Lucilius, and theorized by numerous others. For many of the scholars in this volume, to examine satire implies taking a particular critical stance toward Dante’s works; to understand his satiric statements requires a historical orientation, at least in part, toward the passages at hand. This historical perspective has been consistently acknowledged by the earliest scholars both within the manuscript and printing traditions. Dante’s fourteenth-century commentators unearthed the specific historical references that emerged from each canto of the Commedia. Giovanni Mario Crescimbeni, who wrote the first comprehensive history of Italian literature, also persisted in focusing on the historical context of Dante’s masterpiece. Crescimbeni even ventured to say that the genre of satire started in Italy with Dante’s masterpiece. 73 The original political, social, and cultural developments of the time need to be understood in their historical complexity, if we seek to interpret adequately his invectives. Such a view may stand in contrast to other critical stances that are valid in different contexts. One description of Dante that developed in the Renaissance, for example, is that of Dante the theologian (Dante theologus), and Dante certainly presented a transhistorical Christian afterlife inspired by influential theologians and prophets from across the centuries. However, in the instances studied herein he appears most like a man of the Middle Ages, engaged in the specific controversies of the years in which he lived. His purpose for employing literary satire was to bring about a renewal of society and its institutions, and of the Church, in his lifetime. By discussing the satiric elements in Dante’s writings, it is the aim of this volume to explore the complexity of these primary literary tools at his disposal for his objective, the castigation of vice. NOTES 1. After we began this project, we learned of a short article that had used the same title: Alberto Viviani, “Dante satiro,” La Martinella di Milano 19 (1965): 163–80. 2. Guido da Pisa is cited from Henry Ansgar Kelly, Tragedy and Comedy from Dante to Pseudo-Dante (Berkeley, Los Angeles, CA, and London: University of California Press, 1989), 19. The translation is ours. 3. Translations of Dante’s Commedia are cited from The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, vol. 1, Inferno, trans. Robert M. Durling (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996); and The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, vol. 3, Paradiso, trans. Robert M. Durling (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011). 4. Zygmunt G. Barański, “Magister satiricus: Preliminary Notes on Dante, Horace and the Middle Ages,” Language and Style in Dante: Seven Essays, ed. John C. Barnes and Michelangelo Zaccarello (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2013), 23–61; here 17. 5. Zygmunt G. Barański, “Magister satiricus” (see note 4), 23. Karsten Friis-Jensen, furthermore, asserts that Dante’s epithet of Horace (“Orazio satiro”) probably “reflects a special

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status for the Satires and Epistles [written by Horace] in the later Middle Ages”; see Karstin Friis-Jensen, “The Reception of Horace in the Middle Ages,” in The Cambridge Companion to Horace, ed. Stephen Harrison (Cambridge, UK, and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 291–304; here 304. Friis-Jensen’s chapter offers an overview of the medieval reception of Horace. 6. Catherine Keane, “Defining the Art of Blame: Classical Satire,” in A Companion to Satire: Ancient and Modern, ed. Ruben Quintero. Blackwell Companions to Literature and Culture, 46 (Malden, MA, Oxford, and Victoria, Australia: Blackwell Publishing, 2007), 31–51; here 31. 7. See Mikhail Bakhtin, Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics, ed. and trans., Caryl Emerson, (originally published, 1929; Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1984); and Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1957), 225. 8. See Howard D. Weinbrot, Menippean Satire Reconsidered. From Antiquity to the Eighteenth Century (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2005). 9. Laura Kendrick, “Medieval Satire,” A Companion to Satire (see note 6), 52–69; here 52. 10. Suzanne Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89): Dante, the Roman Satirists, and the Medieval Theory of Satire,” The Italianist 15, Supplement 2 (1995): 128–42; here 129. 11. It should be noted that several commentators mistook “satiro” not as a reference to Horace’s style, but as his cognomen. These include Jacopo della Lana (ca. 1324–1328), and the author of anonimo selmiano. The commentators of the Divine Commedia are cited from the Dartmouth Dante Project: https://dante.dartmouth.edu/ (last accessed on 13 May 2019); the translations are ours. 12. In addition, Giovanni Boccaccio (1373–1375), in his Expositions on the Commedy, writes: “Orazio [. . .] fu acerrimo riprenditore de’ vizj, per la qual cosa meritò di essere chiamato satiro” (“Horace [. . .] was an extremely fierce reprehender of vices, for which reason he merited to be called a satirist”). Similarly, Benvenuto da Imola (1375–1380) explains the genre: “et descripsit satiram, idest materiam reprehensoriam” (“and he described satire, that is material of reprehension”). Furthermore, the anonimo fiorentino (ca. 1400) describes Horace: “fu aspro riprenditore de’ vizij degli uomini, et per tanto fu poeta satiro” (“he was a fierce reprehender of the vices of men, and for this he was a satiric poet”). 13. Paul Miller, “John Gower, Satiric Poet,” in Gower’s Confessio Amantis: Responses and Reassessments, ed. A. J. Minnis (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1983), 79–105; here 80–81. See also Rossella D’Alfonso, “‘Comico’ e ‘commedia’: appunti sul titolo del poema dantesco,” Filologia e critica 7 (1982): 3–41; here 20. 14. Ben Parsons, “‘A Riotous Spray of Words’: Rethinking the Medieval Theory of Satire,” Exemplaria 21, no. 2 (2009): 105–28; here 108. 15. Suzanne Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89)” (see note 10), 129. 16. Pier Giorgio Ricci, “La tradizione dell’invettiva tra il Medioevo e l’Umanesimo,” Lettere italiane 26, no. 4 (1974): 405–14; here 407. 17. Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays (see note 7), 225. 18. Zygmunt G. Barański, “Magister satiricus” (see note 4), 14–15. 19. For a general definition of the genre of satire, of the use of laughter to expose people’s failings, see Conal Condren, “Satire,” in Encyclopedia of Humor Studies, ed., Salvatore Attardo (New York: Sage Publications, 2014), 661–63. There is, of course, a broad bibliography of satiric and comic literature throughout the Middle Ages and afterward; for a brief overview, see the following: Martha Bayless, “History of Humor: Medieval Europe,” in Encyclopedia of Humor Studies, ed. Salvatore Attardo (New York: Sage Publications, 2014), 298–302; Jacques LeGoff, “Laughter in the Middle Ages,” in A Cultural History of Humour: From Antiquity to the Present Day, ed. Jan Bremmer and Herman Roodenburg (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1997), 40–53; and Peter Burke, “Frontiers of the Comic in Early Modern Italy, c. 1350–1750,” in A Cultural History of Humour: From Antiquity to the Present Day, ed. Jan Bremmer and Herman Roodenburg (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1997), 61–75. 20. Suzanne Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89)” (see note 10), 129. It should be noted that both etymologies for “satire” also appear in the commentary by L’Ottimo commento, who wrote: “Satiro cioè pieno di facundia, però che di più cose insieme li poeti satiri favellano.

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O sono detti satiri da quella scodella decta satira, la quale piena de diverse biade o fructi li solea portare a li templi delli dii de pagani. O da satiri che si dice che faceano molte cose per violenza” (“Satirist, that is full of eloquence, because satiric poets speak about many things together. Or they are called satirists from that plate called satura, which is full of various foods and fruits and which used to be carried to the temples of the pagan gods. Or from satyrs, who, it is said, did many things through violence”). 21. C. A. Van Rooy, Studies in Classical Satire and Related Literary Theory (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1965), 5; and Charles A. Knight, “Imagination’s Cerberus: Satire and Metaphor of Genre,” Philological Quarterly 69, no. 2 (1990): 131–52; here 139. 22. Suzanne Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89)” (see note 10), 129. 23. Michael Seidel, Satiric Inheritance: Rabelais to Sterne (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979), 6. Although the connection between animal figures and satyrs has not received much attention, in several medieval sources this connection is consistently stated. Some bestiaries even include the satyr or faun in the list of animals. In one example, there is a clear etymological distinction between the faun, which is connected to the Greek tradition of Old Comedy, and the satyr, which is connected to Roman satires; see Hans Tuzzi, Bestiario bibliofilo: imprese di animali nelle marche tipografiche dal XV al XVIII secolo (e altro) (Milan: Sylvestre Bonnard, 2009), 41, 72, and 124. As another example, an early fourteenthcentury bestiary from Gubbio devotes a separate entry to the “satiro.” Here the satyr is described as someone who “ad omo e ad animalia resomiglia, / fore de suo paese poco dura, / e a gran[de] metidio se piglia. (“resembles a man and an animal, / outside his own country lasts little, / and gains profound shrewdness,” 1–4; translation is ours). The physical features of his beard are curiously associated with his Greek origin, and his ethics could be characterized by both positive and negative qualities. The bestiary from Gubbio is cited from Luigina Morini, “Bestiario moralizzato di Gubbio,” in Bestiari medievali, ed. Luigina Morini (Turin: Einaudi, 1996), 487–547. 24. Pier Vincenzo Mengaldo, “L’elegia ‘umile’ (De vulgari eloquentia II iv 5–6),” in Linguistica e retorica di Dante (Pisa: Nistri-Lischi, 1978), 200–222; here 206–207. 25. Rossella D’Alfonso, “‘Comico’ e ‘commedia’” (see note 13), 19. 26. Ben Parsons, “‘A Riotous Spray of Words’: Rethinking the Medieval Theory of Satire,” 115–16. Dante was knowledgeable of John of Garland’s Poetria Parisiana; see Giovanni Nencioni, “Dante e la retorica,” in Tra grammatica e retorica. Da Dante a Pirandello (Turin: Einaudi, 1983), 111. 27. Henry Ansgar Kelly, Tragedy and Comedy from Dante to Pseudo-Dante (see note 2), 22. 28. Benvenuto da Imola places special emphasis on the term “satire” while discussing Dante’s choice to call his masterpiece Commedia. Before concluding that the meaning of the chosen title is a mere expression of style, he acknowledges that “convenientius posset intitulari satyra, quam tragoedia, vel comoedia” (“it could have been more suitably entitled satire, rather than tragedy or comedy”). John Scott points out that Erich Auerbach was perhaps the first scholar to emphasize this point; see John A. Scott, Understanding Dante (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2004), 171–72. Auerbach’s concept of sermo humilis is indeed relevant in this context, see Erich Auerbach, Literary Language and Its Public in Late Latin Antiquity in the Middle Ages, trans. Ralph Manheim (New York: Pantheon, 1965). 29. Judson Boyce Allen, The Ethical Poetic of the Later Middle Ages: A Decorum of Convenient Distinction (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1982), 19–20. 30. Judson Boyce Allen, “Hermann the German’s Averroistic Aristotle and Medieval Poetic Theory,” Mosaic 9 (1976): 67–81; here 68–69. 31. Zygmunt G. Barański, “‘Tres enim sun materie dicendi. . .’: Some Observations on Medieval Literature, ‘Genre,’ and Dante,” The Italianist 15, supplement 2 (1995): 9–60; here 43. 32. Claudia Villa, La “Lectura Terentii,” vol. 1 (Padua: Antenore, 1984), 222. Like Horace, Terence had become a cultural touchstone throughout the European Middle Ages by Dante’s age; as evidence, see the plays of Hrotsvit of Gandersheim. For an overview of Hrotsvit’s absorption of Terence’s literature, see Albrecht Classen, “Sex on the Stage (and in the Library)

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of an Early Medieval Convent: Hrotsvit of Gandersheim,” Orbis Literarum 65, no. 3 (2010): 167–200. 33. Suzanne Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89)” (see note 10), 132. 34. Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays (see note 7), 223. 35. George Southcombe, Almut Suerbaum, and Benjamin Thompson, “Introduction,” in Polemic: Language as Violence in Medieval and Early Modern Discourse (Surrey, Burlington VT: Ashgate, 2015), 1–15; here 6. 36. See, for example, Giovanni del Virgilio who addresses Dante as a “censor”; see Vittorio Cian, La satira (Milan: Vallardi, 1939), 165. Cino da Pistoia wrote the canzone “Su per la costa, Amor, de l’alto monte” shortly after Dante’s death, and commemorates his “ingegno” (genius) as a spring from which everyone can see their own flaws exposed; see Nick R. Havely, Dante (Malden: Blackwell, 2007), 53–54. 37. Brian A. Connery and Kirk Combe, “Theorizing Satire: A Retrospective and Introduction,” in Theorizing Satire: Essays in Literary Criticism, ed. Brian A. Connery and Kirk Combe (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995), 1–15; here 4–5. 38. See, for example, Claire Honess, “The Language(s) of Civic Invective in Dante: Rhetoric, Satire, and Politics,” Italian Studies 68, no. 2 (2013): 157–74; here 158. 39. See, for example, William Warren Vernon, “Canto XXI,” in Readings on the Paradiso of Dante, vol. 2 (Freeport: Books for Libraries Press, 1972), 126–58; here 156. 40. See, for example, Ermengildo Pistelli, Il canto XIV del Purgatorio letto da Ermengildo Pistelli nella Sala di Dante in Orsanmichele (Florence: Sansoni, 1909), 10. 41. See, for example, Francesco Paolo Luiso, Il canto XXI del Paradiso letto da Francesco Paolo Luiso nella Sala di Dante in Orsanmichele (Florence: Sansoni, 1912), 55. 42. Alvin B. Kernan, The Plot of Satire (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1965), 5. 43. The commentators contribute to Beatrice’s characterization of the preachers. Francesco da Buti (ca. 1385–1395) interprets the cowl as indicative of their bloated egos: “gonfia ‘l cappuccio; cioè, gonfia lo capo del predicatore per vana gloria, che vede piacere lo suo dire” ([. . .] the cowl puffs up: that is, the preachers’ head puffs up with vainglory, because he sees his statement be pleasing”). Benvenuto da Imola (ca. 1375–1380) characterizes the preachers’ yearning for material gains: “scilicet, per predicatorem, quia non quaerit facere alium fructum animarum, sed habere caponem, lucium, vinum vel turtam, et saepe pecuniam multam a pingui mercatore, divite muliere, et famoso foeneratore” (“that is, for the preacher because he seeks no other fruit for the souls, but instead to have a capon, profit, wine or cake, and a lot of coins from a fat merchant, a wealthy woman, and from an infamous moneylender”). 44. See Dante’s description of Lucifer as “tanto uccello” (“such a bird”) in Inferno 34.47. 45. H. D. Austin, “Dante Notes,” Romanic Review 30, no. 1 (1939): 15–19; here 18. Peter Damian describes the cardinals’ hats: “quel cappello / ch pur di male in peggio si travasa” (“that hat which is still transferred from bad vessels to worse,” Paradiso 21.125–126). 46. In Paradiso 27, Peter asserts: “Non fu la sposa di Cristo allevata / del sangue mio, di Lin, di quel di Cleto, / per essere ad acquisto d’oro usata” (“The bride of Christ was not raised up by my blood, by Linus’s, by that of Anacletus, to be used for acquiring gold,” Paradiso 27.40–42). 47. See Thomas’s characterization of Dominicans’flock: “Ma ‘l suo pecuglio di nova vivanda / è fatto ghiotto [. . .]” (“But his flock has become greedy for new foods,” vv. 124–125). 48. František Graus, “The Church and its Critics in Time of Crisis,” in Anticlericalism in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. Peter A. Dykema and Heiko A. Oberman (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1993), 65–81; here 70. See also Antonio Corsaro, “Parodia del sacro dal medioevo al rinascimento,” in Gli “Irregolari” nella letteratura: Eterodossi, parodisti, funamboli della Parola. Atti del Convegno di Catania 31 ottobre–2 novembre 2005 (Rome: Salerno Editrice, 2007), 63–92. 49. Maurizio Vitale, La lingua dei poeti realistici-giocosi del ’200 e del ’300 (Milan: La Goliardica, 1955), 17. 50. Donald Weinstein, “Writing the Book on Italian Anticlericalism,” in Anticlericalism in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ed. Peter A. Dykema and Heiko A. Oberman (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1993), 309–13; here 310.

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51. See, for example, Juvenal’s third satire (“Satura III”), which criticizes the city of Rome. A recent study on the connection between Juvenal and Rome and its legacy in modern literature is David H. J. Larmour, The Arena of Satire: Juvenal’s Search for Rome (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2016). 52. In a two-volume study, Enrico Sannia attempted to study comprehensively every sarcastic or humoristic statement in the Commedia. See Enrico Sannia, Il comico l’umorismo e la satira nella Divina Commedia, con un’appendice su “La concezione dantesca del Purgatorio” (Milan: Hoepli, 1909). 53. Don L. F. Nilsen, “Satire—The Necessary and Sufficient Conditions—Some Preliminary Observations,” Studies in Contemporary Satire 15 (1988): 1–10; here 1. 54. Brian A. Connery and Kirk Combe, “Theorizing Satire: A Retrospective and Introduction,” 5. See also Kirk Combe, “The New Voice of Political Dissent: The Transition from Complaint to Satire,” in Theorizing Satire: Essays in Literary Criticism, ed. Brian A. Connery and Kirk Combe (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995), 73–94; here 73. 55. Matthew Hodgart, Satire: Origins and Principles (New Brunswick and London: Transaction Publishers, 2010), 12–13. 56. Zygmunt G. Barański, “Dante, the Roman Comedians, and the Medieval Theory of Comedy,” The Italianist 15, Supplement 2 (1995): 61–99; here 62. 57. Zygmunt G. Barański, “Dante, the Roman Comedians, and the Medieval Theory of Comedy” (see note 56), 82. 58. Dante wrote: “Dantes Alagherii florentinus natione non moribus.” Cited from Dante Alighieri, Opere minori, vol. 3, tome 2, Epistole, Egloghe, Questio de aqua et terra, ed. Arsenio Frugoni, Giorgio Brugnoli, Enzo Cecchini, and Francesco Mazzoni (Milan and Naples: Ricciardi, 1995). 59. Charles A. Knight, “Satiric Exile,” in The Literature of Satire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 81–115; here 81. 60. Cited from Claire E. Honess’s translation of Dante Alighieri, Four Political Letters (London: Modern Humanities Research Association, 2007), 78. 61. Cited from Dante Alighieri, Opere minori, vol. 3, tome 1, De vulgari eloquentia, Monarchia, ed. Pier Vincenzo Mengaldo and Bruno Nardi (Milan and Naples: Ricciardi, 1995). 62. Pier Vincenzo Mengaldo, “De vulgari eloquentia,” in Enciclopedia dantesca, vol. 2 (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1971), 410. See also Cesare Segre, “Polemica linguistica ed espressionismo dialettale nella letteratura italiana,” in Lingua, stile e società. Nuova edizione ampliata (Milan: Feltrinelli, 1974), 397–426; here 398. 63. John C. Clark, “Vapid Voices and Sleazy Styles,” in Theorizing Satire: Essays in Literary Criticism, ed. Brian A. Connery and Kirk Combe (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1995), 19–42; here 21. 64. See Ambrogio Camozzi Pistoja, “Il quarto trattato del Convivio. O della satira,” Le Tre Corone: Rivista internazionale di studi su Dante, Petrarca, Boccaccio 1 (2014): 27–53. 65. Camozzi Pistoja, “Il quarto trattato” (see note 64), 53. 66. See, for example, the book 2 of Monarchia, which contains various sarcastic passages and numerous citations of satirical authors such as Juvenal (e.g., Monarchia 2.3; cfr. Cassell note 124 p. 305). See also Nicolino Applauso, “Sarcasm and its Consequences in Diplomacy and Politics during Medieval Italy: Brunetto Latini’s Letter to Pavia and Dante’s Monarchia,” in Words that Tear the Flesh: Sarcasm in Medieval and Early Modern Literature and Cultures, ed. Alan Baragona and Elizabeth Rambo (New York and Boston: Walter de Gruyter, 2018), 119–42. 67. Cited from Anthony K. Cassell, The Monarchia Controversy: An Historical Study with Accompanying Translations of Dante Alighieri’s Monarchia, Guido Vernani’s Refutation of the “Monarchia” Composed by Dante, and Pope John XXII’s Bull Si fratrum (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2004), 153. 68. Dante Alighieri, Rime, ed. Domenico De Robertis (Florence: Edizioni del Galluzzo 2005), 509–10. 69. See Fabian Alfie, Dante’s Tenzone with Forese Donati: The Reprehension of Vice (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2012).

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70. Angiolieri included a reference to Dante’s residence in Verona, indicating the date of composition as 1304. See Cecco Angiolieri’s sonnet, “Dante Alighier, s’i’ so’ buon begolardo,” in particular v. 8. Cecco Angiolieri is cited from Cecco Angiolieri, Le rime, ed. Antonio Lanza (Rome: Guido Izzi, 1990). 71. See Guido Cavalcanti’s sonnet “I’ vegno ’l giorno a te ’nfinite volte.” Cited from Guido Cavalcanti, Rime, ed. Marcello Ciccuto (Milan: BUR, 1996). 72. See Dante da Maiano’s sonnet, “Di ciò che stato sè dimandatore.” Cited from Dante Alighieri, Opere di Dante, vol. 1, Vita Nuova—Rime, ed. Donato Pirovano and Marco Grimaldi (Rome: Salerno, 2015). 73. Giovanni Mario Crescimbeni wrote: “La Satira, non v’ha dubbio alcuno, che inconminciò tra gl’Italiani colla Commedia suddetta di Dante” (“There is no doubt that satire started among Italians with the aforesaid Comedy by Dante”). See Giovanni Mario Crescimbeni, Commentari intorno alla Istoria della volgar poesia, vol. 1 (Rome: Antonio de’ Rossi alla piazza de Ceri 1702), 193.

1

Satire in Dante’s Commedia

Chapter One

The Ontoso Metro of Dante’s Sinners Inferno 7 Franco Suitner

The fourth circle of the Inferno, in canto 7, where the avaricious and the prodigal are punished, features one of the most inventive and satirical moments of Dante’s Commedia. In this contribution, I argue that a portion of canto 7 is derived from anti-papal and anti-curial texts that circulated very widely during the Middle Ages. One of these is a poem that has been passed down to us from the collection of the Carmina Burana. I briefly mentioned this possibility for such a link—not alluded to in the commentaries with which I am familiar—in one of my earlier studies. 1 I will now resume the connection between the Carmina Burana and Dante’s masterpiece to explore further and demonstrate this possible link, for such link could help us to interpret better this part of the Inferno. In the fourth circle, two groups of sinners advance from opposite directions, laboriously rolling huge stone boulders, pushing them mainly with their chests (“per forza di poppa,” v. 27). At a certain point, they clash violently, insulting each other by exchanging a “shameful meter” (“ontoso metro,” v. 33). They then turn back, only to clash once again with an eternal and pointless movement, which symbolizes the vanity and uselessness of their object of desire, for which they spent so much energy in their earthly lives. This is the concept of material wealth: Qui vidi gente piú chʼaltrove troppa, e dʼuna parte e dʼaltra, con grandʼurli, voltando pesi per forza di poppa. Percotëansi incontro; e poscia pur lì si rivolgea ciascun, voltando a retro, 21

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Chapter 1 gridando “Perché tieni” e “Perché burli?” Cosí tornavan per lo cerchio tetro da ogni mano allʼopposito punto, gridandosi anche loro ontoso metro; poi si volgea ciascun, quandʼera giunto, per lo suo mezzo cerchio a lʼaltra giostra. 2 Here I saw people more numerous than before, on one side and the other, with great cries rolling weights by the force of their chests. They would collide, and then right there each one, reversing directions, would look back, crying: “Why do you hold?” and “Why do you toss?” Thus they would return around the dark circle on either hand to the point opposite, again shouting at each other their shameful meter; then each would turn back, once he had arrived through his half-circle to the other jousting. (vv. 25–35)

It is clear to me that Dante composed the entire canto utilizing the register of satire and caricature. This is immediately evident in his style characterized by the harsh notes introduced from the very beginning through the “clucking voice” (“voce chioccia,” v. 2) of Plutus. I will not dwell too much on this aspect, since there are excellent readings of the canto that highlight this link between Plutus, caricature, and satire. 3 The “harsh and clucking rhymes” (“rime aspre e chiocce,” Inferno 32.1) are required by the satirical subject matter, a style which is comic in the technical sense because it deals with the well-known principle of conveniens, the conformity of subject matter and style in the medieval literary tradition. It has been often said that the Commedia is one of the works of the Middle Ages that breaks with this principle. In fact, the introduction of the sermo humilis to tackle very important subjects is limited to just a few passages of the Commedia. In this context we usually see a superimposition of stylistic levels rather than a subversion of the principle of conveniens. 4 When Dante refers to God, he generally adopts an elevated style and language; when he treats the devil, the diabolical, or sinners, he uses a low linguistic and stylistic register. We are thus dealing with the simultaneous presence of different stylistic levels within a single work rather than a break with the traditional separation of stylistic registers. Consequently, in most cases the hierarchy is respected, and style and subject matter are in accord with one another. The conflict between “keeping” (“tenere”) and “giving” (in Dante, “burlare”), of which the avaricious and the prodigal accuse each other in canto 7, is already found in identical terms in Middle Latin satirical verse. Specifically, it occurs in a poem passed down in the collection of the Carmina Bura-

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na. 5 If this text were not Dante’s source (and I personally believe that it was), it must have been, in any case, a text very similar to the following (#20): 1. Est modus in verbis, duo sunt contraria verba: “Do das” et “teneo” contendunt lite superba. Per “do, das” largi conantur semper amari Sed “teneo, tenui” miseri potiuntur avari. 1. Sicut in omne quod est mensuram ponere prodest, Sic sine mensura non stabit regia cura. 1. Virtus est medium vitiorum utrimque reductum, Et mala sunt vicina bonis; errore sub illo Virtus pro vitio crimina sepe tulit. 1. Dum stultus vitat vitia, in contraria currit, Fallit enim vitium specie virtutis et umbra. 1. Words have their limits. There are two contradictory words: “I give, you give,” and “I hold” compete in proud contention. By “I give, you give” generous men always try to be loved, but wretched misers grab on to “I hold, I held.” 2. Just as it is good to impose a limit on every existing thing, so unlimited royal power cannot stand. 3. Virtue is the midpoint between two vices, equidistant from both. Evil is not far removed from the good; thanks to this confusing fact virtue has often been inculpated as a vice. 4. In avoiding vices, the fool runs to the opposite extreme. For vice deceives under the guise and semblance of virtue.

Parts III and IV are obvious imitations of lines from Horace’s poetry on the virtue of the Golden Mean, or on the shortcoming of the behavior of the fool who falls into depravity while attempting to avoid it. The last line provided above, is almost certainly drawn from Juvenal. 6 Both Horace and Juvenal were authors well known to Dante, who loved satire. However, the most original feature of these lines is the struggle between two “opposing words” (“contraria verba,” i.e., “Do das” and “teneo”). Both expressions are said to be locked in endless contention (“contendunt lite superba”), which is appropriate to Dante’s fourth circle. In Dante we also find the main themes of this poem: the contrast between “giving” and “keeping,” and the crucial idea of the need always to follow the Golden Mean, which is prominent in the entire poem. Even though at first sight their simultaneous presence might appear

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insignificant, it is worth noting that they appear both here in the Carmina Burana and, in identical terms, in Dante’s passage. It would have been obvious even to the uneducated audience to which a work like the Commedia was also addressed that the avaricious had violated the Golden Mean. A vast swath of medieval literature in both Latin and Italian, as is well known, condemns avarice and cupidity. From a theological perspective, these two transgressions are deadly sins, which characterize the entire moral universe of the Commedia, the cursed and ancient she-wolf of Purgatorio 20.10, and probably also one of the three wild beasts at the beginning of the poem. Avarice was also the supreme sin in the courtly ideological system. For the Provençal troubadours, combatting avarice also had a specific professional advantage given that they were reliant on the generosity of their lords. However, it would have been less obvious, at least to a more general audience who lacked a theological education, that the Golden Mean was also violated by the prodigal. In the courtly system mentioned above, donar (again it is worth noting the emblematic recourse to a topical verb) was praised without reservations, 7 and, it seems, without concerns about falling into excess. Consider, for example, the many stories about the generosity of the Young King of England, regarded at the time as exemplary of prodigality. Henry, known as “The Young King,” brother of Richard the Lionheart, was also famous in Italy for his boundless generosity toward everybody—the poor, knights, and minstrels. 8 For the Church and its theologians, prodigality was considered a sin, and the very antithesis of avarice. Prodigality was nevertheless condemned though perhaps less severely than cupidity, and it should not be confused with generosity or liberality, which were instead conceived as positive values. 9 Dante, who had studied under the Dominicans at Santa Maria Novella, follows this theological tradition. Confirmation can be found, for example, in the treatment of avarice and prodigality in Peraldo’s Summa (2.4.5). 10 It should be noted that Aristotle, in his Nicomachean Ethics (in particular 2.7 and 4.3), clearly stated that the right middle way consists in liberality, while avarice and prodigality are two negative excesses. The use of the verb “to keep” (“tenere”) to define the typical attitude of the miser, and of the verb “to give” (“dare”) for that typical of the prodigal, is found at that time not only in satirical texts. We can also find it in texts of theological-moral and economic teaching, for example, among the Franciscans. In the Liber de recuperatione terrae sanctae, exactly as in the carmen Burana and in Dante, Fidenzio da Padova affirms that “the prodigal man gives what he should and should not” (“Homo prodigus dat danda et non danda”), while the miser “keeps what he should and should not, and the generous man gives what he should and takes what he should” (“tenet tenenda et non tenenda; homo largus dat danda et tenet tenenda”). 11 In MS H of the Carmina Burana the text of part 1 reads as follows:

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De Episcopis. Pontifices primi do das dedi statuere, Encontra nostri teneo tenui tenuere. De do das primi meruerunt semper amari, De teneo tenui spernuntur semper avari. 12 On Bishops The first Popes established that: I give, you give and I gave, Against ours I have, I had, and they had. I give and you give to the firsts, they always deserved to be loved, I have, I had they will always be despised by avaricious men.

In this version, we find an identification of avarice in general with that of the upper hierarchy of the Church, as throughout the medieval tradition of antiRoman and anti-curial satire. The motif is constantly evoked in one of the poems of the Carmina Burana, sometimes with explicit reference to the verbs representing this deadly sin. A clear example is evident in the formula “give and you shall receive” (“Date, vobis dabitur”), which was the supreme teaching of the Gospels. In the famous poem “Utar contra vitia carmine rebelli” (#42), composed in the manner of Walter of Châtillon and perhaps attributable to him, this becomes the utilitarian concept, “you will give or it will not be given unto you” (“dabis, aut non dabitur,” stanza 7.3): “The Romans have a clause in their decrees that they will hear only those petitioners whose hands are full. You will give or it will not be given unto you. They ask, when you ask. As you sow, so do you reap.” (“Romani capitulum habent in decretis, / ut petentes audiant manibus repletis. / dabis, aut non dabitur,petunt, quando petis”) If you travel to Rome it is only to be deprived of your property, and you obtain nothing if you do not continuously give: Das istis, das aliis, addis dona datis, et cum satis dederis, querunt ultra satis. (stanza 15.1–2) You give to one group, then to another. You add to the gifts they gave, and when you have given enough, they ask for more.

This poem was well known in Dante’s Italy. The line “they come back from the Curia, horns on their heads” (“Redeunt a curia capite cornuto,” stanza 18.1) is translated precisely in the famous Lauda della prigionia by Iacopone da Todi: “those friars who have gone to the papal court / so as to come away cuckolded” (“li frate che soʼ venuti / en corte, per argir cornuti”). 13 In the next part of Walter’s poem we find Plutus, who in the upside-down world of the Roman prelates is placed in charge of heaven, not of hell: “A Jupiter rules the lowest depth, a Pluto rules the sky” (“ima tenet Iupiter,celum habet Pluto,” stanza 18.2). Even in his name Plutus alluded to wealth and it is no accident that in Dante he presides over our fourth circle.

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He is a “cursed wolf” (“maladetto lupo,” Inferno 7.8), as Virgil calls him, a beast reminiscent of the maladetta she-wolf of Purgatorio 20.10, avarice. Plutus pronounces the mysterious formula “Papè Satàn, papè Satàn aleppe!” (v. 1), which is indeed probably an invocation along the lines of “Oh Satan, oh Satan God,” as Domenico Guerri has plausibly suggested, 14 following the majority opinion among early and recent commentators. However, it also presents an assonance with the word papa, with which it was clearly permissible to joke in satirical compositions of this type. 15 In this context it is worth noting a very interesting text brought to our attention by Berthe Marti, which has never been cited in any Dante commentaries. Marti cites an anonymous text probably written in the twelfth century, in which one pope is described as papa Sathan. 16 There are two versions of this text, a sign that it circulated fairly widely. We are still in the context of satire on avarice, just as in Dante. Plutus is also mentioned within this infernal setting. The author appears to be from Orléans, and may even be Hugh Primas of Orléans. In any case, we are dealing with the same sort of goliardic texts and anti-curial satire to which I also refer. I am sure that this is the right context for explaining Dante’s allusion. Furthermore, in the same text mentioned above, the author states that papa may derive from pappare or, making recourse to French, may mean pa(yez), repeated twice: Papa, si rem tangimus, nomen habet a re: quicquid habent alii, solus vult papare, vel si verbum gallicum vis apocopare, “Paies! Paies!” dist li mot, si vis impetrare. (stanza 13)

To be frank, the pope takes his name from his role; whatever others have, he wants to swallow whole himself, or if you want to abbreviate the French word, “Pay! Pay!” the word says, if you want to win your plea. The practice of representing the transgression of the Golden Mean, of moderation, as a clash between two attitudes, exceptionally represented by just two words or two verbs, was fairly common in the Middle Ages. To quote an author contemporary with Dante, and in the same field of satirical verse in turn influenced by the moralistic and anti-curial tradition, I would again mention Iacopone. One of his lauds, not among the best known, O mezzo virtuoso, 17 exalts the Golden Mean (“mezzo virtuoso”), that always causes great conflict and struggle even within the individual, and that is so difficult to resolve: “Oh virtuous mean, kept in battle: / it is never without a struggle to pass beyond the middle” (“O mezzo virtuoso, retenutʼa bataglia, / non nʼè senza travaglia per lo mezzo passare!” vv. 1–2). This is followed by a series of stanzas that describe the clash between two forces, both of which tear people apart and between which it is hard to maintain a moderate posi-

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tion. These two forces are generally summed up, as in Dante and in this tradition more generally, by two verbs, two nouns, or two adjectives. To mention just the verbs, we have the clash between amare and ennodiare, placere and desplacere, sperare and desperare, tristare and delettare, mustro and vo coperto, ponire and perire, diiunare and esser forte. Keeping to the middle way is hard and in any case impossible for someone who, like Iacopone, describes himself as a simple jester: (“I see the sinful extremities kept, and it is not the gift of a jester to go beyond the middle” (“lʼestremetate veiole viziose a tenere, / per lo mezzo transire non nʼè don da iullare”). The verb is used like a label, as if it were written on a sign, as in the frescoes of the time. In Dante it is shouted through the ontoso metro. Dante then assumes the idea of the contrast between “giving” (“dare”) and “keeping” (“tenere”), placing it at the base of the insults they exchange misers and prodigals, from a tradition well alive in his time. But he adds something of his own: this is Dante’s inventive choice to keep the emblematic verb tenere, Latin and Italian, while replacing the corresponding “dare,” also Latin and Italian, with the dialectal burli (v. 30). It seems evident to me that this strange burli arises from the demands of the rhyme scheme. It is the urli of line 26, already used by the poet that stimulates his technical creativity, to coin an expression, as is often the case in the Commedia. Urli then generates the rhyme pur lì, strange up to a point given the frequency of such rhymes in Guittone and his followers. Though he repudiated them, Dante had learned his poetic technique from these poets. Urli and pur lì then produce the more strikingly inventive burli, derived from the Italian vernacular and further back in time from the Provençal burlar, which meant “to throw away” and therefore “to spend lavishly,” the meaning it has here. 18 I would also add that in Provençal burlador could also mean “jeerer” as it does in the Tuscan burlare, a sort of assonance that could have appealed to Dante considering the tone of the whole passage. I will complete these observations by noting that the original terms of the clash between the two attitudes, Mal dare and mal tener, reappear in the simpler and more straightforward form in line 58 of canto 7, thus eliminating any remaining doubts as to the meaning of burli: Mal dare e mal tener lo mondo pulcro ha tolto loro, e posti a questa zuffa: qual ella sia, parole non ci appulcro. Bad giving and bad keeping has deprived them of the lovely world and set them to this scuffling: whatever it is, I prettify no words for it. (vv. 58–60)

It remains to be explained why Dante describes the two expressions exchanged by the damned (“perché tieni” and “perché burli”) as a “shameful

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meter.” On a superficial level, these are simply two questions. In theory, we cannot rule out that a literal interpretation was intended, and therefore that the two groups of sinners actually exchanged cutting verses and not just the two words recorded by the poet. Given the medieval practice of condensing an attitude into a verb, I am inclined to think that the damned do in fact exchange the pairs of words reported by the poet and that the reference to a poetic text (“ontoso metro”) is metaphorical. “Perché tieni” and “perché burli” are spoken later and in themselves form two four-syllable lines, or alternatively an eight-syllable line with the strongest stress on the third and seventh syllables. 19 This line, or these lines, are then repeated every time the two groups clash and in their own way form a poem, a chant that makes appropriate use, among other things, of a less exalted even-numbered line, one of the most suited to this context according to the hierarchy set out by Dante in the De vulgari eloquentia. I would add that in the field of Latin satirical poetry, too, poems made up of very short lines were not uncommon: among those attested in the Carmina Burana, to cite a relevant example, we find three- and four-syllable lines. The eight-syllable line, on the other hand, later popularized by popular verse, is frequently used in fourteenth-century poetry for music, 20 documented shortly afterward, and this may be no coincidence. Overall, there is no doubt that the expression ontoso metro alludes to the poetry of insult, vituperium, not just known but also practiced by the poet. The expression used in Inferno 7 clearly points to this, but it is not the only evidence. In line 43, Dante says that “their voices bay it out”(“la voce lor chiaro lʼabbaia”), and by using this canine reference he enters a semantic field that was frequently used at the time to characterize the poetry of personal insult, the vituperium. 21 The end of canto 7 continues in the same vein, with similar metaphors: the wrathful lie submerged in the mud of the Stygian Lake, “with indignant expressions” (“con sembiante offeso,” v. 111), hitting each other and “tearing each other apart with their teeth, piece by piece” (“troncandosi coʼ denti a brano a brano,” v. 114). At this point in our discussion, it is no surprise that the most prominent among the sinners of the fourth circle are cherci, clerics. Dante drew inspiration for his invention from texts that particularly attack the avarice of the clergy and the curia, and he moves within this context though as always with his myriad ideas and inventions. He thus asks Virgil if all the tonsured souls that he sees to his left, the avaricious, are clerics. His guide first downplays and then essentially confirms: not all, but a substantial proportion—those with tonsures—are clerics and these are important prelates, popes, and cardinals: dissi: “Maestro mio, or mi dimostra che gente è questa, e se tutti fuor cherci

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questi chercuti a la sinistra nostra.” Ed elli a me: “Tutti quanti fuor guerci sì della mente, in la vita primaia, che con misura nullo spendio ferci. Assai la boce lor chiaro lʼabbaia quando vegnono aʼ due punti del cerchio dove colpa contraria li dispaia. Questi fuor cherci, che non han coperchio piloso al capo, e papi e cardinali, in cui usa avarizia il suo soperchio.” I said: “Master, now explain to me what people this is, and if these tonsured ones to our left were all clerics.” And he to me: “Every one of them was so crosseyed of mind in the first life, that no measure governed their spending. Very clearly do their voices bay it out, when they come to the two points of the circle where their opposing faults disjoin them. These were clerics, who have no hairy covering to their heads, and popes and cardinals, in whom avarice does its worst. (vv. 37–48)

At this point there follows the long digression on Fortune, who impassively “turns her wheel” (“volve sua spera,” v. 96) moving vain worldly goods from one people to another and one family to another. I will not comment further on this part, which obviously goes beyond the passage that is the subject of my essay. However, this passage somehow connects to the previous one. It is not coincidental that Dante now employs the very popular image of the wheel of Fortune. This image was a classical one (Boethius), but it enjoyed enormous popularity in the Middle Ages and some of the most famous instances are linked to poems passed down in the collection of the Carmina Burana, or in any case the gnomic-satirical literature on which Dante had drawn immediately beforehand to evoke the ontoso metro of the avaricious and the prodigal. These poems, or other similar compositions, often made use of quotations from classical authors to give them authority and, as has been stressed, to make them easier to learn by heart. Dante’s themes, of the Fortuna levis, from the poem “Oh Fortune, / like the moon / that is constantly changing” (“O Fortuna, / velut luna / statu variabilis” #17.1–3), are all there. I should note that there is one poem, O varium Fortune lubricum (#14), containing explicit examples of the peoples who have enjoyed great riches that have later been taken from them: Troy, Rome, Greece, Carthage. Similarly, it names individuals who have possessed much and lost much: Darius and Pompey. This is exactly the same permutation of worldly goods, which

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as the Italian text suggests evokes the turning of a wheel:”from one people to another, from one family to another, beyond any human wisdom’s power to prevent” (“di gente in gente e dʼuno in altro sangue, / oltre la difension dʼi senni umani”), of which Dante speaks in lines 79–81 of this canto. NOTES 1. Franco Suitner, La poesia satirica e giocosa nellʼetà dei comuni (Padua: Antenore, 1983), 20–22. 2. The text of the Inferno is quoted from Dante Alighieri, Commedia, ed. Giorgio Inglese (Rome: Carocci, 2007). Translations of Dante’s Commedia are cited from The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, vol. 1, Inferno, trans. Robert M. Durling (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996). 3. One of the most insightful readings of the satirical aspect of Plutus’s speech is offered by Mario Marti, Il canto VII dell’Inferno, in Realismo dantesco e altri studi (Milan and Naples: Ricciardi, 1961), 45–62. 4. In reference to this canto, it has rightly been observed that its three main parts correspond to three different stylistic registers; see, for instance, Dante Alighieri, La Divina Commedia. Inferno, ed. Riccardo Merlante and Stefano Prandi (Brescia: La Scuola, 2005), 144. 5. Except where noted, the poems of the Carmina Burana are cited from Carmina Burana, ed. and trans. David A. Traill (Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2018). All translations are also derived from this volume. 6. Carmina Burana (see note 5), vol. 1, p. 478, and Carmina Burana. Carmi morali e satirici, ed. Edoardo Bianchini (Milan: Rizzoli, 2003), 518–19. 7. In Provençal poetry, the two themes of proeza and largueza occur frequently and are virtually inevitable every time a lord is praised. See Andrea Fassò, “Donare o donneare? La generosità di Guglielmo IX,” Siculorum Gymnasium 53 (2000): 207–14; here 214. 8. See, for example, stories 19 and 20 of Il Novellino, ed. Alberto Conte (Roma: Salerno, 2001), and stories 17, 18, and 20 of Conti di antichi cavalieri, ed. Alberto Del Monte (Milano: Cisalpino-Goliardica, 1972). 9. In the most widely accepted interpretation, authorized by Benvenuto da Imola, the avaricious are on the left to indicate that this sin is worse than prodigality; see, for example, Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, vol. 2, Commentary, ed. Charles S. Singleton (Princeton, NJ: University Press, 1970), 113; and Gino Casagrande, “Avarice,” in The Dante Encyclopedia, ed. Richard Lansing (New York: Garland, 2000), 75–77. Among the early commentators, the Anonimo fiorentino devotes the most space to this issue, posing the question of why Dante ended up apparently placing these two sins on the same level. He says that avarice is a worse sin than prodigality, which also has positive effects. He also notes that avarice is innate to human beings, and thus more excusable, while prodigality is the result of foolishness and brutishness. Furthermore, the prodigal, as they age, tend to sin less, not out of merit but because they have nothing left to spend; see Commento alla Divina Commedia dʼAnonimo fiorentino del secolo XIV, vol. 1, ed. Pietro Fanfani (Bologna: Romagnoli, 1866), 183–84. 10. Guglielmo Peraldo, Summa virtutum ac vitiorum (Venice: Francesco Ziletti, 1571). 11. This quotation (without reference to Dante or the Carmina Burana) in Paolo Evangelisti, Fidenzio da Padova e la letteratura crociato-missionaria minoritica. Strategie e modelli francescani per il dominio (XIII-XV sec.), Bologna, il Mulino, 1998. On the Prodigality, see pp. 97–112. 12. Cited from Carmina Burana, ed. Alfons Hilka and Otto Schumann (Heidelberg: Winter, 1930), vol. 1, 39–40. The English translation provided by the editors. 13. Iacopone da Todi, Laude, ed. Franco Mancini (Bari: Laterza, 1974), 53, 64–65, and 149. The English translation is taken from Vincent Moleta, From St. Francis to Giotto: The Influence of St. Francis on Early Italian Art and Literature (Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1983).

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14. See Domenico Guerri, Di alcuni versi dotti della Divina Commedia: Ricerche sul sapere grammaticale di Dante (Città di Castello: Lapi, 1908); see also the survey of interpretative hypotheses found in Ettore Caccia, “Pape Satàn, pape Satàn aleppe,” in Enciclopedia Dantesca (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1973), 280–82. Recent bibliographical references in the reading by Giuseppe Ledda, “Inferno VII,” in Lectura dantis bononiensis, ed. Emilio Pasquini and Carlo Galli (Bologna: Bononia University Press, 2012), 59–87. 15. See most recently Ledda, Inferno VII, 65: “Ma ‘Pape’non può non ricordare anche il nome del papa e non insinuare nel lettore confuso dalle parole incomprensibili lʼimpressione che qui si stia alludendo anche ai papi terreni e alla loro insaziabile avarizia” (“But ‘Pape’ could also recall the name of the pope and suggest to the reader, baffled by the unintelligible word, the possibility that there is also an allusion to the earthly popes and their insatiable avarice”). A more recent commentator, who nonetheless expresses doubts that the expression has a precise meaning, suggests the paraphrase “O Papa Satana, mio dio,” see Robert Hollander, Commento a La Commedia di Dante Alighieri (Florence: Olschki, 2011), 69. 16. Berthe M. Marti, “A Crux in Danteʼs Inferno,” Speculum 27 (1952): 67‒70. 17. Iacopone da Todi, Laude, 43, and 122–24. 18. Antonino Pagliaro, Commento incompiuto allʼInferno di Dante. Canti I–XXVI, ed. Giovanni Lombardo (Rome: Herder, 1999), 132–33; see also Gianluigi Toja, “Burlare (Inf. VII, 30),” Studi danteschi 42 (1965): 235–47. 19. In early poetry, this meter tends to have a very variable accentuation, allowing for different possibilities; see Aldo Menichetti, Metrica italiana (Padua: Antenore, 1993), 437. 20. Pietro G. Beltrami, La metrica italiana (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1991), 170. 21. On this, see Suitner, La poesia satirica, 14–22. For images of this type in Middle Latin poetry and treatises, see Udo Kindermann, Satyra. Die Theorie der Satire im Mittellateinischen. Vorstudie zu einer Gattungsgeschichte (Nuremberg: Hans Carl, 1978), 58–64.

Chapter Two

Inverted Popes, the Apostolic Succession, and Dante’s Vocation as Satirist Ronald L. Martinez

Or te sta’, che tu se’ ben ponito Therefore stay here, for you deserve your punishment 1 —Inferno 19.97

In an epitaph written for Dante in about 1324, as the editors of this volume note in their introduction, Guido da Pisa described Dante as satiricus, as well as tragicus, comicus, and liricus. Guido’s idea of the poet of the Commedia as a satirist was reiterated by later fourteeenth-century commentators Benvenuto da Imola and Francesco da Buti. Benvenuto treats Dante’s poem as “tragic” in that it deals with the deeds of popes and princes (“gesta pontificum et principum”) but claims it may also be called satire as it reproves vice in whatever form. In making their judgments, these commentators assimilated commentary traditions on the Roman satirists Horace, Persius, and Juvenal, especially the first, whom Dante describes as “magister Oratius” in the De vulgari eloquentia and as “Orazio satiro” in Inferno 4.89, 2 and whose supple prescriptions in his Ars poetica furnish advice regarding comedy and satire, as well as tragedy. In Inferno 19, but also in several other passages in the poem treating of the contemporary papacy, Dante’s judgments on ecclesiastical avarice are joined to a satirical upending of the papal body that, as I hope to show in this essay, is modeled in part on Horace’s prescriptions, especially in light of how they were viewed in the medieval commentary tradition on Horace’s influential verse treatise. Although there is an abundant discussion of the simoniacal popes in Inferno 19, they have not previously been treated as objects of satire in a 33

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technical sense, at least not directly. But the idea of a calibrated “comic” mixing of high and low styles, inclusive of satire, as countenanced by Horace’s Ars poetica, 219–38, has recently been applied to Dante’s third bolgia: in Ambrogio Camozzi Pistoja’s view, Inferno 19 marks the “the legitimation and incorporation of the violent import of the satirical tradition into the polysemy of the poem” (“innesto e legittimazione del portato violento della tradizione satirica nella polisemia del poema”). 3 Camozzi Pistoja’s important essay contains a wealth of observations, but does not mention the influence of the Ars poetica on Dante’s conception of Geryon, the “filthy image” (“sozza imagine,” Inferno 17.7) that prefaces and foreshadows Dante’s realm of fraud, and governs the poet’s deployment of satire as well. 4 As several scholars have pointed out, Geryon’s complex hybridity is an emblem of Dante’s “comic” mixed style in the Commedia—a style that can include satire. 5 In relation to Inferno 19, Horace’s presentation of the monster of incongruity at the beginning of the Ars poetica offers a basis for understanding both the physical inversion of the simoniacal popes, and their participation in a succession, so that Horace’s prescriptions may be seen as fundamental to Dante’s program for satirizing the avaricious papacy of his epoch. 6 As is well known, a tradition of medieval glosses on Horace fixed on the opening section as enumerating a series of possible “errors” relating to poetic composition, a strategy that proved influential on the various Poetrie of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. 7 For these commentators, the hybrid monster of Ars 1–7 represents principally errors of arrangement (dispositio) and incongruous stylistic mixtures. 8 Horace’s first line begins by describing a hybrid creature, one with a human head but the tail of a fish. This description is set out in verticalized spatial terms, so that what comes first is the human head (“Humano capiti”), which is normally placed above, while what comes last, ending in a fish (“desinat in piscem”) takes the place of what is normally below. 9 Mischievously, however, in accord with the highly self-reflexive nature of his text, 10 Horace then re-describes this same incongruous body in inverted order, notably by writing a hexameter in which the “fishtail” precedes the “head” (Ars 4): “ends in a fish a woman beautiful above” (“desinat in piscem mulier formosa superne”), and subsequently mentions another fantastical figment in which the foot is not consistent with the head, so that no single unified form is produced (Ars 8–9): “such that neither foot nor head display one form” (“ut nec pes nec caput uni / reddatur formae”). In both cases, a reversal of normal sequence within the verse implies a spatial reversal by which what is below (the foot, the tail), precedes, or is above, what follows (the head)—the creatures presented are thus both vertically and sequentially inverted. Horace’s account is elaborated in commentaries on his text and in rhetorical manuals that follow Horace’s lead. These reiterate the incongruity and disorder of written materials through the reversal and scrambling of typical

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hierarchies. The leonine mnemonic given by Geoffrey of Vinsauf in his Documentum de arte versificandi, naming the sixth and last of the compositional errors—lack of a suitable conclusion—is an example: “at the end, sitting last [or lowest], a conclusion dissonant with the beginning” (“fine sedens imo conclusio dissona primo”). 11 The leonine verse presents the parts of the composition in inverted order, with fine and imo placed first, and primo last. Fine, “at the end,” suggests a linear sequence, but imo sedens also suggests a vertical order, with a top and a bottom (cf. imus, used at Horace, Ars, 152, in a verse reiterated in commentaries and successive Poetrie). 12 As in Horace’s accounts of the incongruous monster itself, two ordering principles are superimposed. 13 What is more important for my argument, Dante was evidently sensitive to the importance of the terms opposed in the mnemonic and in the Horatian scheme more generally, and four times in the Commedia rhymes primo with imo, including an instance in Malebolge discussed below. 14 Given Geryon’s patent relation to Horace’s monster of errors, the details of its presentation were plausibly noted by Dante, who had scrutinized closely the first lines of the Ars. 15 For Horatian commentary, and for the metapoetic context of Inferno 16–17, Geryon’s hybrid body can model both dispositio, the sequential ordering of the topics treated in the text, and the mixing of incongruous parts, like the patterned Turkish and Tartar cloths that cover Geryon’s flanks (Inferno 17.18), the likely equivalents of Horace’s “purple patch” incongruously sewn on a simple cloth (Ars 14–16). 16 Geryon, too, is “incongruous” in being sequentially a hybrid, with a human face or head (his “beginning,” Inferno 17.8, 10), and a scorpion’s tail, coda (his “end,” just as Horace’s monster “ends as a fish,” desinat piscem). Geryon’s mammalian “paws, hairy to the armpits” (“branche pilose”) and “torso . . . of a serpent” (“d’un serpente tutto l’altro fusto”) are sandwiched in between (Inferno 17.9, 25): indeed, Dante describes Geryon’s face, torso, arms, and tail in that order at Inferno 17.10–27. But the actual “headline” of Inferno canto 17, the very first line, begins with the more elegant artificial order, with the threatening tail, “Behold the beast with the pointed tail” (“Ecco la fiera con la coda aguzza,” v. 1), before reverting to natural order in lines 9–11 to end once more with the tail, “and beached its head and chest, but did not draw up its tail as far as the bank” (“e arrivò la testa e’l busto, / ma’n su la riva non trasse la coda”). 17 In other words the first full presentation of Geryon is the inverted one; beginning with his tail; only subsequently is the description reversed back into a “natural” order. 18 Given that Geryon embodies and displays the poem’s mixed style, Horace’s celebrated advice to poets in the Ars poetica that they evaluate, or “weigh” subject matter before taking it on, may be seen embodied in the actions of Geryon himself. 19 In requiring Geryon’s strong shoulders (“omeri forti,” Inferno 17.42) later called spallacce (v. 91) and schiena (18.19), Vir-

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gil reminds the beast to consider, or rather ponder, the weight of the living, embodied pilgrim (“pensa la nova soma che tu hai,” Inferno 17.99). Geryon is thus an unmistakably Horatian emblem of the task the poet Dante takes on in narrating lowest Hell, the realm of fraud, but also, as we will see, in deploying the “lower” genre of satire (imus . . . ). 20 The nearby cantos of the Malebranche (Inferno 21–22), for example, exploit Horace’s discussions of the mixing of high and low styles (Ars, 225–34): Dante juxtaposes the exordium referring to the Venetian arsenal (Inferno 21.7–18), and its description of purposeful collective labor, to the slapstick comedy offered later by the devils, and the poet’s proverbial (and humorous) “in church with the saints, in the tavern with the gluttons” (“ne la chiesa / co’ santi, ne la taverna coi ghiottoni,” Inferno 22.14–15), registers the incongruous combination. 21 In the previous canto, in Geryon’s wake, and in demonstration of a newly affirmed satirical skill, Dante constructs a demonic parody of Horace’s “shouldered” calibration when one of the Malebranche brings to the edge of the fifth bolgia one of the anziani of Lucca, slung over “his shoulder, which was sharp and high” (“l’omero suo, ch’era arguto e superbo,” Inferno 21.34–39), and dunks him in the pitch (“Là giù’ l buttò,” Inferno 21.43). Not by accident, the submersion of the barrator is immediately followed by a statement of the semantic inversion typical of his crime, “for money there they turn ‘no’ into ‘yes’” (“del no, per li denar, vi si fa ita,” Inferno 21.42). The resemblance between the upended barrator and the upended popes a few cantos earlier is no accident: for our purposes, the third and fifth bolge, respectively punishing ecclesiastical simony and its lay equivalent of barratry, are often in dialogue precisely in relation to satirical effects, especially in relation to the categories and techniques of inversion. Indeed, in light of the reversed sequences and hierarchies intrinsic to the account of Geryon, the vertical spatial inversion of the Popes emerges as consistent with the entire Malebolge as an exploration of Geryon’s hybridity, artistic “decoration,” and danger: as Teodolinda Barolini observes, the Malebolge unfold “under the sign of Geryon.” 22 Examples are not far to seek. Chiavacci Leonardi notes how Geryon’s honest face and lethal tail anticipate the hypocrites in Canto 23, gilded without, corrupt within—and Virgil in fact names hypocrites first in his list of simple frauds in Inferno 11.58. 23 Among the Malebranche, Malacoda’s lie to Virgil, disguised with the truth regarding the breaking of the bridges at the crucifixion, reverse-engineers Geryon himself as a truth that looks like a lie (“quel vero c’ha faccia di menzogna” Inferno 16.124). In narrative terms, Malacoda’s lie seduces with apparent helpfulness so as to subsequently betray, as is made clear when the wayfarers are pursued by the demons: the precise link to Geryon is manifest in the exposure of Virgil’s credulity by fra Catalano (Inferno 23.139–44), who ironically recalls the devil as “father of lies” (“padre di menzogna”). Indeed, the narrative arc stretching from Inferno 21 to the end of Inferno 23 points to

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the perilous diachrony of fraud, which, like Geryon, first shows a good face, and later springs the trap—the sting with the tail—mala coda indeed. Geryon’s extensive reach is paralleled by an equally widespread area affected by the damned popes, if we recall Tavoni’s point that the rock into which the popes are thrust—ironically recalling, as John Scott points out, the rock of Peter on which the Church is built—undergirds the whole of Malebolge. 24 The entire zone of simple fraud is thus continuous with a parodic “Church.” Geryon’s very description echoes down the bolge. His hairy claws (“branche pilose,” Inferno 17.13) reappear in the Malebranche, and in the “green claws” (“branche verdi,” Inferno 27.45) of the Ordelaffi seignory. 25 Geryon’s lethal coda and the rhyming term for fraud, froda, rhyme with terms found among the Malebranche in cantos 21 (vv. 74–78), and 22 (vv. 80–84), 26 and in Inferno 24 as well, where they begin description of a hybrid of serpent and man like Geryon (Inferno 24.95, 97, 99: coda; proda, s’annoda). As a “filthy image” (“sozza imagine”) Geryon reemerges near the top of Malebolge for Thaïs the courtesan, “filthy baggage” (“sozza . . . fante,” Inferno 18.130) squatting in her ordure and again near the bottom, in the blood-soaked landscape of the ninth bolgia (“wretched mode”; “il modo . . . sozzo,” Inferno 28.21): symmetrically distributed lexical lashes of Geryon’s “tail,” so to speak. Perhaps most striking, in Inferno 29.37–39, within “l’ultima chiostra / di Malebolge,” the last and lowest of the ditches, primo and imo, markers of first and last, above and below, are juxtaposed as rhymes. The terms are placed in the context of the sinners of the bolgia as ironically conversi (Inferno 29.41), that is, they have been “turned down,” or inverted. And to confirm the generic relationship with Geryon and with satire, we find in the same canto a kitchen simile comparing the alchemists scraping their skin (“the bite of his fingernails”; “il morso / de l’unghie,” Inferno 29.79–80) with the scaling of a fish (pesce), the animal that denotes the lowest part of the Horatian chimaera, just as Geryon, at the “head” of Malebolge, also ends like a fish, with his tail “extending it, he moved it . . . like an eel’s” (“tesa come anguilla,” Inferno 17.104). 27 Even the detail of the nails leads back to Horace’s treatise and its commentary. The soul who practiced the ‘art” of alchemy scrapes himself to relieve the itch of his leprous malady: “their nails tore off the scabs” (“traevan giù l’unghie la scabbia,” Inferno 29.82). 28 This term resonates with Horace’s reference to the fingernail as the test of perfection when drawn over the surface of a sculpture. 29 Here too we have an echo of the upper reaches of the Malebolge, where Thaïs, scratches herself (“si graffia”) with “shitty nails” (“unghie merdose,” Inferno, 18.131) in the second bolgia, as she squats in the dung that provides part of her contrapasso. 30 Finally, again at the very end of Malebolge (Inferno 30.52–57), Maestro Adamo whose “face does not answer to the belly” (“il viso non risponde a la ventraia,” 30.54), betrays discord between what is above and what below. By rhyming “ill converts” (“mal con-

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verte,” 53) regarding Adamo’s distempered humors, with rinverte (v. 57) of Adamo’s “turned-up” lip, Dante can suggest two forms of inversion. Adamo is thus another embodiment of the incongruous Horatian monster, and a mise en abîme of the Malebolge itself. 31 Thus it could be said that the poet’s heralding of the simoniacal popes, “now the trumpet must sound for you” (“or convien che per voi suoni la tromba,” Inferno 19.5), announces the Geryonic, which is to say Horace-inspired, inversions and disorders of the realm of fraud—though to complete the satirical picture, we must correlate the epic and apocalyptic tromba, sounded with the mouth, thus from the head, with its inevitable satirical upending in the trumpeting that one demon performs by making a musical instrument with his “tail end” (“avea del cul fatto trombetta,” Inferno 21.139). 32 In the satirical acid of the Malebolge, even a denotation of the poet’s voice can be parodied and overturned. As well known, but impossible to overstate as to its significance, in the case of Inferno 19 the inverted position of the Popes, with their heads down and feet in the air, anticipates the inverted position of the traitor, Judas: “with his head inside, waving his legs outside” (“che’l capo ha dentro e fuor le gambe mena,” Inferno 34.63), and also of Satan when viewed from the southern hemisphere: 33 the pilgrim sees the once-supreme seraph with legs up in the air (“vidili le gambe in sù tenere,” Inferno 34.90) and wonders why he is fixed upside-down (“com’è fitto / sì sottosopra?” Inferno 34.103–104). 34 As in Horace’s placement of the foot first and the head second, but also in view of the fact that the head is normally above, the “tail” or “end” below, Dante’s references in canto 19 to the topsy-turvy popes emphasize the disordered primacy of their feet and legs, which emerge over the circular holes in the stone pavement of Malebolge: “from the mouth of each protruded the feet and legs of a sinner, as far as the thighs” (“soperchiava / di un peccator li piedi e de le gambe / fino al grosso,” Inferno 19.22–24). We also find references to the simoniac’s “red feet” (“coi piè rossi,” Inferno 19.81); to the burning “from heel to toes” (“dai calcagne a le punte,” 19.30, in reverse order), to Nicholas’s “weeping with the shanks” (“piangeva con la zanca,” 19.45)—reversing normal weeping from the eyes 35—and to the kicking action (19.26, 120), which Dante’s language allows us to associate with how the Popes reversed Roman and divine justice by kicking down the good and raising the wicked. 36 Dante also makes explicit that the position of Nicholas, “you who hold your up side down” (“che’l di sù tien di sotto,” Inferno 19.46) is a reversal of hierarchy, of up and down; to which the former pope adds that “beneath my head are driven the others” (“di sotto al capo mio son li altri tratti,” Inferno 19.73). 37 Horace’s concession that tragedy—the genre, as we saw, that Benvenuto associates with the fall of princes and prelates—can be judiciously mixed with satire is put into play when Dante inverts his simoniacs, operating a reversal that Horace also sanctions when he counsels that the serious and tragic can be overturned into play (Ars, 225:

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“ita vertere seria ludo”). 38 In one sense, Dante follows the precedent of Saint Peter, who in Acts 8:19–20 curses Simon Magus and in the apocryphal Acts of Peter engineers through prayer the magician’s headlong fall. 39 But the “turn to play” also echoes the playfulness of Boethius’s Fortuna, who raises the lowly and topples the mighty. 40 In the standardized medieval iconography of the wheel of Fortune that arose from Boethius’s Fortuna, the reigning figure, wearing a crown, is turned head down, in catastrophe. 41 This outcome defined medieval ideas of tragedy as the casting down of the proud and mighty; 42 while in Dante, Fortuna’s wheel is most strongly associated with the punishment of the avaricious ecclesiastics of Inferno 7. 43 We can infer that the plunge of the popes into their tombs in Inferno 19 combines the judgment of Minos and subsequent hurling down of the souls, “cast into the deep” (“son giù volte,” Inferno 5.15), with the consecutiveness that Virgil affirms of Fortuna’s actions: “so thick come those who must have their turns” (“sì spesso vien chi vicenda consegue,” Inferno 7.90). Inverted vertical position is, however, only one aspect of Dante’s account of the simoniacal papacy. In telling us that he has predecessors beneath his head, and in predicting the arrival of future popes Boniface VIII and Clement V in relation to the fictional date of the pilgrim’s journey (AD 1300), Nicholas establishes a sequence of simoniac popes. As scholars have shown, there is an apostolic succession in Hell that mirrors in a parodic manner the apostolic succession beginning with Saint Peter, by which each pope or bishop confirmed his successor with the laying on of hands—precisely the power that Simon Magus, the archetypal simoniac and founder of the infernal church of Inferno 19, and so remembered in ringing terms by Dante in the first words of the canto, wished to purchase from Saint Peter, thus originating of the sin of simony. 44 Dante accordingly begins his account of the simoniacs emphasizing their participation in a sequence: “O Simon Magus, o wretched followers” (“O Simon Mago, o miseri seguaci,” Inferno 19.1). The topic recurs in the canto both verbally and conceptually, as in Nicholas’s reference to his predecessors precisely where he names the sin defiling them: “the others who preceded me in simony” (“li altri . . . / che precedetter me simoneggiando,” Inferno 19.73–74), to successors who will one day come (“after him will come . . . a shepherd of even uglier deeds,” Inferno 19.82, referring to Clement V) and in the recall of an early instance of apostolic succession, thanks to an election uninfluenced by monetary reward, in reference to the replacement of Judas by Matthias, “when he was chosen for the place lost by the wicked soul” (“quando fu sortito / al loco che perdé l’anima ria,” Inferno 19.95–96). These lines immediately follow the act that establishes the apostolic succession, which is recalled by the pilgrim’s quotation, in reproach to Nicholas and his seguaci, of Christ’s words to the first apostles, even before the keys were handed to Simon Peter: “Follow me” (“Viemmi retro,” Inferno 19.93; cf.

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Matthew 4:19, “Venite post me”). Significantly, retro is in rhyme with Pietro, the first holder of the keys, and metro, referring to the pilgrim’s following words: “I replied to him in this meter” (“risposi lui a questo metro,” Inferno 19.89). It is thus Christ’s very words that forge the idea of succeeding, of “coming after” Christ, not merely in following his ethical example, but in taking the place as his vicar or representative on earth: 45 a sequence, and an institution, that Dante refers to near the very beginning of the poem, when referring to Rome, “established to be the holy place where the successor to Saint Peter is enthroned” (“fu stabilita per lo loco santo, / u’ siede il successor del maggior Piero,” Inferno 2.23–24). The rhyme on metro is equally consequential: not only does it underline that the pilgrim voices for the first time in the poem’s verses a phrase spoken by Christ in the New Testament, it also marks the pilgrim’s words as measured, just retribution. When the poet finishes his tirade, Dante reiterates the musical terminology: “while I was singing these notes to him” (“Io li cantava cotai note,” Inferno 19.118), and at that point Nicholas’s anguish is underscored, so that “he kicked violently with both his feet” (“forte spingava con ambo le piote,” Inferno 19.120). This last reference to the feet is also the most rustic in diction (agrestis), harshest in tone (asper), and attests to the fact that the pilgrim’s words have had satirical “bite” (“che’l mordesse,” Inferno 19.119). 46 Not by accident, both the metrical format and the biting words are markers of the satirical genre, 47 and link Nicholas’s example to Virgil’s definition of simple fraud as one that does not “pocket” fidelity to fellow humans (“fidanza non imborsa”), but gnaws away at the conscience of all (“ond’ogne coscienza è morsa,” Inferno 11.54–58): passages that include rhymes Nicholas adopts for his clan and for his penalty: “I was a son of the she-bear [. . .] I pocketed wealth up there, and myself down here (“fui figliuol de l’orsa [. . .] su l’avere, e qui me misi in borsa,” Inferno 19.70–72). Satire is thus here precisely tailored to the reproach of avaricious fraud. Mention of the apostolic succession then recurs in several numerically corresponding or related cantos where popes appear in the text. When Boniface VIII next appears in the poem, mocking Celestine V for abdicating the papacy and undervaluing the power of the keys (“son due le chiavi, / che’l mio antecessor non ebbe care” Inferno 27.104–105), 48 we find another invocation of the sequence of popes: not to successors, but to a predecessor. This is the moment in Guido da Montefeltro’s account when Boniface sins most greatly, for not only does his threat to damn Guido overstate the power of the keys, it constitutes a shameless use of them for the narrow political end of taking Palestrina and defeating the Colonna—in other words, it is a flagrant act of simony, justifying Boniface’s place in the pit of Inferno 19. 49 In Purgatorio 19, Adrian V, Ottobono dei Fieschi, whose expiation puts him face down in the dirt, recites a verse of Psalm 118, “My soul does cleave unto the dust” (“Adhaesit pavimento [anima mea],” v. 73). The former pon-

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tiff endures a humiliation that reverses his elevation, when alive, to the high office of the papacy, “nor could I rise any higher in that life” (“né più salir poteasi in quella vita,” Purgatorio 19.110). Ottobono enunciates in Latin his place in the sequence of popes, acknowledging that “I was a successor of Peter” (“ego fui successor Petri,” Purgatorio 19.99). He goes on to point out, when interdicting the pilgrim’s reverential genuflection, that honorifics disappears at death, again with a Latin quotation, neque nubent—and again using Christ’s words (Matthew 22:30: “they shall neither marry . . .”). The three Latin phrases condense a judgment on the dubious honor of Ottobono’s elevation when viewed from the perspective of the afterlife, and in light of the echo of Persius (Satura 2: 61)—“O souls bent down to earth, empty of celestial things”—that seems to shadow the quotation from the Psalm, the intention and effect of the whole series of Latin phrases may be deemed satirical. 50 In Paradiso 27, in the sphere of the fixed stars, in the poem’s penultimate invective, and after enumerating a virtuous succession of seven early martyrpopes whose blood nourished the early Church, 51 Dante’s Saint Peter deplores how contemporary pontiffs deploy papal power to divide Christendom, an action that would have dismayed Peter’s early followers: “it was not our intention that on the right hand of our successors one part of the Christian people should sit, and the other on the other side (“non fu nostra intenzion ch’a destra mano / d’ i nostri successor parte sedesse / parte da l’altra, del popol Cristiano,” Paradiso 27.46–48). 52 Saint Peter also reiterates the special conformity of Dante’s damned popes with Satan, both their cast-down state and their inverted or “perverse” position, when he attests to Satan’s satisfaction with them, for their actions “placate the perverted one down there, who fell from up here” (“onde ’l perverso / che cadde di qua sù, la giù si placa,” Paradiso 27.26–27). Dante’s insistence on placing his popes within their successions is linked throughout to his interest in the infernal succession of simoniac popes, which reaches its final expression in Beatrice’s invective in canto 30 of Paradiso. Beatrice’s remark that Pope Boniface, when Clement comes down on top of him, will “enter farther into the rock” (“intrar più giuso,” v. 148) of the third bolgia, vividly reinstates the topic of “succession” in vertical terms, precisely as it occurs in Hell—for as commentators have observed, the papal slot in Hell parodies the cathedra Petri, the seat of Saint Peter (more on this episode below). 53 Reviewing this insistent textual emphasis on papal succession both in bono and in malo, however, it is important to notice that Dante is careful to verbally conflate the temporal sequence of Popes occupying the throne of Saint Peter with the vertical “succession” of simoniac popes found in the third bolgia. This is guaranteed for the poem’s verbal texture through the association of Christ’s invitation to the apostles, quoted to Nicholas III at

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Inferno 19.93: “follow me” (“Viemmi retro”), with the position of the avaricious Ottobono da Fiesch in Purgatorio 19. As often remarked, the placement of the avaricious souls echoes that of the simoniacs in having their “backs turned up” (“volti avete i dossi / al sù,” Purgatorio 19.94–95), like the inversion of Nicholas III, “che’l di sù tien di sotto.” The next time the inverted configuration is mentioned, with Ottobono’s answer, it introduces the rhyme on –etri (“perché i nostri diretri / rivolga il cielo a sé” (Purgatorio 19.97–98) and caps it with the rhyme on “successor Petri” (“successor to Peter,” v. 99) echoing the Pietro / retro rhyme of Inferno 19.91–93. Dante thus seamlessly links the inversion of the avaricious, with their hind parts upward (which conflates a front/rear, horizontal distinction with an upper/ lower, vertical one), to their succession as vicars of Christ. An order of succession is thus superimposed on a vertical hierarchy, and scrambled with it, recalling Horace’s conflation of sequential and vertical disorders in the account of the Ars poetica monster, as well as Dante’s accounts of Geryon. “Orazio satiro” is thus at least in part an originator of the principles by which Dante has inverted his popes in their various successions, and established their conformity to Judas and Satan. Returning to Paradiso 27.21–26, Saint Peter’s multiple invocation of “his place” (“il luogo mio, / il luogo mio, il luogo mio” vv. 22–23), echoing Jeremiah 7:4 on the “temple of the Lord” (templum domini), reaches the highest pitch of invective, and of satirical rhetoric, with the characterization of his burial place as a sewer of blood and filth because of Boniface’s usurpations (“fatt’ ha del cimitero mio cloaca / di sangue e de la puzza,” Paradiso 27.25–26). 54 Peter’s harsh terminology in part reflects traditional anti-clerical satire, 55 which could adopt scatological topics and language, while mocking ecclesiastical preference for dainty euphemisms. 56 Satire, as Horace and his commentators observe, tears away polite veils, adopts “naked” words, nuda verba, and treats the foulness of vice in appropriately fetid language. 57 In Dante’s text scatological terms generally identify the stench of evil and of sinners (foetor mali, foetor peccatorum), 58 as exemplified by the puzzo emitted by the siren’s belly when exposed by Virgil (relating to the unloveliness of misjudged secondary goods avarice, gluttony, and lust), but most significantly for my purposes to Virgil’s description of Geryon as the beast “that makes the whole world stink” (“che tutto ’l mondo appuzza,” Inferno 17.3), marking the strongest possible expression of the concept by converting it into a verb. 59 The focus in Saint Peter’s “place” or luogo in the same passage, alluding at once to his cemetery, his temple, and his throne, and recalling from Inferno 2.23–24 that Rome is the “holy place” (“lo loco santo”) where Peter had his throne, his seggio, should draw our attention to the papal coronation ritual, which included having the candidate sit briefly on the sedes stercoraria (dunghill seat) to signify that he had been lifted, through his

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election to the papacy, from a lowly dunghill to a lofty seat of glory, in recognition of the text of 1 Samuel 2:8. 60 In retrospect, however, the scatological aspect has arguably been implicit in the papal series from the outset, and in close association with the Horatian topoi that Dante assimilates to his anti-papal satire. This is apparent with Ottobono in Purgatorio 19.103–105, where—in another of the poem’s adaptations of Horace’s recommendation that poets test their competence to treat of subject matter, testing “what the shoulders refuse, what they can bear” (Ars, 39–40: “quid ferre recusent, / quid valeant umeri,”)—Ottobono posits that an inability to sustain the burdens of the papacy allows the papal mantle, and the pope’s own person, to be dragged into the mire (“fango”), or into the dung, befouling both (“sé brutta e la soma,” Purgatorio 16.129). 61 Bruttarsi is a term that retains scatological resonances in cantos where ordure is part of the punishment, especially Inferno 18, immediately preceding the canto of the damned popes, where the flatterer Alessio degli Interminei, “with his head so filthy with shit” (“col capo sì di merda lordo,” Inferno 18.116), resents the pilgrim’s special attention: “why are you so hungry to look more at me than the other filthy ones?” (“perché se tu sì gordo / di riguardar più me che li altri brutti?” Inferno 18.118–19). 62 Alessio’s predicament itself involves an inversion of lower with upper, daubing him with the products of “uman privadi.” 63 The contiguous canto 20, book-ending 19 along with 18, also introduces associated imagery in describing the soothsayers, their heads reversed so that “the tears from their eyes were bathing their buttocks down the cleft” (“l pianto de li occhi / le natiche bagnavan per lo fesso,” Inferno 20.23–24), using a word that echoes the fessure (“cracks”) into which the popes fall in Inferno 19.75. 64 In the distortion of their bodies, moreover, “overturned” (“travolt[i]”) such that “the face was turned toward the kidneys, and they were forced to walk backwards, since seeing forward was taken from them” (“da le reni era tornato ’l volto, / e in dietro venir li convenia / perché’l veder dinanzi era lor tolto,” Inferno 20.11–16), the seers suffer a horizontal reversal that complements the vertical inversion of the simoniacs. 65 The pertinence of scatological imagery to the simoniacs is thus strongly suggested. Indeed, in the case of Inferno 19, the multiple holes piercing the stone of Malebolge (fóri) suggest medieval privies, which typically consisted of round holes in stone benches. 66 It is through these holes that the previous popes in the infernal apostolic succession are driven down into the rock, which becomes in effect like the sewer or cloaca that is Rome as the seat of Boniface’s papacy, as subsequently declared by Saint Peter. 67 In this scatological reading, the round papal slot in Inferno 19, a parody of the cathedra Petri, echoes the shape of the sedes stercoraria, and testifies to the deposition of the popes from their high thrones back down to the dust and dung from which they were raised. 68 In this light, the cloacal imagery of

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Saint Peter’s language is not a departure in Dante’s program for the papal series, but its fulfillment. 69 Saint Peter’s straightforward, indeed harsh and coarse language might well be called the “naked language” that Horace, especially as interpreted by his commentators, recommends for satire. 70 A closely related phrase is actually used in the poem by Beatrice for the words she promises the pilgrim after the obscurities of Purgatorio canto 32: “now my words shall be naked” (“oramai saranno nude / le mie parole,” Purgatorio 33.100–101). The promise might apply to several of Beatrice’s subsequent lessons in Purgatorio and Paradiso; but the strongest candidate for “nude parole” from Beatrice would be her final words in the poem, which are also its final invective, Paradiso 30.133–48. She reiterates what we already know from Inferno 19.73–77. Clement V, held guilty of betraying Emperor Henry VII, will follow Boniface, “the one from Alagna,” into the papal slot of the third bolgia, pushing his predecessor farther down (“più giuso”) into the rock. Emphasizing the contrast between the sainted Henry’s great seat (“gran seggio”) high in the Empyrean and the papal “seats” down in the third bolgia, Beatrice’s bluntness has often shocked readers, 71 but her words are perfectly suited as nuda verba in a satirical key. If, as often done, Beatrice’s voice is identified as the voice of the surviving Church, of Revelation, or of Theology, her harshness would shatter all traditional notions of decorum. Her voice is also, though hardly explicitly, the voice of the poet Dante, and in a very specific, biographical sense. Dante might appear to end Beatrice’s final words on a weak note poetically, rhyming the latinism detruso, “thrust down” with the everyday adverbial phrase “farther down” (“più giuso”) providing the last words of canto 30. The spare, even banal language is, nevertheless, pointed and significant. In addition to recalling Saint Peter’s earlier remark about Satan’s pleasure “down there” (“la giù”), “più giuso” has a clear semantic relationship to the Latin imus (“lowest, farthest down”), the superlative form (along with infimus) of the paradigm beginning with infra (“low”) and the comparative inferior (lower”) that we previously saw defining the “tail” or “bottom” of Horace’s monster, and of Dante’s infernal regions as well. 72 But, as we saw, the rhyming terms also closely link Beatrice’s words with the text of the canto of the damned Popes and their “vertical” papal succession. The idea of the popes pushed farther down into the rock echoes Nicholas’s statement in Inferno 19 that “beneath my head are driven (“son . . . tratti” v. 73) the others who preceded me in practicing simony” (“che precedetter me simoneggiando,” v. 74). What is more, tratti picks up, from the second Epistle of Peter, “thrust down into Tartarus” (“detractos in tartarum”) in reference to the fallen angels, 73 a phrase that Augustine for his part quotes from the preJerome Latin Bible where the verb is instead retrudere, 74 meaning “thrust back,” which arguably influenced Dante’s choice of detruso. The scriptural

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variant, in other words, brackets Beatrice’s words with those of Nicholas, and through the allusion to the second Epistle of Peter reinforces the analogy between upside-down popes and fallen angels: principally, of course, Dante’s Satan. Better yet, the rare but conspicuous Latinism detruso, a hapax in Dante’s vernacular, connects the papal contrapasso to the historical Dante Alighieri, both a victim of the papacy and, through the instrument of poetic satire, his own just avenger. For Dante in his early (1302) condolence letter to the nephews of Count Alessandro of Mangona uses the same term, in Latin (a hapax as well), to depict himself thrust down and imprisoned in a dungeon or cave (“me detrusit in antrum”) by the poverty exile from Florence has imposed. 75 Dante’s second epistle is especially notable as the first instance of the poet presenting himself as “undeservedly in exile, expelled from the homeland,” a choice of language that as Ettore Paratore observed long ago echoes the self-description of the reconstituted Hippolytus in book 14 of the Metamorphoses, 76 on which Dante drew for Cacciaguida’s prophecy of the poet’s exile in Paradiso 17: mistreated by a stepmother Florence identified as Medea, the pilgrim is necessarily a Hippolytus figure. 77 Beatrice’s prediction of Boniface’s resting place is thus verbally, one could say philologically, tied to the pope’s role in fostering the Black Guelph coup d’état in 1301 that resulted in Dante’s exile from Florence and impoverishment. With Beatrice’s final words, Dante obscurely, but unmistakably, seals his anti-hierocratic satire and traces at least part of its origin to the injustice that he suffered at the hands of that pope who, in Dante’s view, is the worst of them all. 78 As the Florentine chronicler Giovanni Villani put it: “He took pleasure in that Commedia to heckle and cry out after the manner of a poet, perhaps with respect to subjects not advisable; but perhaps his exile made him do that” (“Bene si dilettò in quella Commedia di garrire e sclamare a guisa di poeta, forse in parte più che non si convenia; ma forse il suo esilio gliele fece”). 79 NOTES 1. Inferno 19.97, as transcribed by notary Iohannes Anthoniis Yvani Ferri, Memoriale bolognese 143 (1321, semestre II), fol. 281v; cited from Rime duecentesche e trecentesche tratte dall’Archivio di stato di Bologna, ed. Sandro Orlando (Bologna: Commissione per i testi di lingua, 2005), 152. The text of Dante referred to in this study is: Dante Alighieri, Inferno, ed. Anna Maria Chiavacci Leonardi (Milan: Mondadori, 2005). The emphases in the citations are mine. Translations from the Vulgate are from The Holy Bible, Douay Rheims version (Baltimore: John Murphy, 1899); all other translations are my own. 2. Horace’s text is consulted in: Horace Epistles Book II and Epistle to the Pisones (‘Ars Poetica’), ed. Niall Rudd (Cambridge, UK, and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 58–74 (notes on 150–229). Whether Dante knew works of Horace other than the Ars Poetica remains controversial. Suzanne Reynolds and Zygmunt G. Barański argue against it; in favor are Claudio Villa and Mirko Tavoni. See the following: Suzanne Reynolds “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89): Dante, the Roman satirists, and the medieval theory of satire,” The Italianist 15, Supplement 2 (1995): 128–44, here 135–37; Zygmunt G. Barański, “‘Magister satiricus,’

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Preliminary Notes on Dante, Horace and the Middle Ages,” in Language and Style in Dante, ed. John C. Barnes and Michelangelo Zaccarello (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2013), 12–61, here 42–43; Claudia Villa, “Dante” in Enciclopedia Oraziana, vol. 3 (Rome: Treccani, 1998), 189–95, here 190; and Mirko Tavoni, Qualche idea su Dante (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2015), 350–57. 3. See Ambrogio Camozzi Pistoja, “Profeta e satiro. A proposito di Inferno XIX,” Dante Studies 133 (2015): 27–45. His essay, as does mine, relies on the work of Claudia Villa, especially “Dante lettore di Orazio,” in Dante e la bella scola della poesia: Autorità e sfida poetica, ed. Gian Carlo Alessio and Amilcare A. Iannucci (Ravenna: Longo, 1993), 87–106; and Zygmunt G. Barański, “Magister satiricus” (see note 2), 13–14, note 3 lists his other essays; see Karin M. Fredborg, “The Ars poetica in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries: From the Vienna Scholia to the Materia Commentary,” Aevum 88 (2014): 399–442; here 428–35. 4. I follow Villa and Barański in drawing chiefly on the Materia commentary to the Ars widely known in the late Duecento and Trecento, and comprehensive of earlier commentaries as likely most pertinent to Dante’s reading of Horace; see Karsten Friis-Jensen, “The Ars poetica in Twelfth Century France. The Horace of Matthew of Vendôme, Geoffrey of Vinsauf, and John of Garland,” Cahiers de l’Institut du moyen âge grec et latin 60 (1990): 319–88; see also Fredborg, “The Ars poetica” (see note 3), 409–13. The Anonymous turicensis enjoyed little circulation (only two manuscripts known), and the newly published Communiter commentary from early in the fourteenth century, was unlikely to have been known to Dante, though its elevation of the status of poetry in relation to the trivium is consistent with Dante’s theory and practice. For the Communiter commentary, see Lisa Ciccone, Esegesi oraziana nel medioevo: Il commento “Communiter” (Florence: SISMEL Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2016). 5. See Villa, “Dante lettore” (see note 4), 102–3; also Zygmunt G. Barański, “Sole nuovo, luce nuova.” Saggi sul rinnovamento culturale in Dante (Turin: Scriptorium, 1996), 159–76. 6. For Dante’s anti-clerical satire of avarice in general: see Mirko Tavoni, Qualche idea (see note 2), 357–61. On the links of Inferno 19 to Inferno 7, where all the sinners are clerics, see Lino Pertile, “Inferno XIX,” in Lectura dantis bononiensis, ed. Emilio Pasquini and Carlo Galli (Bologna: Bologna University Press, 2014), 111–33; here 112. Camozzi Pistoja, “Profeta e satiro” (see note 3), 32 n. 27 lists Latin and vernacular texts of medieval anti-clerical satire, referring also to simony (the Apocalypsis Goliae, De nugis curialum); see also Joan Ferrante, “The Bible as Thesaurus for Secular Literature,” in The Bible in the Middle Ages: Its Influence on Literature and Art, ed. Bernard S. Levy (Binghamton: Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies, 1992), 23–50, here 44–48, referring to anti-clerical satire in the Carmina Burana. 7. Friis–Jensen, “The Ars poetica” (see note 4), 323–29, Barański, “Magister satiricus” (see note 2), 36–37; Ciccone, Esegesi oraziana (see note 4), 23–28. 8. See Geoffrey of Vinsauf’s Documentum de arte versificandi cited in Friis-Jensen, “The Ars poetica” (see note 4), 385–86, or her edition of the Materia commentary, 336–38 (“partium incongrua positio” [“incongruous positioning of parts”]); see also Ciccone, Esegesi oraziana (see note 4), 219–25. 9. This is of course a standard way of speaking about places in a text, by which what follows is said to be “below,” as in Dante’s De vulgari eloquentia 2.1.5–6: “ut per inferiora patebit” (“as is made clear below”). But given that Dante writes about are precisely “the places below” (inferna), such concepts were more than routine matters to Dante (note the contrast of “basso inferno” with “cerchio superno” at Inferno 12.35, 39). 10. Found also in some followers, such as Geoffrey of Vinsauf and his Poetria nova; for observations on that work’s metaliterary reflexivity, see Alexander Leupin, Barbarolexis (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1989), 17–38. 11. Cited in Friis-Jensen, “The Ars poetica” (see note 4), 385. Geoffrey’s mnemonic is in fact a summary of the entire scheme of “errors,” since its suggestion of an end discordant from its beginning scarcely differs from the first incongruity as the commentators derive it from Horace’s lines, that is, the incongruous sequence of styles that constitutes an error of dispositio regarding the beginning, middle, and end of the composition. Thus the Materia commentary (Friis-Jensen, “The Ars poetica” [see note 4], 336): “primum est partium incongrium positio. Partes autem libri sunt principium, medium et finis. Que utique incongrue ponuntur ‘cum primum medio, medium quoque discrepat imo’” (“first is the incongruous position of parts. For

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the parts of a book are its beginning, middle, and end. Which are surely incongruously placed when ‘the first part is dissonant with middle, and the middle with the last’”). The commentator adapts the same line of Horace, Ars, 152 (“primo ne medium, medium ne discrepet imum” [“lest the first be at variance with the middle, the middle with the last”]) used by Geoffrey for the last of the “errors”; see note 12; see also Friis-Jensen’s apparatus, “The Ars poetica” (see note 4), 336. 12. For instance, see Friis-Jensen, “The Ars poetica” (see note 4), 336: 15–17; ibid, Documentum, 385; and see previous note. 13. Several other “errors,” digressio, incongrua stili mutatio and variatio (“digression,” “discordant shift of styles,” and “variation”) are in fact closely linked to incongrua positio, in that all reproach miscellany or unharmonious mixture: commentary strains to come up with logically distinct categories for Horace’s fluid, urbane account. 14. Inferno 29.37–39 is discussed in the text. Purgatorio 1.98–100, juxtaposes the “primo ministro” at Purgatory gate with the low shores of the island (“ad imo ad imo”); Paradiso 30.107–109 juxtaposes the “mobile primo” with the bottom of the Empyrean “hill”: (“come clivo in acqua di suo imo / si specchia”); Paradiso 1.138 (“giuso ad imo”) is relevant later. 15. Dante’s borrowing from Horace’s Epistulae 1.14.43 in De vulgari eloquentia 2.1.9–10 is well known, probably derived from Uguccione’s Derivationes; in the same chapter Dante compares incongruous ornatus to mixing beautiful women in with malformed ones (“puta cum formose mulieres deformibus admiscentur”), an idea then reiterated by postulating an unseemly woman dressed in gold and silk (“turpis mulier si auro et serico vestiatur”). Formose, turpis, and mulier are three key terms from Horace’s monster of incongruity in Ars: 3–4, ugly below (“turpiter . . . desinat”) and beautiful above (“mulier formosa superne”). Editors of Dante’s treatise have so far not registered these (and other) Horatian borrowings in that particular chapter of De vulgari eloquentia. 16. For this topic, see Franz Quadlbauer, “‘Purpureus pannus,’ Zum Fortwirken eines horazischen Bildes in Spätantike und lateinischem Mittelalter,” Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch 15 (1980): 1–32. 17. The scorpion’s tail sits not only behind but also above, and can move forward when striking: thus that animal can breach both hierarchies of above/below and front/rear—just as Dante claims Geryon can breach any barrier (Inferno 17.2, “passa i monti e rompe i muri e l’armi”). 18. The foreshortened glimpse of Geryon as a surfacing diver at Inferno 16.130–36 is a view from above; the terms in the simile (“in sù si stende e da piè si rattrappa”) again juxtapose the relation of upper and lower, in sù, and da piè. For illustrations of Horace’s monster in the manuscript tradition, visually suggestive of Geryon, see Claudia Villa, “‘Ut poesis pictura.’ Appunti iconografici sui codici dell’Ars poetica,” Aevum (1988): 188–97. 19. Ars poetica: 38–40: “Sumite materiam vestris, qui scribitis, aequam / viribus, et versate diu quid ferre recusent, / quid valeant umeri” (“Take up a matter, you who write, equal to your strengths, and ponder long what your shoulders should reject, and what they can support”), echoed in Dante’s De vulgari eloquentia 2.4.4: “unumquemque debere materie pondus propriis humeris coequare, ne forte humerorum nimio gravata virtute in cenum cespitare necesse est” (“each should suit the weight of the subject matter to his own shoulders, lest if he take on too heavy a load he fall into the mud”). Dante Alighieri, De vulgari eloquentia, ed. Pier Vincenzo Mengaldo (Milan and Naples: Ricciardi, 1979), 162–65. 20. Camozzi Pistoja, “Dante satiro e profeta” (see note 3), 35, cites Guido da Pisa’s definition of satyrs, human above, bestial below: “Satyri enim sunt quedam animalia ab umbilico supra formam hominis habentia, sed ab umbilico deorsum habent formam caprinam” (“Satyrs are certain animals with a human form above the navel, but below the navel they have the form of a goat”). On the medieval confusion of satyrs with satire, see Fredborg, “The Ars poetica” (see note 3), 433–34. 21. Horace cautions against going too far with such admixture: “regali conspectus in auro nuper et ostro / migret in obscuras humili sermone tabernas” (“lest one royal in purple and gold enter smoky taverns and their humble speech”), but his lines furnish an image of such mixing. Humor and laughter are ingredients of the satirical critique: see the Materia commentary to Ars, 225 (Friis-Jensen, “Horace’s Ars poetica” [see note 4], 361): “Satira enim derisoria est

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quia cum quodam cachinno reprehendit” (“Satire is derisory when it reproves with certain guffaws”). 22. Teodolinda Barolini, The Undivine Comedy: Detheologizing Dante (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), 75. 23. See Anna Maria Chiavacci-Leonardi, introduction to Inferno 23, in Dante Alighieri, Inferno, vol. 1, La Divina Commedia (Milan: Mondadori, 1991), 677. 24. Tavoni, Qualche idea (see note 2), 182; John A. Scott, “The Rock of Peter and Inferno, XIX,” Romance Philology 23 (1970): 462–79. Gabriele Rossetti makes a similar claim regarding the rock of Peter in his 1826–1827 commentary on Inferno 19.73–78 (https:// dante.dartmouth.edu/). 25. Geryon’s “branche pilose” link him to Satan’s “folto pelo” (Inferno 34.75), and both with the hirsuteness of satyrs in the commentary tradition and in Uguccione da Pisa, Derivationes, vol. 2, ed. Enzo Cecchini and Guido Arbizzoni (Florence: SISMEL Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2004), 919, on the word pello (“hinc pilosi dicuntur [. . .] hunc alii satirum vocant” [thus they are called hairy . . . some others call them a satyr]). 26. See Inferno 21.74, 76, 78 (oda . . . Malacoda . . . approda); and Inferno 22.80, 82, 84: proda . . . vasel d’ogne froda . . . ciascun se ne loda (note the consecutive verse numbers over the two cantos). The ironic “praise” at Inferno 22.84 alludes to definitions of satire as including both blame and praise; see Reynolds, “Orazio satiro” (see note 2), 134–35 and 143 n 22. 27. Pisces is used only once in the Ars; pesce (Inferno 29.84) is used once in Inferno, once in Purgatorio. Anguilla (Inferno 17.104) is used in the plural in Purgatorio 24.24 to refer to the Bolsena eels preferred by Pope Martin IV. 28. Claudia Villa, “Dante” (see note 2), 189, links Horace’s faber (Ars 32–33) with Dante’s fabbro in Purgatorio 26.117, but not the ungues referring to details that the inferior sculptor (faber imus) can manage, even as he fails with the final touches. 29. Ars: 293: “decies perfectum castigavit ad unguem.” See the Materia commentary, in Friis-Jensen, “The Ars poetica” (see note 4), 366: “unde dictum est: res facta ad unguem, id est ad perfectionem” (“so that it is said: a thing done to the nail, that is, to perfection”). In the Materia commentary, it is the “feet” (!) that the bad sculptor botches: “sed tantum in pedibus formandis deficiebat. Cui comparandus est poeta qui materiam inceptam ad finem usque perducere nescit” (“but he was deficient only in forming the feet. To whom the poet is compared who does not know how to draw out what is begun to the end”). 30. Materia commentary (Friis-Jensen, “The Ars poetica” [see note 4], 366): “ad unguem: a marmorariis tractum est, qui marmoribus politis et iunctis unguem superducunt ut, si fuerit ibi scrupulus, offendatur unguis” (“to the nail: taken from marble masons, who draw a nail over polished and joined marble-work, so that, if there were an imperfection there, it would strike the nail”). 31. Appropriately, then, a term of art in medieval satire, leccare; see Bernhard Bischoff, “Living with the Satirists,” in The Classical Influences on European Culture AD 500–1500: Proceedings of an International Conference Held at King’s College, Cambridge, April 1969, ed. R. R. Bolgar (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 83–94, esp. 91. It appears both in Adamo’s canto (Inferno 30.128: “leccar lo specchio di Narciso”) and in proximity to Geryon near the beginning of Malebolge (“come bue che’l naso lecchi,” Inferno 17.71). 32. In response to the “Bronx cheer,” made with the mouth, of another demon, Inferno 21.137–38. On the “tromba,” see Gabriele Muresu, “Il tradimento dei simoniaci (Inferno XIX),” Rassegna della letteratura italiana 101 (2007): 5–30; here 6–7; Muresu notes that the trumpet heralded a Jubilee (e.g., Leviticus 25:9) and is thus suited to Boniface VIII, who declared 1300 a Jubilee year. Scholars have linked the the trumpet to epic poetry, to prophetic and apocalyptic biblical modes (e.g., Isaiah 58:1, 1 Corinthians 15:52, Revelations 8:6), to the judicial challenge (cf. Monarchia 1.1.5–6), or to announce penalizing of criminals: all are likely relevant. But it is also the poet’s voice, announcing papal crimes to the world; in Ars, 202–8, the tuba is linked to the other musical instruments that gather an audience to “fill the seats” in the theater (Horace, Ars, 204, “complere sedilia”). 33. See Anna Granville Hatcher and Mark Musa, “Lucifer’s Legs,” PMLA 79 (1964): 191–99; and Ernest N. Kaulbach, “Inferno XIX, 45: The ‘Zanca’ of Temporal Power,” Dante Studies 86 (1968): 126–35.

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34. Inversion is enacted by the wayfarers as Virgil, in transiting the center of the earth, appears to replace testa with zanche, Inferno 34.79: “volse la testa ov’ elli avea le zanche”; for some implications of this reversal, see John Freccero, “Infernal Inversion and Christian Conversion (Inferno XXXIV),” Italica 42 (1965): 35–41. 35. Strikingly, the lower parts of Horace’s monster can be compared to human shanks (“tibias”) in a similarly incongruous mixture mentioned in Geoffrey’s Documentum, as cited in Friis-Jensen, “The Ars poetica” (see note 4), 386: “caput equinum, corpus vitulinum, tibias humanas” (“A horse’s head, a calf’s body, human shanks”). Tibias might properly be translated with zanche. 36. Camozzi Pistoja, “Dante profeta e satiro” (see note 3), 32, notes the “meticoloso capovolgimento” of the popes so that Dante’s poem may “calcare i pravi e sollevare i buoni.” Indeed, Inferno 19.104–105 “che la vostra avarizia il mondo attrista / calcando i buoni e sollevando i pravi,” inverts Roman justice as expressed in Virgil’s Aeneid 6: 853 and quoted in Monarchia 2.6.9: “parcere subjectis, debellare superbos” and that of God, expressed in Mary’s Magnificat: “deposuit potentes de sede, exaltavit humiles” (Luke 2:52). I have not seen it noted that the popes’ kicking (calcando) assimilates them to the demons reproached by the “messo celeste” at Inferno 9.94: “perché recalcitrate a quella voglia. . .” (and cf. Acts 9:5, Christ’s reproach of Saul of Tarsus: “durum est tibi contra stimulum calcitrare” (“it is hard for thee to kick against the goad”). 37. In his final note on Inferno 19, Gabriele Rossetti opined that the popes would eventually be driven down as far as Cocito and Satan (Dartmouth Dante Project, https:// dante.dartmouth.edu/). 38. Ars, 226: “ita vertere seria ludo” (“to turn the serious into game”); the Communiter commentary (Ciccone, Esegesi oraziana [see note 4], 244), begins with line to treat of how Horace explains “qualiter admiscenda sit satira ipsi tragedie” (“how satire is to be mixed with tragedy itself”). 39. See Charles S. Singleton, “Inferno XIX: ‘O Simon Mago,’” Modern Language Notes 80 (1965): 92–99; Tavoni, Qualche idea (see note 2), 186–89; and Lino Pertile, “Inferno XIX” (see note 6), 111–33, esp. 117–23. 40. Boethius’s Fortune plays her game (ludus) when she reverses high and low, “infima summis, summa infimis mutare gaudemus” (“we enjoy shifting the lowest to the highest, the highest to the lowest”), which constitutes the “howling of tragedy” (“tragoediarum clamor”). See Anicio Manlio Severino Boezio [Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius], Consolazione della filosofia, vol. 2, ed. and trans. Ovidio Dallera (Rome: Rizzoli, 1977), 126. 41. As in folio 1r of the Codex Buranus MS Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Clm 4660; see also the fortune’s wheel by Brioloto di Balneo on the façade of the basilica of San Zeno in Verona, with the inscription (“elevo depono”), cited in John Leyerle, “The Rose-wheel Design in Dante’s Paradiso,” University of Toronto Quarterly 46 (1977): 280–308; here 306–307. 42. For the “Boethian” pattern of tragedy in the late Middle Ages, see Paul G. Ruggiers, “Notes Toward a Theory of Chaucerian Tragedy,” Chaucer Review 8 (1973): 89–99. 43. Camozzi Pistoja (“Dante satiro e profeta” [see note 3], 33) proposes Christ’s overturning (eversio) of the money-changer’s tables in the Gospels as authorizing the “upending” of the popes and Dante’s attack on simoniac prelates. This is a penetrating observation; as I argue elsewhere, it is part of Dante’s strategy of defending the Church from simony, a strategy spelled out in detail in the forthcoming published form of my 2016 Aldo Bernardo lecture (Camozzi Pistoja’s account and mine are independent). One can add that it is precisely Christ’s task to turn the world upside down: “è chi creda / più volte il mondo in caosso converso,” observes Virgil at Inferno 12.42–43 in relating the effects of the crucifixion on the fabric of Hell: Christ is the ultimate eversor mundi. The same applies to the “horizontal” reversal of the ships of state prophesied by Beatrice in Paradiso 27.145–48 (“le poppe volgerà u’ son le prore”), which requires that prows and sterns turn and change places, that is, be reversed (also Geryon’s movement, Inferno 17.103). 44. Reginald French, “Simony and Pentecost,” Annual Report of the Dante Society of America 82 (1964): 9–10; Ronald B. Herzman and William A. Stephany, “‘O miseri seguaci’: Sacramental Inversion in Inferno XIX,” Dante Studies 96 (1978): 49. See also Anthony Cas-

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sell, The Monarchia Controversy (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2004), 267, n115. 45. For scriptural borrowings in the canto, see Zygmunt G. Barański, “Canto XIX,” in Lectura dantis turicensis, vol. 1, Inferno, ed. Michelangelo Picone and Georges Güntert (Florence: Franco Cesati, 2000), 262. Matthew 4:19, overlooked by Barański, is most important, as it reports Christ’s own words; Barański, Ibid., 263–64 argues that the pilgrim’s pleasing of Virgil at Inferno 19.121 (“al mio duca piacesse”) echoes God’s words registering satisfaction at Christ’s baptism (Matthew 3:16–17, “mihi complacui” [“in whom I am well pleased”]): this would strengthen the association of the pilgrim with Christ. 46. For mordere as the act of satirists, in light of Inferno 19.118, see Camozzi Pistoja, “Dante profeta e satiro” (see note 3), 34–35, and note 43, there citing Persius, Satura 1.107–108 (“teneras mordaci radere vero / auriculas” [“grate on tender ears with biting truth”]). For Horace, the terms of satire are typically “wild” (agrestis) and “coarse” (asper); see Ars, 220–221: “mox etiam agrestis Satyros nudavit, et asper / . . . iocum tentavit” (“soon stripped wild Satyrs naked, and tried out . . . rude jests”): and see the Materia commentary, in FriisJensen, “The Ars poetica” (see note 4), 361: “satiros agrestes: Non enim in satira ornata verba sunt, sed agrestia et inculta. Et asper: quantum ad gravitatem tragedie” (“‘wild satyrs’: In satire, words are not adorned, but wild and unkempt. ‘And rude’: compared to the gravity of tragedy”). 47. For Horace and his commentators, satire is metrical composition: see Ars: 73–86, 250–70; for the Materia commentary on meters in 79–86, see Friis-Jensen, “The Ars poetica” (see note 4), 349; also Guillaume de Conches, Glosae in Iuvenalem, ed. Bradford Wilson (Paris: Vrin, 1980), 91, who writes: “convicia predicta sunt satire, id est agrestes callidiores autem in artem redigerunt et metrice ceperunt reprehendere” (“the aforesaid reproofs are satires, that is, they rendered their coarse things crafty through art, and began to reprove in meter”). 48. Antecessor is a hapax in the poem; of the four instances in the poem of successor, three relate to popes (Inferno 2.24; Purgatorio 19.99, in Latin; and Paradiso 27.47), and once to secular rulers (Purgatorio 6.102, said to “Alberto tedesco”). Succedette marks Semiramis as following Ninus (Inferno 5.59). 49. The medieval consecration ritual of bishops prohibits as simony the making of promises regarding apostolic power: “Videte ne aliquam promissionem vobis fecerit, quia simoniacum est et contra canones”; cited from Le Pontifical de la curie romane au XIIIe siècle, ed. Monique Goullet, Guy Lobrichon, and Éric Palazzo (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 2004), 70. On Boniface’s ostentation of the petrine keys in images he had made of himself, see Agostino Paravicini-Bagliani, Le chiavi e la tiara: immagini e simboli del papato medievale (Rome: Viella, 1998), 20–23, 107–8, and figures 62–63. 50. “O curvae in terras animae et coelestium inanes.” Gabriele Rossetti proposed the allusion to Persius in his commentary (1826–1827), applying it both to Ottobono and to the popes in Hell (https://dante.dartmouth.edu/); see also Giuseppe Billanovich, Prime ricerche dantesche (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1947): 9–10. Paradiso 11.1 is widely held to echo Persius, Satura 1.1. 51. Paradiso 27.40–45: “Non fu la sposa di Cristo allevata / del sangue mio, di Lin, di quel di Cleto . . . e Sisto e Pio e Calisto e Urbano / sparser lo sangue.” Dante’s Saint Peter inserts Popes Pius and Cletus (Paradiso 27.40–45), who were added to the Calendar of Santa Maria del Fiore after liturgical reforms in 1310 (the other martyred popes in Linus, Sixtus, and Calixtus, go back to Gelasian and Gregorian Calendars). See Marica S. Tacconi, Catholic and Civic Ritual in Late Medieval and Renaissance Florence: The Service Books of Santa Maria del Fiore (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 72–73. 52. Peter’s words are followed by reference to the keys: Paradiso, ed. Chiavacci-Leonardi, 748, cites Matthew 25:31–46, evoking Christ’s words during the Last Judgment; in Christ’s presence Peter must vacate his place (Paradiso 27.23–24). 53. See French, “Simony” (see note 44), 7; Scott, “The Rock of Peter” (see note 24), 464–65; Herzman and Stephany, “’O miseri seguaci’” (see note 44), 47; and Tavoni, Qualche idea (see note 2), 181–83.

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54. See Jeremiah 7:3 and 7 (“in loco isto”), also 7:2 (“ad locus meus,” of the altar at Shiloh), and 7:11 (“is this house then [. . .] become a den of robbers?”) originates for the New Testament the idea of the Church transformed from a house of prayer into a den of thieves. See Rachel Jacoff, “Dante, Geremia, e la problematica profetica,” in Dante e la Bibbia: Atti del Convegno Internazionale promosso da “Biblia”: Firenze, 26–27–28 settembre 1986, ed. Giovanni Barblan (Florence: Olschki, 1988), 113–23; here 115. 55. Camozzi Pistoja, “Dante profeta e satiro” (see note 3), 37, observes that the astronomical reference to Capricorn at Paradiso 27.66: il “corno della capra,” is a “segno caprino,” pointing to the association of the satirical genre with goat-footed satyrs. 56. Boncompagno da Signa, Rhetorica novissima, 9.2.11 (De curialitate transumendi): “verba significantia turpitudinem curialiter transumunt et sub velamine cautele occultant. [. . .] stercus autem et urinam ‘superfluitatem prime digestionis’ esse dicunt” (“words signifying vileness are transumed in a curial way and cautiously concealed under a veil . . . they call shit and urine ‘superfluities of the first digestion’”). Boncompagno’s text consulted online at: http:// web.archive.org/web/20070808063343/http://dobc.unipv.it/scrineum/wight/rn9.htm #9.2. 57. See the texts assembled by Reynolds, “Orazio satiro” (see note 2), 130–31 and 147–48 , which makes explicit that satire uses language epic poets eschew: “Nuda est quia circumloqutiones non loquitur, ut Virgilius et Ovidius” [It is naked because it speaks without periphrases, as Virgil and Ovid do]. See also the Materia commentary, in Friis-Jensen, “The Ars poetica” (see note 4), 361: “nudavit. Ad proprietatem satire respexit, que nuda dicitur quia aperte reprehendit” (“strips them bare. This refers to the property of satire, said to be naked because it reproves openly”). 58. See Proverbs 10:7: “Memoria justi cum laudibus, et nomen impiorum putrescet” (“the memory of the just is with praises: and the name of the wicked shall rot”). For the foetor peccatorum, see Theodore Silverstein, “Dante and the Visio Pauli,” Modern Language Notes 47 (1932): 397–99. Satire, caprine, and satyrical, treats of fetid vice with fetid language; see Reynolds, “Orazio satiro” (see note 2), 147: “caprina est satira, quia capra fetida est, sic satira turpia et fetida verba dicitur” (“satire is goatish, because goats stinks: thus satire is spoken with base and stinking words”). And Guillaume de Conches, Glosae, 90: “quam turpiter enim agunt homines, tam turpiter hec reprehendit. Caper vero fetidum est animal, unde satira propter viciorum fetorem similis est satiris caprinos pedes habentibus” (“just as much as men act basely, so basely does satire reprove them. The goat is a stinking animal, and thus satire, on account of the stink of vice, is similar to satyrs, which have goat’s feet”). Although without invoking the satirical genre, a rich treatment of Dante’s scatological language is furnished by Zygmunt G. Barański, “Scatology and Obscenity in Dante,” in Dante for the New Millennium, ed. Teodolinda Barolini and H. Wayne Storey (New York: Fordham University Press, 2003), 259–73. 59. Other uses of puzzo refer to the stench given off by Hell (Inferno 9.31, 11.5, 29.50), and by paganism (Paradiso 20.125); Purgatorio 19.33 refers to the siren; Paradiso 16.55, “lo puzzo del villan d’Aguglion,” combines the urban dweller’s disdain for the unwashed villager with contempt for a swindler. “Il mondo appuzza” said of Geryon metrically anticipates “il mondo attrista” said of the popes’ avarice. 60. On the papal coronation, see Le Pontifical (see note 49), 114 (xiiib.41); also Marc Dykmans, S.J., Le cérémonial papal de la fin du Moyen Âge à la Rénaissance, vol. 2, De Rome en Avignon ou Le cérémonial de Jacques Stefaneschi (Rome and Brussels: Institut Historique Belge de Rome, 1981), 282–83; and Paravicini-Bagliani, Le chiavi (see note 49), 67–68, 90; for the text of the ritual, see 1 Samuel 2:8: “Suscitat de pulvere egenum, et de stercore elevat pauperem” (“He raiseth up the needy from the dust, and lifteth up the poor from the dunghill”) from which he is raised to the “solium glorie” (“the throne of glory”). See also ParaviciniBagliani, Le chiavi (see note 49), 107–8 on Boniface’s gisant tomb in the Vatican, sculpted before his death, a possible target of Dante’s satire here. An illuminating exposition of the scatological imagery in Saint Peter’s invective in Paradiso 27 in relation to the sedes stercoraria ceremony, including important documentation, is found in chapter 6 of Nicolino Applauso’s Dante’s Comedy and the Ethics of Invective in Medieval Italy: Humor and Evil, forthcoming

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from Lexington publishers. My thanks to the author for sharing this material with me before publication. 61. Echoing Horace’s advice in De vulgari eloquentia 2.4.4, Dante introduces the idea, absent in Horace, that failing to estimate one’s powers will result in a stumble into the mire (“in coenum cespitare”). Usually rendered in Italian as fango, coenum is in Latin also applicable to ordure or dung. 62. See also Inferno 13.10: “le brutte Arpie,” who in Virgil’s Aeneid 3.216–17 (“foedissima ventris / proluvies”), defile food with their droppings. 63. Inferno 18.114. Canto 18, anticipating 19, also emphasizes the feet and head with derisory, satirical terms (“levar le berze,” 18.36; and “battendosi la zucca,” 18.124), using terms appearing just once in the poem. 64. The fifth bolgia, too, is a fessura (Inferno 21.4), echoing the fessure into which the simoniacs fall. 65. Another echo of Geryon, who also moves backward when leaving the “shore” of the usurers (“come la navicella esce di loco / in dietro in dietro” Inferno 17.100–101). 66. Echoing the “umani privadi” a canto earlier, where we also find “in uno sterco” (Inferno 18.113). Regarding the Florentine font, the argument made in Mirko Tavoni’s “Papi simoniaci e Dante profeta (Inferno XIX),” chapter 5 of Qualche idea su Dante (see note 2), 149–225, that not a marble font, but a clay amphora was broken by Dante, has obtained wide, if not universal, consensus. Despite the merits of the study, the reading remains problematic at the literal level of Dante’s simile: briefly put, against Tavoni’s postulation of battezzatoj as clay vessels resting in shallow depressions in the baptistery floor, it seems more likely that Dante understands the fóri, the round holes perforating the rock of the third bolgia at Inferno 19.14, as the grammatical antecedent both for the “places” made for individuals who baptize (“quei che son . . . fatti per loco d’i battezzatori” Inferno 19.17–18) and for the containers from which the souls’ feet and shanks protrude (“fuor de la bocca a ciascun /soperchiava / d’un peccator li piedi” 19.22). Tavoni’s reading disrupts the continuity of the things compared by eliding the implicit parallel between baptizers who are right-side-up and popes who are upside-down (see the cogent reservations in Pertile, “Inferno XIX” [see note 6], 128–30). 67. To again cite Boncompagno’s Rhetorica novissima 9. 2. 11: “Item cloacam vel latrinam in ‘sellam’ et ‘urinalem scaphum’ vel ‘calicem’ vocant” (“for example they call the toilet or latrine the ‘saddle’ and ‘urinary bowl’ and ‘chalice’”). 68. See note 59. 69. In a broader sense, the bolge themselves are part of a digestive system; see Robert M. Durling, “Deceit and Digestion in the Belly of Hell,” in Allegory and Representation: Selected Papers from the English Institute, 1979–80, ed. Stephen Greenblatt (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1981), 61–93. After the “umani privadi” in Inferno 18, we find Maometto’s viscera exposed “fin ove si trulla” and revealing “il tristo sacco che merda fa . . .” (Inferno 28.24–27). The conformation of the popes to Satan may also point to Satan’s eating and excretion of the damned, as in the Last Judgment walls in the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua and in the Florentine baptistery; significantly, the opening in which Dante places his popes is described as a mouth (“bocca,” Inferno 19.22). 70. See note 55, and Horace, Ars, 220, “Satyros nudavit” (“stripped the Satyrs”); cf. Claudio Villa, “Terenzio (e Orazio) in Toscana fra IX e XIV secolo,” Studi italiani di filologia classica, 3:10 (1992): 1103–15; here 1112–13. 71. See the review of responses by Peter Hainsworth, “Dante’s Farewell to Politics,” in Dante and Governance, ed. John Robert Woodhouse (Oxford: Clarendon, 1997), 153–69; here 169. 72. Beatrice’s “più giuso” also links Inferno 21.43, “Là giù’l buttò,” to the series of upendings, among other passages (e.g., “son giù volte,” Inferno 5.15). 73. See 2 Peter 2:4, “Si enim Deus angelis peccantibus non pepercit sed rudentibus inferni detractos in tartarum traditit in iudicium cruciatos reservari” (“For if God spared not the angels that sinned, but delivered them, drawn down by infernal ropes to the lower hell, unto torments, to be reserved unto judgment”), in reference to cast-down demons (echoing Isaiah 14:11, of Lucifer: detracta est ad inferos superbia tua” [“Thy pride is brought down to hell”]).

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74. See Saint Augustine’s Enarratio in Psalmo CXLVIII, 9: “Propterea ad ista caliginosa, id est ad hunc aerem, tamquam ad carcerem, damnatus est diabolus, de apparatu superiorum angelorum lapsus cum angelis suis. [. . .] Et alius apostolus dicit, si enim Deus angelis peccantibus non pepercit, sed carceribus caliginis inferi retrudens tradidit in judicio puniendos servari (2 Petr. 2:4): infernum hoc appellans, quod inferior pars mundi sit” (“Thus to this dark place, that is to this air, as if to a dungeon, the devil was damned, having fallen with his angels from the splendid place of the high angels [. . .] and as another apostle says, ‘if then God spared not the angels that sinned’, but thrusting them down into the darkness of the low places, ‘delivered them . . . unto torments’; calling that place Hell, which was the low place in the world”). See Augustine, Enarrationes in Psalmos 101–150, pars 5, in Enarrationes in Psalmos 141–150, ed. Franco Gori and Claudio Pierantoni (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2005), 256. Detrusus is also used of Virgil’s giants, Aeneid 6.586, who would thrust Jove down from his realm (“Iovem detrudere regnis”). They themselves have been cast down to the lowest (imus) place: “hic genus antiquum Terrae, Titania pubes, / fulmine deiecti fundo volvuntur in imo” (“the ancient race of Earth, the Titan’s spawn, thrust down by the thunderbolt, writhe in the deepest abyss,” Aeneid 6.581–2). 75. See Epistola II.3 in Dante Alighieri, Dante Alighieri Opere minori, vol. 3, tome 2, Epistole, Egloghe, Questio de aqua et terra, ed. Arsenio Frugoni, Giorgio Brugnoli, Enzo Cecchini, and Francesco Mazzoni (Milan and Naples: Ricciardi, 1995), 529. Dante may also recall Joseph’s imprisonment in Egypt (Genesis 41:10): “iratus rex servis suis, me et magistrum pistorum retrudi jussit in carcerem principis militum” (“the king, being angry with his servants, commanded me and the chief baker to be cast into the prison of the captain of the soldiers”). 76. “exul immeritus, a patria pulsus” in Dante, Epistola. II.1. 529. Compare Ovid, Metamorphoses 15:504: “damnavit, meritumque nihil pater eicit urbe” [he called down curses on my head, and though I’d not deserved it, my father banished me from the city]; but Dante’s textus receptus read: “arguit immeritumque pater proiecit ab urbe” (“I was blamed, and though undeserving my father cast me from the city”) as reported by Ettore Paratore, Tradizione e struttura in Dante (Florence: Sansoni, 1968), 41. 77. See Marguerite Mills Chiarenza, “Hippolytus’ Exile, Par. XVII, vv. 46–48,” Dante Studies 84 (1966): 65–68. Virgil’s use of detrudo at Aeneid 7.773 (“Stygias detrusit ad undas” [“thrust down to the Stygian waves”]) refers to Aesculapius, the son to Apollo and demigod of healing cast by Jove into the Styx for healing the dismembered Hippolytus (as narrated in Ovid’s account). Cited in the note to Dante’s second epistle, p. 530. 78. Tavoni, Qualche idea (see note 2), 174–81 contrasts the papal sigillo on Bulls as reproved by Saint Peter in Paradiso 27.52 to the poet’s suggel in Inferno 19.21 (“e questo sia suggel ch’ogn’ omo sganni”). 79. Giovanni Villani, Nuova Cronica, ed. Giuseppe Porta (Parma: Guanda, 1990), Book 10, ch. 136; translation mine.

Chapter Three

“Ed elli avea del cul fatto trombetta” (Inferno 21.139) Satire and Sodomy in Dante’s Inferno Mary Watt

The world of the Commedia is, at its most essential, one in which direction matters. From the outset we are advised that there is a right road. 1 The pilgrim, however, has missed this right, that is, correct road and, as a result, finds himself in serious trouble, figured as a dark wood. Diritta (right) is thus implicitly opposed to sinistra (left), both semantically and deictically, so that left becomes associated with wrong, while right is associated with correct. The qualitative value of these directions is confirmed when the pilgrim explicitly tells the reader that, as he attempted his first ascent, he put his right foot forward. 2 Thus right is not only associated with correct but also with forward and upward movement while the left, that is, wrong, is associated with movement backward and downward. Fortunately, there is hope for the lost pilgrim. A light in the distance, the sun, illuminates a mountain and, as he looks up to it, anticipates the pilgrim’s eventual ascent in subsequent canticles. This sign of hope, however, is challenged by the countervailing possibility of despair, as the poet reminds us of how the pilgrim might have ended up but for the heavenly intercession of which we will learn in the following canto. The pilgrim’s glance backward at the danger he has escaped 3 further establishes backward as the opposite of the salvation associated with the light that combats the dark wood. 4 At the same time, the moment introduces the interplay of sun and shadow, avatars of salvation and sin respectively, an opposition that will pervade much of the Commedia and the Inferno, in particular. 5 55

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The first scene of the Inferno thus etches a grid in the imagination of the attentive reader, as the poet draws the mind’s eye up and down, backward and forward, right and left. The entire first canto tells us that the pilgrim’s trajectory is crucial to arriving at his ultimate destination—what is backward will descend into Hell and what is forward will ascend into Heaven. 6 The canto’s introduction of deictic opposites that will color the entire hermeneutic orientation of the poem thus serves as a “how to” for the reader trying to determine what it all means. Just as the first canto may be seen as a type of mini-Comedy, serving as a species of preview or synopsis, 7 it may also serve as an exegetical tool, alerting the reader to the values that should be assigned to the landscape of the poem as well as to movement within it. Just as the pilgrim who is, at first, lost, eventually finds his way, the reader who, at first, sees “through a glass darkly,” will eventually understand. The prevalence of opposition as a hermeneutic device in the Inferno might be best understood in the context of Mikhail Bakhtin’s theory of the carnivalesque. In his seminal work, “Rabelais and his World,” Bakhtin identifies such opposition as part of what he calls a “special idiom” of forms and symbols associated with Carnival celebrations. 8 The imagery of this idiom is marked by oppositions such as “youth and old age,” “top and bottom,” and “face and backside.” 9 Functioning in concert with these pairings is the Carnival practice of using things in reverse, such as wearing clothes inside out, or with the wrong side facing front. These practices combine to create a period that can be characterized as “life turned inside out” or “the reverse side of the world” (“monde à l’envers”). 10 Additionally, Bakhtin characterizes ritual spectacle, comic verbal composition (including parody), and obscene or abusive language (“billingsgate”) as “carnivalesque.” Locating these in the realm of folk culture, Bakhtin also notes their close association with Carnival celebrations which he argues “marked the suspension of all hierarchical rank, privileges, norms, prohibitions.” 11 As such, carnival behavior provided a vehicle through which social criticism might be expressed without fear of reprisal as well as an opportunity to indulge emotions such as anger, resentment, illicit desire, and gluttony, to name only a few. 12 Not surprisingly, the idiom of Carnival is often used to satirize the status quo, challenge authority, and effect reform and renewal. Considered in the context of Bakhtinian theory and the pervasive presence of oppositional duality in the Commedia’s first canticle, the entire space of the Inferno may be characterized as carnivalesque, given that its geomorphology manifests, literally, the notion of a world turned inside outside or the “reverse side of the world.” 13 In much the same way as pre-digital photographic images were produced from a “negative” from which the eventual “positives” were derived, Inferno and Purgatorio function teleologically as mirrors of each other. Both treat many of the same sins: Inferno punishes while Purgatorio purges them. In this way, Dante’s creation of Hell and

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Purgatory is one in which the world is physically turned inside out and also upside down. When the pilgrim has finished his descent, he must turn upside down in order to turn right side up in a process that reiterates the carnival practice of reversal. 14 Moreover, the chiasmic synergy of Inferno and Purgatorio appears to mirror the relationship between Carnival and the Lenten season. Both realms, for example, are extremely concerned with the corporeal and with the physical. This concern, emphasized by descriptions of physical exertion, bodily mutilation, and disfigurement, bolsters Dante’s poetic assertion that the pit of Hell and the pinnacle of Purgatory, i.e., Earthly Paradise, are both actual places on earth. Even though they are closed to mankind in his earthly lifetime, they may be entered by special dispensation such as Dante’s. 15 But this seeming symmetry is illusory and emerges as part of a greater parodic structure that functions satirically to readjust the unenlightened perception of Carnival as all “fun and games” and Lent as a burden. In the Inferno, the pilgrim learns instead that indulging the appetites leads to damnation while depriving them liberates the soul. In Inferno the bodies are solid and become progressively more so as we descend; they are going nowhere. 16 In Purgatorio the bodies are tangible but they are also mobile; after a certain period they will leave and go somewhere better (Heaven). Thus while Inferno may look like the counterpart of the Mountain of Purgatory it is more akin to the kind of representation that Linda Hutcheon identifies in Ezra Pound’s Hugh Selwyn Mauberly. Pound’s ironic inversion, she argues, parodies the Commedia to highlight the lack of meaning in the protagonist’s life and work. Specifically, Hutcheon contends, Pound uses parody as a form of imitation but, she notes, it is “imitation characterized by ironic inversion, not always at the expense of the parodied text.” Pound’s ironic inversion of the Commedia then affects a parody founded on the difference, not the similarity, between the moral journeys of the two exiles. 17 Within the Commedia, the difference between Inferno and Purgatorio is highlighted by the pilgrim’s own progress in contrast to the inertia of the damned. While the pilgrim’s descent is cured by his corresponding ascent through Purgatorio and eventual liberation from the weight of human existence, the souls in Inferno cannot follow him and their immobility contrasts sharply with the pilgrim’s progress. Significantly, this disparity, that is, between what seems and what is pervades the Inferno. Throughout this upside-down world, the pilgrim and the reader are confronted with images and stories that appear to resemble their purgatorial counterparts, or even at times their paradisiacal extensions but turn out to be cruel parodies not unlike the parody that Bakhtin characterizes as carnivalesque. Further, as Dante imitates and inverts images, texts, and events throughout the Inferno, it becomes increasingly evident that this parody has a satir-

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ical function. Here I rely on Hutcheon’s distinction between satire and parody. Parody, she observes, consists of imitation that ranges from “respectful admiration to biting ridicule.” Satire, in contrast to parody, is “both moral and social in its focus, and ameliorative in its intention.” 18 Thus in the Inferno parody serves as a vehicle for Dante’s satirical intention. One of the earliest and most striking examples of this satirical function is the inscription on the gate of Inferno. 19 The large gate looks a lot like the great portoni (large gates), often inscribed with words of welcome, found in the medieval cities into which Dante himself would have entered on his travels. 20 Here, however, the inscription functions as a cruel taunt of the kind one might expect during Carnival. Like so many of the barbs of Carnival, 21 this parodic message contains a difficult truth; in this case, the harsh reality of Dante’s impending exile. 22 The words of the inscription are thus particularly poignant but they are also vaguely familiar as the refrain, “Per me si va . . .” recalls Christ’s route map to salvation, as charted in John 14:6: “I am the way.” 23 This route, that is, the infernal iter, instead of leading to immortality leads nowhere but down. The appearance of Pier della Vigna in Inferno 13 reiterates this type of parody as the poet presents the reader with something seemingly familiar only to reveal it as a profane mumming of the divine. Pier della Vigna, a courtier and poet at the Court of Frederick II, 24 evokes the figure of Saint Peter in several ways. In addition to being named for the saint, Pier’s statement that he held both keys to his Lord’s heart, 25 reminds the reader of the disciple to whom Christ entrusted the keys to Heaven. 26 Pier della Vigna’s unceasing loyalty to his lord, however, had no salvific value when he was imprisoned and took his own life. On the other hand, Peter the Apostle, well known for his occasional lapses in loyalty, repented and is found among the blessed in Paradiso. The episode is verbally marked by twisting and turning as Dante himself parodies the intricate rhymes of Frederick’s court: “I think that he thought that I thought.” 27 By means of a process that Hutcheon calls trans-contextualization 28 the canto works in tandem with Paradiso 27 in which Saint Peter’s rough poetry (explored masterfully by Maggie FritzMorkin in this collection) underlines the distinction between the two. Shifting the context of the style of the Scuola siciliana to the setting of the woods of the suicides reveals the moribund nature of such poetic virtuosity, for it could not save Frederick’s poet from death or eternal damnation. (It also reminds the pilgrim that he himself adhered to a “school” 29 that lacked salvific value.) In Inferno 19 Dante uses another satirical parody of Peter, this time to criticize papal greed. The canto opens with an invective that evokes the figure of Simon Magus and recalls the martyrdom of the other Peter, who tradition recounts, chose to be crucified head down. The apocryphal Acts of

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Peter attribute this intentional inversion to Peter’s desire to follow Christ’s own revolutionary manifesto, and thus furnishes the exemplar of the divine inversion of Christianity that the Simon Magus figure mocks. For the first man, whose image I bear, thrown downward with the head, [. . .] who cast his origin upon the earth, [. . .] showed the right as the left and the left as the right, and changed all signs of nature, to behold the ugly as beautiful and the really bad as good. On this the Lord says in a mystery: “Unless ye make the right as the left and the left as the right, and the top as the bottom and the front as the backward, ye shall not know the Kingdom of [Heaven]. 30

Although Simon Peter’s inversion, strictly speaking constitutes parody, it is not the cruel or critical type associated with Carnival. Simon Magus’s inversion, on the other hand, was motivated by greed and personal ambition. Dante’s representation of it is, therefore, a fitting introduction to his treatment of the simoniacs who themselves are represented upside down. Similarly, the story that Count Ugolino tells in Inferno 33 rings familiar to the reader as Dante once again uses “trans-contextualization” to signal its parodic satirical nature. Ugolino’s narrative takes the words of Christ and inserts them into a different context so as to effect serious moral criticism. The son’s plaintive cry “O Father, why do you not help me?” 31 recalls Christ’s near desperation on the cross, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” 32 The distinct possibility that Ugolino ate his sons to prolong his own survival perverts the communion rite and also God’s sacrifice of His son. At the same time, Ugolino’s damnation also reveals the truth of Christ’s own “topsy-turvy” warning that he who seeks to save himself will be lost. 33 In the next canto, Virgil’s use of the phrase “The banners of the King of Hell draw closer” (“Vexilla regis prodeunt inferni,” Inferno 34.1) echoes a famous hymn used as part of the Good Friday rituals including the veneration of the cross. 34 While his words may conjure up the image of royal / military banners waving in the wind, Virgil’s trans-contextualization (and paraphrasing) renders the scene distinctively carnivalesque and transforms Lucifer into a parody of a king, be that king earthly or heavenly. On an even more subtle level what Virgil does is similar to what the Roman soldiers did during the Passion, i.e., ridiculing Christ with a mock crowning and robing and posting a sign labeling him king of the Jews. Finally, Lucifer himself, with his great bat-like wings functions as an infernal parody of the Holy Spirit that descends upon Christ as he is baptized in the river Jordan. Lucifer’s immersion in the ice also recalls the many representations of Christ’s baptism found in visual art throughout Ravenna in which Christ is immersed waist-deep in the water. Here the parodic transcontextualizing of these images effects a purpose similar to that of the Ugolino canto, presenting serious criticism of those who would confuse the Prince of Darkness with the Prince of Peace.

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Within the Inferno this kind of parody is also present in the many instances of sinners engaging in actions that can be described as upside-down or backward, most notably in canto 15, the circle of the sodomites. Here again we may gain a better understanding of Dante’s purpose if we consider the canto in the context of Bakhtinian theory. Setting aside the question of why Brunetto Latini is here at all, a question that is not likely to be resolved anytime soon, 35 it is worthwhile to look at how Dante describes the mise-enscène of the episode. The entire canto is marked by continual intersection of backward and forward, up and down. Indeed, the persistent image of souls turning backward 36 evokes the act of sodomy precisely because the sinners are inverting the accepted natural order of things. 37 As Richard Kay has observed, the contrapasso of the episode itself is an inversion: “Since it is the nature of fire to rise upwards, the falling flakes of fire are . . . contrary to nature.” 38 Moreover, the sodomites are walking away from Dante and are also below him so that the maestro, Brunetto, must look up to the student and turn back to speak to him. Here we find once again that, as in the case of Pier della Vigna, the sinners in this circle have misread the recipe for immortality. Brunetto taught Dante that it is through the word that man makes himself eternal. But he was only half right. The caveat of course, is that the word made God is not the same as the word written by man—far from it. Seeking his own fame and immortality Brunetto has lost it and gained instead only eternal damnation. At the end of the canto, Brunetto turns and runs off and the last glimpse we have of him evokes the image of a bare buttocks. As Dante compares Brunetto’s exit to a competitor in the Palio in Verona, the clever reader remembers that the runners in that race are naked. Dante may have been thinking also of the many naked hindquarters in Giotto’s Last Judgment in the Scrovegni chapel. 39 Equally the image could have been inspired by the many naked buttocks visible in the depiction of the devil in the baptistery in Florence. 40 Dante probably never saw the Gorleston Psalter, 41 but its depiction of a sodomite, his back to the viewer, slapping his own rump, with his head turned backward was probably not an isolated or unusual representation. The image in the psalter gives us a good example of how sodomy was depicted in the Middle Ages, that is, as comical and inviting ridicule. Dante’s depiction of Brunetto is equally comical and, in its parody of the many naked “glutes” in medieval depictions of Hell, serves a satirical function that is intended to correct behavior that is hell-bound. The metaphoric exposure of Brunetto’s buttocks also suggests his posterior availability which is a reversal of an accepted practice in medieval Florence referred to as “pedagogical sodomy,” according to which the younger man was penetrated, not the older father figure. 42 Thus even this small corner of this world has been turned upside down. But the moment is also extremely

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carnivalesque in the Bakhtinian sense, 43 in its combination of pathos and the comic. 44 The former teacher, whom Dante once considered a father-figure, is now below Dante and must look up to him. From a literary perspective, Dante has become the didactic poet who will discipline the teacher, rather than vice versa. Several cantos later Dante once again uses the image of a buttocks to close out an episode. In the final image of Inferno 21 the demons in the malebolgia turn around along the left hand bank, and gnashing their teeth, signal to their leader who made a “trumpet of his ass.” 45 Again, as they were in the case of the Brunetto canto, scholars are of mixed opinions with respect to what precisely the demon did. Some take the statement literally, i.e., that Malacoda has a trumpet inserted in his rectum. Others assert that the demon has simply, and loudly, passed gas. There is also disagreement as to whether the moment is comic, burlesque, and what role it plays in the greater project of the Commedia. Michelangelo Picone, for example, identifies the Malebranche with the medieval jongleurs, whose activities were closely associated with scurrilitas. 46 Given the extent to which the canto displays many of the attributes associated with carnival practices in Dante’s time, perhaps it is most helpful to consider the entire canto as a species of carnivalesque parody. Although included in a textual work, the moment nonetheless conjures up the noise and confusion of Carnival, an element which Dennis Mooney calls indispensable to the carnival experience. 47 Moreover, on those occasions when the Commedia was performed or recited publicly, this aurality would be even more pronounced. 48 Although Fabian Alfie does not connect the episode directly to the carnival experience, he points to the importance of examining Malacoda’s trumpeting in light of the “anti-music of Hell.” 49 In addition to the cacophony the moment is intended to produce, it is also an example of something (in this case an anus) being used for a purpose for which it was not designed by nature. The image also suggests things being upside-down: one usually uses one’s mouth to blow a trumpet. The rough behavior alone is rather “burlesque” 50 but it also functions as a parody of military order. Alfie points to the opening lines of the twentysecond canto contrasting the ersatz horn blast with actual military maneuvers. 51 Dante’s use of personal recollection to describe his fear of the demons, 52 serves not only to personalize and authenticate his experience but it also alerts the reader to the institution that is being mocked. 53 Significantly, as the demons debate whether or not to attack Dante, the buttocks makes yet another appearance when one of the demons suggests that they “give it to him on the rump.” 54 (Even the name Malacoda evokes an image of rear quarters, roughly translating as, to put it in the vernacular, “bad ass.”) In this respect the closing image also reprises the Commedia’s earlier indices of sodomy.

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In a realm in which all have turned away from divine order, this slapstick moment, like the description of the sodomites, emerges as a component part of a larger overarching satirical structure that Dante uses to further the political message of the Commedia. 55 Moreover, if we consider the episode in this way, and at the same time consider it in concert with the very many other carnivalesque parodic moments in the Inferno, then it is possible to understand them as a part of a satirical project through which Dante effects a large scale socio-political critique. Its place in the structure of Hell is thus important. This parody of the military and the explicitly unnatural practice of its leader are located between two other cantos that criticize the failure of the Church against its real enemies and its unnatural behavior vis-à-vis supporters of the Empire. 56 Inferno 19 decries the simony engendered by the Donation of Constantine and his relocation to Byzantium while canto 27 berates Boniface for making war on Christians when he should be making war on the infidels in the Middle East. Leo Spitzer’s characterization of the Malacoda episode as a “whimsical interlude” 57 recognizes the importance of where it lies in relation to its narrative surroundings. Spitzer, however, does not connect its ludic nature and Carnival nor does he link its role as a type of intermission to the finite period outside of ordinary time that Carnival represents. Yet if we make those connections, we see that Inferno 21 serves a crucial function in the greater satirical corrective purpose of the Commedia. Dante’s mockery of the army is consistent with that other moment in the Inferno that parodies the medieval military, that is, when the furies defend the City of Dis in Inferno 9. Taken together, these cantos parody and criticize the contemporary figure of the Christian soldiers: instead of fighting for Jerusalem and the Lord, they are fighting against other Christians. Their behavior desacralizes the notion of crusade and as such functions as part of the larger satire of Trecento Italy that the Inferno represents. As Alfie notes, the behavior of the Malebranche and Malacoda’s flatulence, in particular, like many noisy medieval rituals functioned as a parody of the “laudatory music that honored people.” As such it “represents the dishonorable violation of a divinely inspired order.” 58 For Dante, this divinely inspired order was turned upside down and backward by the well-meaning Constantine whose acts against nature have impeded the progress of the Empire. It is not surprising, therefore, that the imagery of Inferno 15 and 21 anticipates the language that Dante will use in Paradiso to characterize Constantine’s move to Byzantium as unnatural. 59 In Paradiso 6, Justinian tells the story of the Roman Empire and describes Constantine’s relocation of the imperial capital to the East as “turning against the course of the heavens” in contrast to the course taken by Aeneas (Paradiso 6.1–3). Moreover, when Dante encounters Constantine in the sphere of Jupiter, he calls the Emperor the “one who made himself Greek” (Paradiso

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20.55–60). The poet thus draws upon the medieval perception of Byzantines as sodomites 60 or at very least effeminate. 61 In Dante’s view, by turning his back on Rome, Constantine has also turned his back on the divine destiny of Rome. Just as Malacoda uses his anus for an unnatural purpose, be it to mock military signals or the insertion of an object into it, Constantine has done a similar thing. The Emperor was redeemed by his good intentions but the Empire, nonetheless, remains off course. Now ruled by a money hungry, war mongering papacy epitomized by Boniface VIII, the entire Christian world has turned upside down. By turning the wrong way, Constantine has threatened the immortality of the Empire. In contrast, the purging that Dante’s own writing offers, 62 will allow it to turn the right way and achieve the timelessness promised by the gods. Dante’s location of both Brutus and Cassius alongside Judas in Lucifer’s mouth, epitomizes the Inferno’s satirical criticism of the state of the Empire. In a parody of communion, Lucifer, who offers only damnation, chews on the bodies of sinners. Dante thus inverts the moment in which sinners eat the body of Christ and consume the salvation that His body offers. Equally importantly, the parody demonstrates that for Dante, turning against the Empire is as contemptible as turning against Christ. In this moment, where we see only the legs of the traitor Judas, the poet uses an image that he has already associated with sodomy and simony to emphasize the backward nature of treason. As the pilgrim and Virgil themselves turn upside-down, we are urged to read these parodic episodes in the context of a larger satirical project in which the Inferno relies on the “special idiom” of Carnival and recalls many of its traditional manifestations. Indeed, many medieval carnival events, such as the races staged in Rome, or the slaughter of the pigs on Monte Testaccio 63 find their counterparts in Hell. Similarly, many of the signature components of the ancient Saturnalia that survived into Dante’s time give structure to Dante’s underworld. Among the most prevalent of these is the reversal of hierarchy. During the Saturnalia, for example, servants were masters for a day as the masters became servants. Additionally, the direction of the main roads and thoroughfares were reversed. Dante’s concern that the right way was lost, mimics the disorientation engendered by the confusion of a city in which left is suddenly right, right is left, north is south, and vice versa. It would be easy to get lost in such an upside-down and inside-out world. The experience would be even more disquieting for a stranger in a strange land, and such a place must surely have seemed a selva oscura. Similarly present in the Inferno, as we have seen, is the ancient festival’s tendency to parody 64 normal existence through mis-use of items, such as people wearing their clothing inside out, mockery and de-sacralization. 65 Here the parody is used as a vehicle of satire that adds to the social criticism and ameliorative purpose of the pilgrim’s journey.

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Although Dante was aware of the pagan foundations of Florence, 66 it is difficult to know to what extent he would have been aware of the pagan roots of Carnival that theorists such as Bakhtin have identified. His use of the many motifs and practices associated with the carnivalesque suggest a very strong awareness on his part of its practice and function. In this respect it is not difficult to see the entirety of the Inferno as a carnivalesque parody of fourteenth-century Rome, the antithesis of Dante’s ultimate destination, that Rome where Christ is a Roman. 67 This inversion is even more ironic when one recalls that the action of the Commedia takes place during the Easter Triduum. Carnival is over for the rest of the Christian world but not for the souls in Hell who live in a perpetual state of inversion. The irony is amplified by the fact that Carnival is by its very nature finite, 68 though recurrent, while Hell is perpetual with no possibility of the return to ordinary time. In a realm in which despair reigns, where salvation is impossible and fertility is nonexistent, there is no place for Lent or Easter. Here the hijinks never end. What we see then is that even the seeming carnivalesque essence of Inferno is an illusion and a parody of the festival itself. The eternal judgment of Hell itself recalls Christ’s own subversive caution that he who seeks to be first will be last and servant of all. 69 Unlike the release that Bahktin suggests such mumming effects, 70 the parodic existence of the souls in Hell permits no vehicle through which to exhaust one’s rage, or resentment. Unlike the celebration of Carnival, which eventually gives way to purgation and redemption, the sojourn in Hell has no recuperative conclusion. 71 As part of a larger structure that is not only moral but also social and political in its focus, the satirical parodic moments of the Inferno signal the wrong that Dante intends to right. In sum, the entirety of the Inferno serves as a satirical critique of late medieval Italy. The constant use of turning imagery of a world turned inside-out, upside-down, and backward, is more than a simple condemnation of sodomy but rather invokes sodomy to effect an indictment of all that is unnatural and in need of correction. Most specifically, Dante is eager to return the Holy Roman Empire and the Roman Church to their natural order. For Dante, Constantine is both the embodiment and genesis of the problem, i.e., the reversal of temporal and spiritual authority. As Dante points out in the Monarchia, the empire precedes the papacy chronologically 72 and not vice versa. In Book 3, Dante further argues that the authority of the Roman Monarch comes directly from God and not from His Vicar, i.e., the successor of Peter. 73 The Papal crown and the papacy’s appropriation of Imperial power, Dante suggests, is as much a mockery as the crowning ritual identified by Bakhtin. “The primary carnivalistic act is the mock crowning and subsequent de-crowning of the carnival king. The ritual is encountered in one form or another in all festivities of the carnival type: in the most elaborately worked out forms—the saturnalia, the European carnival and festival of fools (in the latter, mock priests, bishops or popes, depend-

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ing on the rank of the church, were chosen in place of a king).” 74 The crowning ritual of Carnival is one that destabilizes but, Dante urges the reader to remember, it was always and, indeed, needed to be, followed by a de-crowning of the make-believe king that returned the world to its natural order. 75 In Dante’s political vision, “natural” means that the Emperor has jurisdiction over the temporal and the Church has power over the spiritual. Throughout the Inferno Dante’s carnivalesque parody uses inversion, trans-contextualization and blaspheming to set the scene for this inevitable de-crowning. The end of the Inferno, like the end of Carnival, thus signals a return to a time when servants serve their proper masters, soldiers serve divine justice, the roads run the right way, and mouths (not rear ends) are used to blow trumpets. NOTES 1. “Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita / mi ritrovai per una selva oscura / ché la diritta via era smarrita.” Inferno 1.1–3. (“When I had journeyed half of our life’s way, / I found myself within a shadowed forest, / for I had lost the path that does not stray.”) All citations from the poem follow Dante Alighieri, La Commedia secondo l’antica vulgata, ed. Giorgio Petrocchi (Florence: Le Lettere, 1994). The translation follows that of Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy, trans. Allen Mandelbaum (New York: Bantam, 1982, 1983, 1986). 2. “Poi ch’èi posato un poco il corpo lasso, / ripresi via per la piaggia diserta, / sì che ‘l piè fermo sempre era ‘l più basso. Inferno 1.28–30. (“I let my tired body rest awhile. / Moving again, I tried the lonely slope— / my firm foot always was the one below.”) 3. “E come quei che con lena affannata, / uscito fuor del pelago a la riva, / si volge a l’acqua perigliosa e guata, / così l’animo mio, ch’ancor fuggiva, / si volse a retro a rimirar lo passo, / che non lasciò già mai persona viva.” Inferno 1.22–27. (“And just as he who, with exhausted breath, / having escaped from sea to shore, turns back / to watch the dangerous waters he has quit, / so did my spirit, still a fugitive, / turn back to look intently at the pass / that never has let any man survive.”) 4. In the Christian Gospels, light is typologically associated with salvation and darkness with damnation. John 8:12: “Then Jesus again spoke to them, saying, ‘I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life.’” 5. George Corbett discusses this opposition in the context of a “vertical” reading of the Commedia. Specifically, he notes that in the opening canto of each Canticle, the sun represents God and that movement upward represents movement toward God away from the darkness or shadows of the Inferno. See George Corbett, “Pagan Dawn of a Christian Vision,” in Vertical Readings in Dante’s Comedy, ed. George Corbett and Heather Webb (Cambridge: Open Book Publishers, 2015). 6. On the hermeneutics of descent and ascent in the Inferno see Amilcare Iannucci, “Beatrice in Limbo: A Metaphoric Harrowing of Hell,” Dante Studies 97 (1979): 23–45. 7. Richard Kay considers canto 1 of Inferno to be a prologue, that is, a general proem of the Commedia as a whole. See Richard Kay, “Parallel Cantos in Dante’s Commedia,” Res Publica Litterarum 15 (1992): 109–13; see also Richard Kay, “The Sins of Brunetti Latini,” Dante Studies 112 (1994): 19–31; here 20. 8. As Mikhail Bakhtin observes, the development of the medieval carnival (which was informed in turn by “thousands of years of comic ritual, including the primitive saturnalia”) brought with it a “special idiom” of forms and symbols. See Mikhail Bakhtin, “Carnival and the Carnivalesque,” Cultural Theory and Popular Culture: A Reader, ed. John Storey (Upper Saddle River: Pearson, 1998), 250–60; here 253.

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9. Bakhtin, “Carnival” (see note 8), 251. 10. Bakhtin, “Carnival” (see note 8), 253. 11. Mikhail Bahktin, Rabelais and his World, trans. Hélène Iswolsky (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1984), 10. 12. Martha Bayless puts it more eloquently: “To allow the oppressed classes to let off steam, those at the top of the hierarchy set aside times for licensed quasi subversion.” Martha Bayless, Parody in the Middle Ages: The Latin Tradition (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1996), 179. 13. As the pilgrim and Virgil descend through the center of the earth, Virgil explains that they are now on the opposite side of the world. (Inferno 34.21–127). 14. John Freccero describes the moment thus: “By turning upside down at the center of the universe, the pilgrim and his guide right the topsy-turvy world of negative transcendence from which they began. Satan, the Prince of this world, seems right side up from the perspective of Hell; after crossing the cosmic starting-point, however, Dante sees him from God’s perspective, planted head downward with respect to the celestial abode from which the angel fell.” See John Freccero, Dante: The Poetics of Conversion (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1986), 182. 15. Although the book of Genesis placed the Garden of Eden somewhere east of Jerusalem, re-entry to it had been closed to mankind since his fall: “So the Lord God banished him from the Garden of Eden to work the ground from which he had been taken. After he drove the man out, he placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim and a flaming sword flashing back and forth to guard the way to the tree of life” (Genesis 3:23–24). In Inferno 26, Dante reiterates the closed nature of Eden. Revising the ending of Homer’s Odyssey, the poet sends Ulysses out on one last sea voyage. Ulysses describes the journey making reference to actual geographical locations such as Ceuta and Seville and the length of time they were traveling. Ulysses’s narrative creates a species of ship’s log, as he describes a westward / southward journey at the end of which they sight the mountain of Purgatory (Inferno 26.124–26, 133–35). They are not permitted to land, however, as a great storm turns their boat upside down drowning the entire crew. 16. John Freccero notes this distinction. “The vision represented in the Inferno is clearly corporeal; the souls of sinners are to be seen and even touched by the pilgrim. The representational power of Dante’s verses enables us to sense our surroundings as though we were there. The sights and sounds and even smells of hell bombard the pilgrim and, with the immediacy for which Dante continues to be celebrated, the reader seems to share that experience. The Purgatorio, on the other hand, is the realm of fantasia. The focus of our attention is not on the pilgrim’s surroundings, but rather on his mental state—it may be described, in Francis Fergusson’s words, as ‘Dante’s Drama of the Mind.’” Freccero, Poetics of Conversion (see note 14), 94. 17. Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody. The Teachings of Twentieth-Century Art Forms (New York: Methuen, 1985), 6. 18. Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody (see note 17), 16. Martha Bayless defines “satire” as “any form of literature, in verse or prose, which ridicules vice or folly.” Bayless, Parody in the Middle Ages (see note 12), 5. The introduction to this volume presents an overview of the development of satire from classical to medieval literature. 19. ‘Per me si va ne la città dolente, / per me si va ne l’etterno dolore, / per me si va tra la perduta gente. . . . Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate.’ Inferno 3.1–9. (“THROUGH ME THE WAY INTO THE SUFFERING CITY, / THROUGH ME THE WAY TO THE ETERNAL PAIN, / THROUGH ME THE WAY THAT RUNS AMONG THE LOST. . . . ABANDON EVERY HOPE, WHO ENTER HERE.”) 20. The most immediate to come to mind is the inscription on Siena’s Porta Camollia: “Cor magis tibi Sena pandit.” (“Siena opens its great heart to you.”) The current gate was completed in 1604 after the thirteenth-century precursor was destroyed during the 1555 siege of Siena. The inscription is said to be a tribute to Ferdinando I de’ Medici, Grand Duke of Tuscany from 1587 to 1609. Built during the thirteenth century, it was razed during the 1555 siege of Siena. Although the inscription likely existed on the original gate, its being the city’s motto, here it is

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ironic given the vehemence with which the Sienese have historically resisted Florentine encroachment. 21. “A carnevale ogni scherzo vale” (“during Carnival any trick / joke goes”) is the motto even today of the pre-Lenten revelry that still flourishes in Italy. 22. This kind of taunting occurs again in Inferno 21 when the sinners are told they should not bother looking for the volto santo here (Inferno 21.48). The reference is to the Holy Face of Lucca, a religious relic visited by pilgrims on the Francigena, the main road between France and Rome. Here the taunting is particularly poignant given that this is the circle in which those guilty of barratry are punished, the crime of which Dante himself would be convicted by the Florentine judiciary. 23. “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me.” The statement was in response to Thomas’s question “Lord, we do not know where You are going, how do we know the way?” The exchange engenders the notion of Christ as both a means to salvation but also as a route. The latter idea was reprised in many medieval maps that depicted the known world as the body of Christ. 24. William A. Stephany provides full biographical details of Pier della Vigna a courtier to Emperor Frederick II. William A. Stephany, “Pier Della Vigna’s Self-fulfilling Prophecies: The ‘Eulogy’ of Frederick II and Inferno 13,” Traditio 38 (1982): 93–212; here 193–94. 25. “Io son colui che tenni ambo le chiavi / del cor di Federigo, e che le volsi, serrando e diserrando.” Inferno 13.58–60. (“I am the one who guarded both the keys / of Frederick’s heart and turned them, locking and unlocking them.”) 26. Matthew 16:18–19, “And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build My church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of Heaven. Whatever you bind on the earth will be bound in Heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in Heaven.” 27. “Cred’ ïo ch’ei credette ch’io credesse,” Inferno 13.25. (“I think that he was thinking that I thought.”) Pier’s statement description of his fall from grace also mimics this style: “infiammò contra me li animi tutti; / e li ‘nfiammati infiammar sì Augusto,” Inferno 13.67–68. (“inflamed the minds of everyone against me; / and those inflamed, then so inflamed Augustus.”) 28. Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody (see note 17), 12. 29. In Purgatorio 33, Beatrice berates Dante, stating that the school he followed is of little use in comprehending the divine or getting to Heaven: “‘Perché conoschi,’ disse, ‘quella scuola / c’hai seguitata, e veggi sua dottrina / come può seguitar la mia parola’”; Purgatorio 33.85–87. (“That you may recognize,” she said, “the school / that you have followed and may see if what / it taught can comprehend what I have said.”) Natalino Sapegno suggests that the “scuola” to which Beatrice is referring is “dei filosofi e dei poeti.” (“that of the philosophers and the poets.”) Dante Alighieri, Inferno, ed. Natalino Sapegno (Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1985), 373. 30. Bernhard Pick, The Apocryphal Acts of Paul, Peter, John, Andrew and Thomas (Chicago: Open Court, 1909), 118–19. See also Acts 8:9–24, Luke 23:26–34. 31. “Padre mio, ché non m’aiuti?” Inferno 33.69. Donna Yowell observes that the children’s lament creates “Echoes of the Eucharistic scene.” These echoes, she concludes “highlight a crucial difference, not a similarity between their offering and Christ’s offering. See Donna Yowell. “Ugolino’s ‘bestial segno’: The De vulgari eloquentia in Inferno XXXII–XXXIII,” Dante Studies 104 (1986): 121–43; here 130. Stanley Benfell refers to this as an example of the “distorted intertextuality in this canticle.” Benfell provides numerous examples from the Inferno of “misunderstood and garbled echoes of biblical texts, inversion and misprision that distort biblical meaning.” Stanley V. Benfell, The Biblical Dante (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2011), 79. See also Ronald Herzman who views the cannibalism of the episode as an inversion of the “heavenly banquet as it exists on earth,” a “parodic inversion of the gift of God become man, the gift of Himself.” Ronald B. Herzman, “Cannibalism and Communion in Inferno XXXIII,” Dante Studies 98 (1980): 53–78; here 58. 32. “About the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Matthew 27:46. See also Mark 15:34: “And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?”.

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33. “For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake, he is the one who will save it.” Luke 9:24. 34. Dante Alighieri, Inferno, 378. 35. Glenn A. Steinberg, presents a thorough and critical overview of the pertinent scholarship on this issue. See Glenn A. Steinberg, “Dante’s Bookishness: Moral Judgment, Female Readers, and a ‘Rerealization’ of Brunetto Latini,” Modern Philology 112, no. 1 (2014): 23–55; here 43–45. 36. There are many examples: “perch’io in dietro rivolto mi fossi,” Inferno 15.15 (“not even if I’d turned around to look”); “se Brunetto Latino un poco teco ritorna dietro . . .” Inferno 15.31–33 (“if Brunetto Latino turns back for a bit with you”); “Pur ier mattina le volsi le spalle,” Inferno 15.52 (“only yesterday morning I turned my back to it”); “Questi m’apparve, tornand’io in quella,” Inferno 15.53 (“This one appeared to me, turning me to that one”). Virgil himself turns to look back: “si volse indietro,” Inferno 15.97 (“turned back”) and finally, Brunetto also turns his back to Dante: “Poi si rivolse, a parve di coloro che corrono a Verona il drappo verde,” Inferno 15.121–22 (“And then he turned and seemed like one of those, who race across the fields to win the green cloth at Verona”). 37. Yet here Dante is not necessarily referring to sexual practices. Indeed, Dante does not use the terms “sodomy” (sodomia) or “sodomite” (sodomita) in this canto. Joseph Pequigney has noted that while Dante includes male same-sex relations in this circle, he follows St. Thomas’s Summa theologiae, by including sodomy as just one of many sins against nature (peccata contra naturam) and regarding these as more grievous than those that accord with nature (peccata secundum naturam). See Joseph Pequigney, “Sodomy in Dante’s Inferno and Purgatorio,” Representations 36 (1991): 22–42; here 22. John Boswell also notes that “in everyday language ‘sodomy’ was the ‘sin against nature’—and not in the purely Scholastic sense.” He notes as well though that Aquinas and most theologians of the High Middle Ages regarded all non-procreative sexuality as “against nature,” “ordinary people (and most civil law) used the term primarily in reference to homosexuality.” See John Boswell, “Dante and the Sodomites,” Dante Studies 112 (1994): 63–76; here 66. 38. Kay, “The Sins of Brunetti Latini” (see note 7), 21. 39. Giotto was a guest of the Scaligeri at the same that Dante was and Dante had likely seen the work as it progressed. 40. Christopher Kleinhenz argues that much of the structure of the Commedia may have come from Dante’s own observations of the images that surrounded him, not the least of which were the mosaics of the cupola of the Florentine baptistery. See Christopher Kleinhenz, “On Dante and the Visual Arts,” in Dante for the New Millennium, ed. Teodolinda Barolini and H. Wayne Storey (New York: Fordham University Press, 2003), 274–92; here 282. 41. England fourteenth century. British Library Manuscript Additional 4962. 2 fol. 61r. and image. For an examination of how the sodomites were depicted in early illustrated version of the canto, see Steven Stowell, “Visualizing the Sodomites in Dante’s Commedia,” Dante Studies 126 (2008): 143–74. 42. Gary Cestaro provides a thorough overview of the prevalence of sodomy in medieval Florence and, in particular the practice referred to as “pedagogical sodomy.” Cestaro notes that in such relationships the “passive partner was commonly characterized as a woman, “donna” or “femina.” Gary P. Cestaro, “Queering Nature, Queering Gender: Dante and Sodomy,” in Dante for the New Millennium, ed. Teodolinda Barolini and H. Wayne Storey (New York: Fordham University Press, 2003): 90–99; here 92. Steven Stowell also presents a thorough study of fourteenth-century social and religious views on sodomy. Stowell, “Visualizing the Sodomites” (see note 41), 146–48. 43. Glenn Steinberg also notes the canto’s evocation of “Games and nudity.” See Steinberg, “Dante’s Bookishness” (see note 35), 43. 44. “All the symbols of the carnival idiom are filled with this pathos of change and renewal.” Bakhtin, Rabelais (see note 11), 11. There is inevitably a pathos associated with the passing of the old. Nostalgia is a natural response, characterized most often by the glance backward, as in the case of Lot’s wife, or indeed, Dante’s own gesture at the summit of Purgatory. 45. “Per l’argine sinistro volta dienno; ma la prima avea ciascun la lingua stretta / coi denti, verso lor duca, per cenno; / ed elli avea del cul fatto trombetta.” Inferno 21.136–39. (“They

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turned around along the left hand bank: / but first each pressed his tongue between his teeth as signal for their leader, Barbariccia. / And he had made a trumpet of his ass.”) 46. Lectura Dantis Turicensis, Inferno, ed. Michelangelo Picone and Georges Güntert (Florence: Cesati, 2000). Zygmunt Baranski considers the episode in the context of the important role he contends that obscenity and scatology play in the Commedia’s meta-literary infrastructure. Zygmunt Baranski, “Scatology and Obscenity in Dante,” in Dante for the New Millennium, ed. Teodolinda Barolini and H. Wayne Storey (New York: Fordham University Press, 2003), 259–73; here 267. Fabian Alfie gives a wonderfully thorough overview of the prevailing criticism with respect to the meaning of Malacoda’s parting gesture. See Fabian Alfie, “Diabolic Flatulence: A Note on Inferno 21:139,” Forum Italicum 45, no. 2 (2011): 417–27. 47. “Noise is an indispensable part of the carnival experience—the warding off of evil spirits, the welcoming of benevolent one. . . . By all accounts, it was ear splitting and stupefying—the voices, the music, the singing, the blowing of horns, the sound of slapsticks, bladders, bells, trumpets, horns, tambourines, drums, squibs.” Dennis Mooney, “The development of the Roman carnival over the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries” (PhD diss., University of Glasgow, 1988), 75. 48. John Ahern reminds us that the Commedia was often performed publically in the fourteenth century. He cites as proof Franco Sacchetti’s anecdotes about Dante rebuking both a blacksmith and an ass driver for singing the Commedia poorly. John Ahern, “Singing the Book: Orality in the Reception of Dante’s Comedy,” in Dante: Contemporary Perspectives, ed. Amilcare Iannucci (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997), 214–39; here 214. In another work, Ahern notes also Petrarch’s letter (Familiares 21.15) in which the poet expresses his disdain for “how illiterates performed parts of the poem at crossroads and theaters to applauding drapers, innkeepers, and people in shops and markets.” John Ahern, “What Did the First Copies of the Comedy Look Like?” in Dante for the New Millennium, ed. Teodolinda Barolini and H. Wayne Storey (New York: Fordham University Press, 2003), 1–15; here 5. 49. Fabian Alfie, “Diabolic Flatulence” (see note 46), 422. 50. Teodolinda Barolini refers to this as “burlesque military behavior as practiced by devils and with a famous instance of the low “tavern humor” that characterizes this bolgia. She notes that Malacoda’s omission that all the bridges are broken, that is, Malacoda’s “truthful lie,” is the “precise inversion of comedìa,” a “truth that has the face of a lie” (Inferno 16.124). Teodolinda Barolini, “Diabolic Semiosis,” http://digitaldante.columbia.edu/dante/divine-comedy/inferno/inferno-21/, accessed Jan. 31, 2016. 51. Fabian Alfie, “Diabolic Flatulence” (see note 46), 424. 52. “così vid’ ïo già temer li fanti / ch’uscivan patteggiati di Caprona, / veggendo sé tra nemici cotanti.” Inferno 21.94–96. (“Just so, I saw the infantry when they / marched out, under safe conduct, from Caprona; / they trembled when they passed their enemies.”) 53. We as scholars, of course, know that Dante was convicted of barratry shortly after the action of the Commedia takes place. The connection serves as a species of “retro-prophecy” akin to the kind of personal reference Dante makes in the terrace of pride in Purgatorio in which he states that he expects to spend a great deal of time. See also Giuseppe Baglivi and Garrett McCutchan for the autobiographical elements of this canto. Giuseppe Baglivi and Garrett McCutchan, “Dante, Christ, and the Fallen Bridges,” Italica 54, no. 2 (1977): 250–62; here 251. 54. “ Ei chinavan li raffi e “Vuo’ che ‘l tocchi”, / diceva l’un con l’altro, “in sul groppone?” / E rispondien: “Sì, fa che gliel’ accocchi!” Inferno 21.100–102. (“They bent their hooks and shouted to each other: / ‘And shall I give it to him on the rump?’ / And all of them replied, ‘Yes, let him have it!’”) Mandelbaum and others translate this as “rump” but it typically refers to one’s back. 55. Alfie stresses the difficulty in discussing “the subtle differences across different medieval definitions of comedy and satire” but notes that Guido a da Pisa described the Commedia as “satire because it reprehended vice.” Alfie, “Diabolic Flatulence” (see note 46), 421. 56. In Monarchia 3.14.1, Dante refers to the results of the Donation of Constantine being “contra naturam Ecclesiae.” 57. Leo Spitzer sees the entire canto as “farce” and notes that Dante plays along somewhat with the demons. He notes further that Virgil also falls victim to one of their tricks. Ultimately

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Spitzer sees the episode as a comic and “whimsical interlude.” See Leo Spitzer, “The Farcical Elements in Inferno, Cantos XXI–XXIII,” Modern Language Notes 59, no. 2 (1944): 83–88; here 85–86. 58. Alfie, “Diabolic Flatulence” (see note 46), 422. 59. “Poscia che Costantin l’aquila volse / contr’al corso del ciel, ch’ella seguio / dietro a l’antico che Lavina tolse” (Paradiso 6:1–3). The reference is to the taking of Lavinia in the Aeneid where the westward trajectory of Aeneas’s providential journey aligns the empire with the natural course of the sun; that is, from east to west. Sapegno, Paradiso, 71. Constantine was, of course, familiar with the Aeneid and endorsed the popular notion of Virgil as a preChristian prophet whose 4th Eclogue prophesied the birth of Christ. Barbara Reynolds, Dante. The Poet, the Political Thinker, the Man (Emeryville: Shoemaker Hoard, 2006), 108. 60. Luigi Andrea Berto’s article, “The Image of the Byzantines in Early Medieval South Italy,” lists numerous eleventh- and twelfth-century Italian chronicles that were being copied and circulated in the thirteenth and fourteen centuries in which Byzantines, referred to as Greeks are regularly maligned as effeminate, cowardly, untrustworthy traitors. Moreover, letters of the same period suggest that Byzantines had succumbed to the Turkish practice of sodomy. The letter of Emperor Alexius (Alexius I, Comnenus, 1081–1118) to Robert, Count of Flanders (Robert I, called the Frisian, 1071–1093), for example, while describing Turks as sodomites who defile boys, adolescents, youth, old men, nobles, and serfs writes that even “one bishop has succumbed to this abominable sin!” Moreover, Alexius expresses the fear that this “abominable sin” will continue to spread. Although the authenticity of the letter has been questioned by modern historians, it is nonetheless a good indicator of medieval attitudes and or a propaganda campaign aimed at creating such an attitude. See Luigi Andrea Berto, “The Image of the Byzantines in Early Medieval South Italy: The Viewpoint of the Chroniclers of the Lombards (9th–10th centuries) and Normans (11th century),” Mediterranean Studies 22, no. 1 (2014): 1–37. 61. The Pseudo-Methodius, for example, blamed the Muslim domination of the East on Christian men behaving like women. The late seventh-century Apocalypse of Pseudo-Methodius [Revelationes] was translated into Latin in the eighth century. “And so the Lord God will give them (i.e., the sons of Ishmael) the power to conquer the land of the Christians, not because he loves them, but because of the sin and iniquity committed by the Christians. Such sins have not nor shall be committed for all generations. Men will get themselves up as false women wearing prostitutes’ clothes. Standing in the streets and squares of the cities openly before all they will be adorned like women; they will exchange natural sex for that which is against nature. As the blessed and holy Apostle says, “‘men have acted like women.’ (Romans 1: 26–7.)” William Anderson suggests that Dante “certainly knew of the Christian prophecies of a redeemer known as those of the Pseudo-Methodius on which he drew for his letter to the Florentines.” William Anderson, Dante the Maker (Boston: Routledge, Kegan and Paul, 1980), 293. It is also possible that Dante, in addressing the Romans, consciously aligned himself with the Pseudo-Methodius, who in this particular passage cites Paul’s letter to the Romans 1: 26–27. 62. Claudia Rattazzi Papka has argued that the prophecy of the veltro in Inferno 1:100–114, can be interpreted as identifying Dante himself or at least his poetic output as salvific: “Virgil’s prophecy of the veltro is fulfilled in the composition of the Commedia itself, not yet born in the first canto of Inferno, but still seeking to restore health to a morally ravaged Italy.” Claudia Rattazzi Papka, “‘Tra feltro e feltro’: Dante’s Cartaceous Apocalypse,” Dante Studies 117 (1999): 33–44; here 42. 63. On Testaccio small carts, covered with red cloth and bearing the banners of the people of Rome and, later, also of the Pope, each dragging a pig behind it, were sent careering down the hill toward the players, who fought each other to obtain the prize (the pig); meanwhile the bulls were set loose on the players, turning their fury also on the pigs; pigs and bulls were released at intervals to increase the general confusion, and the whole affair ended when all the animals were slaughtered. Filippo Clementi, Carnevale romano nelle cronache contemporanee: Con illustr. riprod. da stampe del tempo, 2 vols. (Città di Castello: Settili, 1938–1939), 37.

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64. In this I look to Hutcheon who observes that the “function of parody is often to the malicious, denigrating vehicle of satire, a role it continues to play to this day in some forms of parody.” Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody (see note 17), 11. 65. Mikhail Bakhtin, listing several categories of the carnivalistic, notes a fourth, i.e., profanation which he characterizes as follows: “Carnivalistic blasphemies, a whole system of carnivalistic debasings and bringing down to earth, carnivalistic obscenities linked with the reproductive power of the earth and the body, carnivalistic parodies on sacred texts and sayings.” Bakhtin, “Carnival” (see note 8), 251. 66. In Paradiso 16, for example, Dante has Cacciaguida refer to the head of Mars that sits on the bridge in Florence. The head once sat in the temple of Mars which was eventually converted to the church of St. John. “But Florence, in her final peace, was fated / to offer up— unto that mutilated stone guardian upon her bridge—a victim.” (“Ma conveniesi a quella pietra scema / che guarda ‘l ponte, che Fiorenza fesse / vittima ne la sua pace postrema.” Paradiso 16.145–47). 67. “quella Roma onde Cristo è romano.” Purgatorio 32.102. 68. Despite the apparent lack of rules, there were in fact a number of restraints in place that were understood and generally followed. In particular there were well-ordered rules setting out on which days masking was permitted and on what days it was not. Moreover, most municipalities in Italy put a limit to the length of time Carnival could be celebrated. Gaetano Moroni, “Carnevale di Roma,” Dizionario di Erudizione storico-ecclesiastico, vol. 10 (Venice: Tipografia Emiliana, 1878), 89. 69. “If anyone wants to be first, he shall be last of all and servant of all.” Mark 9: 37. 70. See Bakhtin, Rabelais (see note 11). 71. Because they must wear their masks forever, the sinners in hell have become their masks. The ultimate punishment in Hell is what John Freccero has described as Dante’s “reification of the sign,” resulting from the souls’ own actions that effectively short-circuits the referentiality of the sign. That is, they have become the literal, devoid of the allegorical and exist only as signifiers devoid of signified. John Freccero, In Dante’s Wake: Reading from Medieval to Modern in the Augustinian Tradition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), 145. 72. In book 2 Dante goes to great pains to establish that the Roman Empire was willed by God and that Christ was born into this Empire as part of God’s plan. Dante Alighieri, Monarchia, ed. and trans. Richard Kay (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 1998). 73. Monarchia 3.8.11, “Et ideo dico qod etsi successor Petri, secundum exigentiam offitii commissi Petro, possit solvere et ligare, non tamen propter hoc sequitur quod possit solvere seu ligare decretal Imperii sive leges ut ipsi dicebant, nisi ulterius probaretur hoc spectare ad offitium clavium: cuius contrarium inferius ostendetur.” (“And therefore I say that although Peter’s successor is able to loose and bind in conformity with the requirements of the office committed to Peter, still it does not follow from this that he is able to loose or bind the decrees or laws of the Empire (as they maintain) unless it be further proved that this pertains to the office of the keys; and the contrary of this proposition will be demonstrated below.”) 74. Bakhtin, “Carnival” (see note 8), 252. 75. Here one is reminded of the mock crowning that is included in the Gospel accounts of the Passion. The walk thus crowned through the streets of Jerusalem during a Jewish festival, could be interpreted as a Roman example of carnivalesque parody being used to desacralize. The event is described in John 19:1–17 and in Matthew 27–34.

Chapter Four

“Se io mi trascoloro, non ti maravigliar” Peter’s Invective and colores rhetorici in Paradiso 27 Maggie Fritz-Morkin

Si dicentis erunt fortunis absona dicta, Romani tollent equites peditesque cachinnum. If the speaker’s words sound discordant with his fortunes, the Romans, in boxes and pit alike, will raise a loud guffaw. –Horace, Ars Poetica vv. 112–13 Non oratorem, non senatorem, sed piscatorem. Neither an orator nor a senator, but a fisherman. –Saint Augustine 1

Dante crafts Saint Peter’s final speech in the Commedia—in Paradiso 27, which narrates the pilgrim’s last moments in the highest reaches of material universe—with words and images that seem more descriptive of Hell. Peter’s tirade against corrupt, simoniac popes roils with stench, blood, sewers, Lucifer’s perverse self-satisfaction, and even a sort of cannibalism: Quelli ch’usurpa in terra il luogo mio, il luogo mio, il luogo mio che vaca ne la presenza del Figliuol di Dio, fatt’ha del cimitero mio cloaca del sangue e de la puzza; onde ’l perverso che cadde di qua sù, là giù si placa. Non fu la sposa di Cristo allevata del sangue mio, di Lin, di quel di Cleto, 73

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Chapter 4 per essere ad acquisto d’oro usata; ma per acquisto d’esto viver lieto e Sisto e Pïo e Calisto e Urbano sparser lo sangue dopo molto fleto. Del sangue nostro Caorsini e Guaschi s’apparecchian di bere. (27.22–27, 40–45, 58–59) He who usurps my place, my place, my place, which is vacant in the presence of the son of God, has made my burial place a sewer of the blood and stench that placate the perverted one down there, who fell from up here. . . . The bride of Christ was not raised up by my blood, by Linus’s, by that of Anacletus, to be used for acquiring gold, but to acquire this happy life did Sixtus and Pius and Calixtus and Urban shed their blood after much weeping. . . . Cahorsans and Gascons prepare to drink our blood! 2

Peter’s repugnant images stand in sharp contrast to Paradiso’s general ambience of divine resplendence, unity, and harmony. And while satirical invective as an extended discursive mode recurs nearly a dozen times in the canticle, Peter’s speech follows a brief reprieve from such abrasive intonation, which has been absent since Saint Benedict’s censure of monastic greed in canto 22. 3 The chiaroscuro effect of Peter’s invective is further heightened by its juxtaposition to the solemn notes of the liturgical doxology opening the canto: “‘To the Father, to the Son, to the Holy Spirit,’ all Paradise began, ‘glory!’” (“‘Al Padre, al Figlio, a lo Spirito Santo,’ / cominciò, ‘gloria!’ tutto ’l Paradiso,” vv. 1–2). His speech stands out lexically, as well; scholars have long commented on the alternation of privileged Latinate terms (“cimitero,” “vaca,” “cloaca”) with the rhetorically low-register vernacular “stench” (“puzza”). 4 The grisly image of a blood-filled sewer and the harsh-sounding term “puzza,” given the prestige of place before a caesura, signal the kinship of Peter’s diatribe with contemporary Tuscan satirical poetry, which couched its critiques in violent or repulsive imagery and commonly featured the -uzzo/a rhyme. 5 By the letter of the Horatian stylistic precept noted above, Peter’s words are entirely discordant with his fortune of eternal salvation, and perhaps additionally with his earthly fame as the first pope. His speech clashes with the serenity of Paradise; even if Horace allows comedy to borrow tragedy’s voice now and then (Ars poetica 93–99), that Peter “often blush[es] and shoot[s] sparks” (“sovente arrosso e disfavillo,” v. 54) prompts further explanation. Like any human soul in the realms of Dante’s afterlife, he remains in many ways chained to the temporal and specific conditions of his life, which continue to color his experience even after death. His beatitude thus does not preclude a temporary state of anger, which is roused on behalf of the Church suffering at the hands of usurping pontiffs, but also in reaction to personal

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injury. The triple anaphora of “my place” (“il luogo mio,” vv. 22–23) may echo the thrice-repeated “templum domini” of Lamentations 7:4, 6 but Peter’s rendition appropriates that sanctified space for his human self. The personal nature of his affront is further emphasized by the possessive adjectives in “my burial place” (“cimitero mio,” v. 25) and “my blood” (“sangue mio,” v. 41), and Peter is further robbed of the keys “that were granted to me” (“che mi fuor concesse,” v. 49), which now fly on the standards of papal soldiers carried into battle against other Christians. Ultimately, Peter is dispossessed of his very self, having become, in his last enduring earthly vestige, the legitimizing “figure on a seal for privileges sold and falsified” (“figura di sigillo/ a privilegi venduti e mendaci,” vv. 52–53) by corrupt popes. Peter’s satire of papal corruption is thus also an elegy for himself, written in the humble stilus miserorum, the style of the wretched. 7 Suzanne Reynolds has shown that, for Dante, this style of “the dispossessed, the marginalized . . . [is] defined not by its subject-matter, but by the condition of its utterers.” She further demonstrates that Dante’s notion of elegy is closely connected to the satirical mode of moral reprehension, both of which primarily use the unadorned sermo humilis, or humble style, of the common folk. 8 Peter’s speech also displays many rhetorical features of medieval sermons. These include technical figures like anaphora and double negative constructions (“Not . . . but” [“Non . . . ma,” vv. 40, 43]; “Neither . . . nor . . . nor [“Non . . . né . . . né,” vv. 46, 49, 52]) and the hard-hitting imperatives of his final charge to the pilgrim (“and you, my son, who because of your mortal weight will go back down again, open your mouth and hide not what I do not hide” [“e tu, figliuol, che per lo mortal pondo / ancor giù tornerai, apri la bocca, e non asconder quel ch’io non ascondo,” vv. 64–66]), but also a sense of theatricality and a general impression of an urgent, spontaneous outburst. 9 Alternatively, we might say that his final speech in the Commedia mixes base realism with the sublime in a way that recalls the sermo humilis of Scripture itself; Zygmunt G. Barański has recently excavated this stylistic principle at work in the vividly scatological Inferno 18. 10 Auerbach’s periphrasis of Augustine’s repeated insistence that Christ and the apostles were elected not from among senators or courtroom orators, but from fishermen finds its full realization in Dante’s Peter. Thus in these senses, the apostle’s graphic vocabulary and visceral images do indeed accord with his station in (the after)life. This essay is interested in Dante’s ideal reception of morally motivated strong language like Peter’s. Horace had warned that incongruent speech would provoke uproar (“cachinnum”) in those observing a dramatic spectacle. To what extent does Dante intend to do the same in his various audiences—the pilgrim, Beatrice and the attendant souls in Paradise, and the readers of the Commedia? Peter’s lively militant stance is conveyed in an exuberant nested metaphor just before his speech, in which Dante likens his

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reddening face to that of Jupiter, “if he and Mars were birds and exchanged feathers” (“s’elli e Marte / fossero augelli e cambiassersi penne,” vv. 14–15). Provocative dissonance as an aesthetic goal is strongly suggested by Peter’s own proemial warning to the pilgrim that his words will get a rise out of the souls of the blessed. Se io mi trascoloro, non ti maravigliar, ché, dicend’io, vedrai trascolorar tutti costoro. (vv. 19–21) If I change color, do not marvel, for while I speak you will see all these change color.

And in fact, the complex emotional chain reaction of Peter’s audience is woven through the episode. It first manifests as the color changes anticipated by Peter’s Mars-red aspect and then predicted in his exordium. While the invective runs for a total of thirty-six verses, the poet interrupts his direct discourse after nine verses to narrate the concurrent responsive reddening of the blessed souls, the sky, and Beatrice. He illustrates and glosses the audience’s reaction to the speech in real time: Di quel color che per lo sole avverso nube dipinge da sera e da mane, vid’ïo allora tutto ‘l ciel cosperso. E come donna onesta che permane di sé sicura, per l’altrui fallanza, pur ascoltando, timida si fane, così Beatrice trasmutò sembianza; e tale eclissi credo che ’n ciel fue quando patì la supprema possanza. (vv. 28–36) With that color which the opposing sun paints on a cloud at evening and at morning, I then saw all Heaven suffused. And like a virtuous lady who remains sure of herself but, merely hearing of another’s fault, is abashed by it: so did Beatrice transmute her appearance, and such an eclipse, I believe, took place in Heaven at the death of the supreme Power.

The heaven of the fixed stars glows, thanks to the souls spread across it, with the red of clouds at dawn or dusk; Beatrice illustrates the moral nuance of blameless shame felt for another’s sin. Ultimately the blush is likened to the eclipse at Christ’s crucifixion, suggesting an essential and rarefied reaction to the most abstract idea of sin. The chromatic transformations in the lines above have received significant critical attention in both the early commentary tradition and in more

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recent scholarship. Philological studies have focused on several important intertexts for Dante’s variations on flushing. 11 Ovid, for example, supplies the image for Paradiso 27.28–9: 12 qui color infectis adversi solis ab ictu nubibus esse solet aut purpureae Aurorae, is fuit in vultu visae sine veste Dianae. (Metamorphoses 3.183–85) And red as the clouds which flush beneath the sun’s slant rays, red as the rosy dawn, were the cheeks of Diana as she stood there in view without her robes. 13

The description of Diana, naked and subjected to Actaeon’s gaze, thematically introduces a kind of shame that is both feminine and innocent, like Beatrice’s in the following tercet (31–33). Convivio 4.25.7 offers a further gloss of Beatrice’s blush: Dante describes whitening and reddening as symptomatic of a kind of shame (“pudore”) pertaining particularly to virtuous women (and adolescent boys): uno ritraimento d’animo da laide cose, con paura di cadere in quelle, sì come vedemo ne le vergini e ne le donne buone e ne li adolescenti, che tanto sono pudici, che non solamente là dove richesti o tentati sono di fallare, ma dove pure alcuna imaginazione di venereo compimento aver si puote, tutti si dipingono e la faccia di palido o di rosso colore. the recoiling of the mind from things that are ugly for fear of falling into them, as we see in virgins, good women, and adolescents who are so modest that their faces become pallid or tinged with the color of red not only in those instances when they are induced or tempted to commit a fault, but even when some act of sensual pleasure is merely conceived in the imagination. 14

The cause of Beatrice’s blush differs, of course: she is compared to one who blushes for another’s fault (“per l’altrui fallanza,” v. 32) rather than at the fear of succumbing to some uninvited erotic fantasy occurring in her own mind. 15 At the very least, Dante’s definition of modest shame as the soul’s retreat from filthy things (“laide cose”) resonates in Beatrice’s reaction to Peter’s image of Rome as a stinking, bloody sewer (vv. 25–26). A third important intertext is Dante’s earlier allusion to the eclipse at Christ’s death in Vita Nova 23 [14], where he imagines in a feverish dream that Beatrice has died and that her death is marked by the same natural portents accompanying the crucifixion as described by the Gospels: pareami vedere lo sole oscurare, sì che le stelle si mostravano di colore ch’elle mi faceano giudicare che piangessero; e pareami che li uccelli volando per l’aria cadessero morti, e che fossero grandissimi tremuoti (23.5 [14]).

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In Paradiso 27, Dante tempers the rhetoric of Beatrice’s typological association with the eclipse by couching it in the reflective comparison “such an eclipse, I believe, took place in Heaven” (“tale eclisse credo in cielo fue,” v. 35) rather than a verisimilar hallucination. A final intertext strips blushing of its femininity and erotic overtones altogether. John A. Scott notes that Dante’s 1314 letter to the Italian cardinals, beseeching them to elect an Italian pope and restore the Holy See to Rome from Avignon after Clement V’s death, combines blushing and eclipse imagery without the Vita nova’s possibly idolatrous treatment of Beatrice: 16 Et si caeteros Italos in praesens miseria dolore confecit et rubore confudit; erubescendum esse vobis, dolendum quis dubitet, qui tantum insolitae sui vel solis eclipsis causa fuistis? And if the wretchedness of the present time has overwhelmed all other Italians with sorrow and troubled them with shame, who could doubt that you, who were the cause of this unprecedented eclipse of Rome’s Sun, should blush and grieve? 17

Unlike Beatrice’s innocent modesty, Dante charges the Italian cardinals to redden with guilty shame for having eclipsed Rome’s sun, for enabling the continued absence of the papacy—essentially the same condemnation of papal vacancy he ascribes to Peter. The epistolary context of this last reference to blushing allows Dante to be explicit about the desired effects of his rhetoric. The images, themes, and allusions of the letter to the Italian cardinals overlap significantly enough with those in Paradiso 27 that we might expect the letter’s exhortations to suggest an appropriate reaction from Peter, who similarly decries Rome’s state of miserable dispossession. 18 With reference to the Jerusalem of Lamentations, Rome is depicted in the letter as widowed, abandoned, and vacant, and a city consecrated by the sprinkling of Peter’s and Paul’s blood (“Petrus et Paulus gentium predicator in apostolicam sedem aspergine propij sanguinis consecravit,” 8.2). In both texts, Dante emphasizes the threat of violence to Peter’s unshepherded Roman flock (“sacrosanctum ovile, Romam” [8.2], “de tot pastoris officium usurpantibus, de tot ovibus, et si non abactis, neglectis tamen et incustoditis in pascuis,” [VIII.6]), and that the now-neglected flock lies prey to wolves—the Cahorsian John XXII and the Gascon Clement V—who have usurped the office and clothing of the shepherd (“In vesta di pastor lupi rapaci/ si veggion di qua sù per tutti i paschi” [vv. 55–56]). 19

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While the letter and Paradiso 27 share the graphic references to blood consecration and flock predation, as well as similar language describing reddening with shame and anger at the eclipse of what is good, the letter inverts the structure of the canto, concluding with the choral hymn that opens the canto: Si unanimes omnes . . . pro Sponsa Christi, pro sede Sponsae, quae Roma est . . . viriliter propugnetis . . . vosmetipsos cum gloria offerentes, audire possitis: ‘Gloria in excelsis’; et ut Vasconum opprobrium, qui tam dira cupidine conflagrantes Latinorum gloriam sibi usurpare contendunt, per saecula cuncta futura sit posteris in exemplum. (8.11) If all those of you . . . will now go forth together to fight bravely for the Bride of Christ, for the Seat of the Bride which is Rome . . . you may offer yourselves up with glory, in order to hear “Gloria in excelsis,” and the disgrace of the Gascons, who, aflame with so much ill-omened cupidity, strive to usurp for themselves the glory of the Italians, may be held up as an example for posterity for centuries to come.

Dante’s perspective in the Epistle is firmly historical; time is a linear progression of actions and events, and the promise of heavenly glory (alongside the enduring infamy for the Gascons) is given to the cardinals as the outcome of a suggested course of action. His authorial persona coincides with his public, historical persona. In contrast, the Commedia’s premise of a pilgrimage through the realms of the afterlife grants Dante a perspective that reaches beyond the bounds of time. Thus the pilgrim in Paradise gets to hear the same “Gloria” that the poet holds out as a future reward to the cardinals, a sign that Peter’s concluding prophecy in canto 27 of a victorious Church Militant aided by Divine Providence (“l’alta provedenza, che con Scipio / difese a Roma la gloria del mondo, / soccorrà tosto,” vv. 61–63) means that the battles have always already been won for the heavenly Church Triumphant. The Commedia’s premise also allows Dante to reauthorize his critique of the corrupt papal curia as originating with Peter, whose place in heaven guarantees the truth of his message and its conformity to divine will. Dante addresses the problem of ecclesiastical corruption during the Avignon papacy from two temporal perspectives and two different kinds of texts. But in both cases—in the Latin epistle and Peter’s oration dramatized within the narrative structure of the Commedia—Dante is especially concerned with suggesting or describing the proper audience reaction to strong language and biting critique, which he marks primarily through shifts in color. While scholars have identified and focused on Dante’s various sources on complexions that alter according to emotional or psychic disturbances, we might also step back and consider the forest comprised of such trees. Peter’s direct discourse paired with the narration of the audience’s chromatic-emotive re-

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sponse suggests that Dante has created a sort of laboratory of rhetoric, where he can examine both causes and effects of certain rhetorical colorations. Consider, for example, the figurative language used by his teacher Brunetto Latini to instruct orators in the use of figurative language: garde que tes dis ne soient maigre ne sec, mes soient replains de jus e de sanc [. . .] Garde que tes mos [. . .] la belle color soit dedenz et dehors; et la science de rethorique soit en toi penteiriere, qui mete le color en rime et en prose. (3. 10) be sure that your expressions are not thin or dry, but rather full of juice and blood [. . .] See that your words [. . .] show beautiful color inside and out; and that the science of rhetoric be the painter within you that adds color to your verse and prose. 20

Matthew of Vendôme similarly warns against expressions that are “dry and bloodless” (“aridum et exangue,” 2.45). 21 The part of canto 27 that deals with Peter’s invective seems to literalize the advice of Brunetto and Matthew; Peter fills his speech with blood (“sangue”) appearing four different times (vv. 26, 41, 45, and 58), and his rhetoric causes the further saturation of the canto with the redness of the speaker and his agitated audience. The bloodiness of Peter’s speech is especially striking for its harmonic resonance with the blood elegy of Pier della Vigna in Inferno 13, himself a parody of Saint Peter with his two keys to the emperor Frederick II’s heart. 22 Punished for suicide—self-willed self-dispossession—Pier’s words mix with blood (“usciva insieme/ parole e sangue,” vv. 43–44) as they seep from the broken branches of the gnarled tree that is his infernal body. Brunetto’s characterization of rhetorical embellishment as color was familiar territory for Dante. Horace’s Ars poetica includes a reference to some established poetic conventions as “shades of poetic forms” (“vices operumque colores,” my emphasis, 86), as well as a noteworthy comparison of poetry and painting, where he figuratively applies the visual properties of perspectival distance and light and shadow to poetic style: Ut pictura poesis: erit quae, si propius stes, te capiat magis, et quaedam, si longius abstes. haec amat obscurum, volet haec sub luce videri. (361–63) A poem is like a picture: one strikes your fancy more, the nearer you stand; another, the farther away. This courts the shade, that will wish to be seen in the light, and dreads not the critic insight of the judge. 23

But while metaphors of color and painting had been used to describe poetry in ancient texts, it was only in the eleventh century that stylists began to refer to figures and ornaments of speech or ornamentation (such as those enumer-

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ated in book 4 of the pseudo-Ciceronian Rhetorica ad Herennium) as colores rhetorici—the colors of rhetoric. The new coinage quickly gained currency, albeit with some technical differences in meaning, in the highly circulated preceptive treatises on verse composition produced in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. 24 “Colors of rhetoric” first appeared as a subcategory of figures of speech, alongside metaplasms (words altered by adding, subtracting, or inverting syllables), tropes (significance transferred from a primary to a secondary meaning, as in metaphor), and schemes (figures; unexpected or extraordinary conformations of language; sometimes divided into figures of thought and word). In many early texts, like Onulf of Speyer’s Colores rhetorici, Alexander of Villa Dei’s Doctrinale, Evrard’s Graecismus, and Matthew of Vendôme’s Ars Versificatoria, the classification more or less coincides with schemes’ subgroup of “figures of word.” 25 Vendôme’s list, for one example, includes twenty-nine colors of rhetoric: repetitio, conversio, complexio, traductio, contentio, exclamatio, ratiocinatio, sententia, contrarium, membrum orationis sive articulus, similiter cadens, similiter desinens, commixtio, annominatio, subjectio, gradatio, diffinitio, transitio, correptio, occupatio, disjunctio, conjunctum, adjunctum, conduplicatio, commutatio, dubitatio, dissolutio, praecisio, conclusio. 26

Geoffrey of Vinsauf’s Poetria nova (ca. 1210)—perhaps the most important manual on poem-writing for Dante after Horace’s Ars Poetica and the Ad Herennium 27—reproduced Matthew of Vendôme’s list and added interrogatio, continuatio in sententia, compar, interpretatio, and permisso. 28 By the late thirteenth century, colores rhetorici could describe figurative language in general, including the formerly excluded tropes (as in John of Garland’s De Arte prosayca, metrica, et rithmica; 29 Brunetto also refers to tropes as colors de rhetorique [3. 13. 1]). Nor should we understand the term as strictly limited to the rhetorical figures of poetry; the colores rhetorici inhabit the sphere of the ornatus facilis (figures of thoughts and words) and eventually encroach on the ornatus difficilis (tropes), stylistic categories that Barański has shown to work across prescriptive generic/formal classifications, which were increasingly problematic and inadequate to describe texts produced in the late Middle Ages. He argues that after Dante abandons his case for prescriptive genera dicendi in the unfinished De vulgari eloquentia, “in the Commedia, on the other hand, he attacks the same genera dicendi as the chief bulwark against literary progress and artistic independence.” 30 In other words, the confluence of satire, elegy, sermon, and epistle in the Peter episode (itself ensconced within the narrative of the generically ambiguous Commedia) is representative of Dante’s stylistic experimentation; the poet’s genre fluidity is enabled by a contemporary literary culture that tolerated

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ambiguity and contradiction. This same openness allowed for an increasingly expansive conception of the colors of rhetoric. One approach to assessing Dante’s engagement with the “colors of rhetoric” in the passage in question is to examine those which he uses in Paradiso 27. Suffice it to say that the colores rhetorici from Matthew and Geoffrey’s list are amply present in Peter’s speech alone. For a small sample representing their variety, consider his conduplicatio (the repetition of “il luogo mio” in vv. 22–23), contentio (the antithetical opposition of “acquisto d’oro” and “acquisto d’esto viver lieto” in vv. 42–43), exclamatio (“o difesa di Dio”), and sententia (the short, pithy, and proverbial “in vesta di pastor lupi rapaci,” v. 55). Of course, it is not surprising that Dante writes Peter’s invective with the kind of ornamentation associated with sermons, elegy, and satire, as all three of these genres are present in Peter’s last words; yet these examples alone merely offer evidence that Dante is using, rather than commenting on, the colores rhetorici. But another example of figurative speech in the Peter episode hints that Dante is engaging the colores more abstractly. Returning to the description of Peter’s reddening face, we can note that multiple tropes combine to create the effect: e tal ne la sembianza sua divenne, qual diverrebbe Iove, s’elli e Marte fossero augelli e cambiassersi penne. (vv. 13–15) and in appearance became such as Jove would be, if he and Mars were birds and exchanged feathers.

The fluid exchange of identities among the two gods and the two birds—not unlike the metamorphosis of the serpent-thieves in Inferno 25 31—is also an exchange between the elements of several tropes (Peter looks like Jupiter, if Jupiter were like Mars, and if Mars and Jupiter were both like birds, who could each become like the other). This pile-up of similes exemplifies commixtio or permixtio, a figure that was introduced not by the Ad Herennium, but rather by a select few of the medieval theorists, including Matthew and Geoffrey. 32 Described as the simultaneous use of multiple colors of rhetoric, commixtio results in a “mélange intime” in which colors maintain something of their own while also shading each other. 33 Peter’s change in color is not only accomplished via a novel and somewhat rare color of rhetoric; his reddening is also symptomatic of the rage that will give rise to the bloodtinged figures of his invective, which in turn provokes the burning red affective reaction of his heavenly audience. Another way to measure Dante’s engagement with the idea of rhetorical color (and rhetorical aesthetics in general) is to take a closer look at what the

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manuals had to say on the matter. Geoffrey of Vinsauf’s influential Poetria nova suggests employing novel expressions, and his rationale features imagery that overlaps suggestively with the narrative description of Beatrice’s reaction to Peter in Paradiso 27: Sit brevis aut longus, se semper sermo coloret Intus et exterius, sed discernendo colorem Ordine discreto. Verbi prius inspice mentem Et demum faciem, cujus ne crede colori: Se nisi conformet color intimus exteriori, Sordet ibi ratio. (742–47) Whether it be brief or long, a discourse should always have both internal and external coloration, but with a distinction of color reflecting the distinction between the two orders. First examine the mind of a word, and only then its face; do not trust the color of its face alone. If internal coloration is not in harmony with the external, a sense of propriety is lacking. 34

Geoffrey repeats variants of “color” four times, and in an anthropomorphic metaphor he instructs poets to peer into the mind (mentem) of an expression before trusting the color of its face (faciem). His concern for conformity between the interior and exterior has crucial implications for both the poet or speaker and the audience. In composing, the poet must rehearse the audience’s reception of his ornamental expression to ensure that its sense is conveyed correctly, while the audience in turn is asked to peer beyond a figure’s complexion to grasp the author’s intended meaning. Already in the Vita nova (ca. 1292), Dante had conveyed a similar warning that poets’ rhetorical coloration and figurative language must reflect true meaning, in order to avoid abusing poetic license: [. . .] però che grande vergogna sarebbe a colui che rimasse cose sotto vesta di figura o di colore rettorico, e poscia, domandato, non sapesse denudare le sue parole da cotale vesta, in guisa che avessero verace intendimento. (Vita nova, 16) [. . .] a great shame would befall those who put things under the veil of a figure or rhetorical color and then, when asked, could not unveil their words in a way that would show their true reasoning.

Where Geoffrey endows words with a face and mind, Dante draws on the commonplace of imagining figurative language as a text’s clothing. In this passage, the young poet conveys significant anxiety (“grande vergogna sarebbe a colui”) regarding authorial self-justification of his rhetorical and figurative choices. The importance given to audience reception, just barely evoked by the expression “when asked” (“domandato”), pales in comparison

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to the poet’s program of self-explication in the Vita nova. Beatrice’s reactive blush in Paradiso offers a gentle correction to this early poetic solipsism: her visible change in affect proves that Peter’s rhetoric, shocking though it may be, is readily understood, and no further clarification will be demanded by the audience. Geoffrey’s trope of the mind, face, and complexion for describing the relationship of meaning, expression, and rhetorical color leads naturally to a variant of the now-familiar image of an innocent woman blushing for shame: Sententia si sit honesta, Ejus ei servetu honos: ignobile verbum Non inhonestet eam, sed, ut omnia lege regantur, Dives honoretur sententia divite verbo, Ne rubeat matrona potens in paupere panno. (756–60) If the meaning has dignity, let that dignity be preserved; see that no vulgar word may debase it. That all may be guided by precept: let rich meaning be honored by rich diction, lest a noble lady blush in pauper’s rags.

Peter’s humble style and abrasive tone in Paradiso 27 might seem at odds with Geoffrey’s injunction against ignoble vulgarity. But Peter speaks in elegy, as noted earlier, and from a place of personal and ecclesiastical dispossession—rich diction (“divite verbo”) will not do. Exposed to Peter’s vulgarity, Beatrice blushes like the noble lady clad in rags (“rubeat matron . . . in paupere panno”). Peter’s dispossession, and the papal vacancy—every sheep in the flock shares in these losses. A final passage from the rhetorical manuals further elucidates the connection between modesty, reddening, and rhetorical style. The beginning of Matthew of Vendôme’s second book of Ars Versificatoria offers an allegory of styles, with Lady Philosophy attended and served by the ladies Tragedy, Satire, Comedy, and Elegy. While Elegy offers an extended discussion of poetic ornamentation, the brief description of Satire, cited here in full, depends on the figure of the modestly blushing woman: Huic Satira sede proxima vicinatur, ieiuna silentii, fronte prodiga verecundie, oculis indirectis mentis obliquitatem testantibus, labiis ex assidua garrulitate diffusis; que adeo suum pudorem presumit dispensare quod de corporis nuditate nequaquam erubescit. (2.6) On the side next to [Philosophy] sits Satire, fasting from silence; although her brow is filled with timidity, her downcast eyes give testimony to the slyness of her mind. Even her lips are widespread from constant chatter. She also makes a big show of her modesty which has never blushed at the naked body.

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More ambiguous and nuanced than Horace and Geoffrey’s stylistic prescriptions, Matthew’s Satire is characterized by the appearance of timidity, yet also real slyness. She dwells between arid silence and garrulity. She intentionally conveys modesty (the same virtuous pudore named by the other authors above), but her notable lack of blushing suggests some other disposition toward that which is potentially and destructively seductive. It is tempting to condemn Satire to the realm of the morally dubious, yet her service to Philosophy requires her rehabilitation. It is her willingness to countenance nakedness—obliquely, indirectly—that gives her acute mind material to critique. She may observe in silence, but she eventually lashes out verbally, with linguistic excess justifiable (and here we must infer) by the morality of her intent. Fabian Alfie and Nicolino Applauso remind us in the introduction to this anthology that Beatrice herself is a satirist in the Commedia on several occasions. These include Paradiso 27, where she follows Peter’s invective with a twenty-one line condemnation of the cupidity that drives humanity from the right path, especially in the absence of a true spiritual shepherd (“’n terra non è chi governi, / onde sì svia l’umana famiglia,”; “on earth there is none who governs, and thus the human family goes astray,” vv. 140–41). Like Matthew’s Satire, she performs her modest shame, but she also betrays her eyewitness knowledge of the sin she critiques. There is something exemplary about Beatrice’s reaction to the strong language and the bright rhetorical coloration of Peter’s satirical invective— her blush is physiological and emotionally charged, but her subsequent speech is infused with analytic rationality. While it is impossible to know how Dante’s readers would have reacted to the sudden deviation from the inebriatingly beautiful chorus that opens the canto, Beatrice models the kind of reception that, given her place in Heaven and her conformity to divine will, can reliably be considered ideal. But like a rhetorical figure, her role is to illustrate and convey a truth initiated elsewhere. Peter is its source, and the whimsical metaphor of planet-gods and birds that narrates the rise of his passionate anger underlines the interconnectedness of his affect and the lively cosmos, where the planets are more like sentient creatures than cold and distant abstractions. Later in the canto, Beatrice will explain that the motion of the material heavens originates in the love emanating through the Primum Mobile, which is coextensive with the mind of God (vv. 106–20), and so the association of Peter’s passion with the heavenly bodies underlines its conformity to divine will. Peter’s speech is literally and figuratively colorful. It creates an affective continuity extending from the heavenly spheres, whose movements inform Peter’s passions, to the blessed souls who glow red in sympathetic shame, to the pilgrim who takes in the spectacle and will ultimately fulfill Peter’s evangelical charge: e tu, figliuol, che per lo mortal pondo

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The pilgrim is not the end of the line of affective continuity; the poet writes his readers into the chain of communication. Auerbach recognized this very sort of audience engagement as a fruit of vulgarity and satire in Augustine’s sermons: “The crux of the matter is the extent of the polarity [of “low locutions” and the serious/ sublime]. And the sermo humilis . . . has other features besides vulgarisms and the like: one is its implication of direct human contact between you and me.” 35 That sense of direct human contact is nowhere more evident than in Peter’s pastoral “my son” (“figliuol”), which works against the sense of personal dispossession evoked in his invective by establishing a genealogic connection to the present, and an enduring chain of spiritual communication. In a previous exhortation to the pilgrim to reveal what he had witnessed, Dante’s great-great-grandfather Cacciaguida anticipates two central points of the episode of Peter’s invective: clouding with shame for another’s fault, and the charge to Dante to depict his vision in full, censoring nothing (both emphasized below). Coscïenza fusca o de la propria o de l’altrui vergogna pur sentirà la tua parola brusca. Ma nondimen, rimossa ogne menzogna, tutta tua vis ï on fa manifesta; e lascia pur grattar dov’è la rogna. Ché se la voce tua sarà molesta nel primo gusto, vital nodrimento lascerà poi, quando sarà digesta. (Paradiso 17:124–32) A conscience dark with its own or another’s shame will indeed feel your word to be harsh. But nonetheless, putting aside every falsehood, make manifest all your vision, and let them still scratch where the itch is. For if your voice will be painful at the first taste, it will leave vital nourishment later, when it is digested.

The charge to the pilgrim is also remarkable in that it offers stylistic advice that imagines how Dante’s words will be received. They will be hard and bitter (“brusca”) to those whose conscience is darkened even by vicarious shame (just as Beatrice will flush “per l’altrui fallanza”); they will itch like mange (“la rogna”), yet those acrid words (“molesta nel primo gusto”) will ultimately provide nourishment. Cacciaguida justifies repugnant expressions

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by their potential for long-term moral efficacy. Later in Paradiso 27, Dante again emphasizes (this time in the voice of the poet) the persuasive importance of the visual: “e se natura o arte fé pasture/ da pigliare occhi, per aver la mente,/ in carne umana o ne le sue pitture” (vv. 91–93). Peter’s invective and the portrayal of its reception literalize the notion of colores rhetorici, and stake out an ethical place even for the most jarring colors. NOTES 1. Cited in Erich Auerbach, “Sermo humilis,” in Literary Language and its Public in Late Antiquity and in the Middle Ages, trans. Ralph Manheim (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1965), 25–28; here 43. 2. Italian citations of the Commedia are taken from Dante Alighieri, La Commedia secondo l’antica vulgata, ed. Giorgio Petrocchi (Milan: Mondadori, 1966–1967); English citations are taken from The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, ed. Robert M. Durling with Ronald L. Martinez (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997–2011). 3. Reto R. Bezzola, “Il canto XXVII del Paradiso,” in Letture scelte sulla Divina Commedia, ed. Giovanni Getto (Florence: Sansoni, 1970), 1215. Other readings of the canto consulted for this essay include: Alessandro D’Ancona, “Il canto XXVII del Paradiso,” in Scritti Danteschi (Florence: Sansoni, 1913), 451–93; Giuseppe Petronio, “Par. XXVII,” Annali delle Facoltà di Lettere e Filosofia dell’Università di Cagliari 25 (1957): 401–30; Gian Luca Pierotti, “La ‘filia solis’ di Bonaventura e i cambiamenti di colore in Par. XXVII,” Lettere Italiane 33, no. 2 (1981): 216–21; Fedele Romani, “Il Canto XXVII del Paradiso” (Florence: Sansoni, 1904); Mario Sansone, “Il canto XXVII del Paradiso,” in Lectura Dantis Scaligera (Florence: Le Monnier, 1968), 961–98; John A. Scott, “Su alcune immagini tematiche di Paradiso XXVII,” in Dante Magnanimo: Studi sulla “Commedia” (Florence: Leo S. Olschki, 1977), 195–237. I have also considered the commentaries to the Commedia in the editions by Anna Maria Chiavacci Leonardi, Divina Commedia (Milan: Mondadori, 1991–1997); Emilio Pasquini and Antonio Quaglio, La Divina Commedia (Milan: Garzanti, 1988); Robert M. Durling and Ronald L. Martinez, The Divine Comedy, vol. 3, Paradiso (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011); Charles S. Singleton, The Divine Comedy: Paradiso (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970); and Jean Hollander (trans.) and Robert Hollander (trans. and ed.), Paradiso (New York: Doubleday, 2007). 4. Petronio, “Par. XXVII” (see note 3), 424. But nota bene that the Ottimo Commento finds “cloaca” obscure enough to provide a description in addition to a translation: “cloaca, cioè fogna, per la quale trascorrono tutte le putride cose, che discorrono dalle case nelle vie, e poi mettono fuori in fiumi, o in alcuno altro luogo. E dice—cloaca del sangue di malvagi e di putridume discendente dalle corrotte loro carni; del quale sangue e fastidio delli pessimi papi— si placa” [“cloaca, that is, sewer, through which flow all putrid things running out of houses and into streets, and then are carried away into rivers or some other place. And he says—cloaca of blood—of evils and putrefaction deriving from their corrupt bodies; which blood and nuisance from the worst popes—pleases him” (my translation; pp. 583–84)]. See Ottimo Commento della Divinia Commedia, 3 vols., ed. A. Torri (Pisa: Niccolò Capurro, 1829). 5. Franco Suitner, La poesia satirica e giocosa nell’età dei comuni (Padua: Antenore, 1983), 67; Fabian Alfie, “Old Lady Avignon: Petrarch’s Rerum Vulgarium Fragmenta 136 and the Topos of Vituperium in Vetulam,” Italian Culture 30, no. 2 (2012): 100–109; here 102. 6. D’Ancona, “Il canto XXVII del Paradiso” (see note 3), 458. 7. For further treatment of the elegiac features of Peter’s invective, see Maggie FritzMorkin, “Dante’s Blood Elegies,” Dante Studies 135 (2017): 107–35; here 125–28. 8. Suzanne Reynolds, “‘Orazio Satiro’ (Inferno VI, 89): Dante, the Roman satirists, and the medieval theory of satire,” The Italianist 15, Supplement 2 (1995): 128–44; here 139–40. 9. Auerbach, “Sermo Humilis” (see note 1), 30; Carlo Delcorno, “Schede su Dante e la retorica della predicazione,” in Miscellanea di Studi danteschi in memoria di Silvio Pasquazi,

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vol. 1, ed. Alfredo Paolella, Vincenzo placella, Giovanni Turco, and Silvio Pasquazi (Naples: Federico & Ardia, 1993), 301–12; here 307–11. 10. Zygmunt G. Barański, Language as Sin and Salvation: A Lectura of Inferno 18 (Binghamton: Center for Medieval & Renaissance Studies, 2014); by the same author, see also “Scatology and Obscenity in Dante,” in Dante For the New Millennium, ed. Teodolinda Barolini and H. Wayne Storey (New York: Fordham University Press, 2003), 259–73. As noted in the introduction to the present volume, the medieval notion of satire also drew on the etymological connection to satyrs, whose violence and nudity are reflected in the vitriol and unadorned nature of satire; for instance, see the accessus ad auctores tradition of Horace’s Ars poetica, which called the language of satire “goat-like” (“caprina”) and filthy (“fetida”); cfr. Reynolds, “Orazio Satiro” (see note 8), 129. These secular associations are less stylistically influential in Paradiso 27 than the sermo humilis. 11. Scholars disagree about whether Beatrice blushes or blanches. Proponents of the color red include the early commentators, Poletto, Steiner, Bosco-Reggio, Quaglio, Scott, Hollander, Chiavacci Leonardi. Proponents of the color white include D’Ancona, Momigliano, and Giuliano. Sansone argues that Beatrice turns both red and white in the episode, and for Singleton the question is unproblematically ambiguous. 12. Petronio, “Par. XXVII” (see note 3), 424. 13. Both the English and Latin are cited from Ovid, Metamorphosis vol. 1, trans. Frank Justin Miller, revised by G. P. Goold (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1916). 14. Italian text cited in Singleton’s commentary of The Divine Comedy, 429. English citation taken from Dante Alighieri, Il Convivio (The Banquet), trans. Richard H. Lansing (New York: Garland Publishing, Inc., 1990). 15. For the young Beatrice of the Vita nova, her red dress signaled her humility and nobility; she “appeared humbly and most properly dressed in a most noble color, crimson” (“apparve vestita di nobilissimo colore, umile e onesto, sanguigno,” Vita nova, 2.3 [I]); later in the masterful sonnet So gentle and so honest appears (Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare), Beatrice is simply “clothed in humility” (“d’umiltà vestuta,” Vita nova, 26. 5. 4 [17]). Citations of the Vita nova are taken from the edition by Dino Cervigni, ed. and trans. by Edward Vasta (South Bend: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995); Cervigni follows Barbi’s divisions of the text; I have, however, included Gorni’s divisions of the text in parentheses. 16. Scott, “Su alcune immagini” (see note 3), 207–8. For Dante’s letter, see the Latin text in “The Laurentian Text (Cod. Laurent. XXIX, 8) of Dante’s Letter to the Italian Cardinals (Epist. VIII),” ed. and trans. Paget Toynbee, Modern Language Review 13, no. 2 (1918): 208–27; for the English text, see “Letter to the Italiana Cardinals,” in Dante Alighieri: Four Political Letters, trans. Claire Honess (London: Modern Humanities Research Association, 2007), 83–98. 17. See “The Laurentian Text (Cod. Laurent. XXIX, 8) of Dante’s Letter to the Italian Cardinals (Epist. VIII),” ed. and trans. Paget Toynbee, Modern Language Review 13, no. 2 (1918): 208–27; for the English text, see “Letter to the Italian Cardinals,” in Dante Alighieri: Four Political Letters, trans. Claire Honess (London: Modern Humanities Research Association, 2007), 83–98. The Latin citation derives from Toynbee, who numbers the letter and paragraph Epistola VIII.10; the English translation is by Honess, who gives XI.10. 18. D’Ancona observed the repeated condemnation of the Cahorsian John XXII and the Gascon Clement V, using the Letter to the Italian Cardinals to date the composition of Paradiso 27 to 1316 (470). See D’Ancona “Il canto XXVII del Paradiso” (see note 3), 470. 19. There are several other parallels linking these two texts. These include indictments of simony, as cited above (Paradiso 27:40–42) and in the letter, “uobis columbas in templo uendentibus ubique pretio mensurari non possunt” (VIII.4). Both texts refer to pre-linguistic faith and innocence, in Beatrice’s observation that “fede e innocenza son reperte/ solo ne’ parvoletti” (vv. 127–28) who, while still babbling (“balbuziendo”), keep fasts and love their parents (vv. 130–33); the letter cites Psalm 8:3, “Nam etiam inore lactentium et infantium sonuit iam deo placida ueritas” (VIII.5). Peter laments the misappropriation of his keys as a standard, a “signaculo in vessillo/ che contra battezzati combattesse” (vv. 50–51), while in the letter Dante exhorts the Italian reappropriation of the “Militantis Ecclesiae veneranda insignia” (VIII.10). Both texts refer to Scipio, a secular defender of Rome (“Ma l’alta provedenza, che

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con Scipio difese la gloria del mondo,” [61–62]); “illustrium Scipionum patriae” (VIII.10). Perhaps most intriguing and unexpected intertexuality is the aerial perspective of the world; the interstellar pilgrim looks down to see from Cadiz to Phoenicia, “di là da Gade il varco/ folle d’Ulisse, e di qua presso il lito/ nel qual si fece Europa dolce carco” (82–84), referring perhaps affectionately to the earthly home of humanity as “questa aiuola,” a little patch of land (85); Dante’s letter also references mad deviation from the proper arc, and paints the world from a suprising distance, diminuitively, as a palaestra: “si unanimes omnes qui huiusmodi ex-orbitationis fuistis auctores . . . pro tota civitate peregrinante in terris, viriliter propugnetis, ut de palaestra iam coepti certaminis undique ab Oceani margine circumspecta” (VIII.11). 20. Brunetto Latini, Tresor, ed. Pietro Beltrami, trans. Paolo Squillacioti, Plinio Torri, and Sergio Vatteroni (Turin: Einaudi, 2007), 3.10. The English is my translation. On Dante’s inheritence from Brunetto, see Charles T. Davis, “Brunetto Latini and Dante,” in Dante’s Italy and Other Essays (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1984), 166–97; Ronald G. Witt, “Brunetto Latini and the Italian Tradition of Ars Dictaminis,” Stanford Italian Review 2 (1983): 5–24; Witt, “Medieval Ars dictaminis and the Beginning of Humanism: A New Construction of the Problem,” Renaissance Quarterly 35 (1982): 1–35. 21. For the Latin text, see Mathei Vindocinensis, Ars versificatoria in Opera, vol. 3, ed. Franco Munari (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1988). For English, see Matthew of Vendôme, The Art of Versification, trans. Aubrey E. Galyon (Ames: Iowa State University Press, 1980). 22. William A. Stephany, “Pier della Vigna’s Self-Fulfiling Prophesies: The ‘Eulogy’ of Frederick II and Inferno 13,” Traditio 38 (1982): 93–212, here 195; Joan Ferrante, “Church and State in the Comedy,” in The Political Vision of the Divine Comedy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014), 76–131, here 107. After completing an early draft of this essay, I expanded on the communicative properties of blood in “Dante’s Blood Elegies” (see note 7). See also Anne Leone, “Communal and Economic Implications of Blood in Dante,” Italian Studies 71, no. 3 (2016): 265–86; and “Tante voci [. . .] tra quei bronchi’: Authorial agency and textual borrowing in Inferno XIII,” Le Tre Corone 2 (2015): 111–30. 23. Claudio Villa, “Dante lettore di Orazio,” in Dante e la bella scola: Autorità e sfida poetica, ed. Gian Carlo Alessio and Amilcare Iannucci (Ravenna: Longo, 1993), 87–106; see also Villa, “‘Ut poesis pictura.’ Appunti iconografici sui codici dell’Ars poetica,” Aevum (1988): 188–97. 24. James Jerome Murphy identifies six major works in this genre, including Matthew of Vendôme’s Ars versificatoria (1175), Geoffrey of Vinsauf’s Poetria Nova (1208–1213) and Documentum de modo et arte dictandi et versificandi (after 1213), Gervase of Melkley’s Ars versificaria (1215), John of Garland’s De Arte prosayca, metrica, et rithmica (after 1229), and Eberhard the German’s Laborintus (1213–1280). See James Jerome Murphy, “Chapter IV: Ars poetriae: Preceptive Grammar, or the Rhetoric of Verse-Writing” in Rhetoric in the Middle Ages: A History of Rhetorical Theory from Saint Augustine to the Renaissance (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1974), 135–93. 25. Murphy supplies each author’s lists of figures of speech, including the “colors of rhetoric.” Occasionally these figures are called something else, such as “flowers” (“flores verborum” by Geoffrey of Vinsauf, “fiori di rettorica” by Guidotto da Bologna), or are simply uncategorized (as by Alexander of Villadei). Murphy’s fourth chapter of Rhetoric in the Middle Ages allows one to see something of a genealogy of the ever-expanding category. Edmond Faral’s concordance of figures of words (corresponding to the “colors of rhetoric” of many medieval authors) from the Ad Herennium to John of Garland is also indispensible to this end, although it supplies only the names of the figures given in the Ad Herennium. See Les arts poétiques du XIIe et du XIIIe siècle (Paris: Librairie Ancienne Édouard Champion, 1923), 52. 26. Murphy, Rhetoric in the Middle Ages (see note 24), 166. For the sake of precision and clarity, I have not provided a translation of these figures of speech, since translators have not been entirely consistent among themselves in giving English equivalents. Moreover, most of the English equivalents are obscure Latinate or Greek technical terms that are familiar only to specialists of rhetoric, and the proliferation of such terms in this essay already borders on excessive. Here I wish simply to emphasize the stability of this core, canonical list of figures that is passed from the earlier manuals to Vendôme and Vinsauf. Doing so allows us to identify

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the meaningful innovations made by individual rhetoricians over time, some of which I discuss below. 27. I wish to thank Ronald L. Martinez for generously sharing his unpublished essay “Rectorica Dantis: The Arts of Speech, Politics and Poetry in Dante’s Work” with me in January 2016 and allowing me to cite it here; it has been helpful in contextualizing my study of the rhetorical situation of Paradiso 27 and here in particular for narrowing in on Dante’s known, likely, and most influential sources on verse composition. See also Martinez’s published essay “Rhetoric, Literary Theory, and Practical Criticism,” in Dante in Context, ed. Zygmunt Barański and Lino Pertile (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 277–96. 28. Murphy, Rhetoric in the Middle Ages (see note 24), 166, n70. 29. Murphy, Rhetoric in the Middle Ages (see note 24), 190. 30. Zygmunt Barański, “Tres enim sunt manerie dicendi’: Some observations on medieval literature, ‘genre’, and Dante,” The Italianist 15, Supplement 2 (1995): 9–60; here 34. 31. Ronald L. Martinez, “Additional Note 10: Time and the Thief,” in The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, vol. 1, Inferno (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), 569–70. 32. Faral, Les arts poétiques (see note 25), 52. 33. Anne-Marie Turcan-Verkerk, Le Prosimetrum des Artes Dictaminis médiévales (XIIeXIIIe s.) (Brussels: Union Académique Internationale, 2003), 147. 34. Ernest Gallo, The Poetria nova and its Sources in Early Rhetorical Doctrine (The Hague: Mouton, 1971); Poetria nova of Geoffrey of Vinsauf, trans. Margaret F. Nims (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1967). I have slightly modified Margaret Nims’s translation, which gives “adornment” or “ornament” (rather than my “coloration” and “color”) for Geoffrey’s verb and noun forms of colorī and color. 35. Auerbach, “Sermo humilis” (see note 1), 56–57.

2

Satire in Dante’s Minor Works

Chapter Five

“Ut exinde potionare possimus dolcissimum ydromellum” (DVE 1.1.1) “Dante Satiro” and the De vulgari eloquentia Anthony Nussmeier

Nam cum ea que dicimus cuncta vel circa dextrum aliquid vel sinistrum canamus—ut quandoque persuasorie quandoque dissuasorie, quandoque gratulanter quandoque yronice, quandoque laudabiliter quandoque contemptive canere contingit. (De vulgari eloquentia 2.14.2) For since everything we touch upon in poetry can be treated either positively or negatively [from right or left]—so that sometimes we sing to persuade and sometimes to dissuade, or sometimes sincerely and sometimes ironically, or sometimes to praise and sometimes to scorn. [Horace] fu fatto correggitore de’ poeti; [Dante] dice satiro, perché in tutte le opere lui fu satirico, perché trattò della riprensione de’ vizi. 1 Horace was made corrector of poets; Dante says “satirist,” because in all of his works he [Horace] was satirical, because he treated of the reprehension of vice.

In the beginning of the De vulgari eloquentia (herein abbreviated to DVE)— Dante’s unfinished Latin prose treatise that considers, among other things, politics, language, and poetry—the reader encounters almost immediately a rather startling metaphor describing the contents of the work. This metaphor is notable both for its position at the outset of the treatise and for its relationship—at first seemingly unrelated—to the material under examination. After having taken care to outline the principal subject matter, that is, the desire to 93

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treat “the theory of eloquence in the vernacular” (“de vulgaris eloquentie doctrina”), Dante foreshadows the coming reflections on Italy’s vernacular languages and their connection to poetry: non solum aquam nostri ingenii ad tantum poculum aurientes, sed, accipiendo vel compilando ab aliis, potiora miscentes, ut exinde potionare possimus dulcissimum ydromellum. (DVE 1.1.1) I shall not bring to so large a cup only the water of my own thinking, but shall add to it more potent ingredients, taken or extracted from elsewhere, so that from these I may concoct the sweetest possible mead.

The commingling of Dante’s thought and that of various authorities is highlighted via the metaphor of a concoction that will be exceedingly sweet: the ydromellum. 2 This sweetened potion will allow Dante to temper a medicine—a lesson, really—that one intuits will be bitter to swallow. In short, failed examples of language, poetry, and so forth will be juxtaposed against successful examples in order to diminish the bitter, vituperative nature of the treatise. 3 The medieval reemergence of this metaphor of classical literature is not at all casual, and its evocation has important consequences for a reading of the DVE. According to Catherine Keane in Figuring Genre in Roman Satire, classical didactic literature, especially the satirical vein represented by Horace, is characterized by none other than the trope of the honeyed cup of medicine. In the Sermones, for example, Horace himself recalled the “indulgent teachers who give their young students cookies.” 4 Attempting to identify the origins of this trope, Keane connects Horace’s metaphor to the selfportrait of Lucretius in the De rerum natura in which the poet deploys a sweetened medicine of his own and insists on the necessity of tempering a lesson believed to be potentially harsh to his readers. 5 The mellifluous terminology detailing his dissimulation in the De rerum natura will be echoed by Dante centuries later. Regardless of any direct relationship between the noted Epicurean text and Dante, the metaphor exemplifies the philological links between the satirical tradition in Latin and the DVE. 6 In the context of the ydromellum, many of the satirical-didactic texts, including Horace in the Sermones and Lucretius in the De rerum natura, note its appropriateness for children. Dante, too, declares his desire to extend knowledge of the vernacular, advanced via the “dulcissimum ydromellum,” not only to men but to women and children especially: “for not only men, but also women and children strive to acquire it” (“cum ad eam non tantum viri sed etiam mulieres et parvuli nitantur,” DVE 1.1.1). The tinge of sweetness commonly added to children’s medicine administers something unpalatable, though necessary, and is therefore the sine qua non of didactic literature. This mix, right at the beginning of the DVE, evokes the two constituent elements of medieval satire, laudatio—something sweet and praiseworthy—and vitu-

“Ut exinde potionare possimus dolcissimum ydromellum” (DVE 1.1.1) sed vel uti pueris absinthia taetra medentes cum dare conantur, prius oras pocula circum contingunt mellis dulci flavoque liquore, ut puerorum aetas inprovida ludificetur labrorum tenus, interea perpotet amarum absinthi laticem deceptaque non capiatur, sed potius tali facto recreata valescat. (De rerum natura 1.936–942; emphasis mine) But as physicians, when they seek to give / Young boys the nauseous wormwood, first do touch / The brim around the cup with the sweet juice / And yellow of the honey, in order that / The thoughtless age of boyhood be cajoled / As far as the lips, and meanwhile swallow down / The wormwood's bitter draught, and, though befooled, / Be yet not merely duped, but rather thus / Grow strong again with recreated health.

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non solum aquam nostri ingenii ad tantum poculum aurientes, sed, accipiendo vel compilando ab aliis, potiora miscentes, ut exinde potionare possimus dulcissimum ydromellum. (DVE 1.1.1; emphases mine) I shall not bring to so large a cup only the water of my own thinking, but shall add to it more potent ingredients, taken or extracted from elsewhere, so that from these I may concoct the sweetest possible mead.

English translation from De rerum natura, trans. William Ellery Leonard (New York: E.P. Dutton, 1916).

peratio—the harsh element. 7 One also glimpses in the pairing of something sweet and something bitter resonances of that particular vein of satire, the diatribe, of which the Dantean treatise possesses many characteristics. Though some scholars have cautioned against the Manichean categorization of satire as either “urbane” (Horace) or “aggressive” (Juvenal), rightly noting that this classification is prone to give short shrift to ambiguous cases, Dante’s approach in the DVE can be said to be inspired alternately by Horace and by Juvenal. It contains examples of traditional invective and satire with the goal of correction. 8 Writing in La satira dal medioevo al Pontano, Vittorio Cian registered his surprise at Dante’s use of satire in the DVE, noting that Dante gave in to his satirical impulse “in spite” of the material being treated: “Dante, in spite of the material, gave free rein to his satirical fancy, so much so to offer up the image of an early fourteenth-century Frusta letteraria [a periodical founded in the eighteenth century and known for its acerbic tone and polemical positions]” (“L’Alighieri, a dispetto della materia, diede libero sfogo al proprio estro satirico, sì da offrire talvolta l’immagine d’una Frusta letteraria del primo Trecento”). 9 Yet there was no need for Cian’s qualification. As Suzanne Reynolds notes in her study of the sermo umilis and its satirical role in the DVE, “Satire is figured in the Horace tradition not only as a genre but as a

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mode of writing that cuts across generic boundaries.” 10 For Reynolds, as for Pier Vincenzo Mengaldo before her, the Dantean conception of elegy was derived largely from a reading of John of Garland’s Poetria, in which “elegia was a species of bucolic poetry [. . .] and satire, eclogue, and elegy are all linked, and the link is provided by their stylistic level, sermo umilis.” 11 Elegy, then, is best understood as a Christian version of satire communicated by Dante’s sermo umilis and its traditional opposition, from Aristotle onward, to the sin of pride. 12 The substitution of elegy for satire and its expression in the sermo umilis, however, are not the only satirical aspects of Dante’s treatise to have been examined by scholars. Cian, for example, explored Dante’s DVE and its connection to this medieval literary mode when he furnished a list of satirical features found in the treatise: Dante’s satirical reference in Book Two (1. 7), possibly derived from one of Horace’s satirical letters; his invective against fellow Florentines; his Juvenalesque reviews of Italian dialects; his political diatribes against the Angevins and the Estense; and, finally, the literary satire aimed at Guittone d’Arezzo. 13 Critic Charles Witke has labeled Roman satire “the structure of persuasion,” meaning that its aim was precisely that corrective function wielded to persuade in order to achieve a higher moral standard, no matter the formal genre of the work. 14 In the DVE, Dante recognized this persuasive function of poetry in particular, writing in what would become the final passage of the treatise that poetry can persuade or dissuade; that poetic subject matters can be treated positively or negatively; that poetry can be sincere or ironic; and, most importantly, that poetry can lavish praise (laudabiliter) or heap scorn (contemptive): Nam cum ea que dicimus cuncta vel circa dextrum aliquid vel sinistrum canamus—ut quandoque persuasorie quandoque dissuasorie, quandoque gratulanter quandoque yronice, quandoque laudabiliter quandoque contemptive canere contingit. (DVE 2.14.2) For since everything we touch upon in poetry can be treated either positively or negatively [from left or right]—so that sometimes we sing to persuade and sometimes to dissuade, or sometimes sincerely and sometimes ironically, or sometimes to praise and sometimes to scorn.

In this passage we have the summation of Dante’s ethical and satirical impulse, itself an effort to persuade and dissuade. In the case of the treatise as a whole, the vice is poetry that is “illegitimate” and “irregular,” and the remedy is poetry that is instead well regulated and normative, legitimated and sanctioned by Dante. My essay will examine the satirical DVE from multiple perspectives, though it will consider only briefly the comic derision of the various Italian dialects. I will focus instead on the constellation of terms in the treatise that

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can be considered representative of the medieval conception of satire and even in some cases censorial (deridere, desistere, stultitia, inscius, presumptuositate, improperium, obproprium, contemptive, laudabiliter, yronice, gratulanter, tristiloquium, persuasorie, dissuasorie); on the choice of some illustrative poems chosen precisely for their own satirical character (“Una fermana scopai”); on the exemplification of noble poems that function as poetic models to be followed in contrast to those satirical poems; and above all on the main purpose of the treatise, whatever its style, which is the correction of poetry composed without “knowledge and art” (quibus non conveniat uti) by more noble poetry (quibus conveniat uti). According to the copyists of two of the three surviving manuscripts, the reception and transmission of the DVE reflected the didacticism of this medieval satirical impulse, since it distinguished itself as a work seeking to persuade and to dissuade, to prescribe and proscribe. Finally, I will connect Dante’s satire of original sin—clearly derived from the medieval tradition of the tractatus de vitiis et virtutibus—to his literary satire of poets via the presence of a shared vocabulary with the medieval theological and didactic treatises on vice and virtue. In the DVE, satire emerges in the poet’s intent to correct language and to promote the proper technique of writing poetry, as well as in his delineation of the appropriate vocabulary, rhyme, and meter. However, it is not only the poets who come in for reprehension and correction, but humanity itself after the fall that is blamed. THE TRACTATUS DE VITIIS ET VIRTUTIBUS AND ORIGINAL SIN IN THE DVE Medieval Europe was characterized by the pervasive, if not always uniform, presence of hierarchical categories of thought related to sin, virtue, and penitence. As Richard Newhauser has convincingly shown, this societal tendency found a literary outlet in the treatise on vices and virtues—tractatus de vitiis et virtutibus—a fairly well-defined, though open, system of literature that underwent significant transformations throughout the centuries and whose authors approached the genre in a multiplicity of ways in both Latin and the vernacular. 15 Though there existed many variations on the theme, all examples in this genre featured the explication of vices, virtues, or both. Treatises depicted vice as the seven deadly sins, which were juxtaposed against concomitant virtues as their remedial correctives, or the theological and/or cardinal virtues, or still another idiosyncratic pairing of vice and virtue. 16 Treatises in this category also differed in the specificity of their metaphors, with some versions exhorting the institution of remedial virtues and criticizing obstinate vice by way of military metaphors, while others, perhaps more germane for our purposes here, used medicinal metaphors. Furthermore, trea-

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tises on vice and virtue structured their material in different ways, with one popular example being the tripartite explication of the “reprehensibleness of each vice, its specific appearance, its remedies.” 17 Those treatises that, like Nicholas of Lyra’s De septem peccatis, treated the seven deadly sins, began with the first sin, the root of all others: pride. 18 In Nicholas of Lyra’s treatise, the two main illustrations of the sin of pride are the “expulsion of Adam and Eve from paradise” and the “disobedience [of] God’s commands.” It is also illuminating that the typical medieval treatise on vice and virtue offered humility as the remedial corrective to the sin of pride, a corrective identified by Aristotle and encompassed by the sermo umilis envisioned by Dante in the DVE as a reimagining of traditional satire. 19 Despite the differences in structure and content, treatises existed in Latin and in all vernacular languages, including Italian. The Italian iteration of the tractatus de vitiis et virtutibus closest in chronology and geography to the composition of the DVE (ca. 1303/4–1305), and one with which Dante could have been familiar, is Florentine Bono Giamboni’s Il libro de’ vizî e delle virtudi, a book mined recently for its relationship to Boethius’s De consolatione philosophiae and its status as a possible intermediary between Boethius and Dante of the Vita nova. 20 But it is also a book that discusses peccato (or vizio) as a medical condition to be cured and that counters the vizî with the virtues necessary to correct them: E quando udí dire che m’era venuta per guerire, suspirando dissi: – Maestra delle Virtudi, se di me guerire avessi avuto talento, piú tosto mi saresti venuta a visitare; perché tanto è ita innanzi la mia malizia, che m’hanno lasciato li medici per disperato, e dicono che non posso campare. 21 (Il libro de’ vizî e delle virtudi, chapter 3) And when I heard it said that she [Philosophy] had come to heal [me], sighing I said: “Maestra delle virtudi, if you had had the desire to heal me, you would have come to visit me sooner; because my treachery has gone on for so long, that the doctors have said I am a lost-cause, and they say I can’t live.”

Giamboni’s colloquy with Philosophy begins with Adam and Eve. Lady Philosophy agrees to cure Giamboni on the condition that he speak about man and woman’s ultimate end: “[s]o that I can give you relief from sickness [. . .] I want you to tell me what was the reason why God made man and woman, and for what purpose he wanted them to serve” (“a ciò ch’io ti possa ben medicare de la malatia [. . .] vo’ che mi dichi qual fue la cagione per che Dio fece l’uomo e la femina, e a che fine volle che l’uno e l’altro venisse,” chapter 5; emphasis mine). Similar to other entries in the genre, Lady Philosophy points to the fall as the progenitor of all vice and sin: “And so that we can find medicine for this great sickness, it is necessary that you tell me that you understood how God formed Adam and Eve in paradise, and how they

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sinned against Him, and how they were expelled from that place, and put on the Earth in this world” (“E acciò che a questa gran malatia possiam trovar medicina, fa bisogno che mi dichi s’ha’ inteso come Dio formò Adamo ed Eva nel paradiso, e come peccaro contra lui, e come fur cacciati di quel luogo, e posti in su la terra in questo mondo,” chapter 4; emphasis mine). The Florentine judge’s interlocutor also highlights God’s castigation of man in the wake of his fall: “Whoever wants to be a true son of God, let him bear peacefully the trials and tribulations of the world, which are his reproaches, and thus those whom He receives as his sons are reproached” (“Chi vuol dunque esser verace figliuol di Dio, porti in pace le pene e le tribulazioni del mondo, i quali sono i suoi gastigamenti, e laonde coloro cui egli riceve per figliuoli sono gastigati,” chapter 7; emphasis mine). 22 Finally, Il libro de’ vizî e delle virtudi, like others in its genre, calls pride, in a perversion of the liturgy, “the emperor and lord of the entire army of vices” (“lo ’mperadore e segnore di tutta l’oste di Vizî,” chapter 24). The DVE shares many generic traits in both form and function with the tractatus de vitiis et virtutibus, from its predominantly prose shape to its almost catechetical and mimetic practical functions. Dante’s particular form of satire captures the essence of medieval ethical literature in its acceptance of John of Garland’s distinction between “invective” and “satire,” the latter characterized by its recitation of evils “with the hope of correcting them.” In this milieu of hierarchism, virtue and vice, Dante’s ruminations on language, eloquence, and poetry begin with the sin of pride, the expulsion of Adam and Eve from Eden, and the post-Babelic linguistic confusion resulting from the “disobedience [of] God’s commands.” 23 To take one representative example, in the midst of Dante’s investigations into the biblical origins of speech, an early passage of the DVE highlights humanity’s penchant for vice and uses a vocabulary of blame associated with the list of sins commonly included in the tractatus de vitiis et virtutibus. In book one, Dante explains that the ignominy of original sin is to be condemned and henceforth corrected by God (7.1). In his diatribe Dante castigates human nature for its irrepressible proclivities for sin (prona peccatis). It is only through divine correction (correptionem), to which man has thus far been resistant—being expelled from Eden was evidently not enough to correct this sin—that this condition can be mitigated. Therefore God corrects through punishment the pride inaugurated by original sin: Dispudet, heu, nunc humani generis ignominiam renovare! Sed quia preterire non possumus quin transeamus per illam, quanquam rubor ad ora consurgat animusque refugiat, percurremus. O semper natura nostra prona peccatis! O ab initio et nunquam desinens nequitatrix! Num fuerat satis ad tui correptionem quod, per primam prevaricationem eluminata, delitiarum exulabas a patria? Num satis quod per universalem familie tue luxuriem et trucitatem, unica reservata domo, quicquid tui iuris erat cataclismo perierat, et que commiseras

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Chapter 5 tu, animalia celi terreque iam luerant? Quippe satis extiterat! (DVE 1.7.1–2; emphases mine) Alas, how it shames me now to recall the dishonouring of the human race! But since I can make no progress without passing that way, though a blush comes to my cheek and my spirit recoils, I shall make haste to do so. Oh human nature, always inclined towards sin! Engaged in evil from the beginning, and never changing your ways! Was it not enough to correct you that, banished from the light for the first transgression, you should live in exile from the delights of your homeland? Was it not enough that, because of the all-pervading lust and cruelty of your race, everything that was yours should have perished in a cataclysm, one family alone being spared, and that the creatures of earth and sky should have had to pay for the wrongs that you committed? It should indeed have been enough.

Another allusion to satire in the same passage may be observed in Dante’s use of the adjective satis (“enough,” “satisfied”), whose satirical double meaning derived from the Latin satura (“mixed dish”) and was used in Horace’s Sermo 1.1 (“iam satis est,” 120) to mean both “this is now enough” and “this is now (a) satire.” 24 The partial anaphora (num satis . . . num satis . . . quippe satis) calls attention to humanity’s excesses and suggests that it is ripe for correction. 25 As he continues, Dante becomes more strident and, turning to the reader as he will numerous times in the Commedia, emphasizes the obstinately corrupt and sinful nature of man with a vocabulary that mirrors the treatise on vice and virtue: Ecce, lector, quod vel oblitus homo vel vilipendens disciplinas priores, et avertens oculos a vibicibus que remanserant, tertio insurrexit ad verbera, per superbam stultitiam presumendo. (DVE 1.7.3; emphasis mine) And so, reader, the human race, either forgetful or disdainful of earlier punishments, and averting its eyes from the bruises that remained, came for a third time to deserve a beating, putting its trust in its own foolish pride.

Pride, occasioned by original sin, is the most serious vice, and its correction follows only from the naming of the sin and its public reproach. In a similar vein, Dante treats God’s reprehension and correction of those who built the Tower of Babel. Like Adam and Eve, these suffer from a foolishness stemming from the “disobedience [of] God’s commands”: “intending in their foolishness not to equal but to excel their creator” (“intendens, inscius, non equare, sed suum superare Factorem,” DVE 1.7.4). God, enraged at the temerity of the peoples involved in that vile operation, reproached them (castigavit) with a paternal, metaphorical whip (scutica) intended to demonstrate a “holy lesson” (pia correctione): “Yet, rising up not with an enemy's whip but

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that of a father, already accustomed to dealing out punishment, He chastised His rebellious offspring with a lesson as holy as it was memorable” (“Sed exurgens non hostili scutica sed paterna et alias verberibus assueta, rebellantem filium pia correctione nec non memorabili castigavit,” DVE 1.7.5, emphases mine). The hallmarks of medieval satire—castigation and correction—feature prominently in Dante’s exposition of the origins of linguistic confusion and differentiate his project from mere invective. 26 Clearly, then, whoever presumes due to foolishness is the object of, and may derive benefit from, satire. Presumption is at the heart of vice and sin as represented by Adam and Eve’s submission to temptation in the Garden of Eden, and in the decision, under the influence of the giant Nimrod, to challenge God’s authority with the construction of Babel. Nevertheless, mankind is so incorrigible that remedial virtues to counter the effects of vice and sin may be fruitless: “Incorrigible humanity, therefore, led astray by the giant Nimrod, presumed in its heart” (“Presumpsit ergo in corde suo incurabilis homo, sub persuasione gigantis Nembroth,” DVE 1.7.4). Those who presume will have to be corrected—“incurable” or not—whether by God’s divine, paternal punishment or, later on, by a militant poet’s careful example. Book One reveals the satirical beginnings of the treatise that other generic labels attributed to the work throughout the centuries do not contradict (rhetorical, poetic, historical, anthological, semiotic). The satirical scaffolding of the DVE will emerge also in the prose and in the poetry anthologized in the treatise, and it is exemplified by the vocabulary and the pungent tone, by the disdain for inferior politicians, poets and peoples, expressed by Dante. The DVE represents a unique satirical depiction that does not tread upon the usual (and fecund) ground of criticism of material riches. Rather, beyond political and material satire, it embraces first a theological satire, then literary satire, and inveighs against single poets as it does against “schools,” in a way that the reprehension and subsequent correction of the vice of unregulated poetry are reflected in Dante’s satirical representations of humanity’s origins. HUMORISTIC AND COMIC SATIRE This essay will not delve too deeply into the most evident example of satire in the DVE, that is, those humoristic passages in which Dantean satire takes aim at the Italian vernaculars and, taking his cue from Juvenal, becomes biting and comical. 27 Nevertheless, they are important examples for understanding the satiric mode of the treatise, for understanding the moments in which, as Cian wrote, Dante, “almost dressing himself up like Juvenal he becomes pungently satirical” (“travestendosi quasi da Giovenale . . . divent[a] acremente satirica”). 28 These examples are also useful because they testify further to the satirical vocabulary present in the work. Dante’s Juvena-

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lesque judgments are often insulting and condemnatory in the service of highlighting—vituperatively—a contrast with the praiseworthy language of the DVE, the vulgare illustre. One may point, for example, to the descriptions of Roman speech, whose speakers, according to the speculative grammar of the period, possessed a spoken language that was as ugly as their physical features: “For what the Romans speak is not so much a vernacular as a vile jargon, the ugliest of all the languages spoken in Italy; and this should come as no surprise, for they also stand out among all Italians for the ugliness of their manners and their outward appearance” (“Dicimus igitur Romanorum non vulgare, sed potius tristiloquium, ytalorum vulgarium omnium esse turpissimum; nec mirum, cum etiam morum habituumque deformitate pre cunctis videantur fetere,” DVE 1. 11. 2). 29 Another well-known passage refers to the Sardinians, who according to Dante are not even Italians and stutter and sputter like monkeys when speaking: “As for the Sardinians, who are not Italian but may be associated with Italians for our purposes, out they must go, because they alone seem to lack a vernacular of their own, instead imitating gramatica as apes do humans: for they say ‘domus nova’ [new house] and ‘dominus meus’ [my master]” (“Sardos etiam, qui non Latii sunt sed Latiis associandi videntur, eiciamus, quoniam soli sine proprio vulgari esse videntur, gramaticam tanquam simie homines imitantes: nam domus nova et dominus meus locuntur,” DVE 1.11.7). Traditional satire, comical and biting, has a place in the treatise. One recurring example is the vituperation directed toward poets like Guittone d’Arezzo, a condemnation that, like traditional satire, has its roots in the juxtaposition of city-country and in the purportedly rustic nature of the object of satire. Holding fast to medieval satirical precepts, Dante concentrates his satire first on a class of languages and peoples, but then he narrows its focus to assail individuals ranging from the Romans and Sardinians to the Florentines, targets of the invective of DVE 1.13, and the “gretto” Guittone d’Arezzo. It is precisely in this chapter of the DVE where a clever copyist gave a curious titulus to this chapter in which Dante vituperates the linguistic excesses of the Florentines. Before DVE 1.13, the (Florentine?) copyist of MS Grenoble fr. 580 labeled Dante’s native vernacular “excellens,” aware of the vituperative character of the passage and wanting to provide the laudatory antonym of turpiloquio, the adjective used by Dante to describe Florentine speech. The copyist recognized the classical binomial that animates the treatise and its paradigmatic relationship to the material of the work. 30 Thus author Dante and the anonymous scribe of MS Grenoble fr. 580 are conscious of the treatise’s satirical character. Most importantly, the biting insults with regard to certain populations’ physical features spill over into his satire of poets and poetry.

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POETRY AS AN INSTRUMENT OF VITUPERATIO AND LAUDATIO It is now useful to reflect on the strategic use of poetry in the DVE and its relationship to the treatise’s satirical impetus, for it is through poetry that Dante will demonstrate the remedial correction so crucial to his satirical project. On the one hand, some selections of poetry (“Una fermana scopai”) exemplify the defects of a particular people and are used for satirical purposes. On the other hand, some poems instead operate on the principle of contrast to illuminate the political defects of Italy’s princes, with poetry’s beauty magnifying the ugliness of ignoble political behavior that is likewise the object of Dante’s satire. In both cases, poetry evinces a strategic satirical use, but the uses of the explicitly satirical poetry, especially by Castra and the anonymous poets who composed canzoni in order to deride the Milanesi and others—where both the contents and Dante’s use of them can be said to be clearly satirical—distinguish themselves from the examples of poetry that Dante praises. Satire in both poetry and medieval rhetorical treatises possessed an established vocabulary of blame, and the DVE exhibits a strong relationship with this lexicon. One crucial element of satire is derision, a term appearing numerous times in classical and medieval definitions of the term. 31 According to Uguccione da Pisa, satirists were also derisores: “They are satyrs, light, stripped bare and witty, mockers, dancers, a satyr is similar to a goat with feet” (“Sunt enim satiri leves, nudi et dicaces, derisores, saltatores, capripedes similiter etiam satira,” emphasis mine). 32 A twelfth-century lexicographer, defining it exclusively for verse, wrote that satire has derision at its very center: “Satire, a poem full of derision” (“Satyra, Carmen derisionibus plenum”). 33 In light of this vocabulary there emerge in the DVE many instances of words that castigate and deride. (We have already seen some in the earlier passages regarding pride.) Dante’s tone is often one of reproach expressing opprobrium, as in 2.6.3 where he mentions the tendency to deride (deridere) the cretins (ydiotas) who publish verse unthinkingly: “Let the ignorant, then, not dare from now on to lay rough hands on canzoni; for we laugh at them as we would at a blind man choosing among colours” (“Pudeat, ergo, pudeat ydiotas tantum audere deinceps ut ad cantiones prorumpant quos non aliter deridemus quam cecum de coloribus distingentem”). Elsewhere, those who were not present at Babel, and who instead respected the sacred idioma, derided the others (deridebant) who were participants in the dissolution of humanity and convinced of their ontological superiority to God. Derision, a prime mover of satire, is used as a rhetorical arm against both illegitimate poets and sinful humanity. A close relative of derision, improperium and its associated forms, appears in numerous passages describing poetry, further demonstrating the con-

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sciously satirical character of this multiform treatise. We recall that in Book One Dante recapitulates the (inferior) dialects of the peninsula and beyond so that each becomes a category of people or languages that is condemned. Dante’s operative mode for some poetry is not at all dissimilar: he cites it for the purpose of defaming. We recall the poetry of the so-called Castra, whose canzone we find in the thirteenth-century MS Vaticano latino 3793, a repertory of boasting poems ranging from Sicilian and Siculo-Florentine poetry to comic poetry. Dante’s precise and strategic description of Castra’s canzone specifies that its inclusion—like the poem itself—is meant to be satirical in nature. 34 In his review of the inferior dialects, Dante draws our attention to the canzone “Una fermana iscopai da Cascioli” (“I Met a Girl from Fermo Near Cascioli”). In justifying the poem’s presence in the treatise, he writes that this poem, and other poems that he does not name but which according to him are nevertheless numerous, were well suited to a vituperative motive: “Nor should I fail to mention that a number of poems have been composed in derision of these three peoples” (“Nec pretereundum est quod in improperium istarum trium gentium cantiones quamplures invente sunt,” DVE 1.11.4). The important thing is that Castra’s canzone derides the people of the Marches, and that at the center of the canzone there is an element that reproaches a vice, in this case the speech, comportment, and habits of those living in the Marca Anconitana. As Gianfranco Contini has written, the canzone, like Cielo d’Alcamo’s contrasto, represents an antithesis for Dante. The language of both the contrasto and Castra’s canzone displays the baseness of the populations of whom they are representative: “[Cielo d’Alcamo’s] contrasto is for Dante an example of Sicilian vernacular language of the ‘terrigenae mediocres,’ in opposition to the variant chosen by the illustrious vernacular poets, just like another poem composed in ‘improperium’ [derision] of the residents of the Marches” (“il contrasto [è] per lui [Dante] un campione del volgare siciliano quale procede dai ‘terrigenae mediocres,’ in antitesi alla variante eletta dei rimatori illustri; come altro ritmo in ‘improperium’ dei marchigiani [“Una fermana iscoppai da Cascoli”]”). 35 However, the canzone, which recounts the less-than-difficult conquest of a servant girl by the speaker, presumably the poet himself, is not cited merely because it is an “antithesis,” nor is it only an antimodel of language and character. What has gone unnoticed in seeking to identify the role of these heterodox poems with respect to the canonical poems selected by Dante later in the DVE, is the derisive, vituperative, and satirical element of the canzone itself: the vernacular parody, the constant sexual allusions, the low position of the female servant, the emphasis on the diet of the protagonists, not to mention the injuries suffered by the lower class, evidenced by a malicious lexicon: semplo (“simple”), milenso (“stupid”), mamone (“idiot”) (v. 20); cret[t]o (“scrawny”), dogliuto (“delicate”), crepato (“pathetic”) (25). 36

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Despite Dante’s evident appreciation for the canzone’s technical composition (“inter quas unam vidimus recte atque perfecte ligatam”; “I have seen one of these [derisive poems], constructed in perfect accordance with the rules,” DVE 1.11.4), and regardless of the poem’s obscene character, the reason he cites it is primarily vituperative. Some scholars have argued that Castra’s poem is out of place in a work that lauds mostly noble and tragic poems. Such a position represents only a partially correct reading of the canzone’s role in DVE, and there is good reason in fact to read it as a satirical poem. Dante aims to condemn the speech of the people of the Marca Anconitana with a poem that he categorizes as a carmen reprehensorium, a poem that reprehends even if in this particular case it does not correct. The dialogical nature of the ritmo allows the poet to make a socio-linguistic observation that reproaches. Dante’s exposition of a comic poem of satirical inspiration is not there to exemplify the nobility of vernacular poetry, but rather the harshness of the quotidian vernaculars. Castra’s and the others’ compositions fascinate Dante both because of their material, which, as satire calls for, is low and rustic, and because the poems employ a low-level linguistic register. Significantly, the author of the canzone is not a Marchegiano, but rather a Florentine (“Florentinus nomine Castra”), an outsider then, who by all appearances is making fun of an inferior dialect. The position of the Florentine Castra—one who comes from outside and above—is significant: the etymology of the verb “deridere” presupposes a vertical, hierarchical relationship between him who “laughs from above” and the object of said laughter. The citation of a poem with a popular thematic also demonstrates Dante’s respect for medieval comic poetry bordering on invective, a genre whose characteristics connote the superiority of the poet to the subject(s) of the poem, thereby consolidating its adherence to the satirical mode. 37 Immediately following the passage describing Castra’s canzone, the reader encounters a similar disdain for the Milanese and the people of Bergamo, whose manifest defects are exemplified with a nod to similar poetic compositions written for the purpose of deriding the protagonists and their populations. In addition to the above-cited contrasto by Cielo d’Alcamo and Castra’s canzone, Dante claims to have heard similar compositions having to do with the Lombards: “I recall that somebody has written a derisive song about them [the Milanesi and the residents of Bergamo] too” (“in quorum etiam improperium quendam cecinesse recolimus,” DVE 1. 11.5, emphasis mine). The unnamed canzoni were composed to deride—improperium means precisely a “taunt, a reproach, an insult”—and so they had a central element that was vituperative, just as the citation of the poems themselves or mention of the poems was aimed at vituperating peoples, their characteristics, and the language of those depicted. Poetry in the DVE, especially derisive verse, is integral to Dante’s exposition of language.

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But it was not only populations or languages that were condemned through the use of poetry in the DVE. One example of the strategic use of poetry and satire demonstrates the ability of language and poetry to illuminate political defects, and not only linguistic and cultural shortcomings exemplified in the poems themselves. This example is what I call Dantean satire by contrast, in which the satirical, remedial element derives from something extrinsic to the poetry itself. It seems, therefore, that Dante allows for the satirical use of poetry even though the poetry itself is not satirical in nature as were Castra’s canzone and Cielo d’Alcamo’s contrasto. In the case of the Sicilians, for example, the nobility and the beauty of their poetic language constitutes a reprehension of the political degradation brought on by the princes of Italy. After having cited the poetry of a pair of Sicilians (Guido delle Colonne, Giacomo da Lentini), Dante writes that these poems served especially to highlight the defects of the post-Frederician political class: Sed hec fama trinacrie terre, si recte signum ad quod tendit inspiciamus, videtur tantum in obproprium ytalorum principum remansisse, qui non heroico more sed plebeio secuntur superbiam. (DVE 1.12.3–4; emphasis mine) But this fame enjoyed by the Trinacrian isle, if we carefully consider the end to which it leads, seems rather to survive only as a reproof to the princes of Italy, who are so puffed up with pride that they live in a plebeian, not a heroic, fashion.

The superbia at the root of their plebeian rule connects this political invective and satire to the satire of original sin in DVE 1.7, as well as to the arrogance of the construction of Babel: “per superbam stultitiam presumendo.” The canzoni composed by the Sicilians are distinguished precisely because they distance themselves from the baseness of the Italian princes, and so they have a satirical role in and of themselves that serves to reproach political action. For this reason we can affirm that, for Dante, poetry can have an inherently satirical purpose whether or not its mode is clearly derisive and satirical. Castra’s canzone ridicules the speech of the Marchegiani and is injurious; the Sicilians’ canzoni embellish poetry and ridicule by virtue of contrast because their inherent nobility reproaches the current political context, which is ignoble. DANTE SATIRO AND CENSOR Among the various literary and physical monuments dedicated to Dante after his death, the much-celebrated lines by Guido da Pisa and their characterization of Dante as standard-bearer of a particular literary typology and genealo-

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gy stand out: “Hic iacet excelsus poeta comicus Dantes, / Necnon et satirus et liricus atque tragedus” (emphasis mine). In their introduction, Fabian Alfie and Nicolino Applauso note that this very epigram is the inspiration for this volume’s title, and Guido’s description of Dante as “also the highest satiric, lyric, and tragic poet” provides yet another opportunity to reflect on Dante’s oeuvre and his status as a poet well-versed in all three principal modes of poetry. In addition to “poet of satire,” Giovanni di Virgilio labeled Dante “censor,” a reference to Dante’s tendency to condemn in his role as arbiter of the infernal punishments meted out in the Commedia. 38 It is certain that when his contemporaries deemed him censor they would have had in mind the contrappassi of the Inferno and the well-aimed invectives designed to castigate illustrious representatives of the sins catalogued in Hell. 39 However, in the DVE there is no shortage of passages in which the poet becomes a “censor,” bent on censuring and even aiming to prohibit the exercise of literary activity. The opprobrium for Guittone d’Arezzo is foremost in one’s mind; Dante’s antipathy for the Aretine is well-known, not just in the Commedia, but also in the Vita nova, the Convivio, and most definitely the DVE. Few commentators, though, have alighted on Dante’s prescription for Guittone and the remedy proposed for the ill of unregulated poetry as being in the service of satire. This prescription helps us to understand Dante’s satirical tendencies and is an illuminating instance of censorial vocabulary. In the passage that follows, Dante does not name Guittone, but given the lexical affinity between this passage and the Vita nova (16.10) it is clear that the point of reference ought to be Guittone and his ilk, or those who “write poetry without reason” (rimano senza ragione). Here Dante relies on a vocabulary that is heavily censorial, illustrating the prohibitive character of his satirical DVE: Et ideo confutetur illorum stultitia qui, arte scientiaque immunes, de solo ingenio confidentes, ad summa summe canenda prorumpunt; et a tanta presumptuositate desistant, et si anseres natura vel desidia sunt, nolint astripetam aquilam imitari. (2.4.11; emphases mine) 40 And this should suffice to refute the foolish claims of those who, devoid of technique and knowledge, relying on ingenuity alone, lay hands on the noblest topics, those that should be sung in the highest style. Let them lay such presumption aside; and if nature or their own incompetence has made them geese, let them not try to emulate the star-seeking eagle.

The superbia of the uninitiated is implied by mention of their presumptuositate and its long-standing relationship to pride (DVE 1.7). Particular attention should also be paid to the verbs “confutetur,” the jussif derived from confūtō meaning “to confute,” “to silence, to suppress, to check,” and “desistant,” from desīstō, “to cease, to desist from, to leave over.” Dante does not ask

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these foolish poets to remedy their vices, but rather declares that the norms exemplified in the treatise—and articulated shortly before this diatribe—will silence those poets without knowledge of poetry’s proper art, and he demands that they stop composing poetry tout court (desistant). In a passage we have already seen, DVE 2.6.3, the verb prorūmpō is associated with derision and the ignorant: “Pudeat, ergo, pudeat ydiotas tantum audere deinceps ut ad cantiones prorumpant: quos non aliter deridemus quam cecum de coloribus distingentem” (emphases mine; “Let the ignorant, then, not dare from now on to lay rough hands on canzoni; for we laugh at them as we would at a blind man choosing among colours”). Here, too, Dante identifies this tendency (prorumpunt) with the ignorant and foolish (stultitia). Not just Dante, but subsequent readers and copyists, understood the binaries at play in the DVE and the desire to censor. We recall that the copyist of MS Grenoble fr. 580 changed the titulus of the passage on the Tuscan poets in DVE 1.13 to read “excellens.” The supervisory role Dante assigns to himself in matters poetic also finds confirmation in the titulus found before the second book, the same book in which one reads the censorial passage above: “that which is appropriate to a polished and elegant vernacular and that which is not appropriate” (“Quibus conve[n]iat uti polito et ornato vulgari et quibus no[n] co[n]ve[n]iat,” MS Grenoble fr. 580, c. 13v). 41 Dante proscribes by reprehending a vice and prescribes by illustrating a virtue. Regardless of whether the tituli belong to Dante, the copyist’s instinct to read the treatise as prescriptive and proscriptive illustrates how the work was received. Thus the reader of MS Grenoble fr. 580 is guided by a description that is vituperative or reproaches (quibus non conveniat), and that is subsequently laudable or corrective (quibus conveniat), just as Dante had described poetry’s capacities in 2.14.2. Now let us consider further the description of these poets Dante aims to silence, because the nexus of terms brings us back to the passages on original sin from Book One. Here Dante is not rejecting the doctrine of original sin but criticizing the freely chosen and avoidable sins which he attributes to the poets he derides. Having already appeared in the Vita nova, the satire-derived stultitia that we encountered in Book One (original sin, Babel) and again in Book Two (poets) is the key for a satirical reading. As he will do in the Latin treatise, in the work of prosimetrum Dante deploys a series of injurious terms to describe other poets and positions himself opposite the stolti who, like the princes of Italy, the undisciplined poets, and humanity itself, are marked by their foolish baldanza (analagous to the DVE’s “presumptuositate”): E acciò che non ne pigli alcuna baldanza persona grossa, dico che né li poete parlavano cose sanza ragione, né quelli che rimano deono parlare così, non avendo alcuno ragionamento in loro di quello che dicono; però che grande vergogna sarebbe a colui che rimasse cose sotto vesta di figura o di colore

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rettorico, e poscia, domandato, non sapesse denudare le sue parole da cotale vesta, in guisa che avessero verace intendimento. E questo mio primo amico e io ne sapemo bene di quelli che così rimano stoltamente. 42 (Vita nova 16.10; emphases mine) And in order that some coarse person does not get presumptuous about these things I will add that the ancient poets did not write in this manner without reason, nor should vernacular poets write like this without having some understanding of what they are saying. For it would be shameful for one who wrote poetry dressed up with a figure or rhetorical color not to know how to strip the words of such dress, upon being asked to do so, showing their true sense. My best friend and I are only too well acquainted with poets who write in such a stupid manner.

Stultitia and its various forms are an important lexical touchstone in the construction of a satirical vocabulary. In comparing Dante’s discussion of original sin with the above-cited Latin passage on poets’ vice and this moment in the Vita nova, stultitia becomes a term employed in a specifically satirical fashion, connecting Dante’s satire of the human race and of poets. These poets, like man himself, are guilty of a foolishness that leads to impertinence. Poets without proper technique possess neither knowledge nor art, and this foolishness (stultitia), spilling naturally into unrestrained arrogance (presumptuositate), the progeny of pride, constitutes the strongest node of Dantean reprehension. The accusations of foolishness and its corresponding vice of pride occasioned by arrogance connect Dante’s satirical aims across the spheres of theology, poetry, and politics. We recall Dante’s biting digression on Adam and Eve after the fall: “And so, reader, the human race, either forgetful or disdainful of earlier punishments, and averting its eyes from the bruises that remained, came for a third time to deserve a beating, putting its trust in its own foolish pride” (“Ecce, lector, quod vel oblitus homo vel vilipendens disciplinas, et avertens oculos a vibicibus que remanserant, tertio insurrexit ad verbera, per superbam stultitiam presumendo” [DVE 1.7.2; emphasis mine]). Impertinent man’s foolish pride (superbia stultitia) at the time of original sin is assimilated to the foolishness of those poets without knowledge of proper poetic technique, and who are just as arrogant. As they regard original sin and the poet’s “sin,” presumptuousness and foolishness are found within diatribes that precede muscular expressions in favor of the remediation of vice. The first is understood as a fundamental error of humanity for which Dante unleashes a series of castigating terms; the second is the original sin of illegitimate poetry, a sin for which Dante had assumed for himself a role as biting critic and corrector. The medieval tractatus de vitiis et virtutibus evoked earlier in this essay provides yet another link between satire and Dante’s terminology in the DVE. According to one Middle English tractatus

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de vitiis et virtutibus, the “progeny” of pride includes “presumptioun.” 43 The remedy for “presumptioun” in that same treatise is “humility,” a prescription bringing us full circle to Reynolds’s proposal to read Dante’s sermo umilis in the DVE as speech appropriate to elegy (satire), or, as Giamboni’s Philosophy says in Il libro di vizî e delle virtudi, “they [the virtues] make captain of their people one whose name is Humility” (“ma fanno [le virtudi] di loro gente un capitano c’ha nome Umilità,” chapter 11). Beyond its paradigmatic role in the medieval treatise on vice and virtue, the “stultitia” leading to “presumptioun” in the passage above was also part of the vocabulary of classical satire. In Horace’s Sermones 2.3 the presence of stultitia and its derivatives reaches a crescendo when Damasippus apostrophes the Stoics (300–302): “‘Stoic, so may you, after your damage, sell all your merchandise the better: what folly [for, it seems, there are more kinds than one] do you think I am infatuated with?’” (“‘Stoice, post damnum sic vendas omnia pluris, / qua me stultitia, quoniam non est genus unum, / insanire putas?’”). 44 All told, there are no fewer than eleven instances of stultitia in Sermones 2.3 alone. 45 Earlier in the same Sermone, Damasippus’s rejoinder emphasizes the madness and foolishness inherent in all satirical criticism while using the adjective derived from stultitia: “you, too, are crazy, and almost all are fools” (“insanis et tu stultique prope omnes,” v. 32). In the DVE Dante demonstrates his knowledge of the Latin poets’ Stoic- and Cynic-derived vocabularies of satire, while at the same time reflecting medieval conceptions of vice and virtue. In his diatribe against the municipal poets of Florence Dante’s vocabulary hinges on exactly this “cynical” lexicon, and the poets of whom he disapproves are “amentiam”: “After this, we come to the Tuscans, who, rendered senseless by some aberration of their own” (“Post hec veniamus ad Tuscos, qui propter amentiam suam infroniti,” DVE 1.13.1). In the Convivio he expounds on such men and reproaches them as “lacking” and “without a mind” : “many men [. . .] seem lacking in this most perfect part; and therefore in Latin such persons are called ‘mindless’ or ‘demented’ [that is, without mind]” (“molti uomini, che della parte perfettissima paiono defettivi [. . .] sono chiamati nella gramatica amenti e dementi, cioè senza mente,” Convivio 3.2.18). 46 Building on his description of the princes of Italy in DVE 1.12, in DVE 1.13.1 the poet writes that “And it is not only the common people who lose their heads in this fashion” (“et in hoc non solum plebeia dementat”). Like Horace’s Damasippus, Dante accuses almost all of his fellow Tuscans of being stupid and foolish: “Sed quanquam fere omnes Tusci in suo turpiloquio sint obtusi” (“However, though almost all Tuscans are steeped in their own foul jargon,” DVE 1.13.4). The constellation of satirical terms—stultitia, superbia, presumptuositate, obtusi, amentem—reaches its apogee in Dante’s DVE. The foolish and arrogant need reprehension and correction. Dante’s reference in Book One to Eve, mother of original sin and therefore pride, seals the relationship between this vocabulary and satire, vice and

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virtue: “When the most presumptuous Eve responded thus to the blandishments of the Devil” (“scilicet presumptuossissam Evam, cum dyabolo sciscitanti respondit,” DVE 1.4.2, emphasis mine). Given that presumption follows from pride, Adam and Eve, Italy’s princes, and many vernacular poets, are found guilty of this sin and reproached for it. CONCLUSIONS Despite its incompleteness, and despite Dante’s stated intention to treat comic poetry only in the never-realized fourth book of the DVE, the often porous boundaries between satire and comedy are breached time and again in the treatise. One of the work’s main modes is satire, characterized in its medieval incarnation by the reprehension of vice and the explication of remedial virtues capable of its correction. This is true whether the vice is represented by pride stemming from original sin, by the construction of the Tower of Babel, by the composition of inferior poetry, or by the baseness of Italian vernaculars. Dante’s treatise also encapsulates many characteristics of the satirical tractatus de vitiis et virtutibus, especially its tendency to demonstrate reprehensibleness and to use a lexicon replete with remedial solutions, beginning, as do many medieval versions of the genre, with pride. Reynolds has demonstrated that Dante had satire in mind during his discussion of elegy and the sermo umilis, a type of speech designed to contrast the sin of foolish pride (superbia stultitia) with “Christian humility” and a commonly suggested corrective to pride and arrogance in the typical medieval treatise on vice and virtue. In fact, the near-contemporary Italian vernacular compendium Fiore di virtù describes pride as “the vice opposite the virtue of humility, according to Aristotle” (“contrario vizio della virtù dell’umiltà, secondo Aristotile”), 47 and Bono Giamboni’s Il libro de’ vizî e delle virtudi called “Umiltà” the “captain of the virtues” (“capitano delle virtudi”). Dante adopts and cites satirical poetry to deride the dialects of other peoples; he unleashes satirical diatribes aimed at the political defects of the princes of Italy; and he takes advantage of an established lexicon of satire centered on foolishness (stultitia) and arrogance (superbia, presumptuositate) to connect the sin of pride and the vice of irregular poetry. The result is a treatise well-balanced by the ydromellum that tempers its medicine with the honey of vernaculars, poets, and poetry to be emulated. One may conclude of Dante what Francesco da Buti imagines is Dante’s motive for assigning to Horace the sobriquet satiro in the Commedia: “He was made corrector of poets; because in all of his works he was satirical, because he treated of the reprehension of vice” (“fu fatto correggitore de’ poeti [. . .] perché in tutte le opere lui fu satirico, perché trattò della riprensione de’ vizi”). 48 In the DVE, Dante, too, made himself “correggitore de’ poeti,” and has as a goal the

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systematic reprehension (“trattò della riprensione dei vizi”) and remediation of the vices exhibited by whomever—poets, Adam and Eve, tower-builders, princes—presumes owing to foolishness. In opposition to the disaggregation resulting from sins that are literary, political, and theological, Dante’s positive linguistic and literary goal—the virtues—promotes at the very least a sort of inter-regional harmony that could be a prelude to political unity. NOTES “[S]o that from these I may concoct the sweetest possible mead.” All Latin quotations of the De vulgari eloquentia from Dante Alighieri, De vulgari eloquentia, ed. Pier Vincenzo Mengaldo (Padua: Antenore, 1968). All English translations are from Dante Alighieri, De vulgari eloquentia, ed. and trans. Steven Botterill (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996). 1. Francesco Da Buti, Commento sopra la Divina Commedia di Dante Alighieri, ed. Crescentino Giannini (Pisa: Fratelli Nistri, 1858–1862), 159. English translation is my own. 2. According to the definition found in Uguccione da Pisa’s Derivationes, ydromellum is “aqua mellita que consta ex acqua cocta et melle.” MS Cambridge, Peterhouse 94 (not foliated). See Uguccione da Pisa, Derivationes, ed. Enzo Cecchini and Guido Arbizzoni, Settimio Lanciotti, Giorgio Nonni, Maria Grazia Sassi, and Alba Tontini (Florence: SISMEL Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2004). 3. Not unlike the argument for Dante’s Convivio made recently by Ambrogio Camozzi Pistoja, “Il quarto trattato del Convivio. O della satira,” Le Tre Corone: Rivista internazionale di studi su Dante, Petrarca, Boccaccio 1 (2014): 27–53: “e quelli e questi prendano la mia vivanda col pane, che la farà loro e gustare e patire” (“and let each group partake of my meat with bread, for I will have them both taste of it and digest it. Convivio, 1.1.13”). 4. Carolyn Keane, Figuring Genre in Roman Satire (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 105–6. The Horatian passage in question is “ridentem dicere verum / quid vetat? Ut pueris olim dant crustula blandi / doctores, elementa velint ut discere prima” (Sermones 1.1.24–26). Latin text via The Latin Library: http://www.thelatinlibrary.com/horace/ serm2.shtml (accessed 20 March 2016). The English text can be found in The Satires of Horace, trans. A. M. Juster (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvanis Press, 2008), 9–13. 5. Dante’s metaphor does not mention medicine. Elsewhere he does allude in medical terms to the condition of man in the context of sins encouraged by Nimrod: “Presumpsit ergo in corde suo incurabilis homo, sub persuasione gigantis Nembroth” (“Incorrigible humanity, therefore, led astray by the giant Nimrod, presumed in its heart,” DVE 1.7.4). 6. While Dante certainly did not know the De rerum natura in full—there were eighth- and ninth-century copies before Poggio Bracciolini’s “rediscovery” in 1417—he, like Petrarch and Boccaccio, may have known parts of the poem by way of Macrobius, who quoted from all six books. The comparison demonstrates the metaphorical thread running through satirical and didactic literature. Furthermore, it is possible that the source for Dante’s metaphor was Boethius’s De consolatione philosophiae, but even this has a link to Lucretius, as Boethius’s use of the metaphor came in the context of a reference to Epicurean philosophy and is thus part of the through-line passing from Epicureanism and satire to Dante. Boethius, more than once, references “honeyed sweetness.” For example: “Tum ego: Speciosa quidem ista sunt, inquam, oblitaque rhetoricae et musicae melle dulcedinis” (“Then I answered, ‘Those arguments have a fair form and are clothed with all the sweetness of speech and of song,’” DCP II, pr. 3); “ut degustata quidem mordeant, interius autem recepta dulcescant” (“[curative medicines are] bitter on the tongue, but sweet when swallowed,” DCP III, pr. 1). The derivation from Boethius is all the more plausible because of its relationship to “music and rhetoric,” an expression echoed by Dante in DVE 2.4.2: “fictio rhetorica musicaque poita” (“verbal invention composed accord-

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ing to the rules of rhetoric and music”). The text for Boethius comes from Consolatio Philosophiae, ed. James J. O’Donnell (Bryn Mawr, PA: Bryn Mawr College, 1984). English translation from The Consolation of Philosophy, trans. W. V. Cooper (London: J.M. Dent and Company, 1902). 7. A similar pairing of sweet and bitter as it regards eating and drinking can be found in the Convivio. See Camozzi Pistoja, “Il quarto trattato del Convivio. O della satira” (see note 4), 23–53. 8. Keane, Figuring Genre in Roman Satire (see note 5), 6. See John of Garland’s important distinction between invective and satire for the purpose of correcting: “hystoricum aliud Inuectiuum, in quo dicuntur turpiloquia causa malignandi; aliud Reprehensio siue Satyra, in qua recitantur malefacta causa correctionis” (359–61; “one kind of historical narrative is Invective, in which slanderous things are said with full intent to malign. Another is Reprimand or Satire, in which evils are recited with the hope of correcting them”). The citation and translation are from John of Garland, The Poetria Parisiana of John of Garland, ed. and trans. Traugott Lawler (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1974). 9. Vittorio Cian, La satira dal medioevo al Pontano, vol. 1 (Milan: Vallardi, 1939), 157. 10. Suzanne Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89): Dante, the Roman Satirists, and the Medieval Theory of Satire,” The Italianist 15, Supplement 2 (1995): 128–44; here 128. 11. Ibid., 139. See also Pier Vincenzo Mengaldo, “L’elegia ‘umile’ (DVE II iv 5–6),” in Linguistica e retorica di Dante (Pisa: Nistri-Lischi, 1978), 200–22. 12. Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89)” (see note 11), 140. Reynolds’s demonstration of the substitution of elegy for satire is noteworthy, even if the poems identified as such in the De vulgari eloquentia do not seem to be especially “elegiac,” at least in a satirical way. All of the “elegiac” poems happen to be by poets from Bologna: “Di fermo sofferire,” of which we have no existing witness; “Donna, lo fermo cor” by Guido Guinizzelli; and “Lo meo lontano gire” by Fabruzzo de’ Lambertazzi. 13. Cian, La satira dal medioevo al Pontano (see note 10), 154–57. 14. Charles Witke, Latin Satire: The Structure of Persuasion (Leiden: Brill, 1970), 11. 15. Richard Newhauser, The Treatise on Vice and Virtues in Latin and the Vernacular (Turnhout: Brepols, 1993), 58. 16. The focus on remediation in the tractatus de vitiis et virtutibus and Dante’s insistence on providing correct examples of poetry in the DVE answer in the affirmative the query posed by Jean Weisgerber, “Satire and Irony as Means of Communication,” Comparative Literature Studies 10, no. 1 (1973): 157–72: “[O]ne of the main characteristics of satire is that it identifies the disease while usually only hinting at the remedy. Indeed, the satirist has often been compared with the medicine man or the surgeon, although his remedial measures sometimes make him look more like a public executioner than a general practitioner. Satire is ordinarily considered useful: it provides a safety valve for hatred, it sublimates aggressiveness, it exposes evil, it puts people on their mettle, it criticizes the abuses of the state and the defects of man. To be sure, it points out faults, but does it ever redress them?” (160). 17. Newhauser, The Treatise on Vice and Virtues in Latin and the Vernacular (see note 16), 58. Newhauser notes Dante’s own homage in the Commedia to the tradition of narrative allegory also present in the tractatus de vitiis et virtutibus (91–92). 18. Newhauser, The Treatise on Vice and Virtues in Latin and the Vernacular (see note 16), 60. 19. The Fiore del virtù (c. 1313–1323) defines pride as the “contrario vizio della virtù dell’umiltà, secondo Aristotile.” 20. Marco Santagata, Dante: The Story of His Life, trans. Richard Dixon (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press, 2016), 71, notes that Giamboni lived in the same sestiere as Dante and that, though “we have no evidence of any contact between Dante the the elderly judge (Giamboni) [. . .] there was also an Abati called Durante, presumably Dante’s grandfather, who was also a judge: so it would seem certain that he knew Giamboni, and probable that his relations with him were not just formal.” 21. Citations are from Bono Giamboni, Il libro de’ vizî e delle virtudi, ed. Cesare Segre (Turin: Einaudi, 1968). English translations my own.

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22. Another well-known Italian treatise on vice and virtue, Fiore di virtù (ca. 1313–ca. 1323, according to Maria Corti), often attributed to Tommaso Gozzadini of Bologna, circulated during Dante’s lifetime. While the dates of composition preclude Dante from having known the Fiore di virtù, it stands to reason that he was familiar with some version of the tractati, either Giamboni’s or another, unknown to us. The author of the Fiore di virtù certainly knew Dante, for he cites the Convivio more than once. See Carlo Frati, “Richerche sul Fiore di virtù,” Studi di filologia romanza 6, no. 1 (1893): 247–447; here 250. See also: http://www.treccani.it/ enciclopedia/tommaso-gozzadini_res-37cab5aa-87ee-11dc-8e9d-0016357eee51_%28Dizionari o_Biografico%29/ (accessed 22 December 2015). 23. For a reappraisal of this passage, see Riccardo Tesi, “Un motivo agostiniano della teoria linguistica dantesca: linguaggio ostentivo e prima locution,” in Dante. Per Emilio Pasquini (special issue of Studi e problemi di critica testuale), ed. Alfredo Cottignoli et al. (Pisa and Rome: Fabrizio Serra Editore, 2015), 112–27, who explores and advances an innovative interpretation of Dante’s description in De vulgari eloquentia (1.6.1) of the tower of Babel and the resulting linguistic confusion. Using Wittegenstein’s observations on Augustine’s Confessions 1.7, Tesi argues that man’s reduction to a primitive state of language in the passage is not the result of unhappiness due to post-Babelic confusion, but rather an expression of an Augustinian non-verbal language (ostensivo-gestuale) possessed by non-relational man. 24. See Thomas K. Hubbard, “The Structure and Programmatic Intent of Horace’s First ‘Satire,’” Latomus 40 (1981): 305–21, and Basil Duffalo “‘Satis/satura’: Reconsidering the Programmatic Intent of Horaces’s ‘Satires’ 1.1,” The Classical World 93, no. 6 (2000): 579–90. 25. There is not really a way to read Dante’s use of satis here as meaning satire, but the word’s relationship to satura is nevertheless indicative of a satirical vocabulary. In Horace’s first sermo, where “iam satis est” can be read as both “this is now enough” and “this is now (a) satire,” the topics are the “ethical themes of satiety and excess,” just as Dante’s satire of humanity is concerned with its excesses. See Duffalo, “‘Satis/satura’: Reconsidering the Programmatic Intent of Horaces’s ‘Satires’ 1.1” (see note 25), 579. 26. The similarities between man’s state after original sin and language’s state after Babel have been explored by Irène Rosier-Catach, “Man as a Speaking and Political Animal: A Political Reading of Dante’s “De vulgari eloquentia,” in Dante's Plurilingualism: Authority, Knowledge, Subjectivity, ed. Sara Fortuna, Manuele Gragnolati, and Jürgen Trabant (Oxford: Legenda, 2010), 34–53; here 34. According to Rosier–Catach, the expulsion from Eden and Babel are both circumstances in which “man as political animal, who lost what he was first given, had to then live in a collectivity to fulfil his needs.” 27. For the comic side of Dantean satire, see Edoardo Sanni, Il comico, l'umorismo e la satira nella Divina Commedia, with an appendix on “La concezione dantesca del Purgatorio” and preface by Francesco D’Ovidio (Milan: Hoepli, 1909). 28. Cian, La satira dal medioevo al Pontano (see note 10), 155. 29. Tristiloquium is a term that will reappear in the description of Castra’s canzone and so links his criticism of language and poetry. 30. Paget Jackson Toynbee, Dante Studies and Researches (London: Methuen and Company, 1902), 162–64. 31. See Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89)” (see note 11), 151, who reproduces the accessus found in MS Vaticano latino 1587, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, f. 55v, in which one reads that Horace was not always derisive, an observation which tells us that he often was: “Unum librum fecit Oratius epistolarum in quo non egit derisorie sicut in sermone.” 32. Uguccione da Pisa, Magne derivationes, MS Cambridge, Peterhouse 94 (not foliated). See Uguccione da Pisa, Derivationes, ed. Enzo Cecchini and Guido Arbizzoni, Settimio Lanciotti, Giorgio Nonni, Maria Grazia Sassi, and Alba Tontini (Florence: SISMEL Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2004). 33. Cian, La satira dal medioevo al Pontano (see note 10), 10. 34. Its presence in the DVE is also an anticipation of Dante’s stated intention to treat, only in the fourth book of the never-completed treatise, comic poetry, which he associates with the sonnet and not the canzone. 35. Carlo Emilio Gadda, La cognizione del dolore, introduction by Gianfranco Contini (Turin: Einaudi, 1963), 11.

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36. Cited from Poeti del Duecento, vol. 1, ed. Gianfranco Contini (Milan and Naples: Riccardo Ricciardi Editore, 1960), 913–18. The poem is a codex unicus in MS Vaticano Latino 3793 (f. 26r), and is attributed there to a certain “Messer Osman.” 37. See Mario Marti, Cultura e stile nei poeti giocosi del tempo di Dante (Pisa: NistriLischi, 1953). 38. See Cian, La satira dal medioevo al Pontano (see note 10), 165. 39. Guido da Pisa had suggested that Dante could have titled the Commedia “satire.” 40. “And so for those untouched by art and science relying on their native talent alone who burst forth to sing of high subjects in a high manner, let their foolishness stand confuted and let them cease from such presumption.” This passage is redolent of the enumerated list of ways of committing the sin of pride in Nicholas of Lyra’s De septem peccatis, which include “attempting to appear wiser than all others” and “seeking more honors for oneself than is fitting.” See Newhauser, The Treatise of Vice and Virtue in Latin and the Vernacular (see note 16), 60. 41. MS Grenoble fr. 580 is cited from Dante Alighieri, Traité de l’éloquence vulgaire, Manuscrit de Grenoble, ed. Edmond Maignien and Pierre Ines Prompt (Venice: Olschki, 1892). 42. “And in order that some coarse person does not get presumptuous about these things I will add that the ancient poets did not write in this manner without reason, nor should vernacular poets write like this without having some understanding of what they are saying. For it would be shameful for one who wrote poetry dressed up with figure or rhetorical color not to know how to strip the words of such dress, upon being asked to do so, showing their true sense. My best friend and I are only too well acquainted with poets who write in such a stupid manner.” Dante Alighieri, Vita nova, ed. Guglielmo Gorni (Turin: Einaudi, 1996). English translation is from Dante Alighieri, Vita Nova, trans. Andrew Frisardi (Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 2012). 43. See Newhauser, The Treatise on Vice and Virtues in Latin and the Vernacular (see note 16), 62. 44. Latin text via The Latin Library: http://www.thelatinlibrary.com/horace/serm2.shtml (accessed 20 March 2016). English translation from Juster 2008, 73–88. See also the comic and satirical letter attributed to Cecco d’Ascoli and addressed to Cecco himself in the name of money, in Francesco Novati, “Tre lettere giocose di Cecco D’Ascoli,” Giornale storico della letteratura italiana 1 (1883): 62–75. 45. Stulti (2.3, v. 32); stultitia (2.3; v. 43; v. 221; v. 301); stultitiae (2.3, v. 54; v. 276); stultus (2.3, v. 158; v. 159); stultos (2.3, v. 225); stultum (2.3, v. 305); and stultior (2.3, v. 42). Not to mention other appearances of the word: stulti (Sermones 1.2, v. 24); stultus (Sermones 1.3, v. 24; Sermones 1.6, v. 15); and stultisssimus (Sermones 1.5, v. 82). The critical consensus is that Dante did not know Horace’s Sermones. 46. Dante Alighieri, Il Convivio, ed. Franca Brambilla Ageno (Florence: Casa Editrice Le Lettere, 1995). English translation from Dante’s Il convivio (The Banquet), trans. Richard Lansing (New York: Garland, 1990). 47. See Treccani: http://www.treccani.it/enciclopedia/tommaso-gozzadini_res-37cab5aa87ee-11dc-8e9d-0016357eee51%28DizionarioBiografico%29/ (accessed 22 December 2015). 48. Da Buti, Commento sopra la Divina Commedia di Dante Allighieri (see note 2), 159.

Chapter Six

Invective and Emotional Tones in Dante’s Convivio Beatrice Arduini

Dante’s Convivio is an incomplete project that the author abandoned before its circulation to the public. It was ignored by the majority of Dante’s readers until more than a century after the poet’s death, with the exception of a small Florentine circle of commentators with a personal connection to Dante himself. If Dante had completed the project, the Convivio might well have included fifteen prose books in the vernacular. The first of these would have been a general introduction, and the others a self-commentary devoted to “the meat of this banquet” (“la vivanda di questo convivio”)—that is, fourteen of his previously composed canzoni, whose declared intention was to supply the basic elements of knowledge: La vivanda di questo convivio saràe di quattordici maniere ordinata, cioè [di] quattordici canzoni sì d’amor come da virtù materiate, le quali sanza lo presente pane aveano d’alcuna oscuritate ombra, sì che a molti loro bellezza più che loro bontade era in grado. (Convivio 1.1.14) The meat of this banquet will be prepared in fourteen ways: that is, in fourteen canzoni, whose subject is both love as well as virtue. By lacking the present bread they possessed some degree of obscurity, so that to many their beauty was more pleasing than their goodness.

However, between 1303 and 1308, Dante wrote only the first four books, offering interpretations of three poems, “Voi che ’ntendendo il terzo ciel movete,” “Amor che nella mente mi ragiona,” and “Le dolci rime d’amor ch’ i’ solia.” All were composed before his exile and appear respectively in books two to four. Moreover, Dante appears not to have circulated the trea117

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tise during his lifetime, since the oldest manuscripts date from ca. 1330/40 (MS II III 47 Florence, BNC, and MS Barb. Lat. 4086, Rome, Vat. Library). 1 This is also the decade in which we find the first explicit mention of the work, in a 1337–1341 version of the so-called Ottimo Commento, which is one of the three sole fourteenth-century commentaries on the Commedia to make use of the Convivio. 2 The other commentators are the notary and vernacular copyist Andrea Lancia, Pietro Alighieri in his Comentum super poema Comedie Dantis, and, outside the tradition of the Commedia commentaries, another notary, Alberto della Piagentina, in the proem of his vernacular translation of Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy. 3 All of these interpreters were either active in Florence or knew Dante directly. Additionally, the unusually high number of errors identified in the Convivio manuscript tradition indicates that Dante left the work incomplete, and what he did write remained in a very rough, uncorrected state. It is only when the Convivio reemerges in fifteenth-century Florence that manuscript production increases and expands, due to the linguistic and literary interests within the circles of Lorenzo de’ Medici. The forty-five manuscripts we have today were all produced in Florence and date from ca. 1440 to 1482, with the exception of four codices transcribed in the fourteenth century. 4 Between 1460 and 1470 in particular, a growing interest in the Convivio laid the foundation for the Florentine editio princeps (first printed edition) of 1490, considered by Franca Brambilla Ageno to be part of the stemmatic reconstruction of the text. 5 But what were Dante’s intentions for his work, before he abandoned it? And more importantly, how did he express these intentions? I will argue that an analysis of the presence of emotional notes, invectives, and satirical tones throughout the Convivio is relevant to an interpretation of the author’s intentions and of his intended audience. 6 The satirical elements of the Convivio, especially the invectives, help us understand more about the intended audience consisting of “those in whom true nobility is sown” (“quelli nelli quali vera nobiltà è seminata,” Convivio 1.9.8). Indeed, this public does not seem to coincide with the merchants and notaries who were responsible for the work’s early reception in the second half of the fourteenth century. Moreover, in the fifteenth century, the Convivio still appears to have been paired with texts that comment upon Dante’s opus and engage in his polemical defense, such as a biography of poet and a polemical fourteenth-century work that attacks those who criticized his choice to write in the vernacular. I should point out that for ease of expression, I will examine tropes such as double meanings, sarcastic expressions, forms of comedic amplification, rhetorical questions, invectives, and swear words among the lexical-syntactic forms of the satire. Although these constructions are not exclusive to this genre, they are all part of the instruments of the satirical poet, as pointed out by Ambrogio Camozzi Pistoja. 7 In her work on the accessus to the Ars

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poetica, Suzanne Reynolds illustrates that, in fact, in medieval literary theory, “texts that are not satires can be satiric” and that “the use of the adverbial form satirice is important, for it embodies the crucial idea that satire is not one of the three stili but also a mode of writing that can transcend the boundaries of the genera dicendi,” 8 identifying the openness to a wide range of language as one of the main characteristics of the genre, as suggested in the editors’ introduction. It should be noted that scholars almost unanimously agree that the Convivio first emerged from political motives and from Dante’s moral outrage at his painful banishment from Florence and at his condemnation to death (February–March 1302). These political motives and outrage are, in particular, a reaction to the first difficult years of warfare between the Guelphs and Ghibellines, and to the White Guelphs’ failed attempts at military reentry into Florence. 9 Dante’s sentence of exile must have carried with it the added indignity that the public might believe the charges of graft brought against him. Not only did Dante fear losing his authority in the eyes of his new readers, he was also concerned that readers who had considered him with esteem and appreciation might see his work in a different light because of his status of being stateless and dishonored. What he abhorred, above all, in his exile was the undervaluation and depreciation of his past works, and of those he had yet to compose: Veramente io sono stato legno sanza vela e sanza governo, portato a diversi porti e foci e liti dal vento secco che vapora la dolorosa povertade; e sono apparito alli occhi a molti che forse per alcuna fama in altra forma m’aveano imaginato: nel cospetto de’ quali non solamente mia persona invilio, ma di minor pregio si fece ogni opera, sì già fatta come quella che fosse a fare. (Convivio 1.3.5; emphasis mine) Truly I have been a ship without sail or rudder, brought to different ports, inlets, and shores by the dry wind that painful poverty blows. And I have appeared before the eyes of many who perhaps because of some report had imagined me in another form. In their sight not only was my person held cheap, but each of my works was less valued, those already completed as much as those yet to come.

Dante also warns the readers about the risks of bias in the formation of first impressions because “the image generated by fame alone is always greater, no matter what kind it is, than the thing imagined is in its true state” (“la imagine per sola fama generata sempre è più ampia, quale che essa sia, che non è la cosa imaginata nel vero stato,” Convivio 1.3.11). With this quote, one starts to understand Dante’s frustration toward his contemporary academics and intellectuals: as we will see, in the Convivio he repeatedly casti-

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gates them as unworthy of assigning to certain authors the literary success that Dante is afraid will always elude him. Once Dante had grown disillusioned with the other Florentine outcasts and their attempts to force their way back into Florence, he was determined to prove his worthiness by means of his writings, thereby securing his return and preserving his intellectual identity, as he explains in the first book of the Convivio. 10 Dante’s preoccupation with proving his worthiness as an intellectual engaged in contemporary politics is reflected in his conscious decision: “It is fitting that I should add, with a loftier style, a little weight to the present work, so that it may seem to take on an air of greater authority” (“conviemmi che con più alto stile dea [al]la presente opera un poco di gravezza, per la quale paia di maggiore autoritade,” Convivio 1.4.13). The reconstruction of the Convivio’s early readership and circulation is then crucial for the interpretation of how the treatise and Dante’s rhetorical style were received. However, this issue has only been considered in recent contributions through very different approaches. Irene Ceccherini, for example, has recently pursued a paleographic investigation of the oldest manuscripts of the Convivio, which reveals that not only should MS II III 47 Florence, BNC, and MS Barb. Lat. 4086, Rome, Vat. Library be placed in that same decade (1330s), but they were produced in the same cultural environment in which the first indirect tradition of the Convivio is documented (that is, among Dante’s relatives and close commentators). 11 The paleographic and codicological analysis leaves no doubt regarding the identification of the fourteenth-century copyists’ background: they were all notaries and merchants, who utilized their professional cursive by transferring this handwriting practice from archival and commercial documents to literary texts, following a method that was not unusual in Florence during the first half of the fourteenth century, one whose usage gradually increased beginning in the second quarter of the century. 12 Ceccherini convincingly demonstrates that the “real” readers of the paltry fourteenth-century tradition of the Convivio were notaries and merchants who even collaborated side by side in the preparation and transcription of MS II III 47 Florence, BNC. 13 Nevertheless, this audience did not seem to coincide with Dante’s declared ideal public that he wished to reach with his work, starting with the declarations in the first book of the Convivio, in which Dante identifies his audience as “those in whom true nobility is sown” (“quelli nelli quali vera nobiltà è seminata,” Convivio 1.9.8), harshly reprehending the “common people” (“populari persone”), who were devoid of the capacity to use the light of discernment: E però che l’abito di vertude, sì morale come intellettuale, subitamente avere non si può, ma conviene che per usanza s’acquisti, ed ellino la loro usanza

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pongono in alcuna arte e a discernere l’altre cose non curano, impossibile è a loro discrezione avere. (Convivio 1.11.7) Since the habit of virtue, whether moral or intellectual, cannot be had of a sudden, but must be acquired through practice, and since they devote their practice to some craft and do not trouble themselves with perceiving other things, it is impossible for them to have discernment.

In Florence, this class of artisans and merchants—“these people should be called sheep, not men” (“sono da chiamare pecore, e non uomini,” Convivio 1.11.9)—was characterized by the practice of a craft, as opposed to the Grandi or the Magnati, the families who had gained wealth in the market economy and controlled the government of the city: artisans and merchants in Dante’s time are characterized as being occupied with the necessities of trade and mindful of nothing else, “being occupied from the beginning of their lives with some kind of trade, they direct their minds to it by force of necessity, so that they are mindful of nothing else” (“occupati al principio della loro vita ad alcuno mestiere, dirizzano sì l’animo loro a quello per forza della necessitade, che ad altro non intendono,” Convivio 1.11.6). 14 The use of satirical tones in Dante’s Convivio, aimed toward an audience lacking reason, singles out those who belong to the class of artisans and merchants with derogatory and offensive expressions, ironic constructions, and invectives. In the Convivio, Dante in fact aspires to present lofty philosophical subject matter in a work that is not merely intended to be didactic and encyclopedic. Rather, it is addressed to the contemporary ruling classes, those people who would have been able to implement a program of political renewal in the Italian cities. Indeed, during his years of exile, Dante’s political ideal progressively distanced itself from its early association with municipal, Guelph values, which characterized his most active phase of political involvement as a citizen of Florence. 15 Regarding this shift in Dante’s political ideology, it is useful to reflect on the dating of the Convivio. Most recently, scholars have continued to focus on the stylistics and differences throughout the composition of the first three books, and the fourth book of the work. Enrico Fenzi has claimed, as John Scott had previously suggested, that the composition of the fourth book of the Convivio likely happened later than the writing of the twelfth chapter of the first book of the De vulgari eloquentia. Consequently, Fenzi dates the composition of the Latin work to 1304–1305, and Convivio book 4 to 1306–1308. 16 Given that the shift in political ideology is reflected in the increasing reprehension of the wickedness of the Florentines, one of the most remarkable aspects of the first book of the Convivio is the lack of an invective directed toward Florence. I suggest that Dante’s concern with his reputation in the early years of his exile applies in particular to his reputation in his

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native city, which Dante evokes as the “sweet bosom” (“dolce seno”) of Florence (Convivio 1.3.3). The use of emotional and personal tones, particularly in Convivio 1, expresses the wish to return to his home and family and “rest his weary mind” (“riposare l’animo stancato”) in his native Florence as a primary motive for writing his philosophical and political essay, as Dante emotionally writes: nel quale [the sweet bosom of Florence], con buona pace di quella, desidero con tutto lo core di riposare l’animo stancato e terminare lo tempo che m’è dato. (Convivio 1.3.4) where, with her good will, I desire with all my heart to rest my weary mind and to complete the span of time that is given to me.

Not until all hopes of such a return are abandoned does Dante’s tone shift, in his fourth—and last—book to castigate the contemporary ruling class for its lack of civic engagement, although Florence remains remarkably absent from this invective (except for two other mentions in books 2 and 4). The Convivio is so concerned with defining true nobility and liberality because, as Mirko Tavoni suggests, the work is based instead on an imperial and aristocratic ideology that is fundamentally a-Florentine, marking Dante’s political—but not emotional—detachment from his native city at the very beginning of his exile. 17 In Convivio 2, while talking about the characteristic elements of the heaven of Mars, Dante explains that the ignition of vapors signifies the death of kings and the changing of kingdoms, as they are effects of the lordship of Mars. Accordingly, a flaming cross appeared in Florence a few days before Charles of Valois entered the city at the beginning of November 1301, signaling the beginning of the destruction of the city, “at the beginning of its ruin” (“nel principio della sua destruzione,” Convivio 2.13.22). Another mention of the city resurfaces in the fourth book, when Dante refutes the idea that the divine seed of nobility might fall upon a family stock. On the contrary, he argues, it falls on individuals; and, as Dante is set to prove, individuals may make family stock noble, but family stock does not necessarily make individuals noble—although members of the Uberti family, one of the most ancient and prominent noble families of Florence, or those belonging to the Visconti of Milan, insist on saying “[b]ecause I am of such a race I am noble” (“Perch’io sono di cotale schiatta, io sono nobile,” Convivio 4.20.5). The Convivio is thus configured as a work written in a period of crisis, with true civic intentions, to engage those who have a thirst and a need for knowledge but are excluded from the traditional academic environment. Interestingly, Dante describes this category of noble persons as “princes, barons, knights, and many other noble people, not only men but women, of

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which there are many in this language who know only the vernacular and are not learned” (“principi, baroni, cavalieri, e molt’altra nobile gente, non solamente maschi ma femmine, che sono molti e molte in questa lingua, volgari, e non letterati,” Convivio 1.9.5). 18 In the previous passage, the poet puts the blame for the “world’s wicked neglect of good” (“malvagia disusanza del mondo”) on “those who have changed it [literature] from a lady into a whore” (“coloro che [. . .] hanno lasciata la litteratura a coloro che l’hanno fatta di donna meretrice”), anticipating his reprehension of the corrupted academics and their use of knowledge for financial gain which occupies the first and third book: La bontà de l’animo la quale questo servigio attende, è in coloro che per malvagia disusanza del mondo hanno lasciata la litteratura a coloro che l’hanno fatta di donna meretrice: e questi nobili sono principi, baroni, cavalieri, e molt’altra nobile gente, non solamente maschi ma femmine, che sono molti e molte in questa lingua, volgari, e non letterati. (Convivio 1.9.5) For goodness of mind, which this service attends to, is found in those who because of the world’s wicked neglect of good have left literature to those who have changed it from a lady into a whore; and these noble persons comprise princes, barons, knights, and many other noble people, not only men but women, of which there are many in this language who know only the vernacular and are not learned.

With this intended public of “noble people” (“nobili”) in mind, we can further observe that the invectives in the Convivio are specifically aimed at two main components of civil and cultural society of Dante’s time: chivalric aristocracy disengaged from politics and fanciful academics (or litterati). Such polemical objectives bring us back to the notion of satire: satirical poetry has no consistent theme, but among its subjects in the Middle Ages the most frequent recurring themes are those of reprehension of secular corruption, curial hypocrisy, and academic velleity. 19 Across the entire Convivio, Dante castigates the litterati and consequently, rebukes the intellectuals representing the culture of traditional universities, accusing them of lacking the capacity to understand or accept him, unlike the new and larger public of noble persons, the nonprofessional readers Dante had already identified in the first book (Convivio 1.9.5). In particular, the poet argues against the privileges of Latin used by the academics, contending that “Latin would not have been the giver of a useful gift as will the vernacular, because nothing is useful except insofar as it is used” (“non sarebbe lo latino stato datore d’utile dono, che sarà lo volgare. Però che nulla cosa è utile se non in quanto è usata,” Convivio 1.9.6). Dante continues by explaining that the meaning of the canzoni can be of use only to those who possess true nobility, as he will describe in the fourth book. Among these

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true noble readers, one might even find a few learned persons (in the traditional sense), but solely because they represent the exception within their arrogant and unprepared category of the litterati: 20 e questi sono quasi tutti volgari, sì come sono quelli nobili che di sopra in questo capitolo sono nominati. E non ha contradizione perché alcuno litterato sia di quelli; ché, sì come dice il mio maestro Aristotile nel primo dell’Etica, “una rondine non fa primavera.” (Convivio 1.9.8–9) almost all of these persons know only the vernacular, like the noble men and women referred to earlier in this chapter. No contradiction arises even if there are some learned persons to be found among them; for, as my master Aristotle says in the first book of the Ethics, “one swallow does not make spring.”

This tension between the different groups that made up Dante’s society has been examined by Ruedi Imbach, who interprets it as the contemporary opposition of litterati (clerics) against illitterati (secular men). 21 In Dante, it culminates in the first and third books through the invectives that criticize the way the Italian litterati construct and make use of their knowledge. As we have already seen in passing, in the first and third books Dante especially critiques the use of knowledge for financial gain. 22 Starting with Convivio 1.9.3, Dante suggests that those who “do not acquire learning for its own use but only insofar as through it they may gain money or honor” (“non acquistano la lettera per lo suo uso, ma in quanto per quella guadagnano denari o dignitate”) should not be called learned, clarifying his reasoning through the recurring use of the simile that “we should not call a lute-player someone who keeps a lute in his house for the purpose of renting it out, as opposed to playing on it” (“non si dee chiamare citarista chi tiene la cetera in casa per prestarla per prezzo, e non per usarla per sonare,” Convivio 1.9.3). This same idea is reiterated in the third book, where Dante insists that we should not “give the name of true philosopher to anyone who is a friend of wisdom for the sake of utility” (“Né si dee chiamare vero filosofo colui che è amico di sapienza per utilitade”), and identifies several professional categories to blame for this wickedness: “jurists, physicians, and almost all those belonging to religious orders” (“legisti, medici e quasi tutti religiosi”) are each reprehended for being devoted to their studies “not in order to gain knowledge but to secure financial rewards or high office” (“non per sapere studiano ma per acquistare moneta o dignitade,” Convivio 1.9.3)—something that eludes Dante in his exile. Moreover, the failure of these so-called intellectuals lies in the fact that if they received what they seek to gain, they would not persevere in their study (Convivio 3.11.10). 23 Dante also denounces the self-aggrandizement practices of the litterati who want to keep culture esoteric to avoid being judged for their shortcomings: “There are many who love to be considered masters rather than to be

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such, and to avoid the opposite, that is, not being so considered, they always lay the blame on the material furnished for their craft, or on their tools” (“Molti sono che amano più d’essere tenuti maestri che d’essere, e per fuggir lo contrario, cioè di non essere tenuti, sempre dànno colpa alla materia dell’arte apparecchiata, o vero allo strumento,” Convivio 1.11.11). In this example, Dante’s reprehension turns again toward those who are critical of the Italian vernacular: Così sono alquanti, e non pochi, che vogliono che l’uomo li tegna dicitori; e per iscusarsi dal non dire o dal dire male acusano e incolpano la materia, cioè lo volgare propio, e commendano l’altro lo quale non è loro richiesto di fabricare. (Convivio 1.11.12) In the same way there are some, and not a few, who wish to be considered writers; and to excuse themselves from not writing or from writing badly, they accuse and blame their material, that is, their own vernacular, and praise another which they have not been required to work with.

This attitude clearly goes against Dante’s attempt to affirm a new politicalcultural and extra-municipal (“cosmopolitan”) identity for himself, so as to impose it as a model of the new lay intellectual for every Italian court. For Dante, therefore, the illustrious vernacular should guarantee the intellectual’s role and social function; only in this way can they identify themselves as doctores illustres. Beyond the attack on the academics, however, one of the principal themes of satirical poetry is the reprehension of the aristocracy, of the ruling class, which can be seen in the Convivio when Dante blames the contemporary Italian courts. In opposition to those of antiquity, they deny every virtue and are the dwelling place of every “turpezza” (depravity). If the word “courtesy”—one and the same with “dignity”—was derived from courts, “courtesy” was therefore the same as saying “the custom of the court.” If this word were indeed derived from the Italian courts of Dante’s present day, it would mean nothing but rudeness and depravity (Convivio 2.10.8). In the fourth book, the invective attacks the aristocrats as a contemptible group of people whose riches are the fruits of violence, usurpation, and robbery of the weakest and most vulnerable; they are not worthy to be deemed nobles, but rather tyrants: Ahi malestrui e malnati, che disertate vedove e pupilli, che rapite alli men possenti, che furate e occupate l’altrui ragioni; e di quelle corredate conviti, donate cavalla e arme, robe e denari, portate le mirabili vestimenta, edificate li mirabili edifici, e credetevi larghezza fare! (Convivio 4.27.13) Ah, you ill-fated and misbegotten men who defraud widows and wards, who steal from the very weakest, who rob and seize by force the rights of others, and with these gains arrange banquets, make gifts of horses and arms, goods

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Similarly, in the practice of civil duty, kings, princes, and great men have lost every ethical and cultural point of reference: 24 Oh miseri che al presente reggete! e oh miserissimi che retti siete! ché nulla filosofica autoritade si congiunge colli vostri reggimenti né per proprio studio né per consiglio; sì che a tutti si può dire quella parodia dello Ecclesiaste: “Guai a te, terra, lo cui re fanciullo e li cui principi la domane mangiano!” (Convivio 4.6.19) O pitiful are you who rule at present, and most pitiful you who are ruled! For no philosophical authority is united with your governments, whether by virtue of your own study or through the counsel of others, so that to all may be applied the words of Ecclesiastes, “Woe to you, O land whose king is a child and whose princes eat in the morning!”

Dante’s principal polemical objective is to reprehend the chivalric aristocracy, addressing those responsible for noble and municipal organization as enemy of the empire. Gianfranco Fioravanti suggests that Dante captures and transports onto a moral register a process already in action: on the Italian peninsula, the great comital and marquis families of imperial investiture were first losing economic, then political power, due to internal divisions and the new middle-class reality. 25 These families were being torn apart due to internecine discord, as Dante reaffirms in Purgatory (6.109–11): Vien, crudel, vieni, e vedi la pressura d’i tuoi gentili, e cura lor magagne; e vedrai Santafior com’ è oscura! 26 Come, cruel one, come see the tribulation of your nobility and heal their hurts; see how disconsolate is Santafior!

These invectives are concentrated in the fourth book of the Convivio, devoted to the treatment of true nobility (according to the canzone “Le dolci rime d’amor ch’i’ solia”). The fourth book has the highest satirical potential, in fact, as Dante presents systematic references to the stylistic indications of satire, and thus to its offensive intention (intentio), the absence of an integument/ornament (modus scribendi), unpretentious syntax, and a depraved or lowly style of speech. However, it is possible to recognize that certain textual comparisons may attempt to extend the criteria of satire to all four of the books. 27

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In the satirical tradition, it is the norm that the poet begins by lamenting the moral subversion of the time, stating the wish to write in order to correct these morals, or, rather, the lack of morals. In the same way, therefore, Dante deems it necessary that the nobles, who derive their authority directly or indirectly from an imperial investiture, recapture their “philosophical authority,” by virtue of their own study or through the counsel of others—a nod to Dante himself and to his treatise, as stated in the fourth book (Convivio 4.4.19). Only with a well-learned ruling class vested with cultural and political dignity would it be possible to return to an optimal state of civil coexistence among men. The aristocracy needs intellectual tools with which to reappropriate its ruling function, whereas, according to Dante, the new civic forces in the Italian communes founded their position on money and on usurped profits, in the same way in which they usurped ever more sweeping sections of jurisdiction. To explain the true character of the nobility to a public comprised of aristocrats is for Dante the indispensable launching point from which he will proceed toward a restauratio (restoration) of proper civil order. 28 This lesson starts in the fourth book with the commentary on his canzone “Le dolci rime” (written circa 1293–1294), an unprecedented lyric poem that treats an Aristotelian topic—the nature of true nobility—in vernacular verse, but it is delivered and reinforced with the tones of satire, demonstrating Dante’s reprehension of the failings of his contemporary society. Why Dante chose not to complete the Convivio must ultimately remain a matter of speculation. It has been suggested that with the election of Henry VII of Luxembourg as emperor in the year 1308, Dante sought to direct his attentions toward the struggle to bring about political reform in Italy, a conviction that finds expression in his Monarchia and in other political letters. Chronological considerations, however, tend to favor those who believe that he abandoned the Convivio either for aesthetic reasons, in order to write the Commedia, or more broadly as a result of a new and profound vision that required the invention of a new and more sophisticated literary form. The Commedia is of course the result of the totality of Dante’s multi-faceted experience: the poet’s frustration and dismay in the face of the Italian aristocratic families had left no room for any hope of influencing their political and social conduct in constructive ways, a hope which was still alive in the Convivio. The incomplete nature of the treatise likely demonstrates Dante’s political conscience: the project of offering a feast of knowledge is overcome by the special voyage undertaken by Dante the pilgrim in the Commedia, while the issue of governance in Italian society culminates in the investigation of how humans need guidance both in spiritual and temporal domains, through the Emperor and the Church. However, the ethical dimension and polemical potential of the Convivio are not lost in the later pairings with other works that represent fifteenthcentury reinterpretations of Dante’s text: in two manuscripts, the Convivio is

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coupled with a biography of Dante and a polemical fourteenth-century work that defends the poet against his particularly critical detractors regarding his choice to write in the vernacular. In MS Pluteo XL. 41 (Florence, Laurentian Library, 1463), we find Leonardo Bruni’s Vita di Dante e del Petrarca, as well as an anonymous oration in defense of Alighieri, while in MS Pluteo XC sup. 125 (Florence, Laurentian Library, 1477), located within a vast miscellany, we find Boccaccio’s Vita di Dante (in the first, more expansive draft, from MS 104. 6, Toledo, Biblioteca y Archivo Capitular), as well as the invective by Cino Rinuccini. 29 In these manuscripts the Convivio seems to have been inserted in polemically constructed collections of texts in defense of Dante, starting with his biography. This procedure was better justified in the case of Bruni’s Vita, given that in this work (which was composed only a few years after the debates on the value of Dante during the first wave of Florentine humanism), a few aspects of the cult of Dante as civic poet were reclaimed. These aspects were characteristic of the interpretations by Filippo Villani and Cino Rinuccini, for example. The Vita assembled by Boccaccio, conversely, clearly lends itself less to this type of polemic defense, concentrating rather on his poetic inspiration and obscuring his civic commitment. Yet the biographical genre seems to be interpreted in MS XC sup. 135 as a palinodic function, reiterated in the fiery invective by Rinuccini. Understood within this context of polemic defense, the association of a minor and incomplete work such as the Convivio was justified in its use of the vernacular within the self-commentary, a genre re-popularized by Marsilio Ficino and later by Lorenzo de’ Medici. It was also justified for its linguistic reflection which related precisely to the use of the vernacular, a topic to which the first introductory treatise is essentially dedicated. In fact, Rinuccini explicitly affirmed the interdependence between Florence’s culture and origin, in order to demonstrate that the greatness of Dante was not taken out of context and thus substantially extraneous, but rather was organic to Florentine culture. Florence, therefore, remained within its rights to lay claim to a principality, connected to a linguistic-literary Tuscan dominion that Lorenzo described in the proem to his Comento. 30 In conclusion, it is probable that the Convivio did not reach the public for whom Dante had intended the work. Naturally, every attempt to reconstruct the project of the Convivio in its precise articulations is highly conjectural, given Dante’s unwritten references; hypotheses concerning the canzoni that the poet would have wanted to comment upon in the unpublished treatises are likewise conjectural. Nevertheless, it appears that the small public that did read the treatise in the fourteenth century, and the fourteenth-century audience in general, was interested in a political and cultural project different from that which the work must have garnered for itself in the fifteenth century, particularly when Dante was re-assimilated into Florentine culture. 31 This

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assimilation emptied the Convivio of the force of the invective against Florence and the satire against the nobility contained in the treatise; from the moment that Laurentian Florence “restored” its civic order, Dante’s assimilation established itself under the political power of the Medici family, owing to their enormous financial success that began with Cosimo di Giovanni de’ Medici. NOTES Cited from Dante Alighieri, Il Convivio, ed. Franca Brambilla Ageno (Florence: Le Lettere, 1995); all English translations are from Dante’s Il Convivio (The Banquet), trans. Robert Lansing (New York: Garland, 1990). 1. For both manuscripts, see Irene Ceccherini’s recent contribution, “Il Convivio,” in Dante fra il settecentocinquantenario della nascita (2015) e il settecentenario della morte (2021): Atti delle celebrazioni in Senato, del Forum e del Convegno di Roma, maggio–ottobre 2015, ed. Enrico Malato, Andrea Mazzucchi, and Luciano Canfora (Rome: Salerno Editrice, 2016), 383–400; see 385–89 for MS II III 47, Florence, BNC, and 390–94 for MS Barb. Lat. 4086, Rome, Vat. Library. I will also refer to Ceccherini’s paleographic and codicological examination, which, along with two other manuscripts, she dates to the fourteenth century (MS Pluteo 90 sup. 134, Florence, BML, and Ashburnham 842, Florence, BML, pp. 394–96), not to the fifteenth century, as was suggested previously in the Convivio’s critical edition by Franca Brambilla Ageno. For the description and the analysis of the content of MS Barb. Lat. 4086, Rome, Vat. Library, see Luca Azzetta, “Un’antologia esemplare per la prosa trecentesca e una ignorata traduzione da Tito Livio: il Vaticano Barb. lat 4086” Italia medioevale e umanistica 35 (1992): 31–85. For an earlier description of MS II III 47, Florence, BNC, see my contribution: Beatrice Arduini, “Alcune precisazioni su un manoscritto trecentesco del Convivio: BNCF II iii 47,” Medioevo e Rinascimento 20 (2006): 383–91; as well as Beatrice Arduini, “Assigning the ‘pieces’ of Dante’s Convivio: the Compiler’s Notes in the Earliest Extant Copy,” Textual Cultures 3, no.2 (2008): 1–12. I want to thank Professor Teresa De Robertis for her consultation on MS II III 47. 2. Luca Azzetta, “Tra i più antichi lettori del ‘Convivio’: ser Alberto della Piagentina notaio e cultore di Dante,” Rivista di studi danteschi 9 (2009): 59–60. 3. Luca Azzetta, “La tradizione del ‘Convivio’ negli antichi commenti alla ‘Commedia’: Andrea Lancia, l’ ‘Ottimo Commento’ e Pietro Alighieri,” Rivista di studi danteschi 5 (2005): 4–34; Azzetta, “Tra i più antichi lettori del Convivio” (see note 3). 4. Ceccherini, “Il Convivio,” (see note 2), 383–84, n 1, signals the discovery of a fragmentary fifteenth-century manuscript of the Convivio by Cristina Dusio, to be added to Franca Brambilla Ageno’s description of 44 manuscripts and one printed edition (the 1490 editio princeps) in her critical edition of Il Convivio, vol. 1, tome 1, pp. 3–41, and to the stemma codicum, vol. 1, tome 2, p. 585. 5. Gugliemo Gorni, “Appunti sulla tradizione del ‘Convivio’ (a proposito dell’archetipo e dell’originale dell’opera),” Studi di filologia italiana 55 (1997): 10–11; Simon A. Gilson, “Reading the Convivio from Trecento Florence to Dante’s Cinquecento Commentators,” Italian Studies 64, no. 2 (2009): 266–95; here 274. 6. In his essay “Strategie patetiche ed emotive nella prosa scientifico-dottrinale del Convivio” Andrea Mazzucchi conducts a thorough analysis of the presence of emotional and pathetic tones especially in autobiographical passages and argues that this trait distinguishes Dante’s work from contemporary encyclopedic treatises and Florentine volgarizzamenti of medio Latin works. The devices of rhetorical emphasis serve to affirm the autonomy and originality of Dante’s cultural project that clearly does not aim to a mere summation of illustrious past authorities, as it is characteristic of the encyclopedic genre.

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7. Ambrogio Camozzi Pistoja, “Il quarto trattato del Convivio. O della satira,” Le tre corone. Rivista internazionale di studi su Dante, Petrarca e Boccaccio 1 (2014): 27–53; here 30. 8. Suzanne Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89): Dante, the Roman satirists, and the medieval theory of satire,” The Italianist 15, Supplement 2 (1995): 128–44; here 134. 9. Mirko Tavoni, Qualche idea di Dante (Bologna: Il Mulino, 2015), 25, 27. 10. Rosario Ferreri, “Appunti sulla presenza del Convivio nel Decameron,” Studi sul Boccaccio 19 (1990): 63–77; here 69. 11. Ceccherini, “Il Convivio” (see note 2), 383–400. 12. Ceccherini, “Il Convivio” (see note 2), 385–86. 13. Ceccherini, “Il Convivio” (see note 2), 385–89. See Gorni, “Appunti sulla tradizione del Convivio” (see note 6), 5–22, suggests in the fourteenth century the Convivio was circulated in Florence in the form of loosely bound fascicles. See also Gianfranco Fioravanti, “Il ‘Convivio’ e il suo pubblico,” Le forme e la storia 7, no. 2 (2014): 13–22; here 13. 14. For the quote of Convivio, 1.11.6–7 and the discussion of the ideal public of the work, see Fioravanti, “Il Convivio e il suo pubblico” (see note 14), 13–14, as well as Gianfranco Fioravanti, “La nobiltà spiegata ai nobili,” in Il Convivio di Dante, ed. Johannes Bartuschat and Andrea Aldo Robiglio (Ravenna: Longo Editore, 2015), 157–64. 15. Paolo Borsa, “‘Sub nomine nobilitatis’: Dante e Bartolo da Sassoferrato,” in Studi dedicati a Gennaro Barbarisi, ed. Claudia Berra and Michele Mari (Milan: CUEM, 2007): 59–121; Fioravanti, “Il Convivio e il suo pubblico” (see note 14), 14. 16. See Enrico Fenzi, “Dal Convivio al De vulgari eloquentia: Appunti di lettura,” in Il Convivio di Dante, ed. J. Bartuschat and A. A. Robiglio (Ravenna: Longo Editore, 2015), 83–104; here 83–84, n 1, which refers to John A. Scott, “Il mito dell’imperatore negli scritti danteschi,” in Dante. Mito e poesia. Atti del Secondo Seminario dantesco internazionale (Monte Verità, Ascona, 23–27 giugno 1997), ed. Michelangelo Picone and Tatiana Crivelli (Florence: Cesati, 1999), 89–114; here 89–105, 90–91. It refers as well as to John A. Scott, Understanding Dante (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2004), 254 and 258. According to Gianfranco Fioravanti, there must be a time interval between the composition of the fourth book and the previous three, mostly due to the lack of appropriate conditions for writing (an impediment Dante talks about in Convivio 1.1.4), and not the doctrinal and stylistic difference that Maria Corti had pointed out: “L’altra è lo difetto del luogo dove la persona è nata e nutrita, che tal ora sarà da ogni studio non solamente private, ma da gente studiosa lontano” (“The other is the handicap that derives from the place where a person is born and bred, which at times will not only lack a university but be far removed from the company of educated persons,” Convivio 1.1.4). 17. Mirko Tavoni, Qualche idea su Dante (see note 10), 86–95, suggests that the composition of the Convivio’s first book took place in the aristocratic and Ghibelline Verona (1303–1304), and that Dante was influenced by the intellectual and political climate during his first stay in this city. 18. Fioravanti, “Il Convivio e il suo pubblico” (see note 14), 19; Ferreri, “Appunti sulla presenza del Convivio nel Decameron” (see note 11), 65; Cesare Vasoli, “Introduzione,” in Il Convivio, vol. 1, part 2 of Dante Alighieri: Opere minori, ed. Cesare Vasoli and Domenico De Robertis (Milan, Naples: Ricciardi, 1988), xi–xii. 19. Reynolds, “Orazio satiro” (see note 9), 145–57. 20. Thus writes Richard Lansing, “Dante’s Intended Audience in the ‘Convivio,’” Dante Studies 110 (1992): 17–24; here 19: “The intended audience, then, is defined in scholastic terms on the basis of its opposite, the uninvited, namely the litterati or learned. By this term I think Dante means not merely a person who knows Latin, but one who uses the language in a professional setting.” 21. Rudi Imbach, Dante, la philosophie et les laïcs (Fribourg-Paris: Editions UniversitairesCerf, 1996), 129. 22. Fenzi, “Dal Convivio al De vulgari eloquentia” (see note 17), 87, n 8, for Imbach, Dante, la philosophie et les laïcs (see note 22). 23. Fioravanti, “Il ‘Convivio’ e il suo pubblico” (see note 14), 18.

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24. Lansing, “Dante’s Intended Audience” (see note 21), 22–23: “Is it not likely that Dante seeks, in the Convivio, to educate the ruling classes in both the courts and the communes of Italy as a means of strengthening their sense of civic responsibility and political autonomy, so as to create a counterbalance to the overwhelming power of the combined forces of the Papacy and the French house of royalty?” 25. Fioravanti, “Il ‘Convivio’ e il suo pubblico” (see note 14), 20. 26. Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio, 6.109–11. Cited from La Commedia secondo l’antica vulgata, ed. Giorgio Petrocchi (Milan: Mondadori, 1966–1967). The English translation is Mandelbaum: Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio. 27. Camozzi Pistoja, “Il quarto trattato del Convivio” (see note 8), 28: “The fourth treatise, while comprised of unfinished creative movements, slavishly satisfies all the formal requirements of satire.” See also 30 and 53. 28. Fioravanti, “Il Convivio e il suo pubblico” (see note 14), 21. 29. MS XC sup. 135¹ also contains a section of anonymous sonnets and canzoni. See Antonia Tissoni Benvenuti, “La tipologia del libro di rime manoscritto e a stampa nel Quattrocento,” in Il libro di poesia dal copista al tipografo: Ferrara, 29–31 maggio 1987, ed. Marco Santagata and Amedeo Quondam (Modena: Panini, 1989), 25–33, for the collection of anonymous poems in fifteenth-century poetry collections (canzonieri). 30. The myth of Florence as the daughter, and therefore heir, of Rome takes shape in the work of Filippo Villani entitled De origine civitatis Florentiae et de eiusdem famosis civibus, and some years later, in a polemic context, in Risponsiva to Antonio Loschi by Cino Rinuccini; see Giuliano Tanturli, “La Firenze laurenziana davanti alla propria storia letteraria,” in Lorenzo il Magnifico: studi, ed. Gian Carlo Garfagnini (Florence: Olschki, 1992), 9–10. 31. Azzetta, “Tra i più antichi lettori del Convivio” (see note 3), 64.

Chapter Seven

The Conundrum of Genre: Dante’s “Doglia mi reca” Fabian Alfie

In De vulgari eloquentia (ca. 1302–1305), Dante provides an overview of Italian poetry as he understood it. In that incomplete treatise, Dante relegated poetry in the comic style to the unwritten fourth book, the same section in which he planned to discuss the sonnet form. The organization of Dante’s treatise suggests that he considered comic verse to be somehow related to the sonnet. 1 In the extant portions of the treatise, Dante specifies that the highest topics of love, arms, and morality needed to be communicated in the highest language, the vulgaris illustris (the “illustrious vernacular”); and the medium for such topics is the poetic form of the canzone. Thus, to extrapolate from what we have, Dante seems to deny to poetry written in the comic style the linguistic complexity and depth of thought inherent in canzoni written in the highest register. Needless to say, such an inference jars when considered against his masterpiece, the Commedia. It is unfortunate that no trace remains of the fourth book of De vulgari eloquentia, if indeed Dante ever wrote it, as it might have clarified his definition of comedy at the turn of the fourteenth century. Yet it gives the appearance that comedy was unsuited to the canzone as a poetic genre. Yet comic canzoni, written in the vernacular, were not inconceivable in the thirteenth century. While they are uncommon, several examples exist. 2 For centuries literary treatises had defined comedies, in whole or in part, according to the same moral criteria for satire. 3 The distinguishing characteristic of satires and comedies was the authorial intent to reprehend vice. 4 In this regard, the classical definition of satire as the reprobation of faults overlapped greatly with the definitions of comedy throughout the late Middle Ages. 5 As Suzanne Reynolds observes, comedies and satires were made to 133

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conform to the central demand of all texts, that they be classifiable under ethics. 6 Over time, all literature was categorized morally, functioning either to praise the virtuous (tragedy) or blame the sinful (comedy). 7 From the perspective of medieval literary theory, therefore, the poetics of denigration was not merely a puerile exercise, the metaphorical thumbing of one’s nose at an antagonist; rather, by holding up someone as a negative exemplar, literary insult reinforced traditional social mores. Given the gravity of reprehension, some poems treated issues of greater complexity than those which could be addressed in a fourteen-line sonnet. Indeed, at roughly the same time as the composition of De vulgari eloquentia, Dante may have written his own satiric canzone with “Doglia mi reca” (ca. 1302–1304). In this essay, I will examine the poem in the light of the medieval critical discourse about satires (the complete text of the poem, along with an English translation, appears in the appendix to this study); there are numerous textual indications that Dante intended the canzone as an example of the reprehension of vice. But by interpreting the poem in such a manner, a conundrum will come to light regarding Dante’s understanding of satire, as it related to comedy, during the writing of De vulgari eloquentia. In short, Dante leaves clues that he may have conceived of the reprehension of vice, the defining characteristic of medieval satires and comedies, in a unique manner in his unfinished treatise. To begin, Dante may have intended “Doglia mi reca” to be the last canzone to be discussed in the Convivio. 8 Early in that work, he forecasts that the last portion of the work will treat liberality (“la pronta liberalitade,” 1.8.18). The poem under examination, however, deals with the vice diametrically opposed to liberality, greed. Measuring seven stanzas long, each consisting of twenty-one verses, the canzone may be Dante’s lengthiest lyric poem. 9 In it, Dante addresses women in general, and he may have sent it to one woman in particular, the Countess Bianca Giovanna of the Counts Guidi. 10 Roughly divided into two halves, the poem first cautions women about the attention of men who do not embrace virtue. The beauty of women, Dante explains, represents the female counterpart to men’s virtue, and love consists of combining those two characteristics (“che se vertute a noi / fu data, e biltà a voi, / e a costor di due poter un fare,” vv. 12–14). He then decries an immoral existence as a type of “life-in-death” (“vita in morte,” v. 26). In the second half, the poet turns to castigating a particular vice, avarice. He explains that a woman should not consider it complimentary to be loved by a greedy man. Women, therefore, should reject the affection of all but virtuous men. As this brief overview illustrates, “Doglia mi reca” inveighs against turpitude, and denigrates those it opposes. Those traits do not appear in isolation, but are part of its overall socio-cultural message. With “Doglia mi reca” Dante challenged the idea, expressed a decade earlier in the Vita nova (ca. 1292), that vernacular literature should treat

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amorous material (“E questo è contra coloro che rimano sopra altra matera che amorosa,” 25.6). In the canzone he elaborates a philosophy that links love to moral rectitude. His notion of virtuous love overlaps to some degree with his earlier stilnovistic representation of Beatrice in Christological terms in his Vita nova. Yet the canzone consists predominantly of language from an entirely different discourse. Throughout Italy, the concept of nobility became the focus of a great cultural contestation. 11 The word “noble” had no clear meaning in the communes because there was no firm social distinction among merchants, urban nobility, and landed aristocracy. 12 For a society in which manufacturing and commerce made people wealthy, and intermarriage confused aristocratic blood-lines, historians cannot speak of rigid distinctions among aristocrat, magnate, and popolano. 13 Still, in the Italian communes the ethos of nobility remained unchanged. 14 The concepts, rituals, and language of nobility remained fixed even as the social reality evolved. In the new cultural context thinkers debated the very essence of nobility. Many rejected traditional definitions in favor of the Aristotelian formulation of ancient virtue and inherited honors. 15 One document of the debate was Dante’s Convivio, composed during roughly the same period as the poem under examination (ca. 1304–1307). In the fourth book of that treatise, Dante argues against the Aristotelian definition, which he incorrectly ascribes to the Emperor Frederick II. Instead, Dante elaborates the opinion that nobility is derived strictly from virtue, and not at all from possessions. 16 As Dante writes in the canzone “Le dolci rime d’amor ch’i solia,” nobility is found wherever virtue is found (“È gentilezza ovunqu’è virtute,” v. 101). For Dante, nobility constitutes the fulfillment of human potential (4.16.8), and therefore nobility is indistinguishable from moral virtue (4.17.1–3). Riches cannot bestow nobility because they are vile and vileness is naturally opposed to nobility (4.8.10). Furthermore, nobility cannot be inherited because virtue is not genetically transmissible; instead it is a God-given trait found throughout all levels of society (4.20.5). He then wishes that God had made it that the inheritance of wealth depended strictly on the heirs’ morality, as a Provençal writer also asserted (“Così fosse piaciuto a Dio che quello che addomandò lo Provenzale fosse stato, che chi non è reda della bontade perdesse lo retaggio de l’avere,” 4.11.10). It is not clear which Provençal person Dante intends, although he may allude to the writings of Girault de Borneil. 17 Dante’s strict correlation of nobility with virtue in the Convivio is essential for “Doglia mi reca.” In the canzone Dante’s equation of love with virtue freights the poem with resonances about nobility. Biographical developments undoubtedly factored into the writing of “Doglia mi reca.” The generally accepted dates for its composition were the first years of Dante’s exile, a state which resulted in the loss of economic autonomy and necessitated instead support by powerful individuals. His intended audience was no longer the readership in the communes, but possibly the

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lordly families that took him in. 18 Several scholars see personal motives in Dante’s invective against avarice in “Doglia mi reca,” reading it as a reminder to his hosts to provide him sufficient assistance. 19 Dante’s now-tenuous financial situation placed him in an analogous position to that of the troubadour poets who were dependent on their lords. 20 The complaint against the rics malvatz, a European topos that began with Marcabru, was a vehicle to debate the essence of nobility; the lower nobles challenged the legitimacy of the upper aristocracy, who had supposedly abandoned their inner valor for great wealth. 21 By Dante’s time, the topos had evolved into the satire of wealthy bourgeois merchants. Umberto Carpi notes the change in “Doglia mi reca” from Dante’s earlier, more radical political ideas, reading the canzone as a backward step into anti-mercantile attitudes. 22 Thus, the topic of “Doglia mi reca” opened up numerous possibilities for discussing the proper role of the nobility. Like his poetic forebears, Dante could remind the highborn of their proper status, while at the same time castigating their conceptual opposites, the greedy, and their social rivals, the merchants. Zygmunt G. Barański writes that invective was frequently equated with political—or in this instance, socio-political—literature. 23 The discussion about nobility does not in itself constitute proof of Dante’s derogatory intentions with “Doglia mi reca.” Several scholars, however, have described the canzone in ways reminiscent of medieval satires. Patrick Boyde speaks of the angry tone created by the staccato syntax, along with word-play linking avaro to avere and servo to signore and seguace; he calls it not a quaestio but a sermon. 24 In the comments to their translation of the canzone, Kenelm Foster and Patrick Boyde note its wide lexical range, with, at one extreme terms like “dog,” “mud,” and “crib,” and at the other “vassalage” and “decree.” 25 More recently, Teodolinda Barolini has looked at Dante’s examination of desire in the canzone, underscoring that, for the poet, love was inseparable from virtue. 26 In his text, she writes, he “skewers courtly values” about love. 27 The poem’s wide range of lexicon and its occasionally humble terminology calls to mind Dante’s De vulgari eloquentia. In that treatise, he stresses that the illustrious vernacular, intended to praise the virtuous, should avoid childish terms (“puerilia”), feminine words (“muliebria”), and rural lexicon (“silvestria”) (2.7.4). Presumably, such terminology is acceptable for the literature of reprehension. Thus, the scholarly discussion about the poem just skirts the question of its genre classification. But some medieval readers did not miss Dante’s satiric aims. Domenico De Robertis points out that the rubrics of some of the earliest codices indicated the poem’s ethical dimension. They read, “Against the sinful and more so against the greedy” (“Contra ’viziosi e massimamente contra gli avari”). 28 The scribes were not alone in viewing the poem as derogatory. Dante himself spells out the poem’s satiric nature by studding it with expressions and terminology taken from literary treatises. At the very outset he states that he will

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castigate human sins throughout the work. He asks women not to marvel that he speaks against almost all people (“s’io dico / parole quasi contra tutta gente / non vi maravigliate,” vv. 4–6). Later, he reprehends women for failing love’s decree (“contra ‘l qual voi fallate,” v. 10). Again, pointing out faults constitutes the rationale for medieval satires. Further into the poem, he notes that the shame should double when people consider the situation he describes (“Qui si raddoppia l’onta / se ben si guarda là dov’io addito,” vv. 99–100). Shame, of course, is the intended emotional response to literary reprehension. To point out someone (“addito”) is a shaming gesture strongly related to the poetics of derision. In other works, 29 including several instances in the Commedia, 30 to point a finger at certain people implied publicly humiliating them for their errors. In the canzone he explains that the role of the intellect is to chastise people; their misdeeds are due to its failure to do so (“colpa della ragion che no.l gastiga,” v. 95). In the literary criticism of the age, moral censure implied satire. 31 Finally, the poet makes explicit his purpose that his intended readers, women, should reprehend foul men, whom he has uncovered in his poem (“Disvelato v’ho, donne, in alcun membro / la viltà della gente che vi mira / perché l’aggiate in ira,” vv. 127–29). Anger about men’s vices should cause women to reject their advances. Time and again in his poem Dante calls to mind conventional critical descriptions and theoretical objectives of satiric literature. Of course, literary reprehension induced people to reject vice and embrace socially acceptable behaviors. But Dante’s emphasis on virtue also recalls his writings on aristocracy. The connections between the poem and the Convivio are not tenuous. The entire second stanza personifies virtue as a noblewoman. She serves, obeys, and does honor to her Creator (vv. 27–28); Love considers her part of his court, and she journeys forth to do great deeds under his tutelage (vv. 30–36). Dante closes the strophe by asserting that virtue alone makes someone into a lord, for virtue is the singular ever-useful possession (“tu [Vertute] sola fai signore, e questo prova / che tu sè possession che sempre giova,” vv. 41–42). In “Doglia mi reca” Dante expresses the belief that virtue constitutes the sole basis of nobility. Throughout the canzone Dante reiterates other ideas about nobility expressed in the Convivio. He questions the validity of inheritance by wondering aloud why Death and Fortune do not dissolve the wealth that a man does not spend during his lifetime (“Morte, che fai? Che fai, buona Fortuna? / Ché non solvete quel che non si spende? / Se ‘l fate, a cui si rende?” vv. 90–92). He seemingly restates the opinion of the Provençal writer, cited in the Convivio, that inheritance should depend strictly upon righteousness. Later in the canzone, Dante decries how gifts, the hallmark of noble liberality, are diametrically opposed to vending. If a needy recipient needs to make a request, the implicit quid pro quo relationship transforms the gift into an expensive purchase (“chi con tardare e chi con vana vista / chi con sembianza trista /

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volge ‘l donare in vender tanto caro / quanto sa sol chi tal compera paga,” vv. 119–22). He says virtually the same thing in the Convivio (1.8.18). In both texts, Dante notes the degradation of noble ideals into mercantile practices, from noble donations (dono) to self-serving assistance of others (merce). 32 In keeping with the topos of the rics malvatz, “Doglia mi reca” communicates a critique of contemporary values and behaviors. Additionally, the female counterpart to virtue in “Doglia mi reca” may itself have resonances of aristocracy. It is impossible to assert with certainty that beauty should necessarily be associated with nobility, but in this instance it may be. Various medieval texts describe aristocrats as comely; a few such documents include Purgatorio 3, Decameron 9.4, and Dino Compagni’s Cronica. 33 Courtly love lyrics presumed an aristocratic ambience, and they addressed beautiful women almost exclusively. The definition of nobility Dante puts into Frederick II’s mouth in the fourth book of the Convivio also includes the notion of loveliness, “ancient wealth and beautiful customs” (“antica ricchezza e belli costumi,” 4.3.7, emphasis added); in the canzone “Le dolci rime d’amor, ch’i’ solia,” he phrases it as “ancient possessions with beautiful behaviors” (“antica possession d’avere / con reggimenti belli,” vv. 23–24, emphasis added). Physical beauty appears to have been a requisite attribute of a ruler, at least in principle. 34 In contrast, ugliness was a hallmark of the peasantry, in particular physical deformities, dwarfism, and “blackness.” 35 As Irina Metzler points out, ugliness was often considered a parody of courtliness. 36 As noted, while nobility is held to reside in a man’s virtue, the emphasis on women’s beauty may constitute an allusion to their own ethical nobility. In many writings beauty also appears associated with virtue, Dante’s sine qua non for nobility. The medieval belief about physionomy, whereby the body reflected the soul, taught that the result of a disordered soul was ugliness. 37 Furthermore, Lucia Onder discusses the connotations of the word “bello” and notes that for Dante it often implied moral perfection. 38 Onder’s discussion of “bello” places it remarkably close to Dante’s definition for nobility. For example, in his sonnet, “Due donne in cima della mente mia,” Dante describes the visit of and conversation with two personified female abstractions, Beauty and Virtue, who ask him if it is possible for him to love both; but then Love responds that people love Beauty for pleasure, but Virtue for its good works (“Risponde il fonte del gentil parlare / ch’amar si può bellezza per diletto /e puossi amar virtù per operare,” vv. 12–14). And in the canzone “Le dolci rime d’amor, ch’i’ solia,” Dante describes the growth of the virtuous adolescent, who as he ages acquires beauty (“ché dal principio ch’al corpo si sposa / la mostra infin la morte. / Ubidiente, soave e vergognosa / è ne la prima etate, / e sua persona adorna di bieltate / con le sue parti accorte,” vv. 123–28, emphasis added). Virtue causes the young person’s attractiveness to increase. It is not accidental, therefore, that Dante addressed

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the poem to the Countess Bianca Giovanna of the Counts Guidi. In the lyric he defined aristocracy in a manner which was flattering to its recipients. They were not noble because of their estates, but because of their beauty and personal rectitude. Indeed, all three parts of the recipient’s name—“Contessa,” “Bianca,” and “Giovanna”—suggested the polar opposite of the degenerate peasantry and their “blackness.” Yet morality represents but one aspect of the medieval discourse on nobility inherent to the “Doglia mi reca.” Dante repeatedly evokes—and upbraids—the conceptual opposite to nobility throughout the lyric. In the Convivio, he explains that the etymology of noble is “non vile” (4.16.6). At numerous instances in the poem he describes reprehensible people or impulses as “vile” (vv. 6, 42, 62, 105). Similarly, he refers to people who distance themselves from virtue with expressions of servitude. He marvels that people would want to fall into the service of such a lord (“O Deo, qual maraviglia / voler cadere in servo di signore,” vv. 24–25; “Servo non di signor, ma di vil servo / si fa chi da cotal serva [Vertute] si scosta,” vv. 43–44). Additionally, those who lack ethics are the servants of vice (“Chi serv’è come quel che è seguace / ratto a signore,” vv. 64–65). He personifies vice itself as a stingy servant lord (“questo servo signor tant’è protervo,” v. 48). The entire canzone revolves around the polarity of virtuous nobility opposed to the slavery of vice. As Lucia Brestolini and Paolo Orvieto write, the low-born constitute the very essence of medieval comedies because they transgress the courtly rules of the tragic genres. 39 Dante’s denigration of the “vile” and of “servants” reinforces the coupling of virtue and nobility implicit to the poem; it also, of course, aids in the genre classification of the lyric. The poet dedicates the entire second half of the poem to decrying that most anti-aristocratic impulse, avarice. 40 Early on, he portrays the man who distances himself from virtue as an “evil beast” (“mala bestia,” v. 23). In the process, he echoes another passage from the Convivio, in which he describes the unreasoning man as a brute animal (“così levando l’ultima potenza de l’anima, cioè la ragione, non rimane più uomo, ma cosa con anima sensitiva solamente, cioè animale bruto,” 4.7.15). Throughout the latter portion of the canzone, the poetics of reprehension are unmistakable because he writes the harshest of invectives. He expresses the idea that the rapacious have rejected reason. Greedy men have a blind mind (“mente cieca,” v. 70), and suffer from foolish desire (“folle volere,” v. 71). Dante describes their clutching hands (vv. 82–83), and he then adds that they collect and grasp without measure (“Come con dismisura si rauna / così con dismisura si ristrigne,” vv. 85–86). The repetition of “without measure” (“con dismisura”) in this passage emphasizes these individuals’ insatiability. Just as nobility can be equated with virtue, and therefore is worthy of literary praise, so too its conceptual opposites of vileness and greed are wicked and are deserving of vituperative poetry. Indeed, some extant documents indicate that poets and jongleurs

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derided the extravagant living of the nobility during the time that Dante composed “Doglia mi reca.” 41 The socio-political message of his poem, therefore, cannot naturally be separated from its literary vehicle of reprehension. With “Doglia mi reca,” Dante seems to anticipate his understanding of the appropriate relationship to wealth expressed in the Commedia. The portrait of the grasping hands of the avaricious reappears in the great poem (“questi risurgeranno del sepulcro / col pugno chiuso” Inferno 7.56–57). 42 In “Doglia mi reca,” Dante makes the accusation that vice flees from the stingy, who are like mindless beasts clothed in mud (“falsi animali, a voi ed altrui crudi / che vedete ir nudi / per colli e per paludi / uomini inanzi a cui vizio è fuggito / e voi tenete vil fango vestito,” vv. 101–5). That they are dressed in mud foreshadows the depiction of Pope Adrian V in Purgatorio 19, whose greed metaphorically muddied his papal robe (“prova’ io come / pesa il gran manto a chi dal fango il guarda,” vv. 103–4). Additionally, the statement that vice flees before honest men is the forerunner of a similar statement in the Commedia. Purgatorio 14 is a canto dedicated to reprehending the degenerate nobility. 43 In it the poet characterizes virtue fleeing from the inhabitants of the Arno valley as if from a snake (“vertù così per nimica si fuga / da tutti come biscia,” vv. 37–38). The message of “Doglia mi reca” that women should reject the love of undeserving men mirrors the satiric conclusion of the invective in Purgatorio 14; if noble families cannot transmit their virtue genetically, then it would be best if they stopped reproducing altogether (“Ben fa Bagnacaval, che non rifiglia,” v. 115). While the Commedia transcends medieval generic definitions, it still encompasses the dual literary purposes of praise and blame. 44 “Doglia mi reca” prefigures the Commedia in its castigation of greed and its exaltation of liberality. Dante concludes “Doglia mi reca” by returning to the discourse of love. Women should not consider it flattering to be loved by non-virtuous men (vv. 137–40). Here too, however, the poet employs the language of reprehension. To join beauty to vice, he continues, results not in love but in a beastly appetite (“appetito di fera,” v. 143). Any woman who believes that love is distinct from reason should be put to death (“Oh cotal donna pera / che sua biltà dischiera / da natural bontà per cagione / o crede amor fuor d’orto di ragione” (vv. 141–47). The amorous signification of “Doglia mi reca” is not extraneous to the socio-political satire but is an intrinsic portion of this poetic whole. Throughout the Duecento the socio-political debates about nobility were anything but divorced from literary matters. The poets of the dolce stil nuovo fused the notion of the ennobling power of love to the conception of nobility as an inner virtue. 45 The stilnovisti rejected the concept of nobility as inherited wealth for one that embraced the notion of it as a quality of the lover’s soul or, as they often put it, gentle heart. 46 But poems such as “Doglia mi reca” illustrate the social connotations of much stilnovistic terminology.

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Rather than “skewering” the values of courtly love, the canzone seems to resemanticize them. In “Doglia mi reca” love is still strictly associated with nobility, just not with the nobility of blood-lines. Instead, it is here an inner nobility of ethics. In conclusion, Dante consistently uses literary invective throughout the canzone “Doglia mi reca.” He repeatedly insults greedy men and by extension, the women who love them. Additionally, he laces the work with terminology from the literary critical writings about satirical reprehension. He spells out his intentions to speak against greedy men, as well as his hopes that his readers will revile them too. He links the poem to his opinions about the virtuous nature of nobility, thereby situating it in the broader cultural context of the thirteenth-century debates about aristocracy. Taken together, these characteristics build the case that the poem should be read as a satire against the anti-noble ideals and behaviors prevalent at the time. With its complex treatment of the nature of nobility, and with its programmatic assertion that women should reject the affections of degenerate men, Dante employed the more intricate canzone form for his derision of vice. Thus, to return to the critical discussion of De vulgari eloquentia, Dante offers one example of a derogatory canzone from the turn of the fourteenth century. There is just one problem, however. Dante himself makes a critical statement about “Doglia mi reca,” and hence, the “conundrum” of the title of this essay becomes apparent. The evidence for interpreting the poem as a satire is strong and consistent. The poet self-consciously cited critical commonplaces about vituperative literature throughout “Doglia mi reca.” Furthermore, as Kenelm Foster and Patrick Boyde noted, in the canzone Dante violates the rules for tragic lexicon as laid out in De vulgari eloquentia. In contrast, the vocabulary of the poem as those scholars describe, conforms perfectly to its satiric—that is to say, social—objectives. Additionally, in De vulgari eloquentia Dante cites the Provençal author Girault de Borneil’s poem “Per solaz reveilar” as another example of moral verse. Girault’s poetry in general is marked by strong invectives against the rics malvatz. 47 The particular sirventes cited by Dante similarly decries the loss of noble behaviors and attitudes. 48 Giraut de Borneil’s poem resembles Dante’s canzone in numerous ways. He deplores the degeneration of noble values in society, and chastises the aristocrats who do not behave ethically. It too, in short, is satiric. Giraut’s poem only reinforces the reading of “Doglia mi reca” as the reprehension of vice. But it also casts the problem of moral verse in De vulgari eloquentia into stark terms. The category of morality for Dante seems to include—if not consist of—vituperation. The overt association of literary invective with morality is not at all unique to Dante. For centuries castigation played an ethical role through the genre of satire (or comedy, depending on the writer). Some scholars have wondered why in De vulgari eloquentia the

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author eliminated satire as the middle style and replaced it with elegy. 49 Yet satire may not be missing at all from De vulgari eloquentia. Dante may have simply redefined it as part of the “illustrious vernacular” thanks to its ethical aims. For many thinkers the reprehension of vice served a moral function in reinforcing social mores; but satires and comedies traditionally were distinct genres from tragedies. Dante’s assessment of “Doglia mi reca,” and “Per solaz reveilar” in De vulgari eloquentia seems to put satires paradoxically into the category of tragic. That begs the question of how he might have described comedies in the fourth book of De vulgari eloquentia. Did they too enforce morality through reprehension, or did they possess other characteristics altogether? After 1304 Dante changed his opinion about Giraut de Borneil and, perhaps, satiric literature. In Purgatorio he praised Arnaut Daniel’s love poetry and derided the belief that Giraut surpassed him (“Versi d’amore e prose di romanzi / soverchiò tutti; e lascia dir li stolti / che quel di Lemosì credon ch’avanzi,” 26.118–20). By mentioning Arnaut’s love poetry, he seemingly re-asserted the traditional distinction between the literatures of praise and blame. And this leads to a greater—and more familiar—conundrum of genre, that of the Commedia itself. Dante’s magnum opus transcends the medieval critical writings about comedy, including Dante’s own literary theorizing. It still retains the moral purpose of blaming the blameworthy, while engaging in a stylistic freedom never before seen. Perhaps the problems of classification of “Doglia mi reca” and of satiric poetry led Dante to abandon De vulgari eloquentia. In De vulgari eloquentia Dante defined a literary style, the “illustrious vernacular,” that he rejected with his great poem, the most ambitious moral canzone of the Middle Ages. NOTES 1. Pier Vincenzo Mengaldo, “De vulgari eloquentia,” in Enciclopedia Dantesca, vol. 2 (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1970), 399–415; here 408. 2. Early in the Trecento the Lucchese poet Pietro dei Faitinelli (ca. 1290–1349) composed a satiric canzonetta, “Spent’ è la cortesia, spent’ è larghezza.” Faitinelli’s contemporary, Cino da Pistoia (1270–1336/1337) similarly derided Naples in a canzone, “Deh! Quando rivedrò ‘l dolce paese.” 3. Suzanne Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89): Dante, the Roman satirists, and the medieval theory of satire,” The Italianist 15, Supplement 2 (1995): 128–44; here 129. 4. Judson Boyce Allen, The Ethical Poetic of the Later Middle Ages: A Decorum of Convenient Distinction (Toronto and Buffalo, NY: University of Toronto Press, 1982), 20. 5. Paul Miller, “John Gower, Satiric Poet,” in Gower’s Confessio Amantis: Responses and Reassessments, ed. A. J. Minnis (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1983), 80–81. 6. Suzanne Reynolds, Medieval Reading: Grammar, Rhetoric and the Classical Text (Cambridge, UK, and New York: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 14–15. 7. Alastair J. Minnis, A. B. Scott, and David Wallace, Medieval Literary Theory and Criticism, c. 1100–c. 1375: The Commentary Tradition (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), 282–84.

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8. Kenelm Foster and Patrick Boyde, Dante’s Lyric Poetry, vol. 2, Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), 296. 9. Dante Alighieri, Rime, ed. Domenico De Robertis (Florence: Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2005), 179. Dante’s lyric poetry is cited from this edition. 10. Vincenzo Pernicone, “Doglia mi reca ne lo core ardire,” in Enciclopedia dantesca, vol. 2 (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1971), 531–32; here 532. 11. Philip Jones, The Italian City-State: From Commune to Signoria (Oxford, UK, and New York: Clarendon Press, 1997), 224. 12. George Dameron, “Revisiting the Italian Magnates: Church Property, Social Conflict, and Political Legitimation in the Thirteenth-Century Commune,” Viator 23 (1992): 167–87; here 170. 13. Gaetano Salvemini, “Magnati e popolani in Firenze da 1280 al 1295,” in Medioevo Risorgimento Fascismo. Antologia di scritti storici, ed, Gaetano Salvemini, Enzo Tagliacozzo, and Sergio Buchi (Bari: Laterza, 1992), 9–19; here 9–11. 14. John Larner, “La nobiltà,” in L’Italia nell’età di Dante, Petrarca e Boccaccio (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1982), 147–83; here 171. 15. Carol Lansing, The Florentine Magnates: Lineage and Faction in a Medieval Commune (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991), 212–16. 16. Maria Simonelli, “Convivio,” in Enciclopedia dantesca, vol. 2 (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1970), 193–204. 17. Walter Pagani, “Convivio IV, xi, 10,” Studi mediolatini e volgari 17 (1969): 89–92. 18. Raffaele Pinto, “Le donne innamorate come soggetto politico nell’orizzonte utopico della modernità,” in Doglia mi reca ne lo core ardire, ed. Umberto Carpi (Madrid: La Biblioteca de Tenzone, 2008), 97–146; here 108. The “anonimo fiorentino” may offer another biographical reason for the composition of “Doglia mi reca,” love. In explaining Casella’s song (Purgatorio 2), the “anonimo fiorentino” writes: “et a Dante dilettò forte l’udirle [le canzoni] da lui, et massimamente al tempo ch’era inamorato di Beatrice, o di Pargoletta, o di quella altra di Casentino” (emphasis added). 19. See, for instance, Rosario Scrimieri, “Salus, venus e virtus in Doglia mi reca ne lo core ardire,” in Doglia mi reca ne lo core ardire, ed. Umberto Carpi (Madrid: La Biblioteca de Tenzone, 2008), 41–63. 20. Rosario Scrimieri, “Salus, venus e virtus in Doglia mi reca ne lo core ardire” (see note 19), 48. 21. Erich Köhler, “La piccola nobiltà e l’origine della poesia trobadorica,” in Sociologia della Fin’amor. Saggi trobadorici, ed. and trans. Mario Mancini (Padua: Liviana Editrice, 1976), 1–18; here 3–5. 22. Umberto Carpi, “La destinataria del congedo e un’ipotesi di contestualizzazione,” in Doglia mi reca ne lo core ardire, ed. Umberto Carpi (Madrid: La Biblioteca de Tenzone, 2008), 13–29; here 26. 23. Zygmunt G. Barański, “Sordellus . . . qui . . . Patrium vulgare deseruit,” in The Cultural Heritage of the Renaissance: Essays in Honour of T.G.Griffith, ed. T. Gwynfor Griffith, C. E. J. Griffiths, Robert Alistair Bartley, and Gordon Hastings (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1993), 19–45; here 24. 24. Patrick Boyde, “Style and Structure in ‘Doglia mi reca,’” in Dante’s Style in His Lyric Poetry (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1971), 317–31; here 320–22. 25. Kenelm Foster and Patrick Boyde, Dante’s Lyric Poetry, vol. 2, Commentary (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), 296. 26. Teodolinda Barolini, “Guittone’s Ora parrà, Dante’s Doglia mi reca, and the Commedia’s Anatomy of Desire,” in Dante and the Origins of Italian Literary Culture (New York: Fordham University Press, 2006), 47–69; here 64. 27. Barolini, “Guittone’s Ora parrà” (see note 26), 67. 28. De Robertis, ed., Dante Alighieri: Rime (see note 9), 179. 29. See Lippo Pasci de’ Bardi, “Io vorrei k’un segno avvenenato,” v. 4; Cecco Angiolieri, “Un danaio, non che far cottardita,” v. 8, and “Se l’omo avesse ’n sé conoscimento,” v. 10; and Pieraccio Tedaldi, “Omè, che io mi sento sì smarrito,” v. 5.

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30. See Inferno 29.25, where Geri del Bello points at and threatens Dante. See also Purgatorio 24.19, where Forese Donati points out Bonagiunta da Lucca; the poet immediately states that in Purgatory people do not find it shameful to be named (19.25–27). 31. Ben Parsons, “‘A Riotous Spray of Words’: Rethinking the Medieval Theory of Satire,” Exemplaria 21, no. 2 (2009): 105–28; here 119. 32. Pinto, “Le donne innamorate” (see note 18), 102. 33. In Purgatorio 3, the poet describes Manfred as “biondo era e bello” (v. 107). In Decameron 9.4, Boccaccio describes Cecco Angiulieri as “e bello e costumato uomo era” (6). Dino Compagni describes the Cerchi family as “uomini di basso stato, ma buoni mercatanti e gran ricchi, e vestivano bene, e teneano molti famigli e cavalli, e aveano bella apparenza,” (book 1, chapter 20, 4–6, p. 45); Dino later reiterates this notion when he describes Vieri de’ Cerchi as “uomo bellissimo, ma di poca malizia” (book 1, chapter 20, 76–84, p. 49). 34. Ernst Robert Curtius, “Heroes and Rulers,” in European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, trans. Willard R. Trask (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1973), 167–82; here 180. 35. Paul Freedman, Images of the Medieval Peasant (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999), 139. 36. Irina Metzler, Disability in Medieval Europe: Thinking about Physical Impairment During the High Middle Ages, c. 1100–1400 (London and New York: Routledge, 2006), 53. 37. Jan Ziolkowski, “Avatars of Ugliness in Medieval Literature,” Modern Language Review 79, no. 1 (1984): 1–20; here 6–9. See also Patrizia Bettella, The Ugly Woman: Transgressive Aesthetic Models in Italian Poetry from the Middle Ages to the Baroque (Toronto, Buffalo, London: University of Toronto Press, 2005), 17. 38. Lucia Onder, “Bello,” in Enciclopedia dantesca, vol. 1 (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1970), 563–65; here 564. 39. Paolo Orvieto and Lucia Brestolini, La poesia comico-realistica: Dalle origini al Cinquecento (Rome: Carocci, 2000), 99–101. 40. Philip Jones, The Italian City-State: From Commune to Signoria (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997), 217. The complaint against the avarice of the nobility was a commonplace in the popular poetry of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In the Latin goliardic tradition, Hugh Primas of Orléans (ca. 1095–ca. 1160) derided a former patron for his insufficient support: “My host was my good friend, or so he would profess: / lavish with words, he gave me in actual fact much less” (“Hospes erat michi se plerumque professus amicum / voce michi prebens plurima, re modicum,” 1–2). The poetry and translation is from Hugh Primas and the Archpoet, ed. and trans. Fleur Adcock (Cambridge: Cambridge Medieval Classics, 2005). As an example from the vernacular literature of the thirteenth century, in “Umile sono ed orgoglioso,” Ruggieri Apugliese highlights the value of generosity, proclaiming that he is generous with his fine love, and stingy regarding his ability to forget those who serve him (“Largo sono del fino amare; / e scarso molto d’ubriare,” 41–42); that is to say, he always remembers to compensate his servants. The poetry of Ruggieri Apugliese is cited from Gianfranco Contini, ed., Poeti del Duecento, vol. 1 (Milan and Naples: Ricciardi, 1960). 41. In his commentary on Dante’s Commedia, Benvenuto da Imola refers to derisive poetry when discussing the brigata spendereccia of Inferno 29: “Hence there have been written two pleasant songs about them; one of them contains their delights and pleasures, and the other the misfortunes and miseries they endured.” (“unde factae sunt duae cantiones [. . .] placibiles de eis; quarum altera continent delicias et delectiones eorum; altera vera calamitates et miserias, quas habituri erant.”) Furthermore, cities such as Siena passed laws that imposed fines on the singers of injurious songs, indicating that the practice was widespread. Benvenuto da Imola is cited from the Dartmouth Dante Project (https://dante.dartmouth.edu/, last accessed 16 May 2019); the translation is mine. For the laws of Siena proscribing insulting canzoni, see Nicolino Applauso, “S’i’ fosse foco ardere’ il mondo. L’esilio e la politica nella poesia di Cecco Angiolieri,” Letteratura Italiana Antica 15 (2014): 223–38; here 228. 42. Dante reiterates many of these concepts in Purgatorio 22, when Statius speaks of his own time on the terrace of greed: “Allor m’accorsi che troppo aprir l’ali / potean le mani a spendere, e pente’mi / così di quel come delli altri mali. / Quanti risurgeran coi crini scemi / per ignoranza” (vv. 43–47).

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43. Robin Kirkpatrick, “Courtesy and Imagination: A Study of ‘Purgatorio’ canto XIV,” Modern Language Review 76, no. 1 (1981): 67–80; here 73. See also Fabian Alfie, “‘Il duro camo’: Poetics and Politics in Purgatorio 14,” Dante Studies 127 (2009): 5–35; here 29. 44. Zygmunt G. Barański, “‘Tres enim sunt manerie dicendi.’ Some Observations on Medieval Literature,‘Genre,’ and Dante,” The Italianist 15, no. 2 (1995): 9–60; here 43–45. 45. Lansing, The Florentine Magnates (see note 15), 220. 46. Mario Marti, ed., Poeti del Dolce Stil Nuovo (Florence: Le Monnier, 1969), 17; Gustavo Rodolfo Ceriello, ed., I rimatori del dolce stil novo (Milan: Rizzoli, 1950), 6. 47. Cesare De Lollis, “Quel di Lemosì,” in Scritti vari di filologia (Rome: Forzani, 1901), 353–75; here 362. 48. The sirventes genre in general was frequently used for socio-political satire in Provençal. For instance, Sordello decries the greediness of the aristocracy in “Qui be.is membra del segle qu’es passatz,” saying: “Ah! How can a noble man act so deprived / Of shame that would go and bastardize / His lineage just for the sake of gold and silver?” (“Ai, com pot tan esser desvergoingnatz / suls hom gentils, qu.is vai enbastarden / so lignage per aur ni per argen?,” vv. 22–24). The poetry and translation of Sordello are cited from James J. Wilhelm, ed. and trans., The Poetry of Sordello (New York and London: Garland Publishing, 1987). 49. Pier Vincenzo Mengaldo, “L’elegia ‘umile’ (De vulgari eloquentia II iv 5–6),” in Linguistica e retorica di Dante (Pisa: Nistri-Lischi, 1978), 200–22; here 206–10. See also Reynolds, “Orazio satiro” (see note 3), 128.

Chapter Eight

Scelestissimis fiorentinis Violence, Satire, and Prophecy in the ars dictaminis and Dante’s Political Epistles Nicolino Applauso

Dante’s political epistles affirm the poet’s civic activism and his concern in key political events of fourteenth-century Italy. One of their most striking qualities is the fierce verbal violence tinged with harsh sarcasm and scourging wit, which have either gone unnoticed or have been a source of deep concern or even bewilderment. 1 Indeed, scholars have hardly approached his epistles as independent works (the first critical and national edition was published only a century ago in 1921). In the great majority of cases, Dantists have explore them as tools to enrich our understanding of the Commedia, or to reflect upon Dante’s political ideology. 2 Only a few scholars have recently highlighted their biting and sarcastic language, suggesting their placement in the tradition of invective and satire. 3 However, much work is still needed to appraise adequately the value and place of satire itself, and hence these letters, within the medieval tradition of the ars dictaminis. 4 While overlooked by previous scholars, the ars dictaminis is one among the several models invoked and manipulated by Dante in the particular letters here treated. This study attempts to examine these connections by taking into consideration Dante’s excellence in epistolography and its connection with the cultural and theoretical tradition of satire within the ars dictaminis in late medieval Italy. Unlike all of his other major works, the epistles encompass a wide historical focus within the poet’s literary corpus. Sources attest that their production spans his life time, predating the drafting of the Commedia. 5 Sadly, the only ones we currently possess are from the early 1300s. Further147

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more, Dante’s familiarity with the ars dictaminis is attested by fourteenthand fifteenth-century intellectuals and historians, such as Giovanni Villani, Giovanni Boccaccio, Leonardo Bruni, Giannozzo Manetti, and Flavio Biondo. They all mentioned how he wrote numerous political letters, which were celebrated by his contemporaries for their style and content. 6 According to these witnesses, the original autograph copies of his letters were used as models and available for consultations in Florence and Forlì until the late fifteenth century. 7 Indeed, the practice of gathering sample letters in collections called Epistolaria was undertaken by dictatores (masters of rhetoric and dialectic) as early as the eleventh century, and gained momentum with thirteenth-century educators such as Boncompagno da Signa and Brunetto Latini 8 Dante’s epistles also reflect the tradition of vituperatio and the epideictic mode of speaking by employing sources from the classical tradition (Juvenal, Horace, and Lucan) as well as thought-provoking biblical sources (from Isaiah or Jeremiah), which were expected to be included in letters and often referred to as “declamatory and authoritative statements” (“sentenzie e autoritadi”). 9 This practice was well-established before Dante’s time throughout the high and late Middle Ages as is evident when we juxtapose the letters in question with the ones written by celebrated epistolary masters such as Pier della Vigna and Brunetto Latini. I shall anchor Dante’s political epistles within the tradition of the ars dictaminis and explore the connection between his accusatory style and satirical content. I will focus primarily on epistle 6, addressed to the Florentines, and juxtapose it to his other letters (i.e., epistles 7 and 11). While providing a close reading of epistle 6, I shall first examine its verbal surface best expressed in the use of crudely powerful and aggressive polemical language. Secondly, I shall focus on its content in order to assess the role of satire in Dante’s Latin prose overall. I will conclude by juxtaposing the satirical and prophetic traditions of epistolography, in order to gain a better understanding of the ethical value of these political letters in their double role of reprehending the wicked and unveiling the truth in order to elicit the readers’ response, and ultimately appreciate their original contribution to the ars dictaminis. Among Dante’s political letters, epistle 6 is perhaps the boldest and most hostile. This is immediately evident from its very opening, which features a powerfully polemical attack on the Florentines, who are addressed as the foulest people (“scelestissimis”): Dantes Alagherii florentinus et exul inmeritus scelestissimis Florentinis intrinsecis. (1.1) From Dante Alighieri, a Florentine undeservedly in exile, to the most wicked Florentines within the city. 10

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Unlike all of his surviving letters, this is the only one that includes a salutation in which the recipient’s name is written after the sender’s. The reversed arrangement has not been adequately addressed by scholars, but it is very significant in rules pertaining to letter writing. The general guidelines of the medieval ars dictandi stipulate that the sender must always state first the recipient by name, and then introduce himself, followed by a brief message of greeting. For example, Hugh of Bologna in his influential treatise for letter writing Rationes dictandi prosaice (1119–1124) writes that “the names of the recipients should always be placed before the names of the senders, whether with all their adjectives in the dative case or, likewise with all their adjectives in the accusative.” 11 Dante follows this rule in all his letters, as, for example, in epistle 5 addressed to the Princes and People of Italy. 12 The exception to the general rule was when the letter was addressed to a person of lesser importance than the sender. In this case, the author of the letter had to follow the inverted order of putting the addressee’s name after the sender. Again, Hugh of Bologna makes this distinction clear: “unless—and only when—a more important man is writing to a less important man . . . the name of the sender should be placed first, so that his distinction is demonstrated by the very position of the names.” 13 More specifically, the distinction between the sender and addressee was categorized not simply by social rank (e.g., a father to his son, a lord to his servant), but on moral grounds, as in the case of letters sent to heretics, excommunicated people, or fierce enemies. For these specific cases, the sender was required in the opening to put his or her own name before the addressee, no matter how important they were. Thomas of Capua in his Summa Dictaminis (c. 1230–1239) stresses clearly this distinction: “In fact we do not greet enemies or people excommunicated” (“non enim salutamos inimicos aut excommunicatos,” 17), or Bene da Firenze, who in his Candelabrum (1220–1223) prescribes that “if, however, a letter has been written to heretics of vicious enemies, in my opinion their names are placed after regardless of how much important they are” (“Si autem hereticis at atrocissimis hostibus est scribendum, iudicio meo quantumcumque sint magni sunt eorum nomina postponenda,” 3.18.5). 14 The reason why a regular greeting was not appropriate for “vicious enemies” (“atrocissimis hostibus”) is because the sender was deliberately demeaning them and expressing indignation against them. The opening of epistle 6 indeed expresses this important point. If we keep in mind this atypical salutation, it is clear that the objective of Dante’s letter is more polemical that what has been observed thus far. Furthermore, both the choice of words and their placement within this sentence suggest that the poet’s hostile stance toward his countrymen is expressed through irony and ridicule. The presence of these elements is visible with the adjectives “exile” (“exul”) and “inhabitants” (“intrinsecis”), which correspondingly qualify the persona of the innocent outsider in contrast to the

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criminal insiders. Dante associates these two terms in an unconventional way because the term “exul” normally implies a negative connotation in relation to a criminal justly punished for his illegal activity, while “intrinsecis” generally connotes people lawfully living in the safe urban environment. 15 By creating this dichotomy, he strongly projects an ironic twist right from the opening. Hence, the fact that both the sender and addressees are introduced as Florentines reinforces even more this derisive contrast. The poet depicts himself as a Florentine who is more honorable than his addressees, who are none other than the rulers of Florence, the Black Guelphs. 16 The ridicule is caustically enhanced because paradoxically these political leaders were supposed to be role models for other citizens. The most important Florentines who deliberated on public affairs sat at the city council. These twelve men were addressed as wise” and “good men” (“savi” and “buoni omini”). 17 On the contrary, Dante addresses them hyperbolically and ironically as the most evil of men. 18 The satirical and mordant flavor of the letter emerges not only at the opening, but throughout. According to medieval norms pertaining to the discipline of the ars dictaminis, an effective letter had to be divided into specific parts. Even though there were divergent opinions about the numbers of parts, the majority agreed that an “exordium” (“a broad preamble”) and a “narratio” (“a statement”) were supposed to follow the salutation. 19 Dante introduces in the preamble the two important objectives of the letter, which is to assert the divine mission of the Holy Roman Emperor to govern and grant peace to all humanity, and the importance of accepting Emperor Henry VII as the lawful heir of the vacant imperial seat. This vacancy creates political problems and irregularities for the governance of Christendom in general and Italy in particular. It is striking to note that such a solemn topic is introduced first very seriously with a declaration from the highest heaven, and then supported by a portrait of the current situation on earth, which is of the lowest comic absurdity. Dante explicitly states that he chooses to bypass citations from “divine words” (“divinis elogiis”) and “writers of antiquity” (“antiquitas”) to support his point. Instead, he lets the evidence speak for itself: nauclerus et remiges in navicula Petri dormitant et quod Ytalia misera, sola, privatis arbitriis derelicta omnique publicomoderamine destituta, quanta ventorum fluentorumve concussione feratur verba non caperentsed et vix Ytali infelices lacrimis metiuntur. (1.3) The captain and the oarsmen of the ship of St. Peter fall asleep, and wretched Italy, left alone, at the mercy of private decisions and devoid of any public control, is so battered and buffeted by gales and floods that words cannot describe it, and the abject Italians themselves can scarcely measure it with their tears.

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This sequence of similes portrays the existing tragicomic situation of Italy with the “little ship” (“navicula”) of Saint Peter the fisherman (Matthew 8: 23) who goes astray because its captain Peter (i.e., the Pope) and his oarsmen (i.e., the Cardinals) are all dozing off, followed by a “worthless Italy” (“Ytalia misera”) destabilized beyond words by private political disputes, while unhappy Italians continue to shed tears in the midst of this chaos. 20 As Suzanne Reynolds notes, the nature of medieval satire is mainly characterized as being “jumpy” (“saltans”), because “the text itself is not continuous,” it moves from point to point (as a sort of dance), taking into consideration different perspectives. 21 Indeed, the bittersweet tone of this preamble jumps to the very harsh reproach indignantly launched against the Florentines, who are said to oppose God’s will. The style of the letter from here on escalates into a heartfelt, sharp, and sardonic invective. An “epistula” was defined by medieval rhetoricians as “a speech according to elegance of the composition and dignity of content” (“oratio secundum elegantiam compositionis et dignitatem facta”). 22 The choice of placing the elegance of the form before the importance of the content shows how the style was often regarded as essential. This is evident by the fact that prominent rhetoricians and dictatores such as Bene of Florence, Guido Faba, Giovanni d’Aquileia, and Bono da Lucca devote special attention to rhetorical colors and figures in their respective manuals. 23 The presence of mockery, humorous puns, and hyperbolic language was not only very commonly employed in written communications, but also was encouraged in order to achieve the desired goal, in a wide variety of situations. 24 Thus, Dante carefully crafts his epistle 6 with complex rhetorical figures that have the specific satirical function of both ridiculing and condemning his enemies. A reader could find a wide range of rhetorical figures such as alliterations and hyperboles expressed through superlatives and consonant repetitions such as the following: “You most despicable of people” (“miserrimi hominum,” 3.12), “Oh most deluded of Tuscans, irrational” (“Tuscorum vanissimi . . . insensate,” 5.21–22), and “You most worthless offspring of Fiesole!” (“O miserrima Fesulanorum propago,” 6.24). Several startling antitheses also are used to elicit a more dramatic effect, like the combination of contrasting terms: “Oh you who are united only in doing evil” (“O male concordes!” 3.12), or contrasting imageries of freedom and captivity (i.e., “liberet captivatos”): Quam in noctis tenebris malesane mentis pedes oberrent ante oculos pennatorum, nec perpenditis nec figuratis ignari. Vident namque vos pennati et inmaculati in via, quasi stantes in limine carceris, et miserantem quempiam, ne forte vos liberet captivatos et in compedibus astrictos et manicis, propulsantes. (5.21) In your ignorance, you neither contemplate nor envisage how, in the eyes of those who are fully-fledged, as the feet of your unsound minds go astray in the

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This powerful imagery projects the paradoxically self-destructive behavior that Dante ascribes to the Florentines, depicted as convicts in chains who insanely reject any attempt to be freed from their own prison, and instead choose to remain standing in front of their own doom. Condemned like the sinners of the Inferno, the Florentines are also both reprimanded and ridiculed by the eyes of “pennatorum,” the fully-fledged mature birds who observe them. Scholars have emphasized how these “pennati et inmaculati in via” is a clear reference to Proverbs 1:15–18 and Psalm 118, which refer to wise and blameless men. 25 However, if we juxtapose this specific term with the metaphors of “pennati” that recur throughout his Commedia, another possible interpretation emerges. As Hugh Shankland noted, Paradiso 15 includes one of the most frequently used imageries of birds and heavenly flight in the poem. 26 Such an insistence in the canto that is devoted to Dante’s great-great-grandfather Cacciaguida suggests that the term “feathered wings” (“pennuti in ali,” Paradiso 15.81) could be a self-referential pun to the poet’s own surname “Alighieri.” Furthermore, the likelihood that his surname could have been identified with the Latin adjective “Aliger”(winged) and “pennuti,” also suggests that here too, in epistle 6, Dante could have implied that the “pennuto” in question, who scrutinizes with his sharp eyes the madness of the Florentines, is no other than the poet himself. 27 This is also reinforced by the use of the adjectives “blameless” (“inmaculati”), which is used to describe the wise birds and is also equivalent to the adjective “undeserving” (“inmeritus”), used to qualify the poet at the beginning of the letter. If we consider this probability, the passage assumes a stronger satirical effect. Having focused on the present situation of Florence, Dante proceeds to envision the future that lies ahead for the most wicked Florentines. The second part of epistle 6 is characterized by the use of many verbs in the future tense. The poet explicitly declares that he is following his prophetic voice: “And if my prophetic gift does not deceive me in foretelling what it has been shown both by unequivocal signs and by unquestionable arguments” (“Et si presaga mens mea non fallitur, sic signis veridicis sicut inexpugnabilibus argumentis instructa prenuntians,” 4.17). This and the following paragraphs combine both satire and prophecy, as evident by the uncompromising—yet derisive—tone: “To your anguish, you will see the buildings, which you did not erect prudently according to your needs, but rather developed recklessly for your own pleasure, destroyed by battering-rams and burned by fire, since no second Troy encircles them with its walls” (“Videbitis edificia vestra non necessitati prudenter instructa sed delitiis inconsulte

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mutata, que Pergama rediviva non cingunt, tam ariete ruere, tristes, quam igne cremari,” 4.15). Here the prophet-poet harshly criticizes Florentine leaders and administrators for their selfishness. Because they erected extravagant and impractical buildings, they will see them crumbling down after the coming siege of Florence effected by Henry VII and his powerful militia. As noted by Stocchi, the reference to the second Troy (i.e., “Pergama rediviva”) refers to the newly founded Rome that, according to Virgil’s Aeneid 4.15, is none other than the glorious city of Troy reborn after its devastation. On the contrary, Dante predicts that the “glorious” city of Florence will not be able to have another rebirth after its imminent disastrous defeat, and it will be completely obliterated from history. This austere prediction is delivered through mockery. The main reason for this foreseen defeat is the negligence of the leaders who seek to fulfill their personal pleasure, instead of preserving and defending the city. This denunciation evokes Cacciaguida’s tirade when he similarly ridicules the excessive size and luxury of Florentine buildings (Paradiso 15.106). 28 In the next canto, Cacciaguida names two of the foulest Florentines (“Scelestissimis florentinis”) to whom this letter was likely sent: the Florentine judge Baldo d’Aguglione and lawyer Bonifazio da Signa (Paradiso 16.56). Both were renegade White Guelphs turned Black Guelphs, and they held important leadership position in Florence in 1311. Besides being involved in exiling Dante and other White Guelphs or Ghibellines, they were also staunch opponents of Emperor Henry VII. 29 With his allusions to extravagant buildings and Florentine leaders’ misspent funds, in epistle 6 Dante could be a pointed allusion to the ostentatious building programs of prominent Florentines like d’Aguglione or of the local nobility. The fact that Dante states that such buildings were not prudently constructed sends a sarcastic remark to his addressees, who in notarial documents identify themselves as “wise good men” (“sapientes probi viri”), an epithet that denotes wisdom, goodness, and prudence. 30 It is important to note that epistle 6 does not uniformly target all the Florentine citizens, but rather the selective group of current political leaders. This is made clear throughout by terms such as “those who” (“quicunque,” 1.4), or the pronoun “you” (“vos”) which is used to identify a precise group of people, like in the case of “you . . . who transgress divine and human laws” (“vos . . . divina iura et humana transgredientes,” 2.5). The sommo poeta also clearly frames his addressees within a social and political context, when he juxtaposes them with the Florentine “plebem” (4.16), a term that in this context could designate the plebeian common people at large, including both working- and lower-class citizens who were excluded from political power, associating them with the interests of his own, excluded, political party. This debater’s point seeks to yoke the existing dichotomy within the citizens of Florence with the clash of political parties in the ruling elite. After connect-

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ing the contentions between White Guelphs and Black Guelphs with the threat of social revolution, Dante then states that the group of the plebem will gather “united in raising its voice terribly in opposition to you, since a starving mob is incapable of fear” (“in idem adversus vos horrenda clamantem, quoniam simul et ieiuna et timida nescit esse”). He goes as far as suggesting the possibility of a political rebellion against most of his addressees, who will likely either be killed, imprisoned, or exiled for their own political incompetence (4.17). By evoking the clash between White Guelph and Black Guelph parties, Dante concludes that Florence is doomed. There will be no recovery or reform, because the city will finally be enslaved and ruled by foreign leaders: “Those few who are left to endure exile will see, through their tears, the city, worn out by its protracted mourning finally handed over to strangers” (“urbem diutino merore confectam in manus alienorum tradi finaliter, plurima vestri parte seu nece seu captivitate deperdita, perpessuri exilium pauci cum fletu cernetis,” 4.17). Dante’s prophetic threats must therefore be framed within recent political developments that were most relevant to his enemies. Indeed, despite the social changes undergone during this time, the sociopolitical division between popolani and magnati still lingered in fourteenth-century Florence. 31 This is evident if we consider contemporary documents written by Black Florentine Guelphs, who utilize the same distinction when addressing their citizens: “All the joint or individual true Guelphs, male or female, either popolani or magnate” (“omnes et singuli vere Guelfi, mares et femine, tam populares quam magnates”). 32 This datum confirms how the councilors classified the population according to their economic and political status. This social division only reinforces the serious claims of Dante’s passage. Thus, with his reference to a popular revolt against the urban elite, the “exul inmeritus” threatens his enemies not with an empty menace, but with a concrete calamity, further strengthened by biblical sententiae. His addressees almost certainly recognized the prophetic sources of the poet’s condemnation against them (from Lamentations 5:7, Exodus 20:5, and Jeremiah 5:19), which is delivered via his bombastic satirical style. Having greeted his enemies with a corrosive “salutatio” provided them with an “exordium” (“a general preamble”), and a “narratio” (“explanation”) of the grievance against them, the poet now proceeds with a “riprensione” (“reproof”) before reaching his conclusion. A “riprensione” comprises of the reasons that the debater presents to his opponents to successfully weaken their argument. Medieval authors either omitted a “riprensione” or substituted it with a petition. 33 However, Dante decides to resume its use from classical antiquity in order to reinforce the severity of his charges and further damage the Black Guelphs. In this portion he supplies examples taken from recent history pertaining to confrontations between citizens from various cities (i.e., Parma, Milan, and Spoleto) and imperial forces led by Frederick

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II and Frederick I. The instances provided are pertinent because they involve inhabitants who temporarily defied the emperor’s plans, as the Florentines were allegedly doing. The subtly derisive tone is here again expressed by rhetorical sophistication, such as the use of alliteration and parallel syntactical constructions: “For although they were victorious at Vittoria, they nonetheless memorably reaped pain as a reward for the pain they sowed there” (“nam et hii, quanquam de Victoria victoriam sint adepti, nichilominus ibi sunt de dolore dolorem memorabiliter consecuti,” italics mine). The pun between the proper name “Victoria,” the nickname of the emperor’s encampment, with “victory” is shrewdly paired with the expression “pain for pain” (“de dolorem dolore”). The poet sarcastically seeks to emphasize that even though these citizens were initially successful, at the end, inescapably and devastatingly, they were all defeated. This last example again demonstrates how a satirical flavor is consistently present throughout as a subtext. The ending of the letter recaps the main allegations and launches the last final blow against the Florentines: Quod Romane rei baiulus hic divus et triumphator Henricus, non sua privata sed publica mundi commoda sitiens, ardua queque pro nobis aggressus est sua sponte penas nostras participans, tanquam ad ipsum, post Christum, digitum prophetie propheta direxerit Ysaias, cum, spiritu Dei revelante, predixit: “Vere languores nostros ipse tulit et dolores nostros ipse portavit.” Igitur tempus amarissime penitendi vos temere presumptorum, si dissimulare non vultis, adesse conspicitis. Et sera penitentia hoc a modo venie genitiva non erit, quin potius tempestive animadversionis exordium. Est enim: quoniam peccator percutitur, ut “sine retractatione moriatur.” (6.25–26) It should be enough for you to bear in mind that he who sustains the Roman commonwealth, the holy and triumphant Henry not desiring his own advantage, but the public good, has, for our sake, willingly accepted his difficult task, sharing in our pain, as if the prophet Isaiah had been pointing the finger of prophecy at him, after Christ, when, through the revelation of the Holy Spirit he prophesied that “ours were the sufferings he bore, ours the sorrows he carried.” You must, therefore, understand—and you are lying if you claim otherwise—that the time for most bitter repentance for your thoughtless presumption is at hand. But a belated repentance of this sort will not buy you forgiveness, but rather will mark the beginning of your timely punishment. So be it; for the sinner will be struck through so that he will surely die “before he can make amends.”

This closing passage does not seem a warning or a petition, but rather an ultimatum. There is no truce or compromise for the Florentine rulers. They must either repent immediately or face eternal damnation, for a late repentance is inconsequential and will only bring “second death” (2.5), i.e., eternal damnation. Furthermore, Emperor Henry VII is presented as a Christ-like

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savior who thirsts for the public good and takes upon himself the world’s sorrows (Isaiah 53:4; 2 Corinthians 2). Florentine citizens have therefore the responsibility to reciprocate his love. This concept is also expressed by Brunetto Latini in his vernacular translation of Aristotle’s Ethica, a work “that Dante studied and which he would use in turn to structure the Commedia”: “Love must be within one and the other, so that the sovereign must love his subjects . . . in the city all the men consequently must love their sovereign with a rightful heart” (“Amor dee esser nel’uno et nel’altro, che’l signore dee amare suoi subiecti . . . la Città, et di tutti li huomini, et altresì debbono elli amare lor signore a diritto cuore”). 34 The ideal of medieval sovereignty as a mutual Christian obligation finds expression in thirteenth-century political thought. 35 This parallel between Christ and political or religious leaders was often utilized to justify citizens’ obedience to authority, but also reciprocally employed by popes and emperors to show their humility and responsibility to their subjects. Official interdict by popes against all citizens of a rebel city often includes this concept to justify their condemnation. Similarly, Dante’s epistle 6 presents itself as an “official” condemnation, and its addressees were most likely not expected to answer. Upon its arrival in Florence, it is possible that a “nuntio” or municipal envoy could have read it out loud to the Florentine councilmen inside the Palazzo Vecchio, and possibly even declaimed it in the public plaza to all citizens. Overall, epistle 6 is characterized by a remarkable rhetorical sophistication steeped in a satirical flavor. Dante’s satire emerges not only at the opening but throughout. The use of satire in political letters was championed by Pier della Vigna, the celebrated thirteenth-century imperial chancellor of Frederick II and master rhetorician, whose letters were exceptionally influential. The most complete edition of his Epistolarium comprises of almost five hundred letters. As recently stressed by Fulvio Delle Donne, della Vigna’s letters were the primary sources for the discipline of the ars dictandi, and found their way both to Rome and to Florence. 36 Brunetto Latini carefully translated them into the vernacular and made them available in chancery collections in Florence, where Dante almost certainly read them. 37 Dante’s epistle 6 is indeed very reminiscent of della Vigna’s elaborate and mocking style, and in particular of one of his most famous epistles, the first one to appear in all epistolaria (including the one in Florence), the most eminent and satirical of all letters: “Collegerunt Pontifices et Pharisei.” Piero wrote the letter in 1240 on the behalf of Frederick II against Pope Gregory IX and all cardinals to protest the emperor’s excommunication and warn them about the Emperor’s imminent invasion of Papal States. Its use of hyperboles, puns, humor, alliterations, and multifaceted style that mixed high and humble rhetorical registers is exemplary. Scholars have recently emphasized its extraordinary satirical style 38 and labeled it as a “fierce satire” (“feroce satira”). 39

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The following extracts from Pier’s letters suggest how how Dante’s epistles and Commedia are much indebted to this renowned Ghibelline diplomat and poet: 40 Collegerunt pontifices et Pharisei consilium in unum, et adversus principem Christianum dominum convenerunt. “Quid facimus?” inquiunt, quia hic homo de hostibus sic triumphat, si sic ipsum dimittimus, omnem sibi subiciet gloriam Lombardorum, et more Cesareo veniens non tardabit, ut posse nobis et locum auferat, et destruat gentem nostram. [. . .] Super cathedram Moysi sedentes hoc tempore Pharisei, sic moti sunt contra Romanum principem oberrantes [. . .] Tandem illos malitia sic intus et extra penitus excecavit, quod una prorsus errante clavium insontem et iustum principem ligaverunt [. . .] Sed, ut testator Anagnia, mandasti domum fieri mirabilem, sicut regia solis erat, oblitus prorsus Petri inopiae, qui dudum non habuit, nisi rete. Et, quod peius est, etiam illa nostra Hierusalem, in qua Christus, effuso sanguine, pati voluit et occidi, iacet ancillata canibus et tributaria Sarracenis. Et tu Chrisi vicarius in hoc dormis, nec curas, quod nostra dolet hereditas ad alios devoluta. Sedet enim deserta civitas [. . .] destituta [. . .] Vox cuius vox turturis, quae pro canta dat gemitum, viduata plorat anxie, velut Rachel filios suos, quos in templo suo sancto non videt sabbata venerari, assidue regem regum Romanorum expectans pricipem. Pontiffs and Pharisees, all united in council, formed a coalition against the prince, lord of the Christians. “What are we going to do?” they say, “since this man triumphs in this way against his enemies, if we leave him alone like this, he will subjugate for himself all the glory of the Lombards, and, advancing like a Caesar, he will not delay from taking from us power and prestige, and destroy our people. . . . While seating upon the pulpit of Moses, the Pharisees of our time, raving like this they hurled themselves against the Roman prince . . . eventually the malice was such that it rendered them blind, inside out, so that while mislaying one of their keys, they bound the just and innocent prince. . . . But as evident in Anagni you commanded to build a spectacular palace, similar to the realm of the sun, completely oblivious of Peter’s poverty, who never owned anything, but a fishnet. And what is worse is that even our Jerusalem, where Christ, shed his blood and chose to suffer and be killed, lays servant of dogs and pays tribute to the Saracens. And you, vicar of Christ, in front of this, you sleep unconcerned that our heritage is paying the price and allocated to other. The city lays indeed abandoned . . . empty . . . and its voice is like the dove’s, who moans instead of singing, having become widow anxiously cries, like Rachel with her children who does not see them celebrating the Sabbath in her holy temple, always waiting for the kings of kings, the prince of the Romans. 41

From its very opening, this vitriolic epistle projects an ironic tone by asserting the divine mission of the Holy Roman Emperor who is immediately juxtaposed to Christ, through the biblical citation from John 11:47, which also mentions chief priests and Pharisees who form a coalition against Jesus.

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Pier della Vigna mocks the cardinals for being frantic and blind, and the pope for being a self-indulgent leader whose interest lies solely in luxurious buildings and sleeping above the devastation of Jerusalem. The city is metaphorically depicted as afflicted woman abandoned by her religious rulers and desperately calling for the coming of the emperor to gain redemption. It is remarkable that Dante not only draws from these metaphors and imageries while addressing the Florentine rulers, but also echoes the charges of sleepiness against Pope Clement V and his cardinals (1.3). Furthermore, the emperor Henry VII, like Frederick II, is also presented as Christ the savior, who should answer the call of a grief-stricken city (6.25). Dante transfers the Jerusalem imagery of Rachel into his present environment by ridiculing first Italy as a wrecked, lonely, and abandoned woman, and then Florence in the mercy of its insanely frantic, irresponsible, and self-indulgent rulers. 42 He even employs the identical terminology to describe Italy as “destitute” (“destitute,” 1.3), which was previously used by della Vigna for Jerusalem. At the end of epistle 6, one can find other similarities in the arrangement of the historical sources in the penultimate paragraph, and an equally shocking attack against his targets and strategically placed in the last sentences. Overall, Dante effectively balances his style between violence and satire by employing examples from antiquity and recent history, as well as incorporating literary references (e.g., Virgil and Lucan most notably) alongside prophetic biblical sources. His letter offers valuable insight on the ars dictaminis, but also constitutes an important contribution to the discipline itself by advancing Pier della Vigna’s legacy of derision and parody toward new high standards. All these elements are also very much at play in Dante’s other political letters. In epistle 7, on April 17, 1311, Dante wrote directly to Emperor Henry VII. This letter is different from the previous one, mainly because Dante is writing on both in his own name and on the behalf of all the Tuscan people dedicated to peace: “all Tuscans who desire peace” (“omnes Tusci qui pacem desiderant,” 1.1). This same concept is reinstated later when he writes: “I too, who write this letter both in my own name and on the behalf of others” (“ego qui scribe tam pro me quam pro aliis,” 2.9). It is evident that the poet represents himself as a spokesman of the political party that opposes the Florentine rulers. This opposition is clearly stated throughout the letter, when he includes once again mordant attacks against the Black Guelphs, called tyrants: “the brutal tyrant’s hangers-on” (“satellitium sevi tyranni,” 1.4); and their conduct qualified as tyrannical: “Tyrant of Tuscany” (4.15). This emphasis on the term “tyrant” and “tyranny” has been referred to the illegal practice of rulers who abused political power and did not recognize imperial authority. 43 The penultimate paragraph of epistle 7 provides a large satirical attack against their notorious headquarters: the city of Florence. As Claire Honess notes, “the language of biting, tearing, sharpening, and piercing” is

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clearly evident in the following passage, which “is doubly satirical insofar as it combines the language of biting and tearing with the goat-like language traditionally associated with satire.” 44 Ubi vulpecula fetoris istius, venantium secura, recumbat? [. . .] Florentia [. . .] dira hec pernicies nuncupatur. Hec est vipera versa in viscera genitricis; hec est languida pecus gregem domini sui sua contagione commaculans; hec Myrrha scelestis et impia in Cinyre patris amplexus exestuans [. . .] Hec Amata illa impatiens, qui, repulso fatali connubio [. . .] se suspendit. Vere matrem viperea feritate dilaniare contendit [. . .] Vere in paternos ardet ipsa concubitus, dum improba procacitate conatur summi Pontificis, qui pater est patrum, adversum te violare assensum. [. . .] Sed attendat ad laqueum mulier furiata quo se innectit. (7.23–28) Where it is that this stinking she-fox has gone to earth, safe from the hunters? . . . Florence is the name of this ill-omened beast. She is the viper who turns against the vitals of her own mother, she is the sick sheep, which infects her master’s flock with her disease; she is Myrrha, wicked and ungodly, yearning for the embrace of her father, Cynyras . . . she is the wrathful Amata, who refused to accept the marriage ordained by fate . . . hanging herself. With all the ferocity of a viper she strives to tear her mother to pieces. . . . She burns with incestuous desire for her own father, when with wicked shamelessness she tries to violate the consensus between you and the supreme Pontiff, who is the father of fathers. . . . But this madwoman should consider the noose in which she is binding herself.

Florence takes on various incarnations, each more disturbing than the next: a stinking she-fox, a matricidal viper, an infected sheep, the incestuous Princess Myrrha, and lastly the madwoman Amata who hangs herself. Dante energetically denounces his enemies to the emperor using hyperbolic language, which only appears to gush forth but which actually is carefully adorned with refined rhetorical devices like alliteration and anaphora. 45 Surprisingly, he also boldly attempts to provoke his addressee Henry VII with sarcastic remarks. These could be very subtle, but according to the tone of voice of someone reading the text aloud, they could become even offensive. For example,in one passage, Dante questions the emperor’s will to act by stating: “Are you the one who is to come, or have we got to wait for someone else?” (“Tu es qui venturus es, an alium expectamus?” 2.7). A pun with the term “your Highness” (“celestitudinis”), a term of respect, apparently teases him for not realizing the threats of Florence because of his inability to see it: “Do you not realize, most excellent prince, have you risen so high, your Highness, that you cannot see . . . ?” (“An ignoras, excellentissime principum, nec de specula summe celsitudinis . . . ?” 7.23). This rhetorical question humorously implies that the emperor stands too high, perhaps with his head up in the clouds, and consequently fails to see the danger. The

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presence of these sarcastic remarks shows that the two correspondents were somehow familiar with each other. This possibility is reinforced by the poet’s statement that he had the chance to meet and speak with Henry personally on at least one occasion (2.9). 46 Regardless of his familiarity with the Emperor, Dante would not have mocked him directly to avoid the serious crime of lèse-majesté. 47 So in this instance, he concealed his notoriously colorful offensive lexicon very cleverly. However, this letter still seems to be on the borderline between a confrontational exhortation and a stirring ridicule. This again shows how satire is an independent art that “spares no one” (“nemini parcit”). 48 Derision is therefore regularly present throughout the missive, and jumps from the leg-puller to the emperor, to a bitterly scornful attack against the Florentine rulers. Similar harsh sarcastic remarks are also included in his epistle 11 sent to the Italian cardinals. Dante wrote epistle 11 almost a year after Henry VII died and shortly after Pope Clement V also died in April 1314. At the beginning of May, a conclave was assembled at Carpentras near Avignon to select the new pope. Avignon had been the new papal headquarters since 1309, and “for the first time in the history of Christianity Rome was deserted by the Popes.” 49 Two cardinal factions divided the papacy: one in favor of bringing back the papal seat to Rome (led by Italian cardinals) and another to maintain the present situation (led by French cardinals). Epistle 11 is indeed marked by these latest events and maintains a gloomy prophetic tone from its very opening when the imagery of Rome as a widow is presented (1.1). The letter also is characterized by numerous satirical attacks launched against both factions, and it uses proper names, thus showing that it is not merely addressed to the Italian factions as the heading misleadingly states. 50 All cardinals are thus rebuked because they “have gone off course” (4.5). Through a powerful passage, Dante delivers to his addressees an important statement, which clearly brings forward his objective in writing this epistle: Iam garrulus factus sum: vos me coegistis. Pudeat ergo tam ab infra, non de celo ut absolvat, argui vel moneri. Recte quidem nobiscum agitur, cum ex ea parte pulsatur ad nos ad quam cum ceteris sensibus inflet auditum, ac pariat pudor in nobis penitudinem, primogenitam suam, et hec propositum emendationis aggeneret. (9.19) Now I have become talkative; but you have forced me into it. You should be ashamed, therefore, at being condemned and rebuked by such a humble person, rather than by the Heavens, to which you should turn for forgiveness. For it is only right that we should be taken to task in such a way that shame is able to pervade our hearing, as well as our other senses, so that this shame gives birth in us to her firstborn, repentance, which in turn begets the resolution to make amends.

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By evoking 2 Corinthians 12:11—“I am become foolish. You have compelled me to it” (“Factus sum insipiens. Vos me coegistis”) 51—Dante presents himself as the humble satirical poet who ridicules and scolds his targets through his sermo humilis, which rises from the depths to the sky in order to attain a specific purpose. This is expressed through the imperative verb: “Pudeat” (be ashamed of yourself), that places special emphasis on the concept of “pudor” (shame). According to the prophetic tradition (e.g., Jeremiah 8:12), shame is an important tool to achieve salvation and avoid God’s vengeance. The satiric tradition as conveyed by Horace (e.g., Satires 1.4) stresses that shame is an essential human motivation for avoiding evil. Juvenal is perhaps the most vocal poet advocating the importance of shame on the part of the Romans: “Let Rome have a sense of shame” (“Habeat iam Roma pudorem,” Satire 2.39). 52 Here again it seems very likely that Dante is following both the prophetic and satiric traditions as he scolds the French and Italian cardinals in order to correct their wrongdoing. This is evident in the use of the verb “emendationis” (“make amends”), which evokes the act of mending and repairing a wrong or evil act. The letter therefore aims to both “condemn and rebuke” (“argui vel moneri”) to elicit responsibility and accountability through shame. Ultimately, shame plays the important role of rendering the cardinals self-aware of their own shortcomings, in order to lead them into accepting their responsibilities, and ultimately making them aware of their misconduct not only by feeling a genuine repentance but above all by taking action to remedy the current political and religious crisis. In the letters presented here, Dante persistently puts into practice the moral function of satire, which is generally described as a “carmen reprehensorium.” Reynolds explains that the verb “reprehendere” (“to reprehend”) embraces a “wider semantic field, which includes notions of restraint as well as of blame.” 53 This also implies that the goals of satire should be approached broadly, and not only on moralizing grounds. More specifically, satire “cannot be solely corrective,” because it could encompass “less constructive potentials.” 54 A few scholars have recently attempted to define satire in a more comprehensive way, by distinguishing between its “finalis causa” (“final goal”) and “intentio” (“focus”). Ambrogio Camozzi Pistoja approaches satire by emphasizing its damaging quality, best expressed in the tendency to insult and deride a target, which in the long run is the main “intentio” of this art. 55 This does reveal how satire is not merely the art of moralizing, even if its final goal of correcting vices is ethically constructed. The fact that satire is mainly founded on a vulgar, destructive, and rustic language, suggests that it is not exclusively aimed at moralizing, rather at modifying the status quo. 56 These wider features of the concept of satire are indeed exemplified in the difference between Dante’s epistle 11, which is meant to be corrective, and epistle 6, which is meant to be condemnatory. All

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things considered, satire is an effective tool to spur change, but for its aggressive nature it should also be handled with caution. This is especially true in the case of Dante. Epistle 6 was written at a crucial point in his life, when he hoped for both an internal convulsion and an external diplomatic and military threat that would lead to their overthrow. Indeed, just a few days before it was written, the nearby city of Arezzo under the patronage of Bishop Ildebrandino united all Guelphs and Ghibellines with a solemn peace treaty on March 26, 1311. 57 All Tuscan Ghibelline and Guelph exiles pledged allegiance to Henry VII in great numbers. The fifteenth-century historian Leonardo Bruni acknowledged that Dante’s letter was likely written because “Dante . . . could no longer keep to his plan of waiting for pardon. With his pride of spirit aroused, he began to speak evil of the rulers of the State, calling them caitiffs and criminals, and threatening them at the hands of the Emperor with deserved punishment.” 58 Epistle 6 was indeed written after countless attempts to elicit a pardon from Florence, especially through the long letter, now lost, “Populi mee, quid feci tibi?” (sent to the entire Florentine population), which despite the poet’s effort did not receive the positive outcome that he had hoped for. 59 Dante then resorted to harsh condemnation and sent this letter to the rulers of a presumably doomed city soon to be destroyed. Thus, epistle 6 was not an act of desperation like his previous attempts, but a satirical death warrant against an already condemned city. Unfortunately, Henry VII’s expedition to Italy failed to realize Dante’s hopes. Henry VII died a few years after his failed campaign against Florence, and was unable to overturn the political situation. Dante’s pardon never arrived because the same Black Guelph rulers who were called “most foul” (“scelestissimis”) remembered this hostile letter and its satirical venom. On September 2, 1311, the jurist Baldo d’Aguglione approved a large amnesty known as the D’Aguglione Reform, which released the names of about 1,500 Florentine exiles who were allowed to return to Florence. As expected, Dante was not among them. Furthermore, D’Aguglione took special care to include in the document the epithet “true Guelphs” (“vere Guelfi”) used multiple times to describe the Black Guelph rulers, as opposed to “Dante Alleghierii” and his White Guelph allies. 60 Starting from 1315, no enemy of Florence was associated again with the term “Guelfi.” The illustrious enemy is mentioned in subsequent documents among the “Ghibellines and rebels” (“ghibellinos et rebelles”) 61; thus, current Florentine rulers were proclaimed to be the true and only Guelphs by hyperbolically identifying themselves with the term “Guelfissimi,” a possible sarcastic nod to the term “scelestissimi” used in epistle 6. 62 Perhaps, they too attempted to resort to satire. However, as Horace warns, it takes a good and skillful poet to write a good and effective satire. 63 In conclusion, the letters of Dante here discussed evoke and manipulate the ars dictaminis in combination with strategies of argument derived from

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other literary traditions. Too often scholars have overlooked the originality of Dante’s epistles by relegating them to appendices even though their distinctiveness has been attested by numerous historians and intellectuals who lived during, and immediately after, Dante’s time. Furthermore, as this study seeks to demonstrate, his epistles here presented are strictly tied to the tradition of satire and reprehension that ultimately seek to castigate vice and elicit a practical response from his target readers, in hope that satire will move cardinals and political leaders to change their own ways. NOTES 1. Dante’s sarcasm was rarely noted by early scholars, such as Francesco Mazzoni or Aldo Vallone who focused more on realism and the content of the letters; see Francesco Mazzoni, “Teoresi e prassi in Dante politico,” in Dante Alighieri, Monarchia, Epistole politiche (Turin: Eri, 1966), and Aldo Vallone, “I1 pensiero politico di Dante dinnanzi ad A. Trionfi e a G. Vernani da Rimini,” in Atti del Convegno Internazionale di Studi Danteschi (Ravenna, 10–12 settembre 1971) (Ravenna: Longo, 1971) 173–201. When scholars emphasize his irreverence, they often express shock or even disappointment; see, for example, Lino Pertile, “Dante Looks Forward and Back: Political Allegory in the Epistles,” Dante Studies 115 (1997): 1–17; here 15–16. 2. Ermengildo Pistelli, ed., Epistole, in Le opere di Dante: Testo critico della Società Dantesca Italiana, 2nd ed. (Florence: Società Dantesca italiana, 1960), 383–415. Dante’s epistles have consistently been published in appendices to the Monarchia; see, for example, Gustavo Vinay’s and Donald Nicholl’s translations and critical editions of the Monarchia, which include a short addendum at the end of the book on Dante’s letters: Gustavo Vinay, ed., Monarchia. Testo introduzione traduzione e commento. In appendice: Le epistole politiche (Florence: Sansoni, 1950); and Donald Nicholl, ed., Monarchy and Three Political Letters (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1956). By employing the title “Letters and Lesser Works” to qualify Dante’s epistles, Thomas Bergin clearly projects a negative tone; see his Dante (New York: Orion Press, 1965), 195–212. More recently, John Scott places the epistles in the last chapter of his book with other less known Latin works, such as the Eclogues and the Questio de Aqua et terra. See John A. Scott, Understanding Dante (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2004). 3. Honess notes that often no clear distinction is drawn between invective and satire. Claire Honess, “The Language(s) of Civic Invective in Dante: Rhetoric, Satire, and Politics,” Italian Studies 68, no. 2 (2013): 157–74; here 160. 4. For a late example of the epistolary genre as a vehicle for satire, see David S. Wiesen, St. Jerome as a Satirist: A Study in Christian Latin Thought and Letters (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1964). 5. Dante wrote letters from his youth until his death. In Vita nova he mentioned that he wrote an epistle to the Florentine leaders (“Quomodo sedet sola civitas!”), after the death of Beatrice in 1290; Paget Jackson Toynbee, trans., Dantis Alagherii epistolae: The letters of Dante (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967), xiii. This letter is now lost, but due to the fact that it was written in Latin and sent to the Florentine rulers to mourn the death of Beatrice, it could have been a political letter. Jay Ruud observes that Dante likely also wrote letters in the vernacular, “If any of Dante’s personal letters to his wife, Gemma Donati, or his children survived his exile, they are long since lost,” cited from Jay Ruud, Critical Companion to Dante: A Literary Reference to his Life and Work (New York: Facts On File, 2008), 283. While scholars have mainly focused on his letters sent to political and religious leaders, it is also important to note that initially Dante’s epistles were written for private correspondence with his patrons, compatriots, and friends from his youth until his death.

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6. See in particular the historian Giovanni Villani who stated in his Cronica that Dante’s letters were written “in a lofty style, fortified with admirable precepts and authorities, and were greatly commended by men of wisdom and discernment.” Villani is cited from Toynbee, trans., Dantis Alagherii epistolae (see note 5), xvi; see also xv–xxvi. 7. Toynbee, trans., Dantis Alagherii epistolae (see note 5), xxvi–xxvii. This is particularly remarkable to note because no record of the original autograph copy of his Commedia has ever been mentioned or recorded by anyone, besides Boccaccio. Thanks to Leonardo Bruni, we now have evidence on Dante’s handwriting because it was described from one of his letters now lost. Bruni describes Dante’s handwriting as “a finished hand, making thin, long, and perfectly formed letters,” cited from James Robinson Smith, trans., “The Life of Dante by Lionardo Bruni Aretino (1369–1444),” in The Earliest Lives of Dante. Translated from the Italian of Giovanni Boccaccio and Lionardo Bruni Aretino (New York: Russell and Russel, 1968), 77–85; here 90. Regrettably, all these original letters mysteriously disappeared and today are nowhere to be found in either Florence or in Forlì. According to Carlo Troya, Dante’s original letters held in Forlì were burned by a nun of the Ordelaffi family in the 1550s “through fear of being compromised if they were found in her possession”; Carlo Troya is cited from Toynbee (see note 5), xxvii. His original letters, written in his own hand and sent to Florence, were initially preserved there, but probably suffered the same fate of his autograph copies held in Forlì. 8. For a good overview, see Martin Camargo, Ars dictaminis, Ars dictandi (Turnhout: Brepols, 1991); and James Jerome Murphy, Latin Rhetoric and Education in the Middle Ages and Renaissance (Aldershot, UK, and Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2005). 9. Cited from Giovanni Villani, Nuova Cronica, 10.136. Brunetto Latini and Guidotto da Bologna also mention the importance of including both biblical and literary sources in letters. Brunetto wrote in his rhetorical manual La rettorica (c. 1262), which is the first vernacular translation of Cicero’s De inventione, that “quelli che manda la sua lettera guernisce di parole ornate e piene di sentenzia e di fermi argomenti, sí come crede poter muovere l’animo di colui a non negare, e, s’elli avesse alcuna scusa, come la possa indebolire o instornare in tutto” (“he who sends the letter decorates it with ornate words full of meaning and strong arguments, such as he thinks will allow him to persuade the mind of the addressee not to refuse, or, if he had some excuse for refusing, to undermine that excuse or completely obliterate it,” 164–65). Cited from Brunetto Latini, “La Rettorica,” in La prosa del Duecento, vol. 1, Arti del dittare, epistole e prosa d’arte, ed. Cesare Segre and Mario Marti (Milan: Ricciardi, 1959), 131–70. Unless otherwise attributed, all English translations are mine. 10. All citations and page numbers from Dante’s Latin text of the epistles are taken from Dante Alighieri, Epistole, Ecloge, Questio de situ et forma aque et terre, ed. and trans. Manlio Pastore Stocchi (Padua and Roma: Antenore, 2012). Unless otherwise noted, the English translation of all Dante’s letters are cited from Dante Alighieri, Four Political Letters, trans. Claire E. Honess (London: Modern Humanities Research, 2007). 11. Anonymous of Bologna. The Principles of Letter-Writing (Rationes dictandi), trans. James J. Murphy, Three Medieval Rhetorical Arts (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1971), 5–25. 12. In Dante’s epistle 5, the name of the recipient is introduced before the sender, who is positioned at the end of the salutation alongside a positive greeting statement: “Universis et singulis Ytalie Regibus et Senatoribus alme Urbis nec non Ducibus Marchionibus Comitibus atque Populis, humilis ytalus Dantes Alagherii florentinus et exul inmeritus orat pacem.” (“To each and every one of the Kings of Italy, and to the Senators of the Holy City, and also to Italy’s Dukes, Marquises and Counts, and to her people, a humble Italian, Dante Alighieri, a Florentine undeservedly in exile, prays for peace” 1.1). 13. Anonymous of Bologna, The Principles of Letter-Writing (Rationes dictandi) (see note 11), 6. 14. Thomas of Capua is cited from Die Ars Dictandi des Thomas von Capua, ed. Emmy Heller (Heidelberg: Carl Winters Universitätsbuchhandlung, 1929), 17. To my knowledge only Stocchi noticed that Dante inverted the order of the sender and addressee in his epistle 6, and he cites Bene’s Candelabrum to explain why; see Stocchi, Epistole, Ecloge, Questio (see note 10), 43 n.1.

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15. Dante uses the term “exilium” (48) later in the letter, with a negative connotation against his addressees. The term “intrinsecis” was often paired with the opposing one “extrinsecis,” which in a political context identified exiles; see, for example, the 1305 notarial document from Arezzo in which the White Guelph exiles from Florence used the term “Blancis extrinsecis” to identified themselves; cited from Umberto Pasqui, Documenti per la storia della città di Arezzo nel medioevo, vol. 2 (Florence: R. Deputazione di Storia Patria, 1916), 544. Stocchi comments that the term “intrinsecis” was used simply to describe citizens living inside the city, cf. Stocchi, Epistole, Ecloge, Questio (see note 10), 43–44. However, scholars do not consider the fact that the term “intrinsecis” was often used within a political context to juxtapose it with “extrinsecis,” a term that often implied the negative connotation of outsiders and exiles. 16. This is confirmed also by Leonardo Bruni’s reading of this letter: “Cominciò a dir male di quelli che reggevano la terra appellandoli scellerati e cattivi” (“started to speak ill of those who were the rulers of the land by calling them wicked and evil”); Cited from Smith, trans., “The Life of Dante by Lionardo Bruni Aretino” (see note 7), 89. Generally, modern scholars agree with Bruni; see for example, Honess, Four Political Letters (see note 10), 59. 17. Dante, too, was appointed city councilor with the title of Savio (“wise man”) from 1296 to 1299; see Giorgio Petrocchi, “Biografia: Attività politica e letteraria,” in Enciclopedia Dantesca, vol. 6 (Rome: Istituto della Enciclopedia Italiana, 1978), 1–53; here 19. In 1300, when Dante was ambassador in San Gimignano, his title was nobleman: “nobilem virum Dantem de Allegheriis Anbaxiatorem Comunis Florentie,” cited from Archivio Storico di Firenze, Comune di San Gimignano, Cod. 213: Liber reformationem et consiliarorum Comunis Sancti Gemignanis scriptus per ser Tucium notarium, fol. 26r. 18. Throughout the letter, he often stresses their stupidity in stark contrast to their political epithet as “savi” (“wise”). For example, he uses terms such as “delirantes” (“delirious,” 46) or “amentes” (“foolish,” 44), labeling them thus. 19. As Brunetto Latini notes in La rettorica, Cicero established the six-part oratio that later became the standard format for the five-part letter employed during Dante’s time: “salutazione, esordio, narrazione, petizione e conclusione” (167). This five-part division was not so strictly enforced, because the alternative three-part division (which included “esordio,” “narrazione,” and “conclusion”) was also equally acceptable. This three-fold division was developed in the thirteenth century at the University of Bologna; see Murphy, Latin Rhetoric and Education (see note 8), 14–15. 20. All scholars note how this simile strongly evokes the famous invective of Purgatorio 6.76–77; see, for example, Honess, Four Political Letters (see note 10), 60. 21. Suzanne Reynolds, “Orazio satiro (Inferno IV, 89): Dante, the Roman Satirists, and the Medieval Theory of Satire,” The Italianist 15, Supplement 2 (1995): 128–44; here 133. 22. Ventura de Bergamo’s Brevis Doctrina Dictaminis (c. 1300) is cited from D. Thomson and J. J. Murphy, “Dictamen as a developed genre: the fourteenth-century ‘Brevis doctrina dictaminis’ of Ventura da Bergamo,” Studi medievali 23 (1982): 361–86. 23. Francesco Novati, Le epistole. Conferenza letta da Francesco Novati nella Sala di Dante in Orsanmichele (Florence: Sansoni, 1905), 14 24. Dante’s teacher, Brunetto Latini explicitly emphasizes that letters or canzones could be written for different purposes, such as for “pregando o domandando o comandando o minacciando o confrontando o consigliando” (“entreating, or requesting, or commanding, or threatening, or confronting, or advising”); cited from his La rettorica, 164. 25. Toynbee, trans., Dantis Alagherii epistolae (see note 5), 73–74. 26. Hugh Shankland, “Dante Aliger and Ulysses,” Italian Studies 32, no. 1 (1977): 21–40. 27. Recently John Freccero pointed out that the term “pennuti” could also refer to “penna,” that similarly to English “means both ‘feather’ and ‘pen.’ The ambiguity is often exploited in the Commedia, especially when the context involves both poetry and love,” cited from John Freccero, Dante’s Wake: Reading from Medieval to Modern in the Augustinian Tradition, ed. Danielle Callegari and Melissa Swain (New York: Fordham University Press, 2015), 118. It is possible that “pennuti” might also refer to poets. In his canzone “Tre donne intorno al cor mi son venute,” Dante makes another allusion to birds, pens, and poetry. Lastly, Dante associates the great poet Homer to an eagle (Inferno 4.96). This association also evokes Horace who

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similarly evokes the poet Pindar as the highest bird above all “pennuti”; see Steno Vazzana, “Orazio Stiro?” Rivista di cultura classica e medioevale 43, no. 1 (2001): 91–102; here 96. 28. Honess, Four Political Letters (see note 10), 64. 29. Justin Steinberg, Dante and the Limits of the Law (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 2013), 123. 30. For example, the 1311 Reformatio of Baldo D’Aguglione from the Libro del Chiodo that introduces the Florentine Black Guelph governors with the epithet: “duodecim sapientes probi viri” (“twelve Wise Good Men”); cited from Isidoro Del Lungo, Dell’esilio di Dante: Discorso e documenti (Florence: Le Monnier, 1881), 110. 31. For an in-depth analysis of the concepts of nobility and the socio-political divisions between magnati and popolani in Dante’s Rime, see Alfie’s contribution to this volume, “The Conundrum of Genre: Dante’s ‘Doglia mi reca.’” 32. Cited from the 1311 Reformatio of Baldo D’Aguglione from the Libro del Chiodo; see Del Lungo, Dell’esilio di Dante (see note 30), 111; italics mine. It is important to note that the Florentine notary clearly distinguishes the terms “populus” or population from “plebatus,” or common people of humble origin. 33. See Murphy, Latin Rhetoric and Education (see note 8), 14–15. “Riprensione” was the fifth part of the letter that Cicero includes as a separate part of his six-part of speech, before the conclusion (Brunetto Latini, La rettorica, 165). 34. Both citations are taken from Julia Bolton Holloway, Twice-Told Tales: Brunetto Latino and Dante Alighieri (New York: Peter Lang, 1993), 429 and 477. 35. For more detail on the subject, see Ernst Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies: A Study in Mediaeval Political Theology (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1957). 36. See Fulvio Delle Donne, “Le parole del potere: L’epistolario di Pier della Vigna,” in Pier delle Vigne in catene: da Borgo San Donnino alla Lunigiana medievale. Atti del Convegno Itinerante 28 maggio 2005–13 maggio 2006, ed. Graziano Tonelli (Sarzana: Grafiche Lunensi, 2006), 111–22; here 113–14. 37. Delle Donne, “Le parole del potere” (see note 36), 112. An excellent study that convincingly argues that Dante not only knew but also utilized in his writing specific passages from Pier della Vigna’s letter is Pietro Mazzamuto, “L’epistolario di Pier della Vigna e l’opera di Dante,” in Atti del convegno di studi su Dante e la Magna Curia (Palermo: Centro di studi filologici e linguistici siciliani, 1967), 201–25. 38. Alessandro Boccia, “Forme della creazione letteraria nell’epistolario di Pier della Vigna,” in Dall’Ars Dictaminis’ al preumanesimo? Per un profilo letterario del secolo XIII, ed. Fulvio Delle Donne and Francesco Santi (Florence: SISMEL Edizioni del Galluzzo, 2013), 83–100; here 93. 39. Fulvio Delle Donne, “Federico II, Pier della Vigna, la propaganda cancelleresca e i modelli retorici,” in L’Epistolario di Pier della Vigna, ed. Edoardo d’Angelo (Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino Editore, 2014), 51–76; here 83. 40. It should be noted that unlike Pier, Dante does not use the strategy of assigning interior dialogue or speeches to opponents. 41. Pier della Vigna’s Latin text is cited from L’epistolario di Pier della Vigna, ed. Edoardo D’Angelo (see note 39), 79–87. 42. This parallel between della Vigna’s Jerusalem and Dante’s Florence is more evident in the Purgatorio, see Purgatorio 6.149–51. 43. Stocchi, Epistole, Ecloge, Questio (see note 10), 56. The same term is also used by Dino Compagni, who addresses the Tuscan and Lombard opponents to Henry VII; see Toynbee trans., Dantis Alagherii epistolae (see note 5), 89 n 4. 44. Both citations are from Honess, “The Language(s) of Civic Invective in Dante” (see note 3), 165. 45. See, for example, the four repetitions of “hec” and “vere” at the beginning of the sentences. 46. Toynbee believes that “Dante probably paid homage to the Emperor on the occasion of his coronation with the iron crown at Milan on Jan. 6, 1311” (Dantis Alagherii epistolae [see note 5], 90 n. 7). The emperor was indeed very close in age to the Florentine poet. In April 1311 he was thirty-six, and Dante forty-five.

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47. For more information on the seriousness of this crime during Dante’s time, see Justin Steinberg, Dante and the Limits of the Law (see note 29), 47. 48. Reynolds, “Orazio satiro” (see note 21), 131. 49. Charles Sterrett Latham, A Translation of Dante's Eleven Letters, with Explanatory Notes and Historical Comments, ed. George R. Carpenter (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin and Co., 1892), 173. 50. The letter has been preserved in only two manuscripts, in which the salutation is unfortunately missing. Scholars have often mentioned that the heading “Cardinalibus Italicis Dantes de Florentia, etc” was added later and is not part of the original letter; Toynbee trans., Dantis Alagherii epistolae (see note 5), 127 n. 1. At the end of the letter it is clear that Dante addresses both cardinal factions, which are the intended addresses of the missive; see, for example, the apostrophe against Cardinals Orsini and Stefaneschi, representatives of each faction (10.22–25). 51. The Biblical citation and its translation comes from The Vulgate Bible, vol. 6, The New Testament, Douay-Rheims Translation, ed. Angela M. Kinney (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2013). 52. Juvenal’s Latin and English translations are cited from David H. J. Larmour, The Arena of Satire, Juvenal's Search for Rome (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 2016), 133. 53. Reynolds, “Orazio satiro” (see note 21), 131. 54. Ben Parsons, “‘A Riotous Spray of Words’: Rethinking the Medieval Theory of Satire,” Exemplaria 21, no. 2 (2009): 105–28; here 110. 55. Ambrogio Camozzi Pistoja, “Il quarto trattato del Convivio. O della satira,” Le Tre Corone: Rivista internazionale di studi su Dante, Petrarca, Boccaccio 1 (2104): 27–53; here 35. 56. “Movere” is indeed the third and final stage of rhetoric speech, which comprises of “docere, delectare, et movere.” 57. Pasqui, Documenti per la storia della città di Arezzo (see note 15), 522–23. 58. James Robinson Smith, “The Life of Dante by Lionardo Bruni Aretino” (see note 7), 89. 59. James Robinson Smith, “The Life of Dante by Lionardo Bruni Aretino” (see note 7), 89. 60. Del Lungo, Dell’esilio di Dante (see note 30), 111, 138. 61. Del Lungo, Dell’esilio di Dante (see note 30), 148. 62. Carlo Ciucciovino, La cronaca del Trecento italiano: Giorno per giorno (Rome: Univers-Italia, 2007), 323. 63. Catherine Schlegel, Satire and the Threat of Speech: Horace’s Satires, Book 1 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2005), 131–32.

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Coda: The American Legacy of Dante Satiro

Chapter Nine

Hell, yes! Dante in Contemporary American Satire Arielle Saiber

In late December of 2013 The New York Times Magazine ran a compare-andcontrast piece of two Dantes: the medieval poet and New York City’s mayorelect’s son, Dante de Blasio. 1 The winner, according to author Eric Spitznagel, was de Blasio. Apparently, his “campaign ad for Dad” was a more defining work than the poet’s Commedia; and “enduring a long commute to high school” was a far worse geographical challenge than being exiled for life from your home. Spitznagel’s sharp-handed satire both dressed down New York City centrism and twenty-first-century media hype, but it also winked at New Yorkers—or at least at readers of the New York Times who know who the medieval poet was. And if master satirist Jon Stewart, formerly of the New York–based Daily Show, tipped his hat to Dante Alighieri by placing a sign above his studio that read “Abandon News, All Ye Who Enter Here,” there must be something to this NY humor and Dante connection. Much more than readers in centuries past, twentieth- and twenty-firstcentury Americans (and not just New Yorkers) have utilized Dante and his works—predominantly the Commedia and particularly the Inferno—with notable abandon for humor and satire: puns, political satire, social satire, you name it. A brief glance at the website Dante Today (fig. 9.1) confirms this. Dante Today is a curated, crowd-sourced repository for “citings” and “sightings” of Dante and his works in contemporary culture that I built in 2006 and have co-curated since 2012 with Elizabeth Coggeshall. This site currently hosts nearly a thousand sightings that have come in from all over the world, but primarily from the United States, given how Dante Today has gained recognition primarily through word of mouth in the United States. 171

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Figure 9.1. Dante Today homepage, January 2017. Online.

Every “sighting” on the site is given a number of tags, and what the tag word-cloud (fig. 9.2) reveals is that the most common tags on the site are Inferno, Humor, Italy, Journalism, Hell, and New York. A surprising number of the humor-centered sightings and citings on the site are, it turns out, from New York publications, performances, locales, and artists. While this may be a result of a robust group of New York City Dante enthusiasts submitting sightings to the site, it may also say something about New Yorkers’ interests, level of education, connections to Italy, or unique strain of humor. But more than just New Yorkers, Americans in general these days are penning countless re-imaginings of Dante’s nine circles of punishment, reworked to accommodate new breeds of horrid individuals, such as those who don’t like cats, 2 or hipsters who pretend they bought their clothes at a vintage store but didn’t. 3 I am not quite sure, however, what is being implied in a New Yorker cartoon, not shown here, that depicts devils operating heavy machinery to dig a very low circle of Hell. The new area sports a sign that reads, “Coming Soon: Trump Circle.” Is Donald Trump investing in a new real estate venture, knowing that Hell is an up-and-coming “hot spot,” or is Hell undergoing a renovation to accommodate, at some point, Donald Trump? 4 In any case, contemporary Americans certainly seem to enjoy following in Dante’s footsteps by putting people in circles, as Mrjorgan on the comic website Someecards points out with the quip, “Do you who else put his friends in circles? Dante.” 5 There are all sorts of new American concepts of Hell: Academic Hell where, for example, the circle of heresy shows graduate students gasping at

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Figure 9.2. Dante Today, January 2017. Online.

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the thought, “What if our advisor is wrong?”; 6 a wine-maker’s Hell in which the Inferno is rewritten to align with the enotechnic philosophies of the owner of Bonny Doon Vineyard, Randall Grahm 7; and as a postcard with a happy-looking skier boasts, Sochi is so cold, it beats out Dante’s Ninth Circle as the location for the 2014 Winter Olympics. 8 Even Wikipedia’s official Inferno page was edited (albeit only briefly) to reflect Trump’s calling Brussels a “Hellhole,” replacing the circle of “Greed and Prodigality” with said European city. 9 But some sins, Americans think (and not just Americans, see Dante Today), are worth celebrating, such as our helplessness in the face of extreme deliciousness. An enticing example of such gluttony is the now defunct Boston bakery “Canto 6,” where the bakers proudly claimed that “the pastries contain double the sugar and double the butter of ordinary pastries.” 10 The British, however, one up us here, turning another sin—that of lust— on its head by morphing Paolo and Francesca into teddy bears for children. 11 At first glance, the satire here seems to be aimed at consumerism, but the company that sells the bears writes, “[t]hey bring a real Italian flavour and excitement into school and really adore being with the children.” Maybe this reveals more about how the Brits see Italians as “exciting,” and assume parents and grade-school teachers who know the Dante reference won’t be horrified. But back to America. There are many obvious and not-so-obvious reasons as to why Dante and his Commedia have endured through the centuries and around the world. Yet few are the scholars who have offered hypotheses as to why the Commedia—and predominately the Inferno—are so often used as vehicles for comedy and satire in contemporary America. 12 By looking at the question, “why does Dante endure?” we shall now dig into the soil in which the seeds of humor and satire grow. Out of the many that sprout there, I will highlight eight, to keep this “coda,” or should I say branch, brief. 1: “OUR-NESS” Dante includes us in his world-building. He addresses us, his readers, throughout the Commedia, asking for our trust, patience, and understanding. He writes in the vernacular and includes details that people of his time would have recognized and appreciated. He points out how much we all have in common. He speaks locally and acts globally. He called himself “Florentine by birth, but not by customs” (Epistle 13), and has been called “universal” by many great poets and thinkers. Russian poet and essayist Osip Mandelstam put it well when he said, “It is unthinkable to read the cantos of Dante without aiming them in the direction of the present day. They were made for that. They are missiles for capturing the future.” 13 Readers from all places

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and times, and certainly current Americans, see in our world, country, cities, and workplaces as much strife as that which Dante found in medieval Florence. He is always our Dante, and he speaks to our life. Although a white, male, medieval Catholic, Dante has spoken to Americans of nearly every age, religion, race, class, gender, and sexual orientation. Dennis Looney’s study on the notable impact Dante has had on African American culture since the nineteenth century is an excellent example of this. 14 Another is the 2006 painting by Taiwanese-Chinese artists Dai Dudu, Li Tiezi, and Zhang An, Discussing the Divine Comedy with Dante, which shows one hundred people from the past and present who, I would propose, the artists believe have been in conversation, or should have been in conversation, with Dante and his Commedia. In the painting’s upper right corner, Dante stands with his poem in hand above the three artists who surround him, towering above the scores of famous and infamous people, as well as many world landmarks, below. Even Dolly the cloned sheep, a few internet “lol” cats, and a television set showing an atomic explosion are included. Some portraits are mash-ups of famous paintings, a person’s attributes, or more than one person. The piece was posted online in 2006 and although it has circulated the web widely, there is close to no information about it, very little discussion by the artists, and no indication as to where the original is located (the image can be seen at https://research.bowdoin.edu/dante-today/dantelinks/). A café-bar in Plymouth, England, called The Caffeine Club has the whole painting on one of its walls, but I have yet to confirm if it is the original, and how the painting ended up there. While I would not call this painting a satire, nor is it by American artists, nor was it made in America, it clearly shows how Dante speaks—or could speak—to all of us, in all our differences. It is confusing, surprising, and even funny to see Putin sitting between Mike Tyson and a partially hidden Lewis Carroll (Charles Dodgson). The painting both highlights and humbles these icons, en masse, discussing the Commedia with the vulgo gratissimus auctor. 2: THE JOURNEY TO SELF-DISCOVERY, AND/OR PEACE, HAPPINESS, SUCCESS, ETC. As we know, Dante was big in the Middle Ages, and then fell out of favor for a few centuries. It was the German Romantics and English Victorians who widely revived him, raving about his language, literary style, and the Inferno’s most anguished or terrifying passages. Nineteenth-century Italy in its move toward unification adopted him as a symbol of their newly conceived nation, many seeing Dante as a revolutionary who was a supreme example of an Italian devoted to the dignity of his/their land. 15 But it was America, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s 1867 translation of the Commedia—the first

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complete translation by an American—that brought Dante to be loved, really loved, again by the masses. 16 We should recall that the Dante Society of America was founded in 1881 in Boston, Massachusetts, by Longfellow and a number of his colleagues, a full eight years before the founding of Italy’s Società Dantesca. Longfellow’s translation was a huge success, and it would remain the top translation for years to come, even as more translations came forth. By late twentieth-century America, Dante had come to emblematize many things, but one of the most prevalent being the iconic example of the journey to self-discovery, and/or peace, happiness, success, etc. Contemporary Americans choose Dante time and again as a guide, helping us out of madness, out of the dark wood, to achieve inner wisdom, and save our lives, as many recent memoirs and self-help books have shown. 17 And because his voice is from so far away in time and geography, we feel licensed to use him, and his text, as a “naked icon,” re-moldable to whatever we want him to be and say. Here is where the humor sprouts. Dante’s Commedia has been used as an example par excellence of the journey, any journey, but particularly the hellish ones that few have the courage to take, as can be seen in comic strip by Tom Gauld in which Virgil asks many travelers if they would like to tour Hell; all say no save one, Dante. 18 3: AN EYE FOR AN EYE Yet even with a wise guide, even with all our best intentions to do and think only good, many of us—like Dante—have, at times, desired some sort of revenge on, or “karmic” pay-back allotted to, a person who has hurt us or others about whom we care. Enter the lovely law of lex talionis, Dante’s nuanced concept of contrapasso, and the human impulse to mete out justice, or at least see it served. Watching an unsavory character on television get his or her just deserts (one reading Dante’s Inferno, no less, as Mad Men protagonist Don Draper does on the beach in Season 6, episode 1 19) can offer us a catharsis, a satisfying receptacle for our own projected desire for revenge and settling a score. But many of us also have experienced, or at least recognized, being on the other side of the “eye for an eye” equation. America is the target of a great deal of retribution these days: retribution from those—outside and inside our borders—who believe we should be punished and even exterminated for our beliefs, for how some of us choose to live, and for how our country governs. These “eyes” are manifesting as bombings and shooting sprees, consequences of hate and other emotions. As such, especially when we feel helpless in the face of these “eyes,” satire can offer catharsis that turns our sight to light-hearted, spoofy evils-and-punishments. It is a lot easier to think of torment in terms of a circle being allocated to women’s shoes, as cartoonist

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Glen Le Lievre did for the New Yorker in 2007. 20 One of satire’s great functions is, of course, to help us look at an issue or issues squarely in the eyes. And if you happen to be from, or live in, Los Angeles, you might suddenly find yourself wanting to dub your city (of angels!) “modern-day hell.” A notable number of L.A. artists, writers, and humorists have done so, such as the artist and illustrator Sandow Birk (who put numerous references to L.A. in his depiction of Hell); Rob Basilian and Jim Wheelock’s 2015 graphic novel adaptation of Inferno titled Inferno: Los Angeles; 21 Wallace Zane’s 2014 novel Taxi Inferno, where the main character, a taxi driver, is guided through L.A. by Charles Bukowski; 22 the comic book Mayhem, 23 which is set in L.A. with a vigilante protagonist named Dante, but who goes by “Mayhem”; and an Onion spoof about Dante and Virgil scheduled to tour L.A. 24 4: THE VISUAL AND PERFORMATIVE NATURE OF THE COMMEDIA. Watching / seeing / hearing torment from the safe distance of art, as millennia of human history have shown, can help us make sense of life’s suffering. Dante’s Inferno, with its incredible graphic detail, gripping story-telling, and pluralism of styles, has been called one of the most visual and “producerly” 25 texts ever written. Late twentieth- and early twentieth-century America has a plethora of adaptations of Inferno in every medium you can imagine; and while a majority of works focus only on Inferno, there are those that celebrate human and divine love, such as the exquisite jewelry of Donna Distefano. 26 Often the adaptation or illustration is personal paired with socio-political critique, as we can see in the graphic novel Jimbo’s Inferno and the play Dawn’s Inferno. 27 At other times, adaptions and illustrations are steeped in unequivocally dark emotions, like the many albums in the metal genre (e.g., Iced Earth, Burnt Offerings [1995]; The Mass, City of Dis [2005]; Sepultura, Dante XXI [2006]; Septicflesh, “Dante’s Inferno” on Codex Omega [2017]) that have been inspired by the Inferno. But there are also quite a number of examples where the imagery and wording turns on satire and humor, such as the Victorian toy theater film Dante’s Inferno and Seymour Chwast’s Dante’s Divine Comedy graphic retelling. 5: THE ALLURE OF THE MIDDLE AGES Just as the Inferno is full of graphic, unforgettable imagery, the Middle Ages as a whole has become a sort of meme in contemporary America. An excellent example (besides Game of Thrones) is the horrific videogame by Electronic Arts, Dante’s Inferno, in which Dante is a medieval crusader (with a

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cross sewn onto his chest, no less!) on a quest to save Beatrice, who has been killed by Satan and dragged to Hell. Dan Brown’s thriller, Inferno, on the other hand, is set primarily in modern-day Florence, but delights in fetishizing medieval objects, art, and locations. 28 Scholars have been considering in recent years what it is about the Middle Ages that intrigues contemporary America. On the one hand, this period seems to represent, in many American minds, violence, chaos, dirt, crudeness, repression, intolerance, religious furor, survival of the fittest, and brute force; on the other hand, courtly love and chivalry, kings and queens, valiant knights pledged to holy crusades and damsels in distress, the magic of Merlin, the fair rule of Arthur, the outlaw heroism of Robin Hood. While fantasy novels often adopt the latter with a smattering of the former, today’s common parlance makes more use of the violent associations, “getting medieval,” 29 that is, unleashing your best, bawdy, vicious berzerkery. Are we becoming medieval, in an America filled with guns, racism, survivalist rhetoric, fear-mongering, and an ever-smaller governing class? 6: THE APPEAL OF NEAT AND TIDY DATA PRESENTATION Well, here is something that actually contradicts many stereotypes of the Middle Ages (although those who know, know organized systems are a hallmark of medieval philosophy): Dante’s neat and tidy organizational structure of the Commedia. With our daily media information overload, our multi-multi-tasking to stay afloat, and the avalanche of “newspeak” false truths and alternate facts, seeing a system so very clear cut and well-ordered is rather satisfying. Who doesn’t feel grateful for snapshot-graphics and charts that quickly convey important information? In Dante’s world we know where, hypothetically, we would stand. And how useful it is to recall that in Inferno’s hierarchy of sins, the greater the responsibility, learning, and reach a person has, the more severely he or she is punished for their wrongdoing. On a side note, John F. Kennedy has been quoted as saying that “the hottest places in Hell are reserved for those who in time of moral crisis preserve their neutrality.” 30 If he thought he was accurately citing Dante he was mistaken. But maybe he wasn’t exactly wrong about the sentiment, as in some ways the neutrals—wanted neither by God nor Satan in their realms—can be construed as more despicable than the cold-blooded traitors. Related to the allure of a tidy structure is the appeal, for many, of a simple moral landscape. The complexities of our world these days has brought some of us further away from thinking in terms of binaries such as good and evil, male and female, gay and straight, and so on. I think most would agree that it is a positive move to break down simplistic dualisms or polarities and live with a greater awareness of difference and fluidity. And yet we know how

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many people are nostalgic for what they imagine to be a past in which it was the simple either-or, us or them, good or evil. While not everyone is a fan of tidy organization and simple moral landscapes, most of us are naturally inclined to categorize, taxonomize, and list. How many stars did that book receive on Amazon? Are you a Mac or PC person? And who hasn’t at least once been seduced by the sensational soundbite click-bait listicles, such as “Eight things you should never say when buying a house in a seller’s market!” The New Yorker points out this list-omania by creating a list of our favorite lists, with “Dante’s nine circles of Hell” coming in at number eighty-seven, between “Schindler’s list” and the “Kelley Blue Book,” 31 a mere fourteen steps away from the “best of all lists,” the Periodic Table. 7: THE AUTHORITY OF A CANONICAL TEXT It feels good to organize things, to recognize things, to feel in control. Sometimes knowing something that everyone knows feels great, like you’re in-theknow. Sometimes, knowing something that few people know feels great, like you have a special grasp of something rarefied and arcane, something with true gravitas. When citing someone with auctoritas, you become, to some degree, someone with auctoritas. So if actress Rachel McAdams wears a gown embroidered with verses from the Commedia to the Met Gala, does she have auctoritas, or does the fashion designer Valentino, who designed the dress, claim that honor? 32 And if no one at the Gala recognizes the canonical verses, are either of them transmitting authority? Similarly, what group of academics trying to make a case for a new branch of humanistic study wouldn’t want an authority such as Dante, even if grumpy-looking, gracing the cover of an edited volume of essays about the digital humanities? It is not a surprise, then, that a notable number of early films made in Italy and the United States were based on Dante’s Commedia, in part because of its visual and “producerly” nature, but in part to lend a stamp of auctoritas to the emerging medium. 33 It also seems, in fact, that what Dante said about what God said and did when creating Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven continues to have street cred. As the smart and cheeky website TV Tropes makes clear, the “Word of Dante” is a thing. 34 While Dante wasn’t quite as in-the-know about God’s doings as, say, Saint Paul, many people take his word for what the landscape of the afterlife looks like. The sentence, “Luke, I am your father” is an example of “Word of Dante.” This was never said by Darth Vader in The Empire Strikes Back. George Lucas—a.k.a. God—didn’t script it, nor did any of his close connections report that he intended to do so; rather, some fan or fans started saying it and we all liked it and kept using it. The fact is,

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Vader only said, albeit facing Luke in light-saber duel medias res, “I am your father.” The word of Dante has legs, and the phrase “Dante’s Inferno” has become a meme in this last century in the United States, often linked to humor and satire. In a sense, what is happening is that when a canonical text/author (something highbrow) is juxtaposed to or blended with something contemporary or banal, it can be funny, or cringe-worthy, or both. “Lowbrow” pop culture, as Perry Meisel has argued in his book The Myth of Popular Culture From Dante to Dylan, can be dialectical (pace Adorno) with the “highbrow” and the past. 35 When this high-low conversation happens, we are jarred into revisiting our thinking about categories and time, and in that moment of confusion, we laugh. Seeing a great poet made into a friendly muppet, a miniature doll, or an action figure (figs. 9.3 and 9.4), for example, is a case in point. Often, the “Dante’s Inferno” meme is used as a pun. A few good ones are Dan•T’s Inferno hot sauce, a cartoon of a plate of flaming spaghetti and meatballs titled “Al Dante,” 36 and cinnamon-flavored candies named “Dante’s Inferno Balls.” 37 American pop music’s most renowned inferno— The Trammps’ 1976 hit “Disco Inferno”—was not, it seems, playing off that meme. With its catchy “burn, baby, burn” refrain, the song was inspired by the 1974 disaster film The Towering Inferno, 38 which was based on the chilling 1974 novel The Glass Inferno, 39 whose author may or may not have had Dante in mind. Interestingly, the “burn, baby, burn” verse resurfaced recently as a motivational soundtrack to Bernie Sanders’s 2016 campaign for the Democratic presidential nomination, albeit it was not in any evident way linked to Dante. Back in 1910, however, Americans did feel the “Bern” in the Dantean sense of the word. The microscopic, middle-of-nowhere town of Dante, South Dakota, is said to have received its name when its first settler was asked by railroad officials what he wanted this place to be called. The settler, and owner of the general store, said, “You can call it Dante’s Inferno for all I care.” 40 There’s a double-pronged self-loathing satire here, I think. The settler may have thought of where he lived as both hellish and as a place so small and insignificant that even if you gave it a big, fancy name it still wouldn’t be any place of note. Even just using Dante’s name without “Inferno” following conveys a lot of hotness, as many restaurants with spicy food or clubs that like to quote from Neil Young about burning out reveal (see, for example, Dante’s nightclub on 3rd and Burnside in Portland, Oregon). Once again, however, the Brits go a tad further with their satire, using Dante as a metonymy for both fire and fire protection in their Dante Group’s fire systems.

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Figure 9.3.

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Dante muppet/puppet by Evelinka; see www.etsy.com.

8: IT’S A COMEDY In his thirteenth epistle, if we take that to be his, Dante explained that he called his Commedia a “commedia” because 1) it has a happy ending; and 2) it was meant to be accessible to all. He reminded his noble patron that the word “comedy” comes from the Greek komos meaning village, and oda meaning song. Basically, his was saying his Commedia was a folk song— something American Studies scholars would consider a branch of pop culture. And like Orazio satiro, Dante believed that comedy could, at times, exalt her voice as tragedy does. As this volume of essays, Dante satiro, has shown, Dante employed satire in parts of the Commedia—particularly in Inferno, but even in verses toward

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Figure 9.4.

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Dante muppet/puppet by Evelinka; see www.etsy.com.

the end of Paradiso and in a significant amount of his other writings—with gusto and with an awareness of its potential as a hybrid genre. Dante’s “shameful meter” (“ontoso metro”), at times in polemic with classical and contemporary medieval beliefs about the typology and purpose of satire, was sometimes salty and sometimes honey-sweetened, but nearly always penned with a moral aim: not merely to ridicule and/or condemn, but to instruct and help. In thinking about why Dante has endured, as we have in this coda, and recalling Dante’s own relationship to satire’s goals, we can begin to understand why he, and his Inferno, have so often been used for satire. The Com-

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Figure 9.5. Dante muppet/puppet by Evelinka; see www.etsy.com.

media, for one, lends itself to high and low discourse. It is in dialogue with its present, past, and future. And like much satire, its deeper messages are not funny. Not funny at all. This “readerly”/closed and “writerly”/open text, with its accessible and illustrious vernacular, relatable themes, “producerlyness,”

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unforgettable stories, happy ending, and complex literary mode for producing multiple meanings, is a full medley of fruits, a true lanx satura. And yet, the Commedia itself is not “a satire,” but rather the tree that allows the satire to branch out through centuries and distant geographies. Repurposing Charles Singleton’s famous statement that “The fiction of the Commedia is that it is not a fiction,” 41 I would say that the comedy of the Commedia is that the Commedia is not “comedy,” yet in our appropriations of the Commedia, and Dante’s other works, we can nourish what calls for the comic and satire in our lives and world. NOTES 1. Eric Spitznagel, “Compare and Contrast: Dante Alighieri vs. Dante de Blasio,” New York Times, December 22, 2013. 2. Adam Ellis, “23 Circles of Hell That Should Exist for the Modern Age.” 3. Adrian vom Baur, “Hipsters in Hell (29).” 4. Paul Noth, “Coming soon.” 5. See Mrjorgan, Someecards, July 20, 2011. Online. 6. Jorge Cham, “Academic Hell”: www.phdcomics.com (last accessed on May 16, 2019) 7. Randall Grahm published a limited number of paper copies of Da Vino Commedia: The Vinferno. The whole text can now be found in Randall Grahm’s Been Doon So Long: A Randlla Rahm Vinthology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2012), 129–88. 8. See Jezabellrae, Someecards, February 7, 2014. Online. 9. Tweeted by Berlaymonster, January 27, 2016. 10. Personal communication to the author, August 2007. Canto 6 Bakery was at 3345 Washington St., Jamaica Plain, Boston, MA 02130. 11. For the “Paolo and Francesca Bears,” see the language teaching website Golden Daffodils: http://www.goldendaffodils.co.uk/paolo_francesca.php (last accessed on May 16, 2019). 12. A few such studies that briefly treat the use of Dante for satire in contemporary culture are Amilcare Iannucci, “Dante, Television, and Education,” Quaderni d’italianistica 10, nos. 1–2 (1989): 1–33; Nancy Vickers, “Dante in the Video Decade,” in Dante Now: Current Trends in Dante Studies, ed. Theodore Cachey (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995), 263–76; Peter Hawkins and Rachel Jacoff, “Still Here: Dante after Modernism,” in Dante for the New Millennium, ed., Teodolinda Barolini and H. Wayne Storey (New York: Fordham University Press, 2003), 451–64; essays in James Miller, ed., Dante and the Unorthodox: The Aesthetics of Transgression (Waterloo, Ont.: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 2005); Michael Meister’s introduction to Sandow Birk and Marcus Sanders adaptation of the Dante’s Paradiso (San Francisco, CA: Chronicle Books, 2005), xxv–xxi; Peter Hawkins, Dante: A Brief History (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006); Alberto Casadei, “Dante nel ventesimo secolo (e oggi),” L’Alighieri 35 (2010): 45–74; Deborah Parker and Mark Parker, Inferno Revealed: From Dante to Dan Brown (New York, NY: Palgrave MacMillan, 2013); Kristina Olson, “Dante’s Urban American Vernacular: Sandow Birk’s Divine Comedy,” Dante Studies 131 (2103): 142–69; and Nick Havely, Dante’s British Public: Readers and Texts, from the Fourteenth Century to the Present (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2014). 13. Osip Mandelstam, The Selected Poems of Osip Mandelstam, trans. Clarence Brown and W. S. Merwin (New York: New York Review of Books, 1973), 129. 14. Dennis Looney, Freedom Readers: The African American Reception of Dante Alighieri and the Divine Comedy (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2011). 15. On this topic, see Charles T. Davis, “Dante and Italian Nationalism,” in A Dante Symposium in Commemoration of the 700th Anniversary of the Poet’s Birth (1265–1965), ed., William De Sua and Gino Rizzo (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1965), 199–213; Andrea Ciccarelli, “Dante and the Culture of Risorgimento: Literary, Political or

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Ideological Icon?” in Making and Remaking Italy: The Cultivation of National Identity around the Risorgimento, ed., Albert Russell Ascoli and Krystyna Von Henneberg (Oxford, UK: Berg Press, 2001), 77–102; and Guy Raffa, “Bones of Contention: Ravenna’s and Florence’s Claims to Dante’s Remains,” Italica 92, no. 3 (2015): 565–81. 16. On Dante and Longfellow, see the essays in the special issue of Dante Studies edited by Arielle Saiber and Giuseppe Mazzotta, 128 (2010). See also Cosetta Gaudenzi, “Dante’s Introduction to the United States as Investigated in Matthew Pearl’s The Dante Club,” Italian Culture 26 (2008): 85–103. 17. See, for example, Daniel Dorman, Dante’s Cure: A Journey Out of Madness (New York: Other Press, 2003); Richard Schaub and Bonney Gulino Schaub and Richard Shaub PhD, Dante’s Path: A Practical Approach to Achieving Inner Wisdom (New York: Gotham, 2003); Joseph Luzzi, In a Dark Wood: What Dante Taught Me About Grief, Healing, and the Mysteries of Love (New York: Harper Wave, 2015); Rod Dreher, How Dante Can Save Your Life: The Life-Changing Wisdom of History’s Greatest Poem (New York: Regan Arts, 2015). 18. See Tom Gauld, The Curious Brain. Online. 19. Mad Men, Season Six, Episode 1, April 2013. 20. Glen Le Lievre, “Tenth Circle, Ladies Shoes.” 21. Rob Bassilian and Jim Wheelock, Inferno: Los Angeles (Los Angeles: Neoclassics Press, 2013). 22. Wallace Zane, Taxi Inferno ([n.p.]: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2014). 23. Tyrese Gibson, Mike Le, William Wilson, and Tone Rodriguez, Mayhem (Portland: Image Comics, 2009). 24. The Onion, “Dante, Virgil to Tour L.A,” June 10, 1998. 25. Amicare Iannucci follows on John Fiske’s notion of the “producerly text” in Dante, Cinema, and Television (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2004), 4. 26. See Donna Distefano’s “Elixir of Love Ring” and “The Love That Moves the Sun and the Other Stars” rings, for example. 27. Gary Panter, Jimbo’s Inferno (Seattle: Fantagraphics, 2006); Ruth Virkus and Brenna Jones (writers) and Paul von Stoetzel (director), Dawn’s Inferno: A Divine Comedy ([n.p.], 2009). 28. Dan Brown, Inferno (New York: Doubleday, 2013). 29. Umberto Eco wrote quite a bit about the “meaning” of the Middle Ages to modern society, but the concept of “getting medieval” to imply crazy, violent behavior was famously (if not first) used in the 1994 Quentin Tarantino film, Pulp Fiction. There have been many studies since then that have discussed the reasons behind contemporary culture characterization of the Middle Ages as such. See, for example, Kathleen Biddick, The Shock of Medievalism (Durham: Duke University Press, 1998); Carolyn Dinshaw, Getting Medieval: Sexualities and Communities, Pre- and Postmodern (Durham: Duke University Press, 1999); Claire Simmons, ed., Medievalism and the Quest for the “Real” Middle Ages (London, and Portland, OR: Cass, 2001); Angela Weisl, The Persistence of Medievalism: Narrative Adventures in Contemporary Culture (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2003); David Marshall, ed., Mass Market Medieval: Essays on the Middle Ages in Popular Culture (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2007); Bruce Holsinger, Neomedievalism, Neoconservatism, and the War on Terror (Chicago: Prickly Paradigm Press, 2007); Karl Fugelso, ed., Studies in Medievalism XVII–XX: Defining Medievalism(s); Laurie Fink and Martin Shichtman, Cinematic Illusions: The Middle Ages on Film (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 2010); Gail Ashton and Daniel T. Kline, eds., Medieval Afterlives in Popular Culture (New York: Palgrave, 2012); and Tison Pugh and Jane Weisel, Medievalisms: Making the Past in the Present (London: Routledge, 2013). 30. See “John F. Kennedy’s Favorite Quotations: Dante’s Inferno,” at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum website: http://www.jfklibrary.org/Research/Research-Aids/ Ready-Reference/JFK-Fast-Facts/Dante.aspx (last accessed on May 16, 2019). 31. Gary Belsky, “The Hundred Best Lists of All Times.” 32. Rachel McAdams wore a dress by Valentino with verses from the Commedia to the Met Gala, in New York, 2016.

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33. There are many excellent studies of Dante’s works and early cinema. See, for example, Iannucci, ed., Dante, Cinema, and Television (Toronto, Buffalo, and London: University of Toronto Press, 2004); Peter Hawkins, Dante: A Brief History (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2006); Dennis Looney, Freedom Readers; and Antonella Braida and Luisa Calè, eds., Dante on View: The Reception of Dante in the Visual and Performing Arts (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008). 34. “Word of Dante,” TV Tropes. 35. Perry Meisel, The Myth of Popular Culture from Dante to Dylan (Chichester, UK, and Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010). 36. See the cartoon by Ariel Molvig, The New Yorker, December 3, 2012. 37. Currently sold at Get Pranks. 38. Towering Inferno, dir. Irwin Allen and John Guillermin (Twentieth Century Fox, 1974). 39. Thomas N. Scortia and Frank M. Robinson, The Glass Inferno (New York: Doubleday, 1974). 40. Dante, South Dakota, is in Charles Mix County. According to Wikipedia, the population was 86 in 2016. 41. Charles S. Singleton, “The Irreducible Dove,” Comparative Literature 9, no. 2 (1957): 129–35; here 129.

Appendix

I. TEXT OF “DOGLIA MI RECA” Doglia mi reca nello core ardire a voler ch’è di veritate amico: però, donne, s’io dico parole quasi contra tutta gente non vi maravigliate, ma conoscete il vil vostro desire; ché la biltà ch’Amor in voi consente a vertù solamente formata fu dal suo decreto antico contra ’l qual voi fallate. I’ dico a voi che siete innamorate che se vertute a noi fu data, e biltà a voi, e a costor di due poter un fare, voi non dovreste amare, ma coprir quanto di biltà v’è dato, poi che non c’è vertù, ch’era suo segno. Lasso! a che dicer vegno? Dico che bel disdegno sarebbe in donna, di ragion laudato, parti biltà da sé per suo commiato. Omo da sé vertù fatt’ha lontana: omo no, mala bestia ch’om somiglia. O Deo, qual maraviglia voler cadere in servo di signore 187

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o ver di vita in morte! Vertute, al suo fattor sempre sottana, lui obedisce, lui acquista onore, donne, tanto ch’Amore la segna d’eccellente sua famiglia nella beata corte; lietamente esce delle belle porte della sua donna e torna, lieta va e soggiorna, lietamente ovra suo gran vassallaggio; per lor corto vïaggio conserva, adorna, accresce ciò che trova; Morte repugna sì, che lei non cura. O cara ancella e pura, colt’ha’ nel ciel misura: tu sola fai signore, e questo prova che tu sè possession che sempre giova. Servo non di signor, ma di vil servo Si fa chi da cotal serva si scosta. Vedete quanto costa, Se ragionate l’uno e l’altro danno, a chi da lei si svia: questo servo signor tant’è protervo, che gli occhi ch’alla mente lume fanno chiusi per lui si stanno, sì che gir ne conviene a colui posta ch’adocchia pur follia. Ma perché lo mio dire util vi sia, discenderò del tutto in parte ed in construtto più lieve, perché men grave s’intenda: ché rado sotto benda parola oscura giugne ad intelletto; per che parlar con voi si vuole Aperto. Ma questo vo’ per metro, per voi, non per me certo: ch’abbiate a vil ciascuno e a sospetto, ché simiglianza fa nascer diletto. Chi serv’, è come quel che è seguace ratto a signore, e non sa dove vada per dolorosa strada, come l’avaro seguitando avere ch’a tutti segnoreggia.

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Corre l’avaro, ma più fugge pace: oh mente cieca, che non può vedere lo suo folle volere che ’l numero, ch’ognora a passar bada, che ’nfinito vaneggia. Ecco giunta colei che ne pareggia: dimmi, che hai tu fatto, cieco avaro disfatto? Rispondimi, se puoi altro che “nulla”. Maladetta tua culla che lusingò cotanti sonni invano! e maladetto il tuo perduto pane, che non si perde al cane! ché da sera e da mane hai raunato e stretto ad ambo mano ciò che sì tosto ti si fa lontano. Come con dismisura si rauna così con dismisura si ristrigne; e questo è quel che pigne molti in servaggio, e s’alcun si difende, non è sanza gran briga. Morte, che fai? che fai, buona Fortuna? Ché non solvete quel che non si spende? Se ‘l fate, a cui si rende? Non so, poscia che tal cerchio ne cigne che di lassù ne riga: colpa della ragione che no.l gastiga. Se vuol dire: ‘I’ son presa,’ ahi con’ poca difesa mostra signore a cui servo sormonta! Qui si radoppia l’onta, se ben si guarda là dov’io addito: falsi animali, a voi ed altrui crudi che vedete ir nudi per colli e per paludi uomini inanzi a cui vizio è fuggito, e voi tenete vil fango vestito. Fassi dinanzi dall’avaro volto Vertù, che suoi nemici a pace invita, con matera pulita per allettarlo a sé, ma poco vale ché sempre fugge l’esca. Poi che girato l’ha chiamando molto,

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Gitta ’l pasto ver’ lui, tanto glien cale; ma quei non v’apre l’ale; e se pur viene quand’ell’è partita, tanto par che l’incresca come ciò possa dar sì che non esca del beneficio loda. Io vo’ che ciascun m’oda: chi con tardare e chi con vana vista, chi con sembianza trista volge ’l donare in vender tanto caro quanto sa sol chi tal compera paga. Volete udir se piaga? Tanto chi prende smaga, che ’l negar poscia no. gli pare amaro. Così altrui e sé concia l’avaro. Disvelato v’ho, donne, in alcun membro la viltà della gente che vi mira, perché l’aggiate in ira: ma troppo è più ancor quel che s’asconde perché a dicer v’è lado. In ciascun è di ciascun vizio assembro, per ch’amistà nel mondo si confonde, ché l’amorose fronde di radice di ben altro ben tira, poi sol simil è in grado. Vedete come conchiudendo vado: che non dee creder quella cui par bene esser bella essere amata da questi cotali; ma se biltà tra ’mali volemo anumerar, creder si pòne chiamando amore appetito di fera. Oh cotal donna pera che sua biltà dischiera da natural bontà per tal cagione, o crede amor fuor d’orto di ragione. Canzone, presso di qui è una donna ch’è del nostro paese; bella, saggia, e cortese la chiaman tutti, e neun se n’accorge quando suo nome porge Bianca, Giovanna, Contessa chiamando. A costei te ne va chiusa e onesta:

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prima con lei t’arresta prim’a lei manifesta quel che tu sè e quel per ch’io ti mando; poi seguirai secondo suo comando. II. TRANSLATION: 1 1 Grief brings boldness to my heart on behalf of a desire that is friend to truth. If then, ladies, I speak against almost everyone, do not wonder at this, but recognize the baseness of your inclinations: for the beauty that Love concedes to you was created solely for virtue, according to his original decree, against which you are sinning. I say to you, women who are in love, that if virtue was granted to us, and beauty to you, and to Love the power to make of two things one, then you should love no more, but rather hide the beauty given you, since virtue, that was its goal, is found no more. Alas, what am I brought to say? I say it would be an act of fine scorn in a woman, and rightly praised, to sever beauty from herself—herself bidding it farewell. 2 Men have cut themselves off from virtue—no, not men, but evil beasts in man’s likeness. O God, how strange—to choose to fall from master to slave, from life to death! Virtue, ever subject to her maker, obeys him, ladies, and wins him honour, until Love invests her as his high minister in the blessed court. With joy she comes out from the fair gates; with joy returns to her lady; with joy she carries out her great service; along the brief journey, she preserves, adorns, increases what she finds; she is so contrary to Death as never to heed him. O precious and pure handmaid, it was in heaven that you found your standard: you alone confer lordship, and this proves you to be a possession that can never fail. 3 Slave of a base slave, not of a lord, he becomes who departs from such a handmaid. If you reckon up the double loss you’ll see what it costs him who strays from her. That slave-lord is so arrogant that the eyes which illuminate the mind remain closed because of him, so that we are forced to walk at the whim of him who keeps his eyes fixed only on folly. But that my speech may be of use to you, I’ll come down from the general to the particular, and to a simpler form of expression, so that its meaning is less hard to grasp; for

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seldom do obscure words reach an intellect clothed in a veil; hence with you one must speak clearly. But this I require in recompense (for your own good, to be sure, not mine) that you despise and scorn every man; for it’s similarity that causes pleasure. 4 A man so enslaved is like someone following headlong after his master along a painful road without knowing where he goes; like a miser following riches, the master of all. This miser runs, only to be ever further away from peace. O blinded mind, for its insane desire cannot see that the sum of every moment it strives to pass stretches on to empty infinity! See, the one who makes us all equal has come. Tell me, what have you done, blind, undone miser? Answer me—if you can—other than “Nothing.” Cursed be your cradle which beguiled so many dreams in vain; cursed be the bread you’ve wasted on a dog; for evening and morning you have gathered and hoarded with both hands that which so quickly slips from your grasp. 5 Just as they gather immoderately, so they hoard immoderately: this is what drives many into slavery; and if any put up resistance, it is not without a great struggle. What are you doing, Death? Unfeeling Fortune, what are you doing—that you don’t disperse what is left unspent? And if you were to, to whom should it go? I don’t know—for there’s a circle enclosing us that marks our limits from above. It’s reason’s fault for not correcting this: and if reason says “I am captive”—oh, how paltry a defence a master puts up, who is overpowered by a slave! And here there is a double disgrace (if you fix your attention to where I’m pointing), you false animals, cruel to yourselves and to others, who see men from whose presence vice has fled naked over mountain and marsh, while you keep your own vile mud clothed. 6 Virtue, who invites her enemies to a reconciliation, appears in the miser’s sight, with bright object in hand to attract him to her; but it’s of little avail, for he always avoids the lure. After she has walked all round him, calling persistently, she throws the morsel towards him, so great is her concern for him; but he does not open his wings to fly to it. And if he does come for it, after she has gone, he is so greatly and obviously pained by the thought as to how he can afford the gift, that no praise results from his charity. I want all to hear me: some by delaying, some by their look of complacency, others by sullen looks, turn the gift into a sale, and at a price so high as only he knows who pays for such a purchase. Do you want to hear how it wounds? It so

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crushes the recipient that afterwards a refusal won’t seem bitter to him. This is what the miser brings others—and himself—down to. 7 Ladies, I have partly laid bare to you the baseness of the men who admire you, that you may hold them in contempt; but far more has been left hidden, since it would be offensive to speak of it. All the vices have congregated in each one of them, and this is why mutual love in this world is all in confusion; for from a good root it takes another good to draw out the leaves of love, because only like is agreeable to like. See then how I conclude—that she who thinks it good to be beautiful should not believe herself loved by such as these; though if we choose to number beauty among evils, then that belief is possible—provided one gives the name “love” to bestial appetite! O death to the woman who for such a pretext sunders her beauty from natural goodness, believing that love can be found outside the garden of reason! Congedo. Song, nearby is a lady from our country: everyone calls her beautiful, wise, courteous; yet no one is aware of so doing when he utters her name, saying ‘Bianca, Giovanna, Contessa.’ Make your way to her in a modest and reserved manner; stay first with her; to her first make plain what you are and why I send you. Afterwards continue your journey as she will direct you. NOTE 1. The translation of “Doglia mi reca” is cited from Kenelm Foster and Patrick Boyde, trans., Dante’s Lyric Poetry, vol. 1, The Poems, Texts and Translations (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1967).

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Index

Adrian V, Pope, 40, 140 Aeneas, 62 Ageno, Franca, Brambilla, 118, 129n1, 129n4 Ahern, John, 69n48 Alberigo, Frate, 6 Alessandro Da Mangona, 45 Alessio Degli Interminelli, 44 Alexander of Villa, 81 Alfie, Fabian, 16, 61, 62, 69n46, 69n49, 69n51, 69n55, 70n58, 85, 87n5, 106, 166n31 Alighieri, Dante : Commedia, title, 4; Convivio, 8, 9, 10, 77, 106, 112n3, 115n46, 117–128, 129n1–131n31, 134, 135, 137, 139; De vulgari eloquentia, 2, 7, 9, 10, 11, 27, 33, 46n9, 47n15, 47n18, 81, 93–111, 121, 133, 134, 135, 141–142; “Doglia mi reca”, 11, 133–142, 187; “Le dolci rime d’amor ch’i’ solia”, 117; epistles, 7, 11, 78, 79, 147–162; exile of, 117, 119, 121, 122, 124, 135, 149; Inferno, 5, 21–29, 33–45, 55–65, 140, 152, 171, 174, 176, 178, 180, 181; Monarchia, 8, 16, 48n32, 64, 69n56, 71n72–71n73, 127; Paradiso , 73–86, 152, 153, 181; Purgatorio, 126, 138, 140, 142, 144n30, 144n33, 144n42, 166n42; Vita nova, 2, 8, 77, 78, 83, 98, 106, 108, 109, 115n42, 134; “Voi che ‘ntendendo

il terzo ciel movete”, 117 Alighieri, Pietro, 118, 129n3 Allen, Judson Boyce, 14, 142n4 An, Zhang, artist, 175 Anderson, William, 70n61 Angiolieri, Cecco, 8, 17, 143n29 Anonimo fiorentino, 13, 30n9, 143n18 Anonimo selmiano, 13 Anonymous of Bologna, 164n13 Anonymous Turicensis, 46n4 Applauso, Nicolino, 16, 51n60, 85, 106 Arduini, Beatrice, 129n1 Arezzo, 162, 165n15, 167n57 Aristotle, 24, 95, 97, 155 Aquinas, Thomas, 15 Auerbach, Erich, 14, 75, 86, 87n1, 87n9, 90n35 Augustine of Hippo, 53n74, 74, 75, 86 Austin, H.D., 6, 15 Averroes, 4 Avignon, 51n60, 78, 160 Azzetta, Luca, 129n2–129n3, 131n31 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 2, 9, 56–57, 57, 60, 61, 62, 64, 66n9–66n11, 67n21, 68n44, 70n63, 71n65, 71n70, 71n74 Barański, Zygmunt G, 3, 7, 12, 13, 14, 16, 45n2, 46n3, 46n4, 46n5, 50n45, 51n58, 69n46, 75, 81, 88n10, 143n23, 145n44 Barolini, Teodolinda, 36, 48n22, 51n58, 69n50, 136, 143n26–143n27 211

212

Index

Barto, Luigi Andrea, 70n60 Basilian, Rob, 177, 185n21 Bayless, Martha, 13, 66n12 Beatrice, 5, 6, 8, 15, 44–45, 49n43, 52n72, 75, 76, 77, 78, 88n15, 134, 177 Beltrami, Pietro G., 31n20 Bene Da Firenze, 149, 151 Benedict, Saint, 74 Benfell, Stanley V., 67n31 Benvenuti, Antonia Tissoni, 131n29 Benvenuto da Imola, 4, 14, 30n9, 33, 38, 144n41 Bezzola, Reto, 87n3 Bianca Giovanna, Countess, 134, 138 Bible: Acts of Peter, 58–59; 2 Corinthians, 155, 161; Genesis, 53n75, 66n15; Isaiah, 155; John, 58, 65n4, 71n75, 157; Lamentations, 42, 51n54, 78; Luke, 67n32; Matthew, 40, 50n45, 67n26, 67n32, 71n75; 1 Peter, 44; 2 Peter, 52n73; Proverbs, 51n58, 152; Psalms, 40, 152; 1 Samuel, 47n19, 51n60 Billanovich, Giuseppe, 50n50 Biondo, Flavio, 147 Birk, Sandow, 177 Bischoff, Bernard, 48n31 Boccaccio, Giovanni, 13, 112n6, 127, 138, 144n33, 147, 164n7 Boswell, John, 68n37 Boethius, 29, 38–39, 49n40, 98, 112n6, 118 Bolognese Poets, 113n12 Boncompagno Da Signa, 51n56, 52n67, 148 Boniface VIII, Pope, 9, 39, 40, 41, 42, 45, 48n32, 50n49, 51n60, 62, 63 Bonifazio Da Signa, 153 Bono Da Lucca, 151 Bono Giamboni, 98, 98–99, 109, 113n20–113n21 Borsa, Paolo, 130n15 Boyd, Patrick, 136, 143n8, 143n24–143n25, 193n1 Bracciolini, Poggio, 112n6 Brestolini, Lucia, 139, 144n39 Brown, Dan, 177, 185n28 Bruni, Leonardo, 127–128, 147, 162, 164n7, 165n16, 167n58–167n59 Bukowski, Charles, 177

Burke, Peter, 13 Caccia, Ettore, 31n14 Cacciaguida, 45, 86, 153 Cacus, 6 Camargo, Martin, 164n8 Camozzi Pistoja, Ambrogio, 16, 33, 47n20, 49n36, 49n43, 50n46, 51n55, 112n3, 113n7, 118, 130n7, 131n27, 161, 167n55 Canzoni, 103, 106, 107–108, 117, 123, 128, 133–142 Carmina Burana , 9, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 27, 29, 30n5, 30n6, 30n11, 30n12, 46n6, 49n41 Carpi, Ugo, 143n22 Casagrande, Gino, 30n9 Cassell, Anthony K., 16, 49n44 Cavalcanti, Guido, 8, 17 Ceccherini, Irene, 129n1, 129n4, 130n11–130n13 Cecco D’Ascoli, 115n44 Celestine V, Pope, 40 Cervigni, Dino, 88n15 Cestaro, Gary, 68n42 Charles of Valois, 122 Chiarenza, Marguerite Mills, 53n77 Classen, Albrecht, 14 Clement V, Pope, 39, 41, 44, 78, 88n18, 158, 160 Clementi, Filippo, 70n63 Ceccherini, Irene, 120, 129n1, 129n4, 130n11–130n13 Chiavacci Leonardi, Anna Maria, 45n1, 48n23, 50n52, 87n3, 88n11 Cian, Vittorio, 15, 95–96, 101, 113n9, 113n13, 114n28, 114n34, 115n38 Ciccarelli, Andrea, 184n15 Ciccone, Lisa, 46n4, 46n8 Ciccuto, Marcello, 17 Cino da Pistoia, 8 Christ, 39, 59, 60, 63, 64, 75, 156, 157 Cicciovino, Carlo, 167n62 Coggeshall, Elizabeth, 171 Combe, Kirk, 5, 15, 16 Compagni, Dino, 138 Condren, Conal, 13 Connery, Brian A., 5, 15, 16

Index Constantine, Emperor, 63, 64; Donation of Constantine, 62 Contini, Gianfranco, 103, 115n36 Corbetti, George, 65n6 Corsaro, Antonio, 15 Crescimbeni, Giovanni Mario, 12, 17 Curtius, Ernst Robert, 144n34 Dai, Dudu, artist, 175 Dameron, George, 143n12 Daniel, Arnaut, 142 Dante Da Maiano, 17 Davis, Charles T., 89n20, 184n15 D’Aguglione, Baldo, 153, 162, 166n30, 166n32 D’Alfonso, Rossella, 13, 14 D’Ancona, Alessandro, 87n3, 87n6, 88n11, 88n18 D’Aquilea, Giovanni, 151 De Blasio, Dante, 171, 184n1 De Borneil, Girault, 135, 141–142 De Lollis, Cesare, 145n47 De’ Medici, Cosimo, 128 De’ Medici, Lorenzo, 118, 128 De Robertis, Domenico, 16, 136 De Robertis, Teresa, 129n1 Del Virgilio, Giovanni, 15, 106 Del Bello, Geri, 144n30 Delcorno, Carlo, 87n9 Della Piagentina, Alberto, 118 Delle Donne, Fulvio, 156, 166n37 Diomedes, 3 Distefano, Donna, 185n26 Dolce Stil Nuovo, 2, 140 Donati, Forese, 8 Dorman, Daniel, 185n17 Dreher, Rod, 185n17 Duffalo, Basil, 114n24, 114n25 Durling, Robert M., 12, 30n2, 52n69, 87n3 Dykmans, Marc, 51n60 Eco, Umberto, 185n29 Evangelisti, Paolo, 30n11 Eberhard the German, 89n25 Evrard, 81 Faba, Guido, 151 Fassò, Andrea, 30n8 Fame, 60, 74, 106, 119

213

Fenzi, Enrico, 121, 130n16, 130n22 Ferrante, Joan, 46n6, 89n22 Ferreri, Rosario, 130n10 Ficino, Marsilio, 128 Fidenzio Da Padova, 24, 30n11 Fioravanti, Gianfranco, 126, 130n13–130n16, 130n18, 130n23, 131n25, 131n28 Fiore di Virtù , 111, 113n19, 114n22 Florence: Florentines, 121, 148–149, 152, 153, 154, 155; Magnates or nobility, of, 121, 122, 123, 125–126, 134–135, 138–141, 154; Merchants, of, 121; Popolani, of, 134, 154; Vituperation, of, 6 Forlì, 147, 164n7 Foster, Kenelm, 136, 143n8, 143n25, 193n1 Francesco Da Buti, 15, 111, 112n1, 115n48 Freccero, John, 49n34, 66n14, 66n16, 71n71, 165n27 Fredborg, Karin M., 46n3, 46n4, 47n20 Frederick II, emperor, 7, 58, 67n24–67n25, 80, 89n22, 135, 138, 154, 156, 157 Freedman, Paul, 144n35 French, Reginald, 49n44, 50n53 Friis-Jensen, Karsten, 12, 46n4, 46n7, 46n8, 46n11, 47n12, 47n21, 48n29, 48n30, 50n46, 50n47 Fritz-Morkin, Maggie, 58, 87n7 Frye, Northrop, 2, 5, 13, 15 Gadda, Carlo Emilio, 114n35 Gallo, Ernest, 90n35 Geoffrey of Vinsauf, 34, 46n8, 46n10, 46n11, 49n35, 81–82, 82–83, 83–84, 89n24–89n26, 90n34 Gervase of Melkley, 89n24 Geryon, 33, 35, 37, 47n17, 47n18, 48n25, 52n65 Giacomino Pugliese, 144n40 Gorleston Psalter, 62 Gorni, Guglielmo, 129n5 Grahm, Randall, 184n7 Graus, Frantisek, 15 Gregory IX, Pope, 156 Guelphs and Ghibellines, 45, 119, 121, 149, 153, 162 Guido Da Montefeltro, 40

214

Index

Guido Da Pisa, 1, 3–4, 12, 33, 47n20, 106, 115n39 Guillaume De Conches, 50n47, 51n58 Guittone D’Arezzo, 27, 96, 102, 106–107 Guerri, Domenico, 25, 31n14 Hadrian V, Pope, 9 Hainsworth, Peter, 52n71 Hatcher, Anna Granville, 48n33 Hawkins, Peter, 184n12, 186n33 Henry of England, King, 24 Henry VII of Luxemburg, Emperor, 7, 44, 127, 150, 152–153, 155, 157, 158, 159–160, 162, 166n43 Hermann the German, 4 Herzman, Ronald B, 49n44, 50n53, 67n31 Hodgart, Matthew, 7, 16 Hollander, Jean, 87n3 Hollander, Robert, 31n15, 87n3, 88n11 Holloway, Julia Bolton, 166n34 Honess, Claire, 15, 88n17, 158, 163n3, 165n20, 166n28, 166n44 Horace, 1, 2, 3, 9, 12, 14, 23, 33, 34, 35, 37–38, 42, 44, 45n2, 47n15, 47n18, 47n21, 48n28, 49n35, 49n38, 50n47, 52n61, 52n70, 73, 74, 80, 81, 85, 88n10, 94, 96, 109, 114n25, 148, 161, 162 Hrotsvit of Gandersheim, 14 Hubbard, Thomas K., 114n24 Hugh Primas of Orléans, 25, 144n40 Hugo of Bologna, 149 Hutcheon, Linda, 9, 57, 58, 66n17–66n18, 67n26, 71n64 Iacopone da Todi, 9, 26, 30n13, 31n17 Iannucci, Amilcare, 65n6, 184n12, 185n25 Imbach, Ruedi, 124, 130n21 Inglese, Giorgio, 30n2 Isaiah, Prophet, 148 Jacoff, Rachel, 51n54, 184n12 Jacopo della Lana, 13 Jeremiah, Prophet, 148 Jerusalem, 62, 66n15, 71n75, 78, 157, 166n42 John XXII, Pope, 78 John of Garland, 3, 89n25, 95, 99, 113n8 Jones, Philip, 143n11, 144n40

Judas, 38, 39, 41, 63 Justinian, Emperor, 9, 62 Juvenal, 1, 2, 6, 16, 23, 33, 94, 96, 99, 101, 148, 167n52 Kantorowicz, Ernst, 166n35 Kaulbach, Ernest N., 48n33 Kay, Richard, 60, 65n7, 68n38 Keane, Catherine, 1–2, 13, 94, 112n4 Kelly, Henry Ansgar, 12, 14 Kendrick, Laura, 13 Kennedy, John F., 178 Kernan, Alvin B, 15 Kindermann, Udo, 31n21 Kirkpatrick, Robin, 145n43 Kleinhenz, Christopher, 68n40 Knight, Charles A., 7, 14, 16 Köhler, Erich, 143n21 Lancia, Andrea, 118, 129n3 Lansing, Carol, 143n15 Lansing, Richard, 130n20, 131n24, 145n45 Lanza, Antonio, 17 Larmour, David H.J., 16 Larner, John, 143n14 Latham, Charles Sterrett, 167n48 Latini, Brunetto, 9, 60–61, 68n35–68n36, 79–80, 81, 89n20, 148, 156, 164n9, 165n19, 165n24, 166n34 Ledda, Giuseppe, 31n14, 31n15 LeGoff, Jacques, 13 Le Lievre, Glen, 176, 185n20 Leone, Anne, 89n22 Leupin, Alexander, 46n10 Leyerle, John, 49n41 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 175 Looney, Dennis, 174, 184n14, 186n33 Los Angeles, 177 Lucan, 1, 148, 158 Lucifer. See Satan. Lucilius, 2, 12 Luiso, Francesco Paolo, 15 Lucretius, 94, 112n6 Luzzi, Joseph, 185n17 Malebranche, 35–37 Mandelbaum, Allen, 65n1 Mandeltam, Osip, 174, 184n13 Manetti, Giannozzo, 147–148

Index Marcabru, 135 Mars, 71n66, 75, 76, 82, 122, 128 Marti, Berthe M., 25, 31n16 Marti, Mario, 30n5, 30n6, 115n37, 145n46 Martin IV, Pope, 48n27 Martinez, Ronald L., 87n3, 90n27, 90n31 Matthew of Vendôme, 80, 81, 82, 84–85, 89n21, 89n26 Mazzoni, Francesco, 163n1 Mazzotta, Giuseppe, 185n16 Mazzucchi, Andrea, 129n6 McCutchan, Garrett, 69n53 Medea, 45 Memoriali Bolognesi, 45n1 Mengaldo, Pier Vincenzo, 7, 14, 16, 95, 142n1, 145n49 Menichetti, Aldo, 31n19 Metzler, Irina, 138, 144n36 Milan, 154 Miller, Paul, 13, 142n5 Minnis, Alastair, 142n7 Minos, 38 Moleta, Vincent, 30n13 Mooney, Dennis, 61, 62, 69n47 Morini, Luigina, 14 Moroni, Gaetano, 71n68 Muresu, Gabriele, 48n23 Murphy, James Jerome, 89n24–89n26, 90n28–90n29 Musa, Mark, 48n33 Newhauser, Richard, 97, 113n17–113n18 New York, 171 Nicholas III, Pope, 38–39, 41, 45 Nicholas of Lyra, 97, 115n40 Nilsen, Don L.F., 16 Novati, Francesco, 165n23 Novellino, 30n8 Olson, Kristina, 184n12 Onder, Lucia, 138, 144n38 Onulf of Speyer, 81 Orlando, Sandro, 45n1 Orvieto, Paolo, 139, 144n39 Ottimo commento, 3, 13, 87n4, 118 Ovid, 45, 53n75, 76–77, 88n13 Pagani, Walter, 143n17 Pagliaro, Antonino, 31n18

215

Panter, Gary, 185n27 Papka, Claudia Rattazzi, 70n62 Paratore, Ettore, 45 Paravicini-Bagliani, Agostino, 50n49, 51n60 Parma, 154 Parsons, Ben, 13, 14, 144n31, 167n54 Pasquini, Emilio, 87n3 Paul of Tarsus, 78 Peraldo, Guglielmo, 24, 30n10 Pernicone, Vincenzo, 143n10 Persius, 1, 2, 12, 33, 40, 50n46 Pertile, Lino, 49n39, 52n66 Peter, Apostle, 6, 9, 10, 15, 38–42, 43–44, 50n51, 50n52, 51n60, 53n78, 58, 73–86, 151 Peter Damian, 6 Petrocchi, Giorgio, 165n17 Petronio, Giuseppe, 87n3, 87n4, 88n12 Petronius, 2 Pick, Bernhard, 67n30 Pier Della Vigna, 58, 60, 67n24–67n25, 80, 148, 156, 157, 166n41–166n42 Pierotti, Gian Luca, 87n3 Pietro de’ Faitinelli, 142n2 Pinto, Raffaele, 143n18, 144n32 Pequigney, Joseph, 68n37 Pistelli, Ermengildo, 15, 163n2 Pluto, 25 Plutus, 22, 25, 30n3 Pound, Ezra, 57 Pseudo-Cicero, 80–81, 81, 82, 89n25 Pseudo-Methodius, 70n61 Quaglio, Antonio, 87n3, 88n11 Quadlbauer, Franz, 47n16 Quintillian, 1, 2 Raffa, Guy, 184n15 Reynolds, Barbara, 70n59 Reynolds, Suzanne, 13, 14, 15, 45n2, 51n58, 75, 87n8, 88n10, 95, 111, 113n10, 113n12, 114n31, 118, 130n8, 130n19, 133, 142n3, 142n6, 151, 161, 165n21, 167n48, 167n53 Ricci, Pier Giorgio, 13 Rinuccini, Cino, 127–128, 131n30 Romani, Fedele, 87n3 Roseier-Catach, Irène, 114n26

216

Index

Ruggiers, Paul G., 49n42 Rome, 156, 160 Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 48n24, 49n37, 50n50 Ruud, Jay, 163n5 Saiber, Arielle, 185n16 Salvemini, Gaetano, 143n13 Sanni, Edoardo, 114n26 Sannia, Enrico, 16 Sansone, Mario, 87n3 Santagata, Marco, 113n20 Sapegno, Natalino, 67n29 Satan, 6, 15, 38, 41, 44, 48n25, 59, 63, 177 Satire: Anticlerical, 6, 15, 21, 24, 26, 44, 46n6; Dialects, of, 7; Medieval definition, of, 3, 4; Menippean, 1, 2; Tuscan satirical poetry, 74; Vituperium , 28 Schlegel, Catherine, 167n63 Scott, John A., 14, 36, 48n24, 50n53, 78, 87n3, 88n11, 88n16, 121, 130n16, 142n7, 163n2 Scrimieri, Rosario, 143n20 Seidel, Michael, 3, 14 Seneca, 2 Sermo humilis, 22 Shankland, Hugh, 152 Sicilian Poets, 103, 106 Siculo-Tuscan Poets, 103 Silverstein, Theodore, 51n58 Simon Magus, 38–39, 58, 59 Simon Peter, 39 Simonelli, Maria, 143n16 Singleton, Charles S., 49n39, 87n3, 88n14, 181, 186n41 Sirventes, 145n48 Sordello, 145n48 Southcombe, George, 15 Spitzer, Leo, 62, 69n57 Spitznagel, Eric, 171, 184n1 Spoleto, 7, 154 Steinberg, Glenn A., 68n33, 68n43 Steinberg, Justin, 167n47 Stephany, William A., 49n44, 50n53, 67n24, 89n22 Stewart, Jon, 171 Stowell, Steven, 68n41–68n42 Suerbaum, Almut, 15

Suitner, Franco, 30n1, 31n21, 87n5 Tacconi, Marie S., 50n51 Tavoni, Mirko, 36, 45n2, 46n3, 46n6, 48n24, 49n39, 50n53, 52n66, 53n78, 122, 130n9, 130n17 Tedaldi, Pieraccio, 143n29 Terence, 4 Tesi, Riccardo, 114n23 Thaïs, 37 Thomas of Capua, 149 Thompson, Benjamin, 15 Tiezi, Li, 175 Toynbee, Paget, 88n16, 114n30, 163n5, 166n46 Tractatus de vitiis et virtutibus , 96–98, 99, 109, 111, 113n16 Troubadours of Provence, 24, 30n7 Trump, Donald, 172–174 Turcan-Verkerk, Anne-Marie, 90n33 Tuzzi, Hans, 14 Ugolino, Count, 59 Uguccione Da Pisa, 47n15, 48n25, 103, 112n2, 114n32 “Una fermana”, 96, 103, 103–106, 114n29 Vallone, Aldo, 163n1 Van Rooy, C.A., 14 Vazzana, Steno, 165n27 Vernon, William Warren, 15 Vickers, Nancy, 184n12 Villa, Claudio, 14, 45n2, 46n3, 46n4, 46n5, 47n18, 48n28, 52n70, 89n23 Villani, Filippo, 128, 131n30 Villani, Giovanni, 45, 53n79, 147, 164n6, 164n9 Virgil, 1, 25, 39, 42, 49n34, 52n62, 53n77, 59, 60, 68n36, 158 Vitale, Maurizio, 15 Viviani, Alberto, 12 Wallace, David, 142n7 Walter of Châtillon, 25 Weinbrot, Howard D., 13 Weinstein, Donald, 15 Weisen, David S., 163n4 Weisgerber, Jean, 113n16 Wheelock, Jim, 177, 185n21

Index Witke, Charles, 96, 113n14 Witt, Ronald G., 89n20

Zane, Wallace, 177, 185n22 Ziolkowski, Jan, 144n37

217

About the Contributors

Fabian Alfie, professor of Italian at the University of Arizona. Professor Alfie received his PhD in Italian in 1995 from the University of Wisconsin, Madison, and is a specialist in the comic-satiric literature of the Middle Ages. He has published six books and some forty articles or book chapters in the area. Nicolino Applauso, visiting assistant professor of Italian at Loyola University Maryland and Lecturer of Italian, Spanish, and Latin at Morgan State University. Professor Applauso received in PhD in Romance Languages and Literatures in 2010 from the University of Oregon, and specializes in Dante and medieval invective poetry. He has published several book chapters, articles, encyclopedia entries in the area, and more recently a book entitled Dante’s Comedy and the Ethics of Invective in Medieval Italy: Humor and Evil (Lexington Press, 2019). Beatrice Arduini, associate professor of Italian at the University of Washington. Professor Arduini received her PhD from Indiana University, Bloomington, in 2008, and focuses on medieval Italian literature and Dante studies. She has published on Dante’s minor work, the Convivio (in the journal Medievalia 41 [2019]), and has contributed a chapter on Dante’s reception in the nineteenth century for the volume Dante in the Long Nineteenth Century: Nationality, Identity, and Appropriation. She is currently working on a book project, The Invention of Dante’s Convivio. Maggie Fritz-Morkin, assistant professor of Italian at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill. Professor Fritz-Morkin has published several articles on Dante and Boccaccio, including “Dante’s Blood Elegies” (Dante 219

220

About the Contributors

Studies 135 [2017]: 107–135) and “Andreuccio at the Well: Sanitation Infrastructure and Civic Values in Decameron II, 5” (in Heliotropia 700 / 10: A Boccaccio Anniversary Volume, ed., Michael Papio [Milan: Edizioni Universitarie di Lettere Economia, Diritto, 2013], 49–59). She is currently working on a book manuscript, Obscenity and Censorship in the Tre Corone (in progress). Ronald L. Martinez, professor of Italian Studies at Brown University. Professor Martinez has published extensively on Dante, including the book Time and the Crystal: Studies in Dante’s ‘Rime Petrose’ co-authored with Robert M. Durling (University of California Press, 2018); he has also published some fifty articles on Dante, as well as on Boccaccio, Machiavelli, and Ariosto. Anthony Nussmeier, assistant professor, and the Italian Program Director, at the University of Dallas. Professor Nussmeier is a specialist on Dante and medieval Italian literature, and has published six articles or book chapters on Dante, Boccaccio, and Petrarch; his forthcoming book, Dante and the Politics of Literary Script: The ‘De Vulgari Eloquentia’ and the Fortunes of Medieval Italian Lyric, is currently under contract with the University of Toronto Press. Arielle Saiber, professor of romance languages and literatures, and chair of the Department of Romance Languages and Literatures, at Bowdoin College. She has published books on the Italian Renaissance such as Images of Quattrocento Florence: Writings on Literature, History, and Art, co-edited with Stefano U. Baldassari (Yale University Press, 2000); Giordano Burno and the Geometry of Language (Ashgate / Routledge, 2005); and most recently, Measured Words: Computation and Writing in Renaissance Italy (University of Toronto Press, 2017). She is also co-editor of the web-based archive Dante Today: Sightings and Citings of Dante’s Work in Contemporary Culture (https://research.bowdoin.edu/dante-today/), which deals with references to Dante in twenty-first-century America. Franco Suitner, professor of Italian Literature at the Università Roma Tre since 1987. Professor Suitner specializes in the literature of the Middle Ages of Italy and of Europe. He has published several books in the field including the influential La poesia satirica e giocosa nell’età dei comuni [Satiric and Humorous Poetry in the Age of the Medieval Communes] (Padua: Antenore, 1983) and more recently, as editor, the collection La poesia in Italia prima di Dante [Poetry in Italy before Dante] (Ravenna: Longo, 2017).

About the Contributors

221

Mary A. Watt, professor of Italian, and Associate Dean of the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences, at the University of Florida. Professor Watt received her PhD from the University of Toronto in 1998, and has published extensively on the Middle Ages and Renaissance. She is the author of two books: Dante, Columbus, and the Prophetic Tradition: Spiritual Imperialism in the Italian Imagination (Routledge, 2017); and The Cross that Dante Bears: Pilgrimage, Crusade, and Cruciform Church in the Divine Comedy (University Press of Florida, 2005).