Virgil the Blind Guide: Marking the Way through the Divine Comedy 9780773582569

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
Abbreviations, and Commentaries Consulted
Note on Text and Translations
Introduction
1 Virgil's Taming of Plutus and Capaneus, and the Pilgrim's Changing Perceptions
2 The Blindness of Virgil in Inferno 8–9, Purgatorio 15–16, and Purgatorio 22–23
3 Encounters with the Heavenly Beings in Hell and Purgatory
4 The Eclipse of Virgil and the Ascent of Mary after her Son
5 Virgil, John the Baptist, and the Downward Journey "di giro in giro"
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Index
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G
H
I
J
K
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virgil the blind guide

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Virgil the Blind Guide Marking the Way through the Divine Comedy lloyd h. howard

McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston • London • Ithaca

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© McGill-Queen’s University Press 2010 isbn 978-0-7735-3655-5 Legal deposit first quarter 2010 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% post-consumer recycled), processed chlorine free. This book has been published with the help of a grant from the University of Victoria. McGill-Queen’s University Press acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (bpidp) for our publishing activities. Chapter 2, part 2 reproduces, with some revisions, Lloyd H. Howard, “Virgil the Blind Guide in Purgatorio xv–xvi and Purgatorio xxii–xxiii.”

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Howard, Lloyd Virgil the blind guide : marking the way through the Divine Comedy / Lloyd H. Howard. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-7735-3655-5 1. Dante Alighieri, 1265–1321. Divina commedia. 2. Dante Alighieri, 1265–1321 – Characters – Virgil. 3. Dante Alighieri, 1265–1321 – Technique. 4. Virgil in literature. 5. Repetition in literature. I. Title. pq4410.v5h69 2010 851’.1

c2009-905579-1

This book was typeset by True to Type in 10/12 Sabon

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Contents

Preface

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Acknowledgments

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Abbreviations, and Commentaries Consulted Note on Text and Translations Introduction

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1 Virgil’s Taming of Plutus and Capaneus, and the Pilgrim’s Changing Perceptions 22 2 The Blindness of Virgil in Inferno 8–9, Purgatorio 15–16, and Purgatorio 22–23 40 3 Encounters with the Heavenly Beings in Hell and Purgatory 70 4 The Eclipse of Virgil and the Ascent of Mary after her Son 113 5 Virgil, John the Baptist, and the Downward Journey “di giro in giro” 160 Conclusion Notes

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Bibliography Index 241

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Preface

This study analyses Virgil’s guiding competence by pursuing a critical path established previously by Lloyd H. Howard in his monograph Formulas of Repetition in Dante’s Commedia. The interpretive approach undertaken in this book follows a concealed route that can be tracked by detecting the directional prompts or markers interspersed along the way, which consist of recurring linguistic patterns or formulas of repetition. Rather than simply noting such patterns in an ad hoc manner, which has been the customary approach, we can understand them as textual markers that communicate a message perhaps altogether different from their literal sense. These signals point the reader’s way to a particular but not obvious destination where, by benefit of retrospection, the relationship between marked episodes relevant to Virgil comes into sharper focus, allowing for a further understanding of their meaning. For example, the repetition of “modo,” “ch’ i’ odo,” “ed elli,” and “solvendo il nodo,” not easily identified because in themselves they do not seem relevant to the theme of Virgil’s guiding competence, blaze the reader’s way from Purgatorio 16 through seven cantos of textual space to a vantage point in Purgatorio 23 where the eclipse of Virgil can be seen more clearly, from his distracted and tentative presence in the latter episode back to his commanding presence as guide in the former. By following the directional prompts provided by the linguistic markers, the reader returns time and again to the episode of Virgil’s impotence before the gate into Dis in Inferno 8 and 9 and his revealing encounter with Statius in Purgatorio 21–3, each of which serves as a crossroad where the largest number of linguistic

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journeys intersect. Finally, the itinerary projects across the space of the Paradiso where Dante has more to tell about Virgil, despite the latter’s disappearance from the scene back in Purgatorio 30, a point of departure for yet another signposted journey. By interpreting the larger meaning of the linguistic patterns of repetition through their canto links and placement within the three cantiche of Dante’s poem, Howard provides another tool for piecing together the complex portrait of Dante’s pagan guide.

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Acknowledgments

I will be forever grateful to the late Amilcare Iannucci for his encouragement to further apply my methodology on linguistic patterns of repetition to the writing of a second book on the Commedia. I would also like to thank Cedric Littlewood for his help with Virgil and Statius in the Roman context, Catherine Harding for her suggestions on the Introduction, and my research assistant, Hannah Sikstrom, for her help with the Virgil bibliography in the Introduction. I owe a debt of gratitude to Pablo Restrepo for allowing me to teach Dante every year, and to the students who, as new readers of the Commedia, drew me to look at passages in the text with fresh eyes. Thanks go to Donna Fleming for her constant assistance, and the University of Victoria for providing financial support in the form of an Internal Research Grant and a full-year study leave in 2006–7. I am also thankful to the editor of Letteratura ltaliana Antica for allowing me to include a previously published piece. Lastly, I would like to express my gratitude to the editors and staff of McGill-Queen’s University Press, and to Jane McWhinney for her detailed and careful editorial assistance.

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Abbreviations, and Commentaries Consulted

Bosco-Reggio Dante. La Divina Commedia. Eds., Umberto Bosco and Giovanni Reggio. Florence: Le Monnier, 1979. Di Salvo

Dante. La Divina Commedia. Ed. Tommaso Di Salvo. Bologna: Zanichelli, 1987.

ED

Enciclopedia Dantesca. Ed. Umberto Bosco et al. 6 vols. Rome: Istituto dell’Enciclopedia Italiana, 1970–78.

Hollander

Dante. La Divina Commedia. Eds. Robert and Jean Hollander. 3 vols. New York: Doubleday, 2000–07.

Leonardi

Dante. La Commedia. Ed. Anna Maria Chiavacci Leonardi, Bologna: Zanichelli, 2001.

Porena

Dante. La Divina Commedia. Ed. Manfredi Porena. 3 vols. Bologna: Zanichelli, 1958–62.

Sapegno

Dante. La Divina Commedia. Ed. Natalino Sapegno. 3 vols. Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1955–57.

Singleton

Dante. La Divina Commedia. Ed. Charles S. Singleton. 3 vols. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970–75.

VN

Dante. Vita Nuova. In Opere minori, vol. 1: part 1, 3–246. Ed. D. De Robertis. Milan-Naples: Ricciardi, 1984.

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Note on Text and Translations

Quotations of the Commedia are taken from La commedia secondo l’antica vulgata, ed. Giorgio Petrocchi (Milan: Mondadori, 1966–67). Translations of the Commedia are taken from Singleton, with some modifications of my own, particularly in relation to the linguistic patterns of repetition. Translations of the Vita Nuova are by Barbara Reynolds (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1969), the Convivio by Christopher Ryan (Saratoga, California: Anma Libri, 1989), and the poetry of Guido Cavalcanti by Lowry Nelson Jr (New York: Garland Publishing, 1986). All other translation from Italian is my own. Translations from Latin are by the secondary authors cited unless indicated otherwise.

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Introduction

Traditionally the Commedia has been read in two principal ways, a fragmentary one, which isolates and analyses individual cantos (the lectura Dantis tradition), or one that follows the chronology of the pilgrim’s linear journey through the three realms of the afterlife. In this study the question of Virgil’s guiding competence is approached by means of an alternative interpretive journey across the textual space of Dante’s poem. This critical route is concealed and may be located only if the markers can be found to serve as the necessary directional prompts. These signposts consist of recurrent linguistic patterns, or formulas, by which we can trace our course through Dante’s verses to a deliberate destination typically short of Paradiso 33 where, by benefit of hindsight, it is possible to reconsider in a new light the passages marked by the earlier linguistic signals. Equally, by this process of traversing the cantos and collapsing the intervening text, marked episodes that may be distant in the poem are brought into relief, sharpening our focus on their relationship and amplifying our understanding of their meaning. The expression “formula” was initially defined by Milman Parry in his well-known study of orally transmitted texts as “a group of words which is regularly employed under the same metrical conditions to express a given essential idea.”1 Since Parry’s premature death in 1935, his description has been adjusted, particularly by certain scholars of orally transmitted Old English texts, to better reflect their field of study. In their estimation a formula did not have to be “regularly employed”; nor was there any need for “metrical conditions,” and the “group of words” could be trimmed

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down to as few as one word only.2 For the purposes of this study of the Commedia (a written text that was also transmitted orally), following the approach conceived in my previous study, Formulas of Repetition in Dante’s Commedia: Signposted Journeys across Textual Space, I have defined a formula as a group of words – and occasionally one word – repeated but not regularly employed.3 The linguistic signposts pointed out in this study steer the reader between passages in the text where Virgil’s suitability to serve as guide comes under scrutiny and, with the exception in part one of chapter 2, they reveal his defects, those intrinsic not just to pagans but to humankind in general, time and again lacking in good judgment. Some of these markers are complex in nature, consisting of one or more formulas of repetition that may or may not pertain to the underlying theme. For example, in part two of chapter 2 the repetition of the larger configuration consisting of “modo” [“manner”], “ch’ i’ odo” [“that I hear”], “ed elli” [“and he”], and “solvendo il nodo” [“loosening the knot”], marks the texts of both Purgatorio 16.20–4 and Purgatorio 23.11–15 in precisely that same order. These markers trace the eclipse of Virgil from the confident guide in sole command in Purgatorio 16, to one distracted by Statius in Purgatorio 23, seemingly disinterested in Dante the pilgrim and tentative at best when he must respond to Dante’s query. Since the meaning of the actual words in this example is not relevant to the overarching theme of Virgil’s guiding competence, formulas of repetition like “ch’ i’ odo” and “solvendo il nodo” are less likely to be detected as textual markers. Such signposts as these, buried in the verses of the Commedia, blaze the way through the forest of textual space (made up of Purgatorio 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22) to a significant vantage point in Purgatorio 23 by a way more hidden, but one that can be followed by Dante’s discerning readers who see through the veil of the intervening verses. In the present day, with the support of concordances and software programs, detecting formulas of repetition that are not in close textual proximity is no longer as daunting a task. However, in Dante’s time, in order to successfully conclude such an alternative journey and reach an understanding based on the concatenation of highlighted texts, the ideal reader would have needed an uncommon memory to recall such patterns and surmount the impediment of the intervening space.4 Did Dante think in terms of an ideal reader, capable of perceiving such hidden meaning within

Introduction

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his works? There is ample evidence to suggest that an audience of able readers was never far from his thoughts. In chapter iii of the Vita Nuova Dante relates how he circulated his first sonnet, “A ciascun alma presa,” among the famous “trovatori” of his day in the hope that they might interpret the dream he describes therein. While many of his fellow poets responded to the sonnet (“a questo sonetto fue risposto da molti”), despite their various interpretations none of them grasped its hidden meaning (“lo verace giudicio del detto sogno non fue veduto per alcuno” [“the true meaning of the dream was not perceived by anyone”]).5 In the hope that his canzone “Donne ch’avete intelletto d’amore” might be better understood, Dante is more explicit in his prose gloss (“Questa canzone, acciò che sia meglio intesa, la dividerò più artificiosamente che l’altre cose di sopra” [“So that this sonnet may be well understood, I will divide it more minutely than the previous verses”] VN xix). In so doing, he has invited an audience beneath that of his peers to approach the hidden meaning of his poem. But then he has second thoughts (“io temo d’avere a troppi comunicato lo suo intendimento pur per queste divisioni che fatte sono, s’elli avvenisse che molti le potessero audire” [“I am afraid that I may have conveyed its meaning to too many by dividing it even as I have done, if it should come to the ears of too many”] VN xix). The multitude represented by the “troppi” stands in contradistinction to the group to which John Ahern refers as Dante’s desired “right-reading elite.”6 On two separate occasions in the Commedia the poet invites the right-reading elite to see the truth that rests hidden beneath his veil of verses. In Inferno 9, just as the “messo” from Heaven is about to come forth and deliver Dante and the ineffectual Virgil through the gate of Dis, the poet addresses the segment of his audience endowed with a healthy intellect: “O voi ch’avete li ’ntelletti sani, / mirate la dottrina che s’asconde / sotto ’l velame de li versi strani” [“O you who have sound understanding, mark the doctrine that is hidden under the veil of the strange verses”] (1.9.61–3). In the valley below another gate, the one into Purgatory, moments before the descent of the two angels from Heaven, alert readers are recalled, even though the veil that hides the truth has by then worn thin: “Aguzza qui, lettor, ben li occhi al vero, / ché ’l velo è ora ben tanto sottile, / certo, che ’l trapassar dentro è leggero” [“Reader, here sharpen well your eyes to the truth, for the veil is now indeed so thin that certainly to pass within is easy”] (2.8.19–21).7

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As Dante has done previously in the Vita Nuova with the “famosi trovatori,” in Purgatorio 24, adopting the deficient Bonagiunta as his spokesman, he again identifies the elite of fellow poets whose pens, like his own, write in the sweet new style inspired by Love: “Io veggio ben come le vostre penne / di retro al dittator sen vanno strette” [“Clearly I see how your pens follow close after him who dictates”] (vv. 58–9). Two cantos hence, Dante conveys his admiration for these fellow poets to Guido Guinizzelli, father of their poetic style, by describing them as his betters: “quand’ io odo nomar sé stesso il padre / mio e de li altri miei miglior che mai / rime d’amor usar dolci e leggiadre” [“when I hear name himself the father of me and of others my betters who ever used sweet and gracious rhymes of love”] (2.26.97–9). Can we further identify individuals within this select group of fellow poets? With regard to the Vita Nuova the principal poet is Guido Cavalcanti, one among the “molti” who replied to “A ciascun alma presa” with his sonnet “Vedeste, al mio parere, onne valore” (VN iii). This exchange initiated their acquaintance and would result in Dante’s dedicating the Vita Nuova to Cavalcanti (“questo mio primo amico a cui io ciò scrivo” [“this my closest friend for whom I write this work”] VN xxx), who indeed would become his best friend.8 Other respondents include Dante da Maiano and either Terino da Castelfiorentino or Cino da Pistoia (the authorship of the response poem “Di ciò che stato sei dimandatore” is still in doubt between them). The most likely group of candidates for Dante’s “betters” to whom he alludes in Purgatorio 26 would again include Guido Cavalcanti, cited in Purgatorio 11.97–9 as the most famous of the current poets, along with Cino da Pistoia, who in the De Vulgari Eloquentia replaces the by then deceased Guido Cavalcanti as Dante’s principal friend. Cino is there recognized along with Dante as the poet who has written most sweetly and subtly in the vulgar language (DVE i x 4) and is subsequently identified as illustrious among the love poets (DVE ii ii 9). Cino da Pistoia was one of the recipient friends to whom Dante sent early copies from the Inferno, going back at least to 1313 when Cino wrote his canzone “Da poi che la Natura ha fine posto” (in memory of Emperor Henry VII), which contains allusions to passages from Inferno 1 and 10. Based on Cino’s references to both the

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Inferno and the Paradiso in the canzone “Su per la costa, Amor, de l’alto monte,” written upon Dante’s death in 1321, by then (despite their political rift) he may have been in possession of an almost complete copy of the Commedia (Cino’s mention of “amorosi dubi” in verse 14 evokes Dante’s “pensier dubi” from a canto as late as Paradiso 28.97).9 Other authors who may have received early fragments of the Commedia include Francesco da Barberino, Andrea Lancia, Giovanni Quirini, Tieri degli Useppi da San Gimignano, and Giovanni del Virgilio, all of whom made mention of the poem in their writing in the years before Dante’s died.10 What they shared with Cino da Pistoia was that Dante was aware they were reading and referencing his unfinished Commedia, and so they too may have been distinguished by him as potential right-readers of his text. In the Vita Nuova xxix Dante recognizes the quality of “subtlety” as necessary for a reader who may be more skillful than he: “Forse ancora per più sottile persona si vederebbe in ciò più sottile ragione; ma questa è quella ch’io veggio” [“Perhaps a more subtle person could find a still more subtle reason for it; but this is the one which I perceive”]. In the Convivio Dante obligingly defines subtlety for us: “E dice sottile quanto a la sentenza de le parole, che sottilmente argomentando e disputando procedono” [“subtle refers to the meaning of the words which proceed from arguing and disputing subtly”] (iv ii 13). Within poetic circles this distinctive trait of subtlety, required to both produce and analyse worthy texts, was one possessed by those who wrote in the sweet new style – Guido Guinizzelli, Dante, and his “betters” – in contrast to the unsubtle poetry of Guittone d’Arezzo.11 If Dante is to achieve the supreme “subtle” text to which he aspires, then, following the fiction of the Commedia that he is only placing into words what he experienced during his in carnem journey through the three realms of the afterlife, he is entirely dependent upon his power of memory, just as he was previously when he took on the role of “scribe” to copy in words from his “book of memory” that is the Vita Nuova. The poet makes this particular point in Inferno 2.8 with an initial invocation to his memory: “o mente che scrivesti ciò ch’io vidi” [“O memory that wrote down what I saw”], preceded by the following two tercets in which the formula “che non erra” first emerges in the text:

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Lo giorno se n’andava, e l’aere bruno toglieva li animai che sono in terra da le fatiche loro; e io sol uno m’apparecchiava a sostener la guerra sì del cammino e sì de la pietate, che ritrarrà la mente che non erra. [Day was departing, and the dark air was taking the creatures on earth from their labours; and I alone was making ready to sustain the strife, both of the journey and of the pity, which unerring memory shall retrace.] 1.2.1–6 Here Dante displays every confidence that his memory (“la mente”) can reproduce in textual form all that he is about to see. In a passage from Inferno 28 he again speaks to the issue of memory (“la mente”), there in reference to our common memory when faced with the contrapasso that the sowers of discord endure. It is in that context that we again encounter the formula “che non erra,” likewise preceded by the rhyme words “terra” and “guerra,” in precisely the same order: Ogne lingua per certo verria meno per lo nostro sermone e per la mente c’hanno a tanto comprender poco seno. S’el s’aunasse ancor tutta la gente che già, in su la fortunata terra di Puglia, fu del suo sangue dolente per li Troiani e per la lunga guerra che de l’anella fé sì alte spoglie, come Livïo scrive, che non erra. [Surely every tongue would fail, because of our speech and our memory, which have little capacity to comprehend so much. Were all the people assembled again who once in the fateful land of Apulia bewailed their blood shed by the Trojans, and those of the long war that made so vast a spoil of rings – as Livy writes, who does not err.”] 1.28.4–12 The repetition of this linguistic configuration invites the reader to reconsider various other challenges to Dante’s memory during his descent through Hell, but by means of the formula of repetition, “che non erra,” as Jerome Mazzaro points out in his article (“The

Introduction

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Divina Commedia and the Rhetoric of Memory”), “Dante assures his readers that his memory ‘does not err’ (Inf, ii, 6), linking its accuracy later in the canticle to the historical reliability of Livy’s account of the battle of Cannae in Ab urbe condita (Inf. xxviii, 12).”12 When Dante and Virgil are poised to encounter Statius, “non erra” appears one last time, again embedded within the larger configuration that includes “terra” and “guerra” in the same order as on the previous two occasions: Poi ripigliammo nostro cammin santo, guardando l’ombre che giacean per terra, tornate già in su l’usato pianto. Nulla ignoranza mai con tanta guerra mi fé desideroso di sapere, se la memoria mia in ciò non erra, quanta pareami allor, pensando, avere. [Then we took up our holy way again, looking at the shades that lay on the ground, already returned to their wonted plaint. No ignorance – if my memory err not in this – did ever with so great assault make me desirous of knowing as it seemed I then experienced in thought.] 2.20.142–8 Invited by these linguistic markers to make our way back to the point of departure of this signposted journey we are reminded in Inferno 2, as here in Purgatorio 20, of Dante’s awareness that he relies upon a non-erring memory to reproduce faithfully what he experienced as pilgrim. Lastly, in the first verses of the Paradiso, the poet, more awed by his mission, once again reminds his readers that this poem is a by-product of his memory: “Veramente quant’ io del regno santo / ne la mia mente potei far tesoro, / sarà ora materia del mio canto” [“Nevertheless, so much of the holy kingdom as I could treasure up in my mind shall now be the matter of song”] (3.1.10–2). Outside the context of the pilgrim’s fictive journey, Dante also underscores in the Convivio how a good memory is a principal ingredient of true wisdom: “Conviensi adunque essere prudente, cioè savio: e a ciò essere si richiede buona memoria de le vedute cose, buona conoscenza de le presenti e buona provedenza de le future” [“A person ought, then, to be prudent, or wise. To be so he must have a good memory of things seen, good knowledge of the

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present and good foresight regarding the future”] (iv xxvii 5). Consequently, in Dante’s view a “good memory of things seen” is essential not only for himself as poet of the Commedia but also for the wise, ideal reader of his and others’ texts.13 The text that was the primary candidate for memorization from the early Middle Ages forward was the Aeneid, chiefly the first six books with their allegorical significance for Christians in general and for Dante in particular.14 In his article “Mnemotechnics and the Reception of the Aeneid,” Jan M. Ziolkowksi notes the case of Augustine’s friend Simplicius, justly an ideal reader of the Aeneid: “Amicus quidam meus iam inde ab adulescentia, Simplicius nomine, homo excellentis mirabilisque memoriae, cum interrogatus esset a nobis, quos uersus Vergilius in omnibus libris supra ultimos dixerit, continuo celeriter memoriterque respondit, quaesiuimus etiam superiores ut diceret: dixit, et credidimus eum posse retrorsus recitare Vergilium” [“A certain man who from his youth has been a friend of mine, named Simplicius, is a person of accurate and astonishing memory. I once asked him to tell me what were the last lines but one of all the books of Virgil; he immediately answered my question without the least hesitation, and with perfect accuracy[.] I then asked him to repeat the preceding lines; he did so. And I really believe that he could have repeated Virgil line after line backward”] (De natura et origine animae 4.7.9).15 As late as the thirteenth century John of Garland confirmed in his Parisiana Poetria that students of literature continued to use the rota Vergilii, or “memory grid,” which featured not only Virgil’s Aeneid but also his Eclogues and Georgics, with the contrasts in the three works serving, Ziolkowski notes, as “an organizing principle for their recollections of the three styles and the features appropriate to them.”16 A student of literature himself, Dante describes his long study of the Aeneid when he first encounters its author in the prologue canto: “O de li altri poeti onore e lume, / vagliami ’l lungo studio e ’l grande amore / che m’ha fatto cercar lo tuo volume” [“O glory and light of other poets, may the long study and the great love that have made me search your volume avail me”] (1.1.82–4). Ernst Curtius understands Dante’s “cercar” as the way he studied the Aeneid “until he knew it through and through,” and more importantly notes the words Virgil later conveys to Dante: “ben lo sai tu che la sai tutta quanta” [“as you know well, who know the whole of it”] (1.20.114), suggesting that Dante knew Virgil’s poem “by heart.”17

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While the degree to which Dante had committed Virgil’s words to memory cannot be known, evidence first established in Inferno 1 and amply confirmed throughout the Commedia points toward Dante as the ideal reader of the Aeneid, his foundational text parallel to that of the Bible. Moreover, Dante would have us believe that he derives a far greater understanding from the verses of the Aeneid than can its author (“’l mio autore” 1.1.85), and consequently becomes that more skilled reader to whom he refers back in the Vita Nuova xxix, the “più sottile persona” [“more subtle person”] who would see “in ciò più sottile ragione” [“a still more subtle reason for it”]. As the verses of the Commedia unfold and we trace the progress of Dante the pilgrim, we also track the growth of Dante on his way to becoming one of Virgil’s “betters.” After Inferno 4, in which the pilgrim is made sixth, joining the assembly of the great ancient poets, Homer, Horace, Ovid, Lucan, and Virgil in that ideal but not entirely chronological order, by Inferno 25.94 & 97, and with the repetition of the imperative “taccia,” Dante the poet proclaims that the voices of Lucan and Ovid must there become silent (“Taccia Lucano ... Taccia di Cadmo e d’Aretusa Ovidio” [“Let Lucan be silent ... Let Ovid be silent concerning Cadmus and Arethusa”]) and give way to his greater poetic feat, which is the metamorphosis he proceeds to describe. In Purgatorio 11 Dante’s talent as a poet is further recognized when Oderisi predicts that someone, long recognized by commentators as Dante himself, may have been born who will replace both Guido Guinizzelli and Guido Cavalcanti, and chase those two “dolce stil novo” worthies out of the nest of famous poets which they presently inhabit: “e forse è nato / chi l’uno e l’altro caccerà del nido” [“and he perchance is born who shall chase the one and the other from the nest”] (2.11.98–9). While those most recent occupants are recognized for the glory of their vernacular, if we traced this succession of famous poets further into the past we would inevitably find our way back to Homer. Following the ideal progression described in Inferno 4 from Homer first, past other members of that “bella scola” (Inferno 4.94), including Lucan and Ovid among the “quattro grand’ ombre” (Inferno 4.83) together with Virgil, another would in his time arrive on the scene and take his place as the foremost poet in the nest, the sixth in their company: Dante. Is there evidence to suggest that within this succession of foremost poets Dante plays more than a passive role with regard to sur-

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passing Virgil? While the apparent relationship between Virgil and Dante in Inferno 23 resembles that of a father and child (“come suo figlio, non come compagno” v. 51), Sam Guyler has aptly noted that Dante the poet “has issued a challenge of sorts to Virgil in Inferno xxi–xxiii by pointing out a significant difference between the underworld as Virgil knew it and the underworld as Dante recreated it.”18 As we read in this episode of the humiliation of Virgil, once so confident that he had the last word when it came to understanding Hell, the message from Dante the poet comes through clearly: the long-standing description of the pagan underworld from Virgil’s Aeneid is now out of date and must be replaced by a new view of that world beneath the earth, one which will be provided by Dante and can serve as a true roadmap to the Christian Hell.19 As a consequence of the diminishing authority of the Aeneid as a foundational text for Christians, the fame of its author will decline, and a new poet all too ready to move ahead in the guise of Dante the pilgrim will both literally and figuratively leave Virgil behind before crossing over to the other side of the Lethe, the river of forgetfulness. After the arrival of Statius in Purgatorio 21, Virgil’s diminishing authority as Dante’s “maestro” and guide can be increasingly understood in terms of his inability to see the way ahead, he becomes an ironic personification of the individuals Virgil himself previously described in Purgatorio 18 as the “ciechi che si fanno duci” [“the blind who make themselves guides”] (2.18.18). Statius puts Virgil’s condition in stark terms, explaining unequivocally that as guide Virgil cannot see his way ahead, like “quei che va di notte, / che porta il lume dietro e sé non giova” [“one who goes by night and carries the light behind him and profits not himself”] (2.22.67–8). Then later in the canto Virgil himself, made aware of his blindness, ascribes his condition to the whole of the first circle he inhabits in Hell: “nel primo cinghio del carcere cieco” [“in the first circle of the blind prison”] (2.22.103). So it is that in Virgil’s last address to Dante in Purgatorio 27, with the Lethe flowing just ahead and Beatrice soon to appear on the other side, he makes it known to Dante that they have reached the point beyond which he can no longer discern, “più oltre non discerno” (v. 129), a manifestation of the myopia that he has described previously within the context of his allegorical role: “Quanto ragion qui vede, / dir ti poss’ io; da indi in là t’aspetta / pur a Beatrice, ch’è opra di fede”

Introduction

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[“As far as reason sees here I can tell you; beyond that wait only for Beatrice, for it is a matter of faith”] (2.18.46–8).20 By the time Dante is able to see beyond Virgil and reach a higher level of understanding under the guidance of Beatrice, the vast majority of his readers can no longer follow him and must perforce turn back. In Paradiso 2 Dante could not be more direct in his imperative: “non vi mettete in pelago” [“do not commit yourselves to the open sea”] (3.2.5). The “piccioletta barca” [“small boat”] (3.2.1) within which they were able to trail in Virgil’s wake is inadequate for the impending voyage upon the open sea. Only the few (“Voialtri pochi” 3.2.10) who have been nourished by the wisdom of the angels (“O beati quelli pochi che seggiono a quella mensa dove lo pane de li angeli si manuca” [“Oh blessed those few who sit at the table where the bread of angels is consumed”] Conv. i i 6–7) are equipped with a vessel that can sustain their journey onward: “metter potete ben per l’alto sale / vostro navigio” [“you may indeed commit your vessel to the deep brine”] (3.2.13–14). From that remaining minority of the “pochi” (underscored both in the Convivio and the Commedia) who have followed Dante beyond Virgil, would surface the reader Dante envisions in Paradiso 10.22–3 (“Or ti riman, lettor, sovra ’l tuo banco, / dietro pensando” [“Now remain, reader, upon your bench, reflecting”]), capable of recovering the submerged linguistic markers that will serve as a guide along an otherwise unseen itinerary across the textual space of his poem.21 The first linguistic journey in chapter 1 begins with Dante and Virgil coming face to face with the swollen figure of Plutus, the “gran nemico” [“great enemy”] (1.6.115). Even before Dante has the chance to show his fear, Virgil intervenes, first by comforting the unnerved pilgrim and second by verbally bludgeoning the “maladetto lupo” [“accursed wolf”] (1.7.8) such that Plutus, puffed up by his pride, suddenly deflates and offers no further resistance to the journeying poets. In this passage the linguistic configuration that emerges contains three formulas of repetition: “ch’elli abbia” [“that he have”], “Poi si rivolse a ... labbia” [“Then he turned back to ... visage”], and “la tua rabbia” [“your own rage”] (1.7.5–9), which will recur once only some seven cantos later. The circumstances of Inferno 14 are similar; Capaneus in his blasphemy challenges God, yet is seemingly impervious to the divine justice that is meted out as he gives the impression of being

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unaffected by the falling embers that cook his fellow souls. Here, as before, Virgil must follow a two-pronged approach: to overwhelm this foe and calm his frightened charge. As with Inferno 7, the repeated linguistic configuration appears at this precise juncture, again with the middle formula, “Poi si rivolse a ... labbia” [“Then he turned back to ... visage”] (1.14.67), which thematically and linguistically marks the shift in Virgil’s demeanour from a no-nonsense tone before Capaneus to the tone of the calm teacher before Dante. With the demise of Plutus and Capaneus respectively, the two episodes seem so similar as to invite us to ask what can be gleaned by juxtaposing them. Dante the pilgrim helps provide that answer. For fear of what the uncontrolled Capaneus might do to them, he reminds Virgil that he has overcome all obdurate demons save those at the gate into Dis in Inferno 8 and 9. By responding both to Dante’s overt invitation and to the covert one issued by the repeated linguistic configuration, we may look back over the preceding cantos and find other patterns of repetition relevant to the issue of Virgil’s guiding competence since his great success with Plutus. By way of the linguistic markers that reveal themselves in the textual space of the intervening cantos, the reader gains a better understanding of the dual purpose of Virgil’s speech-making in Inferno 14. Once again, as was the case in Inferno 7, he divides his time between crushing his enemy and calming Dante’s fears, but with the events that have unfolded in the interim, by Inferno 14 he has an even greater challenge on his hands: how to quell Dante’s lingering doubts about his guiding competence? The point of departure in part 1 of chapter 2 is fixed in the fifth circle of the wrathful where, in Inferno 8 and 9, Dante and Virgil are stalled before the gate into Dis because Virgil has proven incapable of convincing the demons to grant them entry. The long-sought “messo” [“messenger”] rescues the journey but not Virgil’s everdiminishing authority as guide, for, after failing to acknowledge Dante and Virgil and opening the gate effortlessly, he proceeds to chastise these rebellious demons by invoking the high authority that sanctions this journey. It is at this point, when the “messo” is scolding the demons for again vainly challenging the will of God, that the thematically relevant configuration first surfaces, comprised of the formula of repetition “dar di cozzo” [“to butt against”] and the rhyme-word “gozzo” [“throat”].

Introduction

15

Tracking the directional signal provided by this pattern of repetition, we reach Purgatorio 15 and 16, where the souls of the penitent wrathful purge their sin. Thematic connections between these two realms of the wrathful abound. For example, it is only on this terrace in Purgatory that the welcoming angel is called a “messo.” What is incongruous is the way Virgil has been transformed from the ineffectual guide stalled before the gate into Dis to one with the apparent ability to maintain the pace of the upward journey in Purgatorio 16 and lead his charge through the dense and dark fume. By means of this signposted journey, the reader might believe for a moment that a rehabilitated Virgil is capable of learning from his past errors. But his triumph will prove short-lived, as another journey is set to begin, which is the subject of part two of this second chapter. Four lines later, in Purgatorio 16, the blinded pilgrim hears the words of the Agnus Dei and, wholly dependent upon his seeing guide, asks what may appear obvious – whether those are in fact spirits who are singing. Virgil’s response in the affirmative is sure and quick, with a piece of added information that Dante has not requested: that they are the penitent wrathful who are loosening the knot of their sin. In Purgatorio 23, when the pilgrim is following behind Virgil and Statius, the words of the song “Labïa mëa Domine” reach his ears and he asks his guide what it is that he hears. Virgil similarly responds that they are souls who are perhaps loosening the knot of their debt. The two scenes have the following points in common: there is reference to a song being sung by unseen singers; “Modo” refers to the tone of the song and appears at the end of the second line; Dante’s question comes on the fourth line, which ends with the formula: “ch’i’ odo” [“that I hear”]; Virgil is identified as “ed elli” on the fifth line; Virgil responds to Dante’s query on the fifth and sixth lines and concludes with the formula “solvendo il nodo” [“loosening the knot”]. If one responds to the call sounded by these repeated linguistic and thematic prompts to compare the two scenes, it becomes evident that, although Dante’s questions are virtually the same, by Purgatorio 23 Virgil is more tentative with even the most basic information. Why does Virgil lose the confidence he manifested in Purgatorio 16? After Statius’ depiction in Purgatorio 22 of Virgil as being unable to see his way ahead (“Facesti come quei che va di notte, /

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Virgil the Blind Guide

che porta il lume dietro” [“You were like one who goes by night and carries the light behind him”] 2.22.67–8), he becomes less sure of his ability to guide in darkness. In reviewing this alternative journey from the point of departure of the first linguistic configuration in Inferno 9 to the destination of the second one in Purgatorio 23, we understand that, while Dante’s state of blindness was passing, for the condemned Virgil it was everlasting, as is made all the more poignant in early Purgatorio 16 when he was enabled to see. Part one of chapter 3 takes up in Inferno 9, just after the celestial “messo” turned his back on Virgil and Dante. With the gate only just opened by the messenger’s small wand, Virgil’s validity as a guide reaches a new low; the impotence of the demons is exposed by their mounting no resistance at all (“sanz’ alcuna guerra” 1.9.106) to the poets’ now easy entrance into Dis. The formula “alcuna guerra” recurs once in Purgatorio 28 where it is yet again embedded in a terza rima scheme framed by “la terra” and “serra” in that order. While the circumstances in Purgatorio 28 may appear entirely different, given that Virgil has relinquished his post as guide to Dante at the close of the preceding canto, the constituent parts of the linguistic pattern invite the reader to review the two passages and to identify common themes. When Matelda discourses on the absence of climactic perturbations in Earthly Paradise, she refers to the land (“la terra”) as a source of such disturbances, which are locked (“serra”) below the lofty heights of her realm. Correspondingly, the land (“la terra”) in Inferno 9 denotes a contaminated place, Dis, whose taint is enclosed (“serra”) within its fortressed walls. From our understanding of Virgil’s defeat and loss of respect before the gate into Dis, can we learn anything more about him in this second episode highlighted by the repeated linguistic configuration? Despite no longer serving as guide to Dante, on the face of it Virgil is better received by Matelda, who acknowledges him, than he was by the “messo,” who snubbed him. Yet, by Purgatorio 28 Virgil has become a hollow figure, not only impotent, as he was before the demons of Inferno 8 and 9, but also voiceless, soon to fall away from this high mountain to Hell below. In contrast to Inferno 9, where the taciturn “messo” delivered Dante, and Virgil as well, through the gate into Dis, in Purgatorio 28 the articulate Matelda

Introduction

17

will not facilitate (“sanz’ alcuna guerra,” to adapt the meaning from Inferno 9) Virgil’s entry into her domain. In the second part of chapter 3 we turn to Purgatorio 9 by way of a repeated reference to the “tre gradi” [“three steps”] that access the gate of Purgatory, the upper limit of the climactic perturbations. In this scene, where Virgil is left to his own devices to ensure Dante’s entry into Purgatory just after the departure of Lucia, the linguistic patterns that emerge point equally up and down the mountain. The formula of repetition “ancor non facea motto,” which describes the silence of the guardian (later called “l’angel di Dio”), is reminiscent of the scene on the shore of Purgatory where the formula first appears, telling of the equally silent Virgil before the coming of the celestial boat-pilot (also called “l’angel di Dio” 2.2.29). The formula further evokes the previous linguistic pattern, “non fé motto a noi” [“he did not speak a word to us”] (1.9.101), which alludes to Virgil’s lack of interaction with the first emissary from on high that he encountered, the “messo” of Inferno 9 who departed without uttering a single word. By tracing this succession of silencing encounters with heavenly emissaries, we return in due course to the Lethe where Virgil can listen to Matelda’s corollary and smile; but his voice has become still once more. The point of departure for the signposted journey in my fourth chapter comes at the precise moment when Dante the pilgrim realizes that his true Virgil has vanished, just as he experiences the pangs of the old love he bears for Beatrice and is in particular need of Virgil’s calming presence. On the verge of a new bout of melancholy, Dante turns to his once master like a young child who out of fear seeks his mother’s arms: “volsimi a la sinistra col respitto / col quale il fantolin corre a la mamma / ... conosco i segni de l’antica fiamma” [“I turned to the left with the confidence of a little child that runs to his mother ... I know the tokens of the ancient flame”] (2.30.43–4 and 48). For Dante the pilgrim, assaulted anew by the “antica fiamma,” Virgil would have been the ideal source fo consolation, a combination of “mother” to the boy Dante who first felt the pangs of lovesickness at the age of nine, and the poet who has written of the unrequited love of Dido for Aeneas, using precisely the same expression in Latin: “Adgnosco veteris vestigia flammae” [“I recognize the traces of the olden flame”] (Aen. iv, 23). Following the trail provided by the formula of repetition “fantolin ... la mamma” and “fiamma,” we arrive at the heaven of the

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Virgil the Blind Guide

fixed stars, where Beatrice bids Dante look up to the lights of the blessed souls who, like flowers in a beautiful garden, shine beneath the rays of Christ. The fair flower is the Virgin Mary, whose flame ascends after her Son until it is beyond the pilgrim’s ability to see, leaving behind the flames of the blessed souls, which bend upward after her, like a baby reaching up to a mother’s breast: “come fantolin che ’nver’ la mamma / tende le braccia, poi che ’l latte prese” [“as an infant which, when it has taken the milk, stretches its arms toward its mother”] (3.23.121–2). The repetition of this formula, which again speaks of the tender bond between a mother and her babe, invites the reader to reconsider the role of Virgil at the time he vanished from Dante’s sight, while that of “fiamma” (3.23.119) recalls not just the “antica fiamma” translation of Virgil’s “vestigia flammae” from the Aeneid but also the poem as a whole, described by Statius as the “divina fiamma” that lit the candle of his own poetry. For Statius, who would have been prepared to spend yet another year in Purgatory if he had lived in the age of Virgil, and for Dante in Purgatorio 30, Virgil’s “fiamma” lures them to look backward. Conversely, in Paradiso 23 Dante’s “antica fiamma” is replaced by the “coronata fiamma” of the Virgin Mary, which draws him to look forward toward the Primum Mobile. In the subsequent passage, which contrasts the happy state of the blessed souls with the tearful condition they once endured in the exile of this life, we find the terza rima scheme “essilio” / “Filio” / “concilio” [“exile” / “Son” / “council”], which recalls the earlier repetitions of like patterns in Inferno 23.121–6, Purgatorio 21.13–18, and Paradiso 26.115–20, all of which include “essilio,” “concilio,” and “Virgilio.” Dante the pilgrim, who is well past mourning the loss of his once master “Virgilio,” here witnesses the triumphant Peter and the other souls beneath the “Filio” and “Maria,” the Virgin Mary. By way of the repeated formula “fantolin ... la mamma,” the reader sees that Mary has already taken the “mother” role and is now alongside her “Filio” in place of “Virgilio,” who has long since returned to his eternal “essilio” in Hell. In chapter 5 the linguistic journey is marked by the thematically relevant formula “qua giù di giro in giro” [“down here from circle to circle”], which Virgil uses to describe to Mohammed his leading Dante down the circles of “inferno.” Despite Mohammed’s apparent lack of interest in Virgil, he is the one who is quick to respond

Introduction

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and point out that Dante is alive and blameless; but he is less forthcoming about the fault for which he himself has been condemned to Hell. Apart from Virgil’s two-tercet response to Mohammed, he displays a distinct indifference to the “martiro” the schismatic souls endure of being everlastingly cleft by the sword of a cruel devil; and he later calls Dante to task for displaying such a fixed interest in the contrapasso of Bertran de Born, who bears his shorn head as if it were a lantern. While Virgil, as Dante’s teacher or “dottore,” is there to shine his own guiding lantern upon these schismatic souls so that Dante can be provided with a complete experience (“per dar lui esperïenza piena” [“in order to give him full experience”] 1.28.48), Virgil remains impervious to the experiential learning he offers for, as Statius is to explain in Purgatory, Virgil can derive no benefit from the guiding lantern that he carries behind him. The occurrence of “qua giù di giro in giro” plus “inferno” and “martiro” points the way forward across two-thirds of the Commedia to the penultimate canto of the Paradiso where Bernard of Clairvaux assumes the office of “dottore” to teach Dante about the line of blessed souls placed opposite the Virgin Mary. At the top circling rank is seated John the Baptist who, after his penitential time in the desert suffered the martyrdom (“martiro”) of decapitation like Bertran de Born and, since he died prior to the crucifixion, had to serve two years in “inferno” before being rescued by Christ. From the remote circle of John the Baptist, Dante’s new guide continues this eye-tour down the funnel-shaped Rose closer to them, circle by circle, “qua giù di giro in giro.” This tour, which sets out from the seat of John the Baptist in the highest circling rank (“di giro”), inevitably draws our attention back to the start of the downward journey through Hell from the highest circle (“di giro”), Limbo. For the starting point of the first journey we return to Inferno 1, where the voice of Virgil cries out in the desert to the lost Dante – in Robert Hollander’s words “a ‘John the Baptist’ to Beatrice’s ‘Christ,’ who led Dante, a ‘Hebrew in the wilderness,’ back to Beatrice.”22 However, what these two voices actually say in the desert cannot be more contrasting. We who, with Dante, first follow Virgil “di giro in giro” down through Hell, in due course follow Bernard “di giro in giro” down through the Celestial Rose, where we are reminded of the fault that Virgil would not admit to Mohammed, and for which he will not be counted among those who believed in Christ yet to come. By this

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Virgil the Blind Guide

signposted journey we may gain a further perspective on the fate of Virgil, who is no longer even deemed worthy of explicit mention in the text. Amid the extensive bibliography on Virgil both as the author of the Aeneid and as a persona in the Commedia, studies relating to Dante’s questionable choice of Virgil to serve as his guide can be traced over some 150 years to Domenico Comparetti’s Virgilio nel Medio Evo (1872), the first major evaluation of Dante’s Virgil to also contain a detailed discussion of his legendary status in the Middle Ages as a magician. In Edward Moore’s landmark work Studies in Dante (1896),23 which Hollander has called “still the most thorough single study of textual evidence for Virgilian source,”24 Moore’s section, “Dante and Virgil,” balances Virgil’s reputation as a magician with Dante’s devotion to him as the great classical author of the Aeneid.25 While various scholars continued to focus on Virgil’s characterization as a prophet or magician (later examples include Kenneth McKenzie, Antonio Fiammazzo, and John Webster Spargo),26 at the same time others such as Aristide Marigo, Karl Vossler, and Erich Auerbach were building upon Moore’s work by focusing primarily on the influence of the literary Virgil upon the Commedia.27 For Ernst Curtius, Dante’s awakening of Virgil bears “witness to the spiritual presence of the Aeneid,” the source of “Dante’s hundreds of imitations,” which, as mentioned above, Dante claims to have known by heart.28 In Ulrich Leo’s landmark article “The Unfinished Convivio and Dante’s Rereading of the Aeneid,” Leo builds on the work of Karl Vossler and further suggests the precise moment when Dante re-read the Aeneid along with other classical texts and came under Virgil’s influence while writing the fourth book of the Convivio and a fragment of the De Vulgari Eloquentia.29 On the heels of scholars of the 1950s and ’60s who expanded upon the relationship between Virgil and Dante (see, for example, Charles Davis and Domenico Consoli),30 has come a new wave of Dante criticism. Our attention has been drawn, as Hollander puts it, to passages in the Commedia that underscore Virgil’s flaws “both as character and as author, both in his tragic Aeneid ... with its uncertain view of the empire, a view that is countered by Dante’s imperial Comedy, as well as in the Fourth Eclogue, a closed book to its author.”31 Such Dante scholars, including Hollander, Guyler, Teodolinda Barolini, Christopher J. Ryan, Margherita Frankel, Anthony K.Cassell, Guy P. Raffa, Stefano Prandi, and

Introduction

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John Kleiner, balance their focus upon moments of weakness over the course of Virgil’s guidance with the deep regard and affection that Dante the pilgrim displays towards his guide and master, “quel savio gentil, che tutto seppe” [“that gentle sage who knew all”] (1.7.3).32 While glossing two noteworthy passages in which Virgil takes a defensive posture before the faults that have held him from salvation, Anthony K. Cassell identifies comparable wording: “Per tai difetti, non per altro rio / semo perduti” [“Because of these shortcomings, and for no other fault, we are lost”] (1.4.40–1); and “per null’altro rio / lo ciel perdei che per non aver fé” [“for no other fault did I lose Heaven than for not having faith”] (2.7.7–8).33 I would add that, with the repetition of the formula “altro rio,” unique to these two cantos and in both instances in rhyme with “a Dio” two verses earlier, the thirty-seven cantos of textual space that divide them underscore how little has changed for Virgil: he remains a static figure, like all condemned souls, and derives no benefit from this journey.34 Over the course of this study, by means of the alternative journeys upon which we as readers are invited to embark by the linguistic signposts that mark the way, it will be possible to enhance our understanding of both explicit and concealed passages pertaining to Virgil’s diminishing authority, some of which surface in the text long after he has returned to his home in Limbo.

Virgil’s Taming of Plutus and Capaneus

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1 Virgil’s Taming of Plutus and Capaneus, and the Pilgrim’s Changing Perceptions

As Dante and Virgil reach the point where their journey takes them to the fourth circle, they come face to face with its guardian, Plutus, who tries to impede their progress by invoking Satan with his menacing gibberish. But Dante’s wise guide confidently reassures him that he has nothing to fear because Plutus does not have the power to stop them from continuing their descent: disse per confortarmi: “Non ti noccia la tua paura; ché, poder ch’elli abbia, non ci torrà lo scender questa roccia.” Poi si rivolse a quella ’nfiata labbia, e disse: “Taci, maladetto lupo! consuma dentro te con la tua rabbia.” [He said to reassure me, “Do not let your fear harm you; for, whatever power he may have, he shall not keep us from descending this rock” Then he turned back to that bloated visage and said, “Silence, accursed wolf! Consume yourself inwardly with your own rage”]. (1.7.4–9) Time is of the essence, as Virgil must both calm Dante and vanquish his foe. After comforting his charge, with a changed demeanor Virgil turns to focus on Plutus and launches a verbal volley of his own, starting with the imperative “Taci,” which sets the tone for his angry words that follow, including the second imperative “consuma.” He eventually crushes Plutus by contrasting the unnamed God who sanctions this journey from on high with the Satan that Plutus has invoked, highlighting Satan’s proud rebellion and his punishment at the hands of the Archangel Michael. Plutus,

Virgil’s Taming of Plutus and Capaneus

23

recognizing that his authority is no match for Virgil’s, like a onceswollen sail whose mast has broken and is fully deflated, becomes unable to mount any further resistance to Dante and Virgil as they proceed into the fourth circle. In the seventh circle, as Dante and Virgil reach the sandy plain upon which burning embers are falling like snow, Dante asks his guide about the great soul who, unlike the others, seems to take no notice of the fire. However, before Virgil can respond, the soul interrupts and declares that he remains undaunted before Jove. Virgil’s quick rebuke has such force and anger as Dante has never heard from him before: “O Capaneo, in ciò che non s’ammorza la tua superbia, se’ tu più punito; nullo martiro, fuor che la tua rabbia sarebbe al tuo furor dolor compito.” Poi si rivolse a me con miglior labbia, dicendo: “Quei fu l’un d’i sette regi ch’assiser Tebe; ed ebbe e par ch’elli abbia Dio in disdegno, e poco par che ’l pregi.” [“O Capaneus! in that your pride remains unquenched you are punished the more: no torment save your own raging would be pain to match your fury.” Then he turned round to me with gentler look, saying, “That was one of the seven kings who beseiged Thebes, and held, and seems to hold, God in disdain and prize Him little.”] (1.14.63–70) Virgil then turns to Dante, again with a changed demeanour, and calmly gives a brief account of this soul to clarify why he is disdainful of God. In a manner analagous to the poet’s description of Plutus as the great enemy (“Pluto il gran nemico” [“Plutus, the great enemy”] 1.6.115), Capaneus declares himself the enemy of Jove (“Se Giove stanchi ...” [“Though Jove weary ...”] 1.14.52), and Virgil, now as then, exposes the emptiness behind such raging, which also in Capaneus’ case causes pain to no other but himself. Capaneus is thus left to his ineffectual blasphemy, as Dante and Virgil move onward beside the burning sand. In both passages highlighted above, the linguistic patterns “la tua rabbia” and “ch’elli abbia” are embedded along with the more extensive “Poi si rivolse a ... labbia,” to complete a complex linguistic configuration that is unique to these two texts, as is the

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Virgil the Blind Guide

repetition of the three individual formulas.1 While the general invitation in Inferno 14.61–2 (“Allora il duca mio parlò di forza / tanto, ch’i’ non l’avea sì forte udito” [“Then my leader spoke with such force as I had not heard him use before”]) to contrast Virgil’s censure of Capaneus with the forceful words he has uttered in the face of the previous enemies of God is overt, the repeated and distinct linguistic configuration signals a hidden invitation to more specifically juxtapose the text surrounding Capaneus with the text that details one particular enemy: Plutus, from Inferno 7. Inferno 7 Through the initial portrayal of Plutus as the “gran nemico” (“quivi trovammo Pluto, il gran nemico” [“there we found Plutus, the great enemy”] 1.6.115),2 the reader has been prepared for an encounter with one of the great enemies of God, if not Lucifer himself, for here is the first instance where the word “nemico” appears in any opening narrative,3 with “gran” heightening the suspense still further. Plutus’ only utterance at the start of Inferno 7: “‘Pape Satàn, pape Satàn aleppe!’ / cominciò Pluto con la voce chioccia” [“‘Pape Satàn, pape Satàn aleppe!’” Plutus began with a clucking voice.”] (vv. 1–2),4 can only reinforce the tension. But Dante the pilgrim is not left unprotected, for at his side stands his guide, that kindly, allknowing sage: “quel savio gentil, che tutto seppe” (v. 3),5 who can construe Dante’s fear and comfort him before he can express a sound of concern.6 Accordingly, Virgil minimizes the threat by initially ignoring Plutus. Instead, he addresses Dante and, in a passage that contains the first linguistic pattern, reassures him that Plutus has no power to impede their descent: “Non ti noccia la tua paura; ché, poder ch’elli abbia, non ci torrà lo scender questa roccia.” [“Do not let your fear harm you; for whatever power he may have, he shall not keep us from descending this rock.”] (1.7.4–6) Virgil lives up to the poet’s accolade as all-knowing by setting Dante’s mind to rest. Plutus’ “poder” is no match for his own: no matter what clout Plutus may think he has (“ch’elli abbia” v. 5), he will not stop them from continuing along their appointed way.

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Here Virgil’s guiding competence appears as solid as “questa roccia” upon which they will descend to gain access to the fourth circle. The formula “questa roccia” (v. 6) will be repeated on one further occasion in the Commedia, in Inferno 12.36, where Virgil describes how once previously (“l’altra fïata” 1.12.34) he had descended to the depths of Hell before this rock had fallen (“questa roccia non era ancor cascata” [“this rock had not yet fallen”] 1.12.36) only a few years before the unnamed Christ was to descend into Hell. The repetition of “questa roccia” in Inferno 12 will serve to contrast in the reader’s mind the previous instance in Inferno 7 when Virgil appeared so confident about the rock upon which he trod, and the latter instance, when we begin to suspect that despite Virgil’s previous travel experience in Hell he cannot be so sure of the rock. “Questa roccia” had changed just before Christ harrowed Hell and rescued worthy pre-Christians from Limbo (“che venisse colui che la gran preda / levò a Dite del cerchio superno” [“He came who took from Dis the great spoil of the uppermost circle”] 1.12.38–9) but Virgil had not changed, and therefore was obliged to step more carefully over the new unfamiliar rock beneath his feet.7 A seed of doubt has been planted in Inferno 7 with the formula “questa roccia,” which germinates with its re-appearance in Inferno 12. Meanwhile there is no doubting Virgil. Sure of his stride, he turns from Dante to Plutus and confronts him in the text highlighted by the second and third linguistic patterns: Poi si rivolse a quella ’nfiata labbia e disse: “Taci, maladetto lupo! consuma dentro te con la tua rabbia.” [Then he turned back to that bloated visage and said, “Silence, accursed wolf! Consume yourself inwardly with your own rage.”] (1.7.7–9) Plutus, the accursed wolf (“maladetto lupo” v. 8), will not impede Dante’s forward journey as the she-wolf (“lupa” 1.1.49) had done in Inferno 1.49–60,8 because Virgil, the all-knowing sage who thereafter has served as guide to Dante, can successfully deflate the alleged great enemy.9 Having assured Dante that Plutus could not block their way despite whatever power he might possess, (“ch’elli abbia”), Virgil turns to Plutus (“Poi si rivolse”) and further reveals the emptiness of the menacing words that issued forth from his

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swollen face (“’nfiata labbia”); they can be brought to a standstill with a mere “taci,” as his threat is without substance and his rage (“rabbia”) impotent, best consumed internally (“consuma dentro te”).10 Virgil confronts Plutus through the authority of the one on high who wills this descent to the depths of Satan’s realm: “Non è sanza cagion l’andare al cupo: vuolsi ne l’alto, là dove Michele fé la vendetta del superbo strupo.” [“Not without cause is this journey to the depth; so is it willed on high, there where Michael avenged the proud rebellion.”] (1.7.10–2) Before two previous demonic guardians, Charon and Minos, who likewise attempted to impede this descent into Hell, Virgil pronounced the same formulaic words, also invoking the authority by which this journey was sanctioned: “vuolsi così colà dove si puote / ciò che si vuole, e più non dimandare” [“Thus is it willed there where that can be done which is willed; and ask no more”] (1.3.95–6; 1.5.23–4).11 In Inferno 7 the present indicative “vuolsi” is repeated for the third and last time in Hell, but “così” disappears and “colà” turns into the more specific “ne l’alto,” as the vague “dove si puote ciò che si vuole” becomes the place where the Archangel Michael avenged Satan’s rebellion: “là dove Michele fé la vendetta del superbo strupo” [“there where Michael avenged the proud rebellion”].12 The “savio” Virgil knows how to take the wind out of Plutus’ sails by referring to the source on high from which the authority for this descent comes, more precisely where Satan was also vanquished. Since whatever power Plutus thinks he might have (“ché, poder ch’elli abbia”) comes from Satan, whom he hoped to summon, Virgil’s underscoring of the Devil’s defeat at the hands of the Archangel Michael drives the final nail in the coffin of Plutus’ threatening invocation of “Pape Satàn,” the conquered “Ruler” of Hell whose impotence is here also manifest. The image of the proud Plutus’ “’nfiata labbia” as a sail stretched to the limit by a stiff wind is an apt one: Quali dal vento le gonfiate vele caggiono avvolte, poi che l’alber fiacca,

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tal cadde a terra la fiera crudele. Così scendemmo ne la quarta lacca. [As sails swollen by the wind fall in a heap when the mainmast snaps, so fell that cruel beast to the ground. Thus we descended into the fourth hollow.] (1.7.13–6) By following the simile, one may infer that the force of the wind that inflated Plutus’ power (“le gonfiate vele”) to convey the apparent authority of Satan cannot match the power of the one on high who responds to Virgil’s invocation with a new wind so strong that it causes the mast to snap (“fiacca”) and the once bloated sail to collapse.13 Virgil’s triumph is complete.14 He understood Plutus’ threat and responded appropriately by the authority conferred on him from “l’alto,” much as the Archangel Michael responded before the threat of the proud Satan. Just as Satan fell to Earth when Michael avenged the “superbo strupo,” so too Plutus fell: “cadde a terra.” And with Plutus’ fall there is nothing to prevent Virgil and Dante from descending to the fourth circle (“la quarta lacca” v. 16). Inferno 12 Like the repetition of “questa roccia” in Inferno 12.36, so too the rhyme words “lacca” and “fiacca” reappear in a similar context and with a similar connotation before the guardian of the seventh circle, the Minotaur. The fourth circle’s intact “quarta lacca” of the avaricious and the prodigal in Inferno 7, becomes by Inferno 12.11 the “rotta lacca” of the violent who dwell in the seventh circle: è sì la roccia discoscesa, ch’alcuna via darebbe a chi sù fosse: cotal di quel burrato era la scesa; e ’n su la punta de la rotta lacca ... [the rock is so tumbled down as to give some passage to anyone above – such was the descent of that ravine; and on the edge of the broken chasm ... ] (1.12.8–11) This rock (“questa roccia” 1.7.6), so familiar to Virgil and so stable under his feet in Inferno 7, five cantos later has turned into an unknown and broken chasm (“rotta lacca” v. 11). These words in turn anticipate the text that surrounds the repetition of “questa

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roccia” twenty-five lines later (1.12.36), where the event is described that brought into effect the change of landscape in this part of Hell, causing it to be unfamiliar to Virgil despite his having come this way before. The repetition of “fiacca” to depict the Minotaur’s ire, as Charles Singleton points out “is used in like manner to describe the selfconsuming rage of the guardian of another circle: see the simile by which the effects of Plutus’ wrath are likened to a broken mast.”15 Plutus’ rage, which Virgil commanded he consume inwardly (“consuma dentro te con la tua rabbia” 1.7.9), is now the Minotaur’s rage, similarly consumed (“e quando vide noi, sé stesso morse, / sì come quei cui l’ira dentro fiacca” [“And when he saw us he bit himself, like one whom wrath rends inwardly”] 1.12.14–15), with “dentro” in both instances seemingly illustrating that such menacing guardians are no outward threat to the poets’ descent. Virgil, again described as the “savio” here for the first time since Inferno 7.3, would appear to expose the Minotaur’s impotence before Dante (“Pàrtiti, bestia, ché questi non vene / ammaestrato da la tua sorella” [“Get you gone, beast, that this man does not come tutored by your sister”] 1.12.19–20), much as he had done in Inferno 7 previously, but with a difference. In the latter instance Virgil is not so sure he has dispatched this foe so summarily, for he fears the Minotaur is still capable of harming Dante. In contrast to Inferno 7, where Dante and Virgil calmly descended to the fourth “lacca” leaving in their wake the deflated Plutus, in Inferno 12 Virgil must remain vigilant (“accorto” 1.12.26) lest the Minotaur display his fury outwardly despite Virgil’s rebuke. As a consequence Virgil is reduced to entreating his charge to run while the Minotaur is temporarily distracted by his rage: “Corri al varco; / mentre ch’e’ ’nfuria, è buon che tu ti cale” [“Run to the passage: while he is in fury it is well that you descend”] (1.12.26–7). Beyond the passage, Dante and Virgil continue their descent upon the broken landscape of the seventh circle with Virgil uncertain of Dante’s thoughts. He attempts to read them, nonetheless, by suggesting that maybe (“forse”) Dante is thinking about this torn landscape watched over by the Minotaur he claims to have subdued:16 Io già pensando; e quei disse: “Tu pensi forse a questa ruina, ch’è guardata da quell’ ira bestial ch’i’ ora spensi.”

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[I was going along thinking, and he said, “Perhaps you are thinking on this ruin, guarded by that bestial wrath which I quelled just now.”] (1.12.31–3) In fact Virgil does little to bolster Dante’s confidence when he explains that “questa roccia” upon which they stride was not there when he had journeyed through Hell the previous time, because his prior descent had occurred before the earthquake and the subsequent harrowing of Christ: “Or vo’ che sappi che l’altra fïata ch’i’ discesi qua giù nel basso inferno, questa roccia non era ancor cascata. Ma certo poco pria, se ben discerno, che venisse colui che la gran preda levò a Dite del cerchio superno.” [“Know then that the other time I came down here into the nether Hell this rock had not yet fallen. But certainly, if I reckon rightly, it was a little before He came who took from Dis the great spoil of the uppermost circle.”] (1.12.34–9) Like “questa roccia,” the formula “l’altra fïata” also has surfaced once previously. Both patterns of repetition serve as linguistic and thematic identifiers, but unlike “questa roccia,” which changes according to the landscape from the fourth circle to the seventh, “altra fïata” makes reference in each of its appearances to Virgil’s prior descent into deeper Hell: “Ver è ch’altra fïata qua giù fui, congiurato da quella Eritón cruda che richiamava l’ombre a’ corpi sui.” [“It is true that once before I was down here, conjured by that cruel Erichtho who was wont to call back shades into their bodies.”] (1.9.22–4) There Virgil sought to reassure Dante by explaining that he had knowledge of all Hell, thanks to the cruel Erichtho, who had sent him down to the bottom shortly after he had died to draw a spirit from the ninth circle. If Dante had doubts about Virgil in Inferno 9 on account of the dubious authority by which Virgil descended the

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previous time, they remained unexpressed. While the text in Inferno 12 appears similarly uncommunicative as to what Dante is thinking, the repetition of another formula, “vo’ che sappi” (v. 34), may shed further light on what is passing through Virgil’s mind. The linguistic pattern “vo’ che sappi” has already appeared in two previous instances, both in Inferno 4 just twenty-nine lines apart (verses 33 and 62).17 As the two poets entered Limbo, Dante noticed Virgil’s pallor (“color”) and sought reassurance that Virgil was up to the task of guide since he looked as if he was afraid: “E io, che del color mi fui accorto, / dissi: ‘Come verrò se tu paventi’” [“And I, noting his pallor, said, ‘How shall I come, if you are afraid’”] (1.4.16–17). Virgil explained that his pallor, which Dante mistook for fear, was in fact a reflection of the pity he felt for the anguish of the Limbo-dwellers. Adopting the words “vo’ che sappi” for the first time, Virgil wanted Dante to know that the souls did not sin (“Or vo’ che sappi, innanzi che più andi, / ch’ei non peccaro.” [“Now, before you go farther, I will have you know that they did not sin”] 1.4.33–4), but that they lacked baptism and in consequence they did not venerate God rightly. While defending these souls for whom he felt such pity, Virgil added that he too was one of them: “e di questi cotai son io medesmo” [“and I myself am one of these”] (1.4.39). When Virgil repeats the formula “vo’ che sappi” twenty-nine lines later, he is speaking not so much as guide but as one of the souls resident in Limbo who witnessed the unnamed Christ’s descent into their realm of Limbo when he drew forth a select crowd of pre-Christian souls and made them blessed. But Virgil wants Dante to know that such had never happened before: “E vo’ che sappi che dinanzi ad essi, / spiriti umani non eran salvati” [“And I would have you know that before these no human souls were saved”] (1.4.62–3). While Virgil was witness to this once-only event he was not deemed one of the elect, for as he declared just previously, he and the other Limbodwellers had not worshipped God properly: “Non adorar debitamente a Dio” [“they did not worship God aright”] (1.4.38). With the third and final occurrence of “vo’ che sappi” in Inferno 12 (“Or vo’ che sappi che l’altra fïata” [“Know then that the other time”] v. 34), again pronounced by Virgil and again referring to the time before Christ rescued the worthy souls, are we in a better position to fathom Virgil’s thinking? In Inferno 4 Virgil gave the impression of being on the defensive, endeavouring to prove himself as guide despite his pallor, and wanting Dante to know that, unlike all

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the other souls condemned to Hell, he and the other Limbodwellers of the first circle had not sinned. Yet Virgil was not like all the other Limbo-dwellers. Some were elect, others like Virgil were not. The same authority “ne l’alto” demonstrated that truth when Christ harrowed Hell on a once-only basis. The evidence of Christ’s mark upon Hell is everywhere to be seen as Dante and Virgil enter the “rotta lacca” of the seventh circle, through the very stone (“questa roccia”) now under Virgil’s feet, so changed from what it had been upon his prior descent, before he was deemed unworthy. With Virgil’s final repetition of the formula “vo’ che sappi,” he wants Dante to know that he had been in this place previously, before the earthquake altered the landscape: “questa vecchia roccia, / qui e altrove, tal fece riverso” [“this ancient rock, here and elsewhere, made such downfall”] (1.12.44–5). And here Virgil may be reminded that this world of Hell, which had turned to chaos (“in caòsso converse” 1.12.43) by the earthquake he witnessed (“da tutte parti l’alta valle feda / tremò sì, ch’i’ pensai” [“the deep foul valley trembled so on all sides that I thought”] 1.12.40–1), is his world, where he will dwell for eternity because he was not one of the “gran preda” rescued from the “cerchio superno” of Limbo. Following the path from Inferno 7 to Inferno 12 illuminated by the linguistic signals “questa roccia,” “lacca,” and “fiacca,” the reader is mindful that with the changed state of the rock underfoot in this ruined landscape of the new “rotta lacca” comes uncertainty, as is made plain in the guise of the new guardian. The Minotaur at least for the moment vents his wrath inwardly (“l’ira dentro fiacca”), but unlike the deflated Plutus who rises no more, the Minotaur is hopping mad (“qua e là saltella” v. 24) such that Virgil is no longer so confident the beast will not do them harm. In Inferno 7 the two poets had descended into the fourth circle secure in the knowledge that there was no further danger, reflected in the words “Così scendemmo ne la quarta lacca” [“Thus we descended into the fourth hollow”] (1.7.16) immediately following the fall of Plutus. In Inferno 12 the words to describe their descent into the seventh circle are similar (“Così prendemmo via giù” [“So we took our way down”] 1.12.28), but in the latter instance are spoken only after their panic-stricken race from the mad and unruly Minotaur. By now the reader is also aware that Virgil is not always able to guide Dante past every obstacle, for in Inferno 8 he had failed to gain entry into Dis on his own despite his expressed confidence.

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And by the first tercet of Inferno 9, Virgil’s fear that the journey might fail was written large in the pallor of his face followed by his less than optimistic words: “Pur a noi converrà vincer la punga, / ... se non” [“Yet we must win this fight, ... or else”] (1.9.7–8).18 The memory of Virgil’s disgrace before the walls of Dis, though again unexpressed by the silent pilgrim in Inferno 12, would likely have lingered in his thoughts as he fled beyond the Minotaur, fearing that the beast might still be a threat to them with potentially dire consequence. Reflection upon Virgil’s previous failure, which has doubtless informed Dante’s thinking ever since he was shaken by his sorry performance in Inferno 8 and 9, is confirmed in Inferno 14 when at last Dante the pilgrim expresses his less-than-complete confidence in his guide.19 Inferno 14 At the start of Inferno 14, as the two poets cross from the second to the third ring of the seventh circle, the rock of the two previous episodes has given way to a plain covered in deep sand, similar to the desert of Libya over which Virgil’s fellow Roman Cato once trod when he guided the lost Pompeian army: “non d’altra foggia fatta che colei / che fu da’ piè di Caton già soppressa” [“not different in its fashion from that which once was trodden by the feet of Cato”] (1.14.14–15).20 The apostrophe, “O vendetta di Dio” [“O vengeance of God”] (1.14.16), by which Dante prepares the reader for the miserable scene of the condemned souls just ahead, recalls another apostrophe in Inferno 7. There, immediately after Dante and Virgil left Plutus behind and descended into the “quarta lacca,” the words the poet adopted to preface the scene of the miserable souls to come began with a similar apostrophe: “Ahi giustizia di Dio” [“Ah, justice of God!”] (1.7.19).21 Anna Maria Chiavacci Leonardi underlines the similarity between the two apostrophes: “l’apostrofe, come in vii 19 sgg., anticipa e prepara la terribile visione che appare agli occhi di Dante” [“the apostrophe, as in vii 19 and following, anticipates and prepares for the terrible vision that will appear before Dante’s eyes”].22 Indeed, in both instances the poet prepares the reader for what is to come by referring to what he has seen as a pilgrim: “tante chi stipa / nove travaglie e pene quant’ io viddi?” [“who crams together so many new travails and penalties as I saw?”] (1.7.19–20); “ciò che fu manifesto a li

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occhi mei!” [“what was revealed to my eyes!”] (1.14.18). While the apostrophes and the words that follow are in fact similar, God’s response is rendered differently: His vengeance (“vendetta di Dio” v. 16) in Inferno 14 was earlier, in Inferno 7, his justice (“giustizia di Dio” v. 19). Although in the context of Hell there may be little difference in meaning between the two expressions, as a linguistic parallel there is no repetition because the precise word “vendetta” does not appear in the previous apostrophe. But “vendetta” does in fact appear in Inferno 7 as well, seven lines before the appearance of “giustizia di Dio,” and it likewise guides the reader back to the Plutus episode where Virgil invoked the authority on high and the Archangel Michael avenged the Satan that Plutus was summoning: “fé la vendetta del superbo strupo” (1.7.12). For the reader of Inferno 14, implicit in that connection with Inferno 7 is the reminder that Virgil once seemed to possess the capacity to call upon that same authority (“ne l’alto” [“on high”] 1.7.11) who renders justice (or vengeance) in Hell, but may now have lost that capacity. Unlike Plutus or the Minotaur, Capaneus is not a guardian but a soul damned like any other, condemned to the third ring of the seventh circle of the violent against God. Therefore, as Dante and Virgil enter this new realm, Capaneus is no real or apparent obstacle, but makes his presence known only later as one of many naked blasphemers subject to the burning embers that rain upon them. The poet first draws a picture with words, including the striking image of the large embers of fire that float slowly down, like snow in the Alps when all is still: “come di neve in alpe sanza vento” [“like snow in the mountains without wind”] (1.14.30). The image is reminiscent of Guido Cavalcanti’s “e bianca neve scender senza venti” [“and white snow falling without wind”] from the sonnet “Biltà di donna,” which is among the series of beautiful images he paints that cannot compare to the even greater beauty of his lady. By means of the marker of this repeated linguistic parallel, which distills the image of softly falling snow, the reader will recall the pilgrim’s recent encounter with Cavalcanti’s father four cantos earlier, the first of yet another series of parallels that link Inferno 14 with one more canto, Inferno 10, outside the purview of this study.23 Inferno 14 contains no dialogue between Virgil and Dante until verse 43, when the curious pilgrim finally begins to query his guide, thereby both acknowledging Virgil’s past successes before guardians such as Plutus, Minos, and Charon, and also for the first

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time airing his concern that he has held in check ever since their entry into Dis: I’ cominciai: “Maestro, tu che vinci tutte le cose, fuor che ’ demon duri ch’a l’intrar de la porta incontra uscinci ...” [I began, “Master, you who overcome all things except the obdurate demons that came out against us at the entrance of the gate ...”] (1.14.43–5) Dante the pilgrim is referring to the time when Virgil, self-assured in the authority he had from on high, still assumed it was in his power to guide him safely past the demons at the gate of Dis just as he had steered him beyond the menacing guardians at the point of entry into earlier circles of Hell.24 In the clash before the gate, he and Virgil were confronted not just by one guardian but by a fortified city with a deep moat and walls that seemed like iron and by more than a thousand (“più di mille 1.8.82) of the rebel angels who rained down into Hell from Paradise when, as Virgil said to Plutus in the previous canto, “Michele / fé la vendetta del superbo strupo” [“Michael avenged the proud rebel”] (1.7.11–12). At the start of Inferno 9, when Dante saw Virgil turn back in defeat after his admission to Dante at the close of the previous canto that it was only by the grace of one descending the circles that they would be able to overcome this obstacle, such doubt was raised in Dante that he turned pale with fear (“Quel color che viltà di fuor mi pinse” 1.9.1 [“That color which cowardice painted outwardly on me”). The reference there to Dante’s “color” recalled Virgil’s “color” highlighted above by the formula “Vo’ che sappi” when the two poets entered Limbo: “E io, che del color mi fui accorto, / dissi: ‘Come verrò, se tu paventi / che suoli al mio dubbiare esser conforto?’” [“And I, noting his pallor, said, “How shall I come, if you are afraid, who are wont to encourage me when I hesitate?’”] (1.4.16–18). While in Inferno 9 Dante’s “color” was emphasized, not Virgil’s, Virgil’s face would have reflected a similar pallor, had he not taken care to repress it (“più tosto dentro il suo novo ristrinse” 1.9.3) so as to spare Dante even greater alarm. With Dante the pilgrim’s highlighting that incident to Virgil in Inferno 14, it becomes clear that, in contrast to the short-lived fear he experienced in Inferno 4, before Dis he was so shaken by Virgil’s failure that despite the passage of time, he has not regained the full

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confidence in Virgil that he once had. After Dante’s prefatory reference to Virgil’s failure before the “demon duri” at the gate of Dis, he immediately turns to the matter at hand and continues: “Chi è quel grande che non par che curi lo ’ncendio e giace dispettoso e torto, sì che la pioggia non par che ’l maturi?”25 [“Who is that great one who seems not to heed the fire, and lies disdainful and scowling, so that the rain seems not to ripen him?”] (1.14.46–8) Like Plutus, the great enemy of God (“Pluto il gran nemico” 1.6.115), Dante the pilgrim recognizes another great one (“quel grande” v. 46) about whom he is curious to learn more. By prefacing his question with the reminder to the reader of all the things (“tutte le cose” 1.14.44) that had stood in their way and which Virgil overcame, except for the “demon duri,” the pilgrim sees in “quel grande” another larger-than-life obstacle over whom Virgil may triumph as he had previously done. Conversely, like the obdurate demons, this “grande” may well humble Virgil by standing steadfast before the poet’s every effort to subdue him. Now keenly aware that it only takes one insurmountable obstacle for the journey to founder, Dante the pilgrim has every reason to be concerned because he perceives this great one to be not only disdainful of Hell (“dispettoso e torto”),26 but apparently not subject to the rules of the contrapasso since the rain of fiery flakes seems to cause him no ill effect (“non par che curi / lo ’ncendio” 1.14.46–7). Unlike the Plutus episode, in which Virgil was in full command of the situation, here “quel grande” takes the initiative and answers Dante’s question in Virgil’s stead, proclaiming loudly (“E quel medesmo, che si fu accorto / ch’io domandava il mio duca di lui, / gridò ...” [“And that same one, who had perceived that I was asking my leader about him, cried out ...”] 1.14.49–51) that, while dead, he remains unaltered from when he was living and challenged Jove, seemingly confirming the pilgrim’s worst fear. In his outburst, which covers nine lines of text, the “grande” asserts that, try as Jove might (“Se Giove stanchi ’l suo fabbro” [“Though Jove weary out his smith”] 1.14.52), he could not have glad vengeance against him: “non ne potrebbe aver vendetta allegra” (1.14.60). The juxtaposition of the noun “vendetta” in the reply of the “grande” who answers for Virgil with Virgil’s own use of “vendetta”

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in his ready response before Plutus in Inferno 7 (“vuolsi ne l’alto, là dove Michele / fé la vendetta del superbo strupo” [“so it is willed on high, there where Michael avenged the proud rebellion”] 1.7.11–12), reminds the reader of Virgil’s formulaic words before all three guardians and sheds light on the degree to which the “grande” pre-empts Virgil and undermines his authority. Given Dante the pilgrim’s mention of the “demon duri” and the audacity of the “grande,” one wonders how much longer Virgil can be still, particularly in light of the cause-and-effect reaction that could possibly transpire. With the pilgrim’s reference to Virgil’s failure before the “demon duri,” unlike Plutus and the previous guardians the “grande,” may sense a weakness in Virgil’s guiding capabilities which could result in his also remaining “duro” and bringing about a second defeat for Virgil. Why is Virgil tongue-tied here, in contrast to the Plutus episode, and why does he allow his silence to be filled by the bluster of “quel grande”? Could he be temporarily relinquishing his authority because he is suffering from a lack of confidence upon hearing Dante’s faint praise that he had overcome all obstacles save the obstinate demons at the gate of Dis? By scrutinizing and comparing texts in Inferno 7 and 14 surrounding and highlighted by the repeated linguistic configuration, and recognizing that Virgil’s defeat before the “demon duri” occurred in the interim, the reader can easily perceive how Virgil’s authority has been destabilized in the latter instance. In the Plutus episode Virgil seized immediate control and dispatched the demon without a word from Dante and only one line of gibberish from the demon himself. It is Dante who first spots the “grande,” however, starting in verse 43, and not until verse 61 does Virgil assert himself to respond – and only after having been challenged first by Dante the pilgrim, and then, at some length, by the “grande.” After holding his fire for 18 lines, Virgil can restrain himself no longer and, as the blaspheming soul’s monologue comes to a close with the word “vendetta,” the poet speaks with more vehemence than Dante has heard up until now (“parlò di forza / tanto, ch’i’ non l’avea sì forte udito” [“spoke with such force as I had not heard him use before”] 1.14.61–2). Hence, with an overt call by Dante to compare Virgil’s more forceful words here with any uttered previously in Hell, Virgil starts by identifying the “grande” as Capaneus the king, who in his pride challenged Jupiter.27 It is here that the

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linguistic configuration first uttered in the Plutus episode is repeated: “O Capaneo, in ciò che non s’ammorza la tua superbia, se’ tu più punito; nullo martiro, fuor che la tua rabbia sarebbe al tuo furor dolor compito.” Poi si rivolse a me con miglior labbia, dicendo: “Quei fu l’un d’i sette regi ch’assiser Tebe; ed ebbe e par ch’elli abbia Dio in disdegno, e poco par che ’l pregi.” [“O Capaneus! in that your pride remains unquenched you are punished the more: no torment save your own raging would be pain to match your fury.” Then he turned round to me with gentler look, saying, “That was one of the seven kings who besieged Thebes, and held, and seems to hold, God in disdain and prize Him little.”] (1.14.63–70) The overt invitation to consider two challenges faced by Virgil – before Dis there and before Capaneus here – is now coupled with a concealed one, signalled by the repeated linguistic configuration italicized above. The reader is invited to more closely examine Virgil’s competence as guide during two particular moments divided by seven cantos of textual space. Once Virgil begins to speak, he immediately unmasks Capaneus by categorically rejecting his boast that he was subject to divine vengeance neither in his past life nor in death. Virgil exposes the emptiness of Capaneus’ declaration by pointing out that it is precisely because he maintains his boastful pride (“superbia” v. 64) and continues to blaspheme that vengeance can be so exquisite. With the repetition of the formula “la tua rabbia,” Virgil makes it apparent that Capaneus’ raging threatens nobody and is no obstacle to their downward journey. Unlike the “demon duri” who confounded Virgil, Capaneus’ “rabbia” cannot affect anything outwardly but is for himself the source of his greatest pain (“martiro” v. 65). This context in which “la tua rabbia” appears is similar to that of its earlier appearance in Inferno 7, where Virgil also revealed that Plutus’ raging was of no outward consequence, and likewise could affect no one escept himself: “Taci, maladetto lupo! / consuma dentro te con la tua rabbia” [“Silence, accursed wolf! Consume

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yourself inwardly with your own rage”] (1.7.8–9). What is more, Virgil identifies both instances of “rabbia” against the divine power as acts of pride: directly in Inferno 14, with reference to Capaneus’s “superbia,” and indirectly in Inferno 7, with reference to the “superbo stupro” of Satan, the authority whom Plutus invoked. By comparing the two repetitions of “labbia,” the reader can appreciate the marked contrast between the bloated visage (“’nfiata labbia” 1.7.7) of Plutus and the better visage (“miglior labbia” 1.14.67) of Virgil, which he displays when he turns back to Dante. Is there any possible link between the false and inflated appearance of Plutus, which deflates with Virgil’s quick verbal pinprick in Inferno 7, and Virgil’s own better appearance, with which he turns to Dante in Inferno 14? The words uttered by Plutus when he invoked Satan (“Pape Satàn, pape Satàn aleppe!”) were as falsely inflated as his bloated visage. If Virgil’s better visage, “miglior labbia,” refers only to the change in his demeanor when he turns from his angry confrontation with the similarly proud Capaneus to his kindly role as guide to Dante the pilgrim, then the repetition of “labbia” seemingly reveals little. What if the formula “Poi si rivolse a ... labbia,” which is framed by the two other formulas, is calling on the reader to see more? What if Virgil’s “miglior labbia” refers to the possibility that he is only now recovering from the slight he had suffered when Dante the pilgrim had reminded him of his defeat before the “demon duri” at the entrance to the gate of Dis?28 In such a case, parallels reveal themselves. Virgil at the gate before Dis, like Plutus before in Inferno 7, suffered from over-confidence in his powers, and Virgil, like Plutus had to be deflated. Virgil wore a mask of self-assurance before Dis, as empty as the bloated image. And it is thus left to Dante the pilgrim in Inferno 14 to remind Virgil that he cannot boldly assume invincibility (“Maestro, tu che vinci / tutte le cose, fuor che ’ demon duri” [“Master, you who overcome all things except the obdurate demons”] 1.14.43–4). As seen above, Virgil channels his reaction to Dante’s words by doing his job and speaking to Capaneus with greater force than Dante had ever heard from him before. That done, Virgil can turn to his charge (“Poi si rivolse a me” v. 67) with a better and truer visage than the poorer, bloated one adopted by Plutus, and can describe Capaneus’ audacity before God when he stood among the seven kings who besieged Thebes. After Capaneus’ outburst, it is no surprise that Virgil describes him as one who held and still seems to hold God in disdain. It is here

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that the third formula of repetition, “ch’elli abbia,” resurfaces.29 By taking a backward glance to the first occurrence of the formula, in Inferno 7, when Virgil explained to Dante that he need not fear Plutus’ menacing words for no matter what power the hound might have (“ch’elli abbia”) the travellers’ way would not be obstructed, it became evident that Plutus had no power despite his bluster and that his demonic invocation was thereby an exercise in futility. Similarly futile is the disdain for God that Capaneus still seems to hold (“ch’elli abbia”). If Virgil silenced both Plutus and Capaneus and overcame each of the two seemingly forbidding obstacles, how does the repeated linguistic configuration aid us in distinguishing between the two events? I would submit that by juxtaposing the episodes we see a difference not only between Plutus and Capaneus but also between the two Virgils. The Capaneus episode assumes far greater complexity in large part because it occurs after Virgil’s humiliation before the “demon duri,” which Dante the pilgrim underscores. Therefore, with this second scene Virgil must withstand the pressure to prove himself, as signalled thematically by the formula of repetition: “Poi si rivolse a me con miglior labbia” (v. 67), which surrounds “me,” Dante the pilgrim. In Inferno 14 it is Dante himself who replaces Plutus in the middle of “Poi si rivolse a me ... labbia,” fixed both times at the centre of the greater linguistic configuration: Inferno 7.5–9 ... ch’elli abbia ... Poi si rivolse a quella ’nfiata labbia ... ... la tua rabbia

Inferno 14.65–9 ... la tua rabbia ... Poi si rivolse a me ... labbia ... ... ch’elli abbia

In Inferno 7 Virgil only needed to respond to the defiance of Plutus; in Inferno 14 he must respond both to a similarly posturing Capaneus and, more importantly, to the challenge posed by Dante the pilgrim. While Virgil dispatches Capaneus as summarily as he had dispatched Plutus, when he then calls on Dante to follow along behind him (“Or mi vien dietro” [“Now come along behind me”] 1.14.73) it is with the certain knowledge that he will never again enjoy the level of confidence he had once enjoyed when his charge had every faith that he could overcome all obstacles.

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2 The Blindness of Virgil in Inferno 8–9, Purgatorio 15–16, and Purgatorio 22–23

part one In the fifth circle of the wrathful, after Virgil and Dante are ferried through the dense fumes over the foul Styx and make landfall before the gate to Dis, Virgil fails in his negotiations with the devils who stand on guard and must wait in the dank air for one from on high without whom the downward journey would come to a sudden halt. If Virgil is unable to overcome these devils on his own, he can nonetheless help ensure Dante’s safety, lest Dante see Medusa and be turned to stone. Following Virgil’s instructions Dante has now turned away from her, and with eyes shut and covered by two sets of hands, his and Virgil’s, the blinded pilgrim awaits the coming of the one who will deliver them through the gate. But before the poet describes this coming, he speaks to the readers and bids those with a sound intellect to look under the veil (“velame”) of the verses for the allegorical sense hidden beneath it.1 This address summoning those with keen perception contrasts starkly with the present state of Dante the pilgrim, who waits blindly in the literal “velame” of the dense fume that envelopes the marshy landscape. Dante can only describe the sound of the coming of his deliverer, for he does not see what Virgil sees, until Virgil frees his eyes to look where the fume is the harshest and fix his gaze on the “messo” (v. 85) from Heaven, who clears this dense, foggy air as he draws near. Upon opening the gate, the “messo” rebukes the demons for vainly attempting to frustrate God’s will:

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“Perché recalcitrate a quella voglia a cui non puote il fin mai esser mozzo e che più volte v’ha cresciuta doglia? Che giova ne le fata dar di cozzo? Cerbero vostro, se ben vi ricorda, ne porta ancor pelato il mento e ’l gozzo.” [“Why do you kick against the Will that can never be thwarted of its end, and which many times has increased your pain? What does it avail to butt against the fates? Your Cerberus, if you well remember, still bears his chin and his throat peeled for doing so.”] (1.9.94–9) With those words the “messo” returns whence he came without ever acknowledging the presence of Dante and Virgil. The formula “dar di cozzo” highlighted above is repeated on only one other occasion in Purgatorio 16, again in a linguistic configuration with “mozzo,” one of the two other words that here make up the terza rima scheme. As Dante and Virgil approach the third terrace of the penitent wrathful in Purgatorio 15, with failing eyesight Dante attempts to see the heavenly “messo” (2.15.30) who invites him to enter the new realm. Dante’s questionable vision is further compromised when both Virgil and Dante are overcome by a dark fume so dense that they lose their sight and the pure air. No darkness, not even that of Hell itself, could form a veil so dense as the fume that forces Dante’s eyes shut. Thus blinded, Dante proceeds, supported by Virgil and attentive to the sound of his voice: Sì come cieco va dietro a sua guida per non smarrirsi e per non dar di cozzo in cosa che ’l molesti, o forse ancida, m’andava io per l’aere amaro e sozzo, ascoltando il mio duca che diceva pur: “Guarda che da me tu non sia mozzo.” [Even as a blind man goes behind his guide that he may not stray or knock against what might injure or perhaps kill him, so I went through that bitter and foul air, listening to my leader, who kept saying, “Take care that you are not cut off from me.”] (2.16.10–15)

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While both “dar di cozzo” and “mozzo” are repeated from Inferno 9, “gozzo” is here replaced by “sozzo,” an adjective thematically relevant to both texts.2 The contrast brought about by the linguistic parallels and the thematic connections highlights Virgil’s greater authority at this stage in Purgatory, ironically a place Virgil does not know. The right readers with the sound intellect, already invited by the poet to look beneath the “velame,” might likewise look within the dark veil of Purgatorio 16 and spot the repeated linguistic patterns. From there they may be guided by the signposts back through the figurative haze of the intervening textual space of some forty-one cantos to Inferno 9, where, with the advantage of hindsight, they may re-examine the text.3 Inferno 9 As Inferno 9 opens, Virgil’s authority has reached a low ebb. He recognizes that his previous method of invoking divine authority to navigate Dante beyond the demons has failed and that, if not for one sent by Heaven, presently on his way down the circles of Hell, the gate into Dis could not be opened and they would proceed no further. And even though Virgil will tread fearlessly through the dense smoke of Purgatorio 16 despite his apparent lack of sight, here the thick, murky air causes him to stop and listen as if paralysed by the same lack: Attento si fermò com’ uom ch’ascolta; ché l’occhio nol potea menare a lunga per l’aere nero e per la nebbia folta. [He stopped attentive, like a man that listens, for his eye could not lead him far through the dark air and the dense fog.] (1.9.4–6) Furthermore, Virgil appears to lose all confidence: “Pur a noi converrà vincer la punga,” cominciò el, “se non ... Tal ne s’offerse. Oh quanto tarda a me ch’altri qui giunga!” [“Yet we must win this fight,” he began, “or else ... such did she

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offer herself to us! Oh, how long to me it seems till someone come!”] (1.9.7–9) Virgil is at pains to convince himself that since they must win the fight they will, but then he wonders what may happen if they fail. With the pause after “se non,” Virgil’s question is left unanswered. But the reader can well imagine that Virgil is thinking all would be lost, possibly also doubting the “offer” he believed Beatrice made to him at the time of her descent into Limbo that the success of this journey would be assured by divine will (“Tal ne s’offerse”). The thirdperson singular past remote “offerse” will be repeated in Purgatorio 16 but in an entirely different situation. There, in contrast, Virgil will serve in an the active role; with an apparent sense of sight he will lead the temporarily blind Dante by offering him his shoulder (“l’omero m’offerse”). Here Virgil is unreservedly passive, as unseeing he waits and thinks dark thoughts, questioning why the “messo” sent by God to rescue Dante and Virgil is taking so long in coming. Perhaps recalling Virgil’s report of the one descending through the circles of Hell (“discende l’erta, / passando per li cerchi sanza scorta” [“comes down the steep, passing the circles without escort”] 1.8.128–9) and his subsequent panic before this predicament that has escalated beyond his control, Dante the pilgrim is more fearful than ever that their journey may founder and therefore asks whether anyone has previously journeyed down to the depths of Hell. What Dante needs to find out is whether his guide knows what to expect next. In the hope of calming Dante’s fears, Virgil describes how he travelled this road soon after he died, when he was conjured by that cruel Erichtho (“quella Eritòn cruda” v. 23), who facilitated his entry through the gate, to draw forth a soul from the lowest of Hell’s circles: “Quell’ è ’l più basso loco e ’l più oscuro, e ’l più lontan dal ciel che tutto gira: ben so ’l cammin; però ti fa sicuro.” [“That is the lowest place, and the darkest, and farthest from the heaven that encircles all. Well do I know the way, so reassure yourself.”] (1.9.28–30) While Virgil’s account of his earlier journey may have temporarily dispelled Dante’s fears,4 at the same time it serves as a reminder of

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his earlier inadequacy, when he had also required outside help, then from Erichtho, to enter into Dis. Although the cruel Erichtho appears in marked contrast to the celestial “messo,” it is nonetheless useful to note that without her prior intervention Virgil would have been ill-equipped to fulfill his duties as Dante’s guide through Hell. The question may be fairly asked: might Beatrice in part have turned to Virgil because she knew of the previous underworld experience, warts and all, that he had acquired thanks to Erichtho? Was Erichtho an unwitting pawn for the good?5 The less dark “aere nero” (1.9.6) of the fifth circle, which has impeded Virgil’s way heretofore, paralyses him no longer and, with sight restored, he can draw Dante’s attention to the high tower of Dis and the three Furies or Erinyes who have risen erect in front of them. Virgil is acquainted with this trio (“E quei, che ben conobbe le meschine” [“And he, who well recognized the handmaids”] 1.9.43) not only because he has described them in the Aeneid in three separate passages6 but also because he has seen them before. He recognizes them precisely because he has come this way on a previous occasion. Unlike the earlier juncture in Inferno 9, when Virgil’s inaction was the source of Dante’s fears, Virgil is again the one to whom Dante turns to calm them (“mi strinsi al poeta per sospetto”), reassured that Virgil has first-hand experience with these Furies, which he doubtless overcame in the course of his previous journey here below. Yet, when the Furies threaten that they will let the Gorgon sister Medusa come forth so that they can turn Dante to stone (“Vegna Medusa: sì ’l farem di smalto” 1.9.52), Virgil does not directly respond, nor does he expose the emptiness of the Furies’ threats as he had done most recently with Plutus. Conversely, out of a misguided fear that an infernal creature is capable of more than an empty threat – that indeed Medusa can wield her power and deprive Dante of his life if he does not take due care – Virgil commands Dante to turn away and keep his eyes shut lest Medusa show her face. And this is not simply a precaution for Virgil; he is convinced that Medusa is fully capable of halting Dante dead in his tracks: “ché se ’l Gorgón si mostra e tu ’l vedessi, / nulla sarebbe di tornar mai suso” [“for should the Gorgon show herself and you see her, there would be no returning above”] (1.9.56–7).7 Such is Virgil’s lack of confidence in the high authority who has willed the success of this journey up until now and his fear of

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Medusa’s potential to do Dante harm, that he takes further measures still to protect Dante from being turned to stone.8 In the face of this great peril, Virgil also places his own hands over Dante’s to make doubly sure that Dante’s eyes remain shut. Until the “messo” comes, Virgil can do little more for Dante than add one further safeguard to ensure that he remain blind and not succumb to the menace represented by Medusa. In contrast to Dante the pilgrim, whose eyes remain securely closed, and to Virgil, who appears caught up in his fear of Medusa’s power, the poet addresses the ideal reader with sound intellect (“’ntelletti sani”) and keen eyes to look beneath the veil of this literal scene that envelopes both pilgrim and guide:9 O voi ch’avete li ’ntelletti sani, mirate la dottrina che s’asconde sotto ’l velame de li versi strani. [O you who have sound understanding, mark the doctrine that is hidden under the veil of the strange verses!] (1.9.61–3) With “sotto ’l manto” replacing “sotto ’l velame,” commentators note that this passage recalls Dante’s words from the Convivio in which he distinguishes between literal and allegorical meaning:10 L’uno si chiama litterale, [e questo è quello che non si stende più oltre che la lettera de le parole fittizie, sì come sono le favole de li poeti. L’altro si chiama allegorico,] e questo è quello che si nasconde sotto ’l manto di queste favole, ed è una veritade ascosa sotto bella menzogna. [The first is called literal: this is the sense conveyed simply by the overt meaning of the words of a fictitious story, as, for example, in the case of fables told by poets. The second is called allegorical: this is the sense concealed under the cloak of these fables, and consists of a truth hidden under a beautiful lie.] (Conv. ii i 3) Readers are called to look beyond the “favole de li poeti” and Virgil’s fearsome Medusa, so that the threatening Furies will fall from the scene, deflated like Plutus before Virgil’s formulaic words in Inferno 7. Yet Virgil is not one to see past the fabled Medusa.11 He is the ever-sightless guide leading his charge, reduced to taking

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defensive action only, by endeavouring to keep Dante safe before what is in fact an unformidable foe.12 Meanwhile, the “messo” is already making his presence known to the unseeing Dante, not directly, but rather by the reaction of Hell, which vibrates and crashes with sound on account of its violation by this force from God’s realm on high: E già venìa su per le torbide onde un fracasso d’un suon, pien di spavento per cui tremavano amendue le sponde. [And now there came over the turbid waves a crash of fearful sound, at which both shores trembled.] (1.9.64–6) So it transpires that the pilgrim is deprived by his guide of gaining the full sense experience of the coming of the “messo.” The sound intellect required to fathom this unfolding allegorical representation of the victory of the good, represented by the “harrowing”of the “messo” over the evil of the demons at the gate, is lacking in Virgil, who is still fixed in the belief that saving Dante’s journey is all about covering his eyes from the face of the malevolent Medusa. By his inability to see beyond the veil of fables, Virgil seems to accept as true that the evil of Hell, personified here by Medusa, can triumph over this divinely ordained journey. Once it is evident even to Virgil that they are beyond the supposed threat of Medusa, he loosens his grip on Dante’s eyes and invites him to look into the literal veil of the dense and bitter air through which the “messo” is coming forth: Li occhi mi sciolse e disse: “Or drizza il nerbo del viso su per quella schiuma antica per indi ove quel fummo è più acerbo.” [He loosed my eyes, and said, “Now direct your sight across that ancient scum, there where that fume is harshest.”] (1.9.73–5) Anna Maria Chiavacci Leonardi notes the similarities between this “fummo ... acerbo” and the one that blinds Dante in Purgatorio 16.5 (“quel fummo ch’ivi ci coperse” [“that smoke which covered us there”]).13 The ideal readers, who can see under the veil of the strange verses, may also traverse some forty cantos of textual space

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and find a more impenetrable veil into which Dante the pilgrim cannot see because that “fummo” is likened to such harsh stuff (“così aspro pelo” 2.16.6). What becomes plain to readers who juxtapose the two texts is the marked difference in Virgil’s stature, for there Virgil is no longer ineffectual but becomes himself one who can see through that heavy veil (“grosso velo” 2.16.4) and keep the blinded pilgrim from straying and doing himself any harm. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. With Dante’s eyes now freed from Virgil’s grip, just in time he is eyewitness to the contrast between the fear the demons demonstrate when they flee from the one “da ciel messo” (1.9.85),14 and abandon the haughtiness they had previously displayed toward Virgil (“vid’ io più di mille anime distrutte / fuggir così dinanzi ad un ch’al passo / passava” [“I saw more than a thousand ruined souls flee before one that strode”] 1.9.79–81). More important, Dante can observe how the “messo” acts in response to Dante and Virgil themselves. The previous celestial being to have descended into Hell was Beatrice who, according to Virgil’s description, expressed paramount concern for her friend Dante’s plight (“l’amico mio e non de la ventura, / ne la diserta piaggia è impedito” [“my friend – and not the friend of Fortune – finds his way so impeded on the desert slope”] 1.2.61–2) and utter respect for Virgil’s standing in the world (“O anima cortese mantoana, / di cui la fama ancor nel mondo dura” [“O courteous Mantuan spirit, whose fame still lasts in the world” 1.2.58–9). Yet, the attitude of the “messo” could not be more marked. Despite Dante’s reverent bow at Virgil’s behest,15 there is no acknowledgment on the part of the “messo.” Dante can only note how full of disdain this emissary from God seems to be (“Ahi quanto mi parea pien di disdegno!” [“Ah, how full of disdain he seemed to me!”] 1.9.88); although he has expressly come to save their journey, he shows no recognition of Dante and Virgil, as if they too were a part of this group of damned souls who dwell in the fume before the gate into Dis. When the “messo” addresses the demons who would attempt to block this journey, his words are reminiscent of those Virgil himself used in response to Plutus, back when Virgil was still capable of confronting demons on his own. There, Virgil reminded Plutus of the “superbo strupo” of the rebel angels and how the Archangel Michael had avenged them:

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“Non è sanza cagion l’andare al cupo: vuolsi ne l’alto, là dove Michele fé la vendetta del superbo strupo.” [“Not without cause is this journey to the depth; so it is willed on high, there where Michael avenged the proud rebellion.”] (1.7.10–12) Similarly, the “messo” here reminds these demons of the exile from Heaven that was their punishment for that rebellion, and of the futility of yet more insolent behaviour: “O cacciati del ciel, gente dispetta,” cominciò elli in su l’orribil soglia, “ond’ esta oltracotanza in voi s’alletta?” [“O outcasts from Heaven, race despised,” he began upon the horrible threshold, “why is this insolence harboured in you?”] (1.9.91–3) Surely Virgil was capable of speaking likewise to the demons. Evidently, Virgil had a particular problem crossing this horrible threshold (“orribil soglia” 1.9.92) into Dis without assistance from the outside. We know that when Virgil was conjured by Erichtho to descend to the circle of Judas, the only detail he provided from that earlier journey was one that relates to the same access-way: he describes how she had him enter within this wall: “ella mi fece intrar dentr’ a quel muro” (1.9.26). Here, by gaining entry for Virgil, the “messo” functions as Erichtho did before, with the passive Virgil again utterly incapable of operating on his own. Virgil’s ineffectiveness at the gate to Dis is further underlined by the ease with which the “messo” opens it, with no resistance from the demons whatsoever: “Venne a la porta e con una verghetta / l’aperse, che non v’ebbe alcun ritegno” [“He came to the gate, and with a little wand he opened it, and there was no resistance”](1.9.89–90).16 It is here, with the “messo” invoking his authority, that the formula “dar di cozzo” first appears in a linguistic configuration with “mozzo”: “Perché recalcitrate a quella voglia a cui non puote il fin mai esser mozzo e che più volte v’ha cresciuta doglia?

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Che giova ne le fata dar di cozzo? Cerbero vostro, se ben vi ricorda, ne porta ancor pelato il mento e ’l gozzo.” [“Why do you kick against that Will which can never be thwarted of its end, and which many times has increased your pain? What does it avail to butt against the fates? Your Cerberus, if you well remember, still bears his chin and his throat peeled for doing so.”] (1.9.94–9) The insuperable “voglia” of God that the “messo” summons echoes the formulaic incantations that Virgil addressed to Charon and Minos when he likewise invoked the divine authority by which the journey was sanctioned: “vuolsi così colà dove si puote / ciò che si vuole, e più non dimandare” [“Thus it is willed there where that can be done which is willed; and ask no more”] (1.3.95–6; 1.5.23–4); and his more concise version before Plutus: “vuolsi ne l’alto” [“it is willed on high”] (1.7.11). While “mozzo,” or words similar to it, does not appear in Virgil’s earlier invocations, the notion the “messo” raises that the purpose for which this Godwilled journey is destined could not be curtailed (“mozzo”) by such demons, is nonetheless implicit in it. The line in which the formula of repetition emerges also echoes Virgil’s voice, but not specific words he has spoken as guide. Rather, these words are contained in his verses from the Aeneid. The question posed by the “messo” to the demons, “Che giova ne le fata dar di cozzo?” [“What does it avail to butt against the fates?”] (v. 97), recalls the Sibyl’s response to Palinurus’ request to join Aeneas on his journey across the Styx: “Desine fata deum flecti sperare precando” [“Cease hoping the decrees of the gods can be changed by praying”] (Aeneid vi, 376). Like the demons at the gate to Dis and by the shore of the Styx, the unfortunate Palinurus is similarly attempting to butt against divine judgment, because for him to cross the Styx would be to contravene the will of the gods who decreed that those whose bodies did not receive burial after death could not be ferried across (Palinurus was killed and left unburied upon reaching shore after having been pushed overboard by Somnus).17 It is useful to note that in Purgatorio 6.28–30 Dante the pilgrim finds it difficult to interpret this passage from the Aeneid in light of the fact that prayers by righteous ones still living can in fact effect change by reducing the amount of time the penitent souls would

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otherwise spend in Purgatory. Virgil’s authority is undermined in this later situation also, as he must explain that he wrote the Aeneid in a different context, at a time (before Christ) when the prayer of humankind was still cut off from God (“perché ’l priego da Dio era disgiunto” 2.6.42).18 As one who lived in the pre-Christian era, Virgil is thereby ill-equipped to respond fully to Dante’s query and must defer to Beatrice, whom Dante will see atop the mountain of Purgatory: “Non so se ’ntendi: io dico di Beatrice / tu la vedrai di sopra ...” [“I know not if you understand: I speak of Beatrice. You will see her above”] (2.6.46–7). The “messo” sustains the narrative from the Aeneid vi, 392–6 by recalling the scene immediately after the Palinurus episode, in which Aeneas and the Sibyl approach Charon to be ferried across the Styx and Charon expresses his reluctance and regret for having admitted Hercules because of all the havoc he subsequently created. The “messo” further reminds the demons how Hercules had punished their fellow Cerberus (“Cerbero vostro”) by hauling him out of the Underworld in chains for trying to block his descent, which had likewise been sanctioned by divine authority. Extending beyond Virgil’s lines, the “messo” provides the added detail that Cerberus’ peeled chin and throat still showed the evidence of Hercules’ chains. This piece of information, which was missing in the Aeneid and is now being related by a celestial-being sent by a Christian God, speaks to the punishment Cerberus suffered. It advances the narrative beyond being about Virgil, who is cut off from God, just as Virgil’s response to Dante in Purgatorio 6 will be insufficient because it is based on an incomplete text: the Aeneid. This lack on Virgil’s part may help explain why he was incapable of overcoming these demons and gaining access to Dis without special assistance from on high. A look at the broader discussion of the repeated linguistic pattern serves as a signpost; we note that “gozzo,” Cerberus’ throat, is the rhyme-word that does not reappear in Purgatorio 16.19 Virgil’s authority reaches a new low when the “messo,” after opening the gate and chastising the demons, turns back upon his way without uttering a single word to Virgil and Dante: “Poi si rivolse per la strada lorda, / e non fé motto a noi” (1.9.100–1). Dante the pilgrim’s interpretation of this slight is that from the look on his face the “messo” has more urgent affairs to which he must tend and has no time to devote to his and Virgil’s concerns.

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The “messo” has completed his task, which was to open the gate into Dis, because Virgil could not complete it on his own. It has been argued that the “messo” pays no heed to Virgil and Dante because to do so would be tantamount to interfacing with a damned soul such as Virgil or with Dante, who is not yet purified, but we must also remember the great deference that Beatrice showed to Virgil in Limbo.20 Virgil’s fate in this episode is to end the way he began it, as a failed and humiliated guide, rejected by both the demons and the “messo” alike. Purgatorio 15 and 16 Following the signposted journey back to Purgatorio 15 and 16, how different – yet familiar – is the latter scene. Purgatorio 15 opens with Dante and Virgil drawing near the third terrace and a new set of wrathful souls, the penitent in contrast to the unrepentent sinners whom they encountered in Inferno 9. Dante’s vision problems return again, for as he moves in the direction of the setting sun the light is so strong upon his face that he must shade his eyes by lifting his hands over them: “ond’ io levai le mani inver’ la cima / de le mie ciglia” [“Wherefore I lifted my hands above my eyebrows”] (2.15.13–14). Dante’s action evokes a recollection of a similar one from Inferno 9 when, in response to Virgil’s command before the threat of Medusa, he first raised his hands to his eyes. Since Dante will soon be overcome by yet another light, which is moving ever closer, he must depend on his “dolce padre” to see for him and describe the source of this new light: “Non ti maravigliar s’ancor t’abbaglia la famiglia del cielo,” a me rispuose: “messo è che viene ad invitar ch’om saglia.” [“Do not marvel if the family of Heaven still dazzles you,” he answered me; “this is a messenger that comes to invite to the ascent.”] (2.15.28–30) This is the first instance of one depicted as a celestial “messo” (“la famiglia del cielo” v. 29) intervening to assist Dante and Virgil in their journey since Inferno 9.85 (“da ciel messo”). While “messo” will appear three more times, in Purgatorio 30.10, Purgatorio 33.44, and Paradiso 28.32, in none of those cases do we encounter

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another “messo” from above who comes to facilitate Dante’s journey.21 Unlike the previous “messo” in Inferno 9, this one does not appear expressly for Dante because, as with the other angels placed at the point of passage from one terrace to the next,22 he is here to invite all penitent souls to ascend; yet, for our purposes it is useful to note that he is unique among the seven angels in being described as a “messo.” While the demeanour of this “messo” stands in stark contrast to that of the previous one, within the context of these angels of Purgatory the care he takes to come forward and welcome Dante personally has become the norm. Virgil’s choice of the term “messo” to describe this particular angel only and our recollection of Dante’s state of blindness before the arrival of the previous “messo” inevitably draws us back to Inferno 9 and the questionable service Virgil was there providing as guide to Dante. Previously Virgil’s incompetence was emphasized; here he has found his stride. In contrast to Virgil’s alarmism before Medusa, he can now, with his renewed confidence, assure his charge that the dazzling light that impairs Dante’s vision comes from a heavenly source and that its overpowering effect will not only be mitigated in the future but become a source of joy: “Tosto sarà ch’a veder queste cose / non ti fia grave, ma fieti diletto / quanto natura a sentir ti dispuose” [“Soon will it be that the seeing of these will not be hard for you, but as great a delight as nature has fitted you to feel”] (2.15.31–3). Once Dante and Virgil are again alone (“soli amendue” 2.15.40), Dante seeks clarification from Virgil of Guido del Duca’s words from Purgatorio 14. He is frustrated with Virgil’s explanation (“Io son d’esser contento più digiuno” [“I am more hungering to be satisfied”] 2.15.58), but Virgil is not put off. Virgil is secure in what he can impart to his charge and states plainly that as long as Dante’s mind is still fixed upon earthly things he will see only darkness where in fact there is true light. In other words, Dante only sees doubts in words of explanation that are actually clear. Of course the “messo” earlier in the canto had brought a recent reminder that Dante would suffer for a while longer from an inability to see into the light. While Virgil will ultimately remand Dante to Beatrice (“vedrai Beatrice, ed ella pienamente / ti torrà questa e ciascun’ altra brama” [“you shall see Beatrice and she will deliver you wholly from this and every other longing”] 2.15.77–8), he is

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both self-assured and cognizant of the limitations of human reason (“E se la mia ragion non ti disfama” [“And if my discourse does not appease your hunger” 2.15.76), such that Dante regains confidence in Virgil’s guidance (“Tu m’appaghe” [“You satisfy me”] 2.15.82).23 Purgatorio 15 ends as it began, with Dante and Virgil straining their eyes as they walk in the direction of the sunset, and are again confronted by a new circumstance that will further compromise Dante’s ability to see. Here in contrast to the bright light of the “messo” which overcame Dante’s feeble eye so as to render him virtually sightless, a smoke dark as night (“un fummo ... come la notte oscuro” 2.15.142–3) descends upon them, a smoke so thick as to blind Dante and apparently Virgil as well (“Questo ne tolse li occhi e l’aere puro” [“this took from us our sight and the pure air”] 2.15.145). Dante and Virgil have no room to escape this smoke of the penitent wrathful (“né da quello era loco da cansarsi” 2.15.144) so similar to the fume of the fifth circle of the wrathful in Hell that hung over the Styx, upon which the previous “messo” strode to deliver Dante and Virgil through the gate into Dis.24 As the central fiftieth canto of the Commedia opens, the literal “mezzo del cammin” [“midway in the journey”] (1.1.1) of Dante the pilgrim’s journey to God, reminders of the Inferno are plentiful. Indeed, but for the immediate reference to this place being even darker, these opening lines might very well be in Hell: Buio d’inferno e di notte privata d’ogne pianeto, sotto pover cielo, quant’ esser può di nuvol tenebrata, non fece al viso mio sì grosso velo come quel fummo ch’ivi ci coperse, né a sentir di così aspro pelo. [Gloom of hell, or night bereft of every planet under a barren sky obscured by clouds as much as it can be, never made a veil to my sight so thick nor of stuff so harsh to the sense as that smoke which covered us there.] (2.16.1–6) The complete darkness of this “buio” deprived of all light by the “fummo” recalls the blackness of the dense fume of Inferno 9, through which Virgil’s eye could not guide the pilgrim:

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Attento si fermò com’ uom ch’ascolta; ché l’occhio nol potea menare a lunga per l’aere nero e per la nebbia folta. [He stopped attentive, like a man that listens, for his eye could not lead him far through the dark air and the dense fog.] (1.9.4–6) While Virgil had such difficulty in that dark air (described as “fummo ... acerbo” in Inferno 9.75) that he required outside help from the “messo” in order to proceed, here by contrast he will manage on his own to advance through this “grosso velo ... di così aspro pelo” [“thick veil of stuff so harsh”] (2.16.4–6). Harkening back again to the poet’s call in Inferno 9 to those with sound intellects to see what lies hidden beneath the veil, the reader realizes that here Virgil is one who possesses this mysterious ability to somehow see beneath the veil of smoke and guide Dante safely through the darkened air.25 In a further reminder of Inferno 9, if Dante the pilgrim is not sufficiently blinded by the gloom alone, the smarting harshness of this smoke further forces him to keep his eyes as firmly shut as they must have been when two pairs of hands seemed necessary to prevent him from being harmed by Medusa.26 At that point, Dante’s ineffective guide could only wait in the fume for the arrival of the “messo;” here, in marked contrast, Virgil, now described as “saputa e fida” (2.16.8), possesses the ability to press on while keeping his blind charge out of harm’s way by offering him his shoulder: “mi s’accostò e l’omero m’offerse” (2.16.9). The repetition of “offerse” also highlights how far Virgil has come since Inferno 9.8, when beaten and lacking all confidence he momentarily doubted what Beatrice had promised: “‘Pur a noi converrà vincer la pugna,’ / cominciò el, ‘se non ... Tal ne s’offerse’” (1.9.7–8). This image of a guide offering himself as the seeing eye to a blind man is a timeless one to which readers can easily relate, and it is here that the linguistic configuration “dar di cozzo” reappears in a linguistic configuration with “mozzo”: Sì come cieco va dietro a sua guida per non smarrirsi e per non dar di cozzo in cosa che ’l molesti, o forse ancida,

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m’andava io per l’aere amaro e sozzo, ascoltando il mio duca che diceva pur: “Guarda che da me tu non sia mozzo.” [Even as a blind man goes behind his guide that he may not stray or knock against what might injure or perhaps kill him, so I went through that bitter and foul air, listening to my leader, who kept saying, “Take care that you are not cut off from me.”] (2.16.10–15) While the repetition of “dar di cozzo” from Inferno 9.97 has been recognized by commentators, the interpretive value of juxtaposing the context in which these two linguistic patterns appear has not.27 On the face of it the wider circumstances surrounding the two repetitions are vastly different. In Inferno 9 it is the “messo” who scolds the demons for their vain attempt to butt against the fates, while in Purgatorio 16 it is Virgil who enjoins his blind charge not to knock against something that could do him great harm. Yet, in the literal sense they are strikingly similar. On both occasions the blinded pilgrim appears in mortal danger, in the first instance from the threat posed by Medusa, and in the second from the risk of straying and knocking against something: “in cosa che ’l molesti, o forse ancida” [“that might injure or perhaps kill him”] (2.16.12). While in both texts it is Virgil who endeavours to protect Dante from apparent mortal harm, in Inferno 9 the further aid of the “messo” was required or there would have been no getting beyond these demons. In the gloom of Purgatorio 16 Virgil is in absolute command, maintaining the pace of the upward journey as well as ensuring that the blinded Dante not stray off track (“per non smarrirsi” 2.16.11).28 In Inferno 9 Virgil should have realized that the threat from Medusa was an empty one, but it was left to the “messo” to remind the demons in his stead that they were impotent in the face of God’s will (“Perché recalcitrate a quella voglia” 1.9.94), and that their attempt to butt against the fates (“ne le fata dar di cozzo” 1.9.97) was utterly futile. Figuratively, Virgil was there as blind as Dante before Medusa, incapable of guiding Dante any further without the necessary intervention of the “messo.” How Virgil’s vision has improved since the gate of Dis, even as he attested earlier in Purgatorio 15, doubtless excessively, that he would be able to see into Dante’s mind no matter if his face were concealed by a hundred masks (2.15.127–9).29

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Thanks to the sighted guide, the blind pilgrim can proceed through “l’aere amaro e sozzo” [“the bitter and foul air”]. While in Purgatorio 16 “sozzo” replaces “gozzo” of Inferno 9, “sozzo” is thematically relevant in both instances and in general it is a better descriptor of the air of Inferno than that of Purgatory. More specifically “sozzo” closely mirrors “quell’aere grasso” [“that gross air”] (1.9. 82) which the “messo” removed from before his face as he strode forth over the Styx. While “sozzo” can describe both the “aere grasso” and the “aere amaro,” it is only in the second instance that Virgil helps Dante through the blinding air of the wrathful. If Dante personally is subject to the passion of wrath and is in consequence a participant among the penitent wrathful, only by heeding Virgil’s voice of reason can his journey to salvation stay on track. It is therefore imperative that Dante not be cut off from Virgil, as Virgil is ever-present to remind him (“il mio duca che diceva / pur: ‘Guarda che da me tu non sia mozzo’ [“Take care that you are not cut off from me”] 2.16.14–15), lest Dante otherwise go astray.30 Here is not the first time Dante risks being cut off from Virgil. In Inferno 8 the demons told Virgil to come alone and let Dante go back the way he had come (“Vien tu solo, e quei sen vada” [“You come alone, and let that one depart”] 1.8.89; “Sol si ritorni per la folle strada: / pruovi, se sa; ché tu qui rimarrai” [“Let him retrace alone his foolish way; try, if he can! – for you shall stay here”] 1.8.91–2). In these instances, Virgil’s words were less than comforting, especially when he abandoned Dante to speak to the demons on his own: “Così sen va, e quivi m’abbandona / lo dolce padre, e io rimagno in forse” [“So he goes away and leaves me there, the gentle father, and I remain in doubt”] (1.8.109–10). It is no surprise that Dante was prepared for Virgil’s lack of success with the demons and ready to turn around: “e se ’l passar più oltre ci è negato, / ritroviam l’orme nostre insieme ratto” [“And if going farther is denied us, let us retrace our steps together”] (1.8.101–2). By default it was left to the “messo” to indirectly instill in Dante the necessary confidence that his journey, decreed from on high, would not fail, that those demons were ineffective and could not keep it from attaining its appointed goal (“quella voglia / a cui non puote il fin mai esser mozzo” [“that Will which can never be thwarted of its end”] 1.9.94–5). When one juxtaposes the two appearances of “mozzo” it is notable how much Virgil’s profile has improved.31 Back when the

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“messo” uttered “mozzo” in Inferno 9 Virgil had little presence as a guide, sidelined as he watched the “messo” disarm the demons with a verbal thrust that should have been his. When Virgil repeats “mozzo” in Purgatorio 16, it is with the confidence that his role is of critical importance to the success of the journey, for if Dante were to be cut off from him (“mozzo”) the ascent of the mountain of Purgatory could take an unfortunate turn. But such will not happen, since, through divine will, Virgil appears to see the way ahead.32 This signposted journey has guided the reader from the fumy quagmire of Inferno 9 where an ineffective Virgil required outside help to gain entry into Dis, to the third terrace of Purgatory in Purgatorio 16 where a rehabilitated Virgil seems all-seeing as he confidently guides the blinded pilgrim through the blackest air. While one might conclude that the alternative journey thus far pursued frames Virgil’s competence and his apparent ability to learn from past mistakes, Virgil’s moment in the figurative sun will prove short-lived. Another signposted journey is about to commence four lines hence. With this new journey we will return to Virgil’s need for outside help, mirroring Inferno 8 and 9.

part two At the start of Purgatorio 16, the temporarily blind pilgrim can hear the words of the “Agnus Dei” while making his way through the dense smoke of the terrace of the wrathful, but cannot determine with any certainty whether it is the penitent souls who are singing: Pur “Agnus Dei” eran le loro essordia; una parola in tutte era e un modo, sì che parea tra esse ogne concordia. “Quei sono spirti, maestro, ch’i’ odo?” diss’ io. Ed elli a me: “Tu vero apprendi, e d’iracundia van solvendo il nodo.” [Their beginnings were always “Agnus Dei”; one word was with them all, and one measure, so that full concord seemed to be among them. “Are these spirits, master, that I hear?” I said; and he answered me, “You judge aright, and they go loosening the knot of anger.”] (2.16.19–24)

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Virgil is likewise blinded but fully understands the scene before them. He says that Dante is right and adds the reason behind the song: they are the penitent wrathful singing to expiate their sin. On the terrace of the gluttons, Dante follows behind Virgil and Statius, listening with pleasure as they discuss the whereabouts of noble pagans, but suddenly the words “Labïa mëa Domine” drown out their voices. Knowing neither the source of the sound nor what it signifies, Dante turns to his guide like a son seeking answers from his gentle father, for he cannot see who is singing, as the penitent souls have yet to overtake the three poets from behind: Ed ecco piangere e cantar s’udìe “Labïa mëa, Domine” per modo tal, che diletto e doglia parturìe. “O dolce padre, che è quel ch’i’ odo?” comincia’ io; ed elli: “Ombre che vanno forse di lor dover solvendo il nodo.” [And low, in tears and song was heard: “Labïa mëa, Domine,” in such a way that it gave birth to joy and to grief. “O sweet father, what is this I hear?” I began; and he, “Shades who go perhaps loosening the knot of their debt.”] (2.23.10–15) In contrast with the earlier incident, Virgil’s response is less sure. Here he only suggests that these are souls expiating their sin, couching his words with “forse,” and does not – or cannot – name the sin being purged on the sixth terrace: gluttony. Both the foregoing scenes and exchanges between Dante the pilgrim and Virgil are remarkably similar. Both instances have the following points in common: • There is reference to a song being sung by unseen singers; • “Modo” refers to the tone of the song and appears at the end

of the second line; • Dante’s question comes on the fourth line, which ends with

the formula: “ch’i’ odo”; • Virgil is identified as “ed elli”on the fifth line; • Virgil responds to Dante’s query on the fifth and sixth lines

and concludes with the formula: “solvendo il nodo”; • The same exact words appear in both texts as follows:

first line – ... second line – modo33

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third line – ... fourth line – ch’i’ odo fifth line – ed elli ... sixth line – solvendo il nodo34 The formula “solvendo il nodo” is unique to these two texts, and while “ch’i’ odo” also appears on three other occasions in the Commedia,35 only here does it form part of this more complex configuration. The repetition of the linguistic patterns in Purgatorio 23 is a signal to the reader to embark upon a retrospective journey back across seven cantos of textual space to the previous text in Purgatorio 16 and re-examine it with the newly gained understanding.36 A marked contrast is evident between Virgil’s knowing reply in the first instance and his more tentative response in the second to Dante’s similar query under similar circumstances. Here Virgil appears unable to provide the most basic information, and no longer possesses the ability to see what Dante cannot see. Purgatorio 16 Taking that retrospective journey to the third terrace, where this linguistic configuration first appears, allows the perceptive reader to see how much more attentive and competent Virgil is there in his role as guide. Virgil appears at home in the dark.37 As Singleton says, he “has a way of ‘seeing’ that is not purely physical and accordingly can lead Dante on around the terrace.”38 Despite the temporary absence of sunlight in these opening tercets, and this place darker even than Hell, Virgil confidently guides Dante onward with the pilgrim holding close at his shoulder. For Virgil emits his own light (see 1.1.82; 1.4.68–9; 1.11.91), however dim in contrast to the true sun.39 And for now this dim light will suffice to help illumine the way for the pilgrim. But Dante can only benefit from this light if he stays close and heeds Virgil’s admonition that the pilgrim not cut himself off from him. With the dark smoke forcing Dante’s stinging eyes closed, like the penitent wrathful he too is experiencing the purifying pain of this terrace, and like them he must not allow himself to be separated from the voice of reason, which can light the way for him to see through this sin.40 Though blinded by the dark smoke, Dante is still able to hear voices singing the “Agnus Dei.” He seems to understand that it is a prayer to Christ for peace and mercy sung by those who have

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sinned, yet he is so dependent on his trusted guide at that moment that he seeks assurance of what should be obvious, namely that these are in fact spirits:41 Virgil’s response is sure, confirming that these are spirits, and identifying them by the sin that they are expiating. So ends the dialogue between Dante and Virgil that began with Dante’s ecstatic vision, for in the following line Marco Lombardo comes to interrupt them and the emphasis eventually shifts to a political discussion between Dante and Marco, from which Virgil is virtually excluded.42 Purgatorio 21–23 For the reader who has traversed the seven cantos of textual space to revisit the circumstances leading up to the first appearance of the linguistic configuration, what becomes evident is that despite the otherworldliness of Purgatory, Virgil acted as though it was familiar ground, blinded himself but confidently offering his shoulder to the similarly blinded pilgrim, and dimly lighting the onward way through the utter blackness. This reader, having recently encountered Statius, well understands Virgil’s ability to guide Dante while blinded himself, for Statius too was guided by him, and has just explained this apparent paradox.43 As Virgil greets Statius he declares himself from the outset an eternal exile from God’s light, never to be freed from the darkness to which, by inference, he is bound to return: Poi cominciò: “Nel beato concilio ti ponga in pace la verace corte che me rilega ne l’etterno essilio.”44 [Then he began, “May the true court which binds me in the eternal exile bring you in peace to the assembly of the blest.”] (2.21.16–18) By contrasting his own damnation with Statius’ salvation, Virgil is setting the stage for the parting of the ways. He will return to Limbo in the knowledge that Statius will reach the blessed assembly of Paradise, as will Dante also, who is destined to reign with the good (“ben vedrai che coi buon convien ch’e’ regni” 2.21.24). But already, before Virgil’s departure, these higher reaches of the

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mountain of Purgatory appear in ever greater contrast with his place in the darkness of Hell, a fact that does not escape Statius. He registers surprise that these souls from the nether regions, mistaking Dante for a condemned soul also, journeyed this far from their rightful place with no escort: “se voi siete ombre che Dio sù non degni, / chi v’ha per la sua scala tanto scorte?” [“if you are shades whom God deigns not on high, who has brought you so far along His stairs?”] (2.21.20–1). Virgil’s confident demeanor in the darkness of the terrace of the wrathful a mere six cantos earlier, so reminiscent of his Hell, contrasts strongly with the challenge he must withstand from Statius, who questions his very right to be climbing these stairs without an escort. But this is not the first time that Virgil has been asked who escorted him beyond the prison of Hell. Another Roman, Cato, more fiercely asked Virgil and Dante the same question in Purgatorio 1, in the belief that another had lighted their way, thereby implying that the light of condemned souls, Virgil’s included, would be insufficient: “Chi v’ha guidati, o che vi fu lucerna, uscendo fuor de la profonda notte che sempre nera fa la valle inferna?” [“Who has guided you, or what was a lamp to you issuing forth from the deep night that ever makes the infernal valley black?”] (2.1.43–5) While Virgil defends himself better before Statius than before Cato, his guidance is challenged in both cases by his two fellow Romans, who ignore the possibility that his own light might be sufficient and question why there has been no escort to guide Virgil and Dante beyond the eternity of Hell. And, as in Purgatorio 1 and 2, the result in Purgatorio 21 and 22 is that the limitations of Virgil’s competence to guide are again under scrutiny, and he becomes more tentative, losing the self-assurance that he had in Purgatorio 15 and 16. Virgil is the first to suggest those limitations when he again reminds Statius of his infernal dwelling place, but this time he distinguishes it as Limbo. He explains to Statius that there is no other guide but himself and that he will guide Dante only as far as his school of teaching can take him:45

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“Ond’ io fui tratto fuor de l’ampia gola d’inferno per mostrarli, e mosterrolli oltre, quanto ’l potrà menar mia scola.” [“Wherefore I was brought forth from Hell’s wide jaws to guide him, and I will guide him onward as far as my school can lead him.”] (2.21.31–3) Virgil’s adoption of the word “inferno” constitutes its first appearance since the reference to the darkness of Hell – “buio d’inferno” – in Purgatorio 16.1, thereby creating an initial linguistic link between the two episodes. In upper Purgatory, Virgil’s thoughts return more and more to his home in Hell. He notes, for instance, that it was soon after his arrival there that he first heard from Juvenal of Statius’ affection for him. And once more he alludes to the conclusion of his role as guide; his sojourn on these purgatorial stairs is almost at an end now that Statius has joined them: “onde da l’ora che tra noi discese nel limbo de lo ’nferno Giovenale, che la tua affezion mi fé palese, mia benvoglienza inverso te fu quale più strinse mai di non vista persona, sì ch’or mi parran corte queste scale.” [“wherefore, from the hour when Juvenal descended among us in the Limbo of Hell and made your affection known to me, my good will toward you has been such as never yet did bind to an unseen person, so that these stairs will now seem short to me.”] (2.22.13–18) Virgil would appear to be paying Statius a great compliment in suggesting that ascent of the remaining stairs will now be easier with Statius at his side, this hitherto unseen soul toward whom he has felt such affection. Yet, it is also implicit in Virgil’s words that his time as a guide before he returns to the darkness of Hell will henceforth seem shorter; his “inferno” reference in verse 14 is his last.46 The satisfaction of reaching the summit will elude Virgil, for his destination is not the Earthly Paradise that awaits Dante and Statius. He cannot continue beyond the Lethe, but must take his leave and return to eternal exile, even as they carry on to the

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summit of Purgatory and beyond to the blessed council of Paradise. With the arrival of this new Roman poet turned Christian, toward whom Virgil in Limbo felt more affection than for any other person he had not met before, time will now pass more quickly, as there is ever less place for a pre-Christian like Virgil. The guiding light of pagan Rome represented by Virgil, once Dante’s sun that could heal him of every doubt (“O sol che sani ogne vista turbata” 1.11.91), will soon be eclipsed by that of Christian Rome, now in the guise of Virgil’s beloved Statius. But before Virgil returns to Limbo, the reader must have a better understanding of his light, and how it can illuminate the way for others, even though not for the guide himself – of how a blinded guide can walk in darkness and yet show the way for those who follow him, as he did for Dante most literally in Purgatorio 16. Ironically, Virgil, Dante’s guiding light for more than half of his journey, understands his own light the least, aiming here to fathom its source and comprehend how it lit the way out of the darkness for a fellow singer of Godless verse. Thus it is he, not Dante, who asks Statius: “Se così è, qual sole o quai candele ti stenebraron sì, che tu drizzasti poscia di retro al pescator le vele?” [“If that is so, then what sun or what candles dispelled your darkness, so that thereafter you set sails to follow the Fisherman?”] (2.22.61–3) Virgil’s inclusion of “candele” in his question reflects his understanding that, in the absence of light coming from on high (“sole”), illumination may be emitted from an earthly source, not unlike the candle-power light that brightens somewhat his own world of Limbo. But Statius can gain a benefit from the illumination of these candles which the Limbo dwellers cannot. For he is able to see a way out of the darkness, up out of the depths and onto the ocean surface where the light of God shines brightly, and be caught up by the “pescator” named Peter, who was taught by Christ how to catch men (Mark 1:17).47 Statius responds that it was none other than Virgil who had illuminated his way: “Tu prima m’ïnviasti / verso Parnaso ... / e prima appresso Dio m’alluminasti” [“You it was who first sent me toward

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Parnassus ... and first did light me on to God”] (2.22.64–6). But Virgil, even as he wrote the Aeneid and the Fourth Eclogue, was blind, in the dark, unable to profit and be enlightened by the guiding light he himself was emitting. That light could only be seen through the darkness by those who came after him: by Statius in the first century, by Dante in Hell, and again by Dante through the black smoke of the third terrace of Purgatory, where the linguistic configuration first appears. Statius paints a picture of a Virgil who, though blind, can guide others to the light of God, as one who moves through the dark, carrying a lantern behind him: “Facesti come quei che va di notte, che porta il lume dietro e sé non giova, ma dopo sé fa le persone dotte, quando dicesti: ‘Secol si rinova; torna giustizia e primo tempo umano, e progenïe scende da ciel nova.’” [“You were like one who goes by night and carries the light behind him and profits not himself, but makes those wise who follow him, when you said, ‘The ages are renewed; Justice returns and the first age of man, and a new progeny descends from heaven.’”] (2.22.67–72) Unlike the blind Dante who, once he was beyond the “notte privata d’ogne pianeto” (2.16.1–2) of the third terrace, could again see beyond the night sky to a new dawn, the blind Virgil is condemned eternally to the starless night of Hell. He did not comprehend and embrace his own words from the Fourth Eclogue: “iam nova progenies caelo demittitur alto” [“now a new progeny descends from heaven on high”] (Eclogue iv 5–7).48 Dante the poet affords Virgil no immediate opportunity to respond to Statius’ comparing him to a blind guide who carries a lantern behind him. Had Virgil reacted, it would have suggested that he could see out the back of his head. His failure to respond establishes that he is incapable of understanding the effect of his own light precisely because he cannot see it. And so Statius shifts the focus to that world of starless night where Virgil will dwell through all eternity. Virgil later responds to Statius’ question regarding the whereabouts of fellow Roman poets and playwrights

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and whether they are damned. He replies that those and many others are with him, condemned to the first circle of the blind prison of Hell: “nel primo cinghio del carcere cieco” (2.22.103), the place Virgil called the “cieco mondo” (1.4.12) as he and Dante were about to enter there. But by describing Hell with the words “carcere cieco,” Virgil indirectly acknowledges Statius’ assessment of himself as a blind soul condemned to the blind prison. When Virgil next speaks, he is once more acting as a guide. But how confident is he now that Statius confirms that he guides in darkness? Although in Purgatory one normally turns the right shoulder to the edge of the mountain, and moves in a counterclockwise direction, in the presence of Statius Virgil is now less sure: quando il mio duca: “Io credo ch’a lo stremo le destre spalle volger ne convegna, girando il monte come far solemo.” [when my leader said, “I think it behooves us to turn our right shoulders to the outer edge and to circle the mountain as we are wont.”] (2.22.121–3) Thus he prefaces his directive, based on the now familiar practice of the realm, with “credo che.”49 Singleton in his commentary rightly points out: “Virgil should indeed know this by now!”50 Indeed he should. And had Statius not been there, Virgil would not have been thrown off balance.51 He would have spoken with the confidence he demonstrated on the third terrace when leading Dante into the black smoke. But, in the presence of a fellow Roman who can see where he cannot, Virgil’s self-confidence now ebbs. Only with the clear-sighted Statius in front, alongside Virgil, do they continue their way with less hesitation: Così l’usanza fu lì nostra insegna, e prendemmo la via con men sospetto per l’assentir di quell’ anima degna. Elli givan dinanzi, e io soletto di retro ... [Thus usage was our guide there, and we went our way with less doubt because of the assent of that worthy soul. They were going on in front, and I solitary behind ...] (2.22.124–8)

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Once Statius has defined Virgil as one who guides in darkness by carrying the lantern behind him, even that image is overshadowed. With Virgil still in the dark, his guiding lamp now pales, for himself and for Dante who follows, in comparison to the lamp taken up by another, by Statius, who sees the way before him in the clear light of day. As the three poets continue their way along the sixth terrace, the terrace of the gluttons, the conversation between Virgil and Statius about the poetry of the ancients is temporarily interrupted by the sight of a strange fruit tree, like a fir-tree but inverted, tapering downward. This tree is a taste of the Earthly Paradise to come, a place forbidden to Virgil, but to which Statius and Dante go forward on their own. That the fruit remains ever out of reach is emphasized by a cry heard through the fronds: “Di questo cibo avrete caro” [“Of this food you shall have want”] (2.22.141). The shape of the tree and the initial warning it emits, as well as the examples of temperance that close the canto, should make it clear to those who see with understanding that this is the terrace where the penitent gluttons expiate their sin. But Virgil makes no attempt to explain this strange scene despite the fourth example, which he knows so well: the golden age (“Lo secol primo quant’ oro fu bello” [“The first age was fair as gold”] 2.22.148), whose return Virgil himself prophesied, as Statius points out earlier in the canto (“Secol si rinova; / torna giustizia e primo tempo umano” [“The ages are renewed; Justice returns and the first age of man”] 2.22.70–1).52 Virgil remains silent, casting no light on this or any other example for the pilgrim following behind. The opening of Purgatorio 23 finds Dante the pilgrim very curious to uncover the mystery for himself and he vainly seeks to discover the source of the voice within the green fronds of the fruit tree. Virgil, however, shows no interest in what the voice is saying, or in anything about this new terrace, distracted perhaps by his discussion with Statius about the old days. Dante’s “more than father” (“lo più che padre” 2.23.4) sheds no light on the matter and instead urges Dante onward, as time is getting short: “Figliuole, / vienne oramai, ché ’l tempo che n’è imposto / più utilmente compartir si vuole” [“Son, come on now, for the time that is allotted us must be more usefully apportioned”] (2.23.4–6).53 That done, Virgil resumes his conversation with Statius, much as a parent (“padre”) who continues a conversation with another adult, after

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breaking off to tell his inquisitive son (“figliuole”) to come along and not dawdle. Yet, here the relationship of parent to child seems transposed, for now the child seeks to see more than the father. If this is a waste of time because the child does not know where to focus his attention, then the father’s lack of direction is at fault. This new terrace should be more than simply a backdrop for Virgil and Statius, the two “savi” (2.23.8),54 to talk about other kindred spirits from the ancient world. Yet thus far Virgil’s only comment on this terrace is to tell Dante to leave behind the tree that so interested him. Walking in darkness and distracted by Statius, Virgil is unable to fulfill his principal role here as Dante’s guide: namely to shine his light so that Dante can see and understand everything he encounters on this terrace along his journey to Beatrice. Since Statius’ comment about Virgil carrying the lantern behind him, there has been little evidence of that light. But Statius and Virgil are only able to continue their dialogue until the realities of this new terrace interrupt once more in the guise of other voices crying and singing the words “Labïa mëa, Domine.” As mentioned above, the circumstances are remarkably similar to those in Purgatorio 16. Dante, walking behind Virgil and now Statius (“Io volsi ’l viso, e ’l passo non men tosto, / appresso i savi” [“I turned my face, and my steps no less quickly, following after the sages”] 2.23.7–8), inquires what the song means hoping that Virgil will shed some light on it (that causes both delight and pain). It is in this context that the formulas of repetition within the wider linguistic configuration resurface: Ed ecco piangere e cantar s’udìe “Labïa mëa, Domine” per modo tal, che diletto e doglia parturìe “O dolce padre, che è quel ch’i’ odo?” comincia’ io; ed elli: “Ombre che vanno forse di lor dover solvendo il nodo.” [And low, in tears and song was heard: “Labïa mëa, Domine,” in such manner that it gave birth to joy and to grief. “O sweet father, what is this I hear?” I began; and he, “Shades who go perhaps loosening the knot of their debt.”] (2.23.10–15) Statius’ reference to Virgil as being blind to the light he carries behind him remains the controlling image here. Virgil cannot see

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the souls who sing “Labïa mëa, Domine” because they are coming up from behind [“così di retro a noi”] (2.23.19). And if Virgil is unsure of their identity it is because he is incapable of turning around to see them. For to turn around would suggest that he could benefit from the light that shines behind him, an impossibility as we know from Statius, who says of Virgil: “porta il lume dietro e sé non giova” [“he carries the light behind him and profits not himself”] (2.22.68). Thus, unlike his confident response to Dante’s same question in Purgatorio 16, here Virgil’s response is insecure, and he can only guess blindly. The source of the song should be far easier to detect because there is no black smoke here as there was on the third terrace. On the basis of past encounters on the mountain of Purgatory, one might expect that Virgil would now see just as clearly and, more important, unlike his encounter with the wrathful of the third terrace, here see more sharply. Yet in Purgatorio 23 he is in greater darkness than on the earlier occasion, and now flounders for a response to the same simple question as put to him on that terrace. Virgil’s answer is vague and unhelpful. I suggest the following paraphrase: perhaps (“forse”) they are shades who go about expiating whichever sin might be theirs. What will stand out before the reader who collapses the seven cantos of textual space and juxtaposes the two passages is that in the second instance Virgil hedges his response with “forse” and neglects to mention the actual sin these souls are expiating. Although there are other examples in the Commedia of Virgil’s guidance being unsteady, this is the only instance of his using “forse” in response to a specific question from Dante. In examining the context of the repeated linguistic configuration, the reader cannot fail to notice that Virgil’s answer in the second instance is flawed. In pursuing the signposted journey back to Purgatorio 16 one is reminded of Virgil’s earlier ability to see despite being blinded by the black smoke. In Purgatorio 23, however, the light that Statius sees behind Virgil has grown so dim as to be of little use. Furthermore, in this episode, once Statius appears, Virgil grows derelict in his guiding duties and views his journey up the purgatorial stairs as but a chore. Indeed, he declares that with his fellow Roman poet at his side the remaining ascent will seem shorter. Virgil will not recover his authority as guide until the end

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of Purgatorio 25, when Statius’ presence is eclipsed with their arrival on the terrace of the lustful.55 Looking at the wider linguistic journey undertaken in this chapter, by seeing “sotto ’l velame” of textual space, we can only conclude that, much as Virgil derives no benefit from his own light, he has also gained no greater understanding toward the end of this journey than he had near the beginning. What is revealed by Virgil’s apparent enablement to guide competently and without any outside assistance in Purgatorio 15 and 16 is that what should have been the norm of good guidance was temporary at best, and had no lasting effect. In Dante’s case his blindness was passing in Inferno 9 and Purgatorio 15 and 16, but for Virgil it is everlasting as, coming full circle, he prepares to return to the “cieco carcere,” his blind prison, for all eternity.

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3 Encounters with the Heavenly Beings in Hell and Purgatory

part one In the previous chapter we considered Virgil’s humiliation at the hands of the devils and witnessed how they appeared to exercise sufficient autonomy to impede the progress of his journey. For the first time since Inferno 2, help was required from on high to rescue the journey of Dante the pilgrim; however, in this latter instance this need was not due to any failing on Dante’s part, but rather to Virgil’s ineffectiveness before these devils, whose weakness he should have exposed. As recently as Inferno 7, he had confidently revealed the emptiness behind Plutus’s threatening harangue and the fellow travellers were able to enter the fourth circle under their own steam. But these devils only stood down once outside help arrived in the guise of the “messo.” Thanks to his intervention, Virgil and Dante can safely move their step towards the city of Dis without fear; and upon entering Dante is curious to look inside this new place which the fortressed gate had previously blocked from his sight: e noi movemmo i piedi inver’ la terra, sicuri appresso le parole sante. Dentro li ’ntrammo sanz’ alcuna guerra; e io, ch’avea di riguardar disio la condizion ch tal fortezza serra .... [Then we moved our steps toward the city, secure after the holy words. We entered it without any strife; and I, who was eager to behold the condition which such a fortress encloses ...] (1.9.104–8)

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What greets Dante’s eyes is not so much a city that might be familiar to him, as a great, lifeless plain denude of any landscape other than the open tombs of the heretics who are condemned to this sixth circle. As Virgil’s ability before the demons is found lacking in Inferno 9, so also is Statius’ explanation in Purgatorio 28 about there being no meteorological perturbations above the gate into Purgatory, when Dante the pilgrim asks Matelda how that can be possible when water is flowing beneath his feet and a gentle breeze is rustling the trees of the forest. Matelda, who has supplanted Virgil as Dante’s teacher, in apparent agreement with Statius, describes how this mountain of Purgatory was created at such a height so as to ensure that it not be disturbed by any evil climactic force: “Perché ’l turbar che sotto da sé fanno l’essalazion de l’acqua e de la terra, che quanto posson dietro al calor vanno, a l’uomo non facesse alcuna guerra questo monte salìo verso ’l ciel tanto, e libero n’è d’indi ove si serra.” [“In order that the disturbance which the exhalations of the water and of the earth (which follow so far as they can the heat) produce below might do no hurt to man, this mountain rose thus high toward heaven, and stands clear of them from where it is locked.”] (2.28.97–102) But Matelda’s discourse will extend far beyond what Statius was able to convey to Dante back in Purgatorio 21, because his account was based purely on a personal experience of his surroundings as a penitent soul. In contrast to Statius’ “non so come” [“I know not how”] (2.21.57), she has a further explanation for meteorological events.1 While Statius can claim partial knowledge of Matelda’s description of this place, perhaps for Virgil’s particular benefit Matelda will resort to a corollary at the end of her discourse. In a language he can understand she relates this Earthly Paradise to the ancients’ myth of the Golden Age before he disappears from the scene and returns to his own land on the other side of the gate into Dis. In both Inferno 9 and Purgatorio 28 the formula of repetition “alcuna guerra,” unique to these two texts, emerges with the other

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rhyme words of the terza rima scheme, “la terra” and “serra,” which appear in precisely the same order, as follows:2 “.../la terra/ .../alcuna guerra/.../serra.” This repeated configuration, found only in these two episodes, bids the reader consider whether a further understanding can be gained by comparing and contrasting them. In the first instance, by reflecting on the context of each of the three elements of the terza rima, we see that in both episodes the words form a common link as thematic identifiers. The repeated definite article plus the rhyme word “terra” connote a land of sin, in the first instance the land or city of Dis, and in the second some taint from the land down below, the land above which the mountain of Purgatory had to rise so as not to be disturbed by any of its harmful effects. The third-person singular “serra” is particularly intriguing as a thematic identifier because it relates to the locking of something either within or without at parallel moments of the texts of the two cantiche. In the Inferno it denotes the locking in of the damned souls behind the gate that leads into Dis, and in the Purgatorio it denotes the locking out, down below at the gate into Purgatory, of the exhalations of water and land that cause climactic disturbances. Both the locking in and the locking out occur in cantos of the same number: Inferno 9; Purgatorio 9. How does the issue of Virgil’s flawed guiding ability before the gate into Dis relate to the highlighted text in Purgatorio 28, at which point he has already relinquished his job as guide? By now the reader might imagine that Virgil should have set out post-haste through the two gates to his “terra” down below. Yet we are reminded that Virgil had made it known in Inferno 1 that he would not depart until he had left Dante with Beatrice: “anima fia a ciò più di me degna: / con lei ti lascerò nel mio partire” [“there shall be a soul worthier than I to guide you; with her I shall leave you at my departing”] (1.1.122–3). True to his word, Virgil remains on the scene until Beatrice arrives, but he is in an indeterminate state and on the margin of Earthly Paradise, which he may not enter. In this limbo-like state he hears Matelda’s discourse, which contains the repeated linguistic configuration here under study, the last utterance in the Commedia that will also be meant for Virgil’s ears. But before examining the text of Purgtorio 28, let us heed the directional signal of the repeated linguistic configuration and

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turn back to its initial appearance in Inferno 9. After taking that vista in retrospect, to use Singleton’s phrase,3 we shall then reconsider the text here in relation to our understanding of the one there. Inferno 9 Taking up where we left off in the previous chapter, we recall that the “messo” has just vanquished the previously obdurate demons and ensured the entry of Dante and Virgil through the now open gate, after which he hastily departs without uttering a single word to them.4 The explanation Dante the poet proposes for his hurried exit from the scene is that the “messo” looked as if he had other, more important duties: e non fé motto a noi, ma fé sembiante d’omo cui altra cura stringa e morda che quella di colui che li è davante. [and spoke not a word to us, but looked like one whom other care urges and incites than that of those who stand before him.] (1.9.101–3) While the “colui” or “those” in verse 103 like the “noi” in verse 101 would refer primarily to Dante and Virgil, one may construe that it is Virgil in particular who has disappointed the “messo” because, had Virgil done his job as he promised Beatrice he would, it should not have been necessary for him to come. In Inferno 2.68–9 Beatrice implored Virgil to do all he could to save Dante and assist him so that she might be consoled (“e con ciò c’ha mestieri al suo campare, / l’aiuta sì ch’i’ ne sia consolata”) [“and with whatever is needful for his deliverance, assist him so that it may console me”]. And Virgil made his solemn promise to Beatrice: “tanto m’aggrada il tuo comandamento, che l’ubidir, se già fosse, m’è tardi; più non t’è uo’ ch’aprirmi il tuo talento.” [“your command so pleases me, that had I obeyed already it would be late. You have only to declare your will to me.”] (1.2.79–81)

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It is unusual that blessed souls descend into the depths of Hell. Furthermore, they do not appreciate being there, as Beatrice implied when she told Virgil she longed to return to Paradise: “vegno del loco ove tornar disio” [“I come from a place to which I long to return”] (1.2.71). Virgil apparently did not understand this when he then made reference to her previous statement by repeating the formula “loco ove tornar”: “Ma dimmi la cagion che non ti guardi / de lo scender qua giuso in questo centro / de l’ampio loco ove tornar ardi” [“But tell me the reason why you are not wary of descending to this spacious region to which you long to return”] (1.2.82–4).5 There ought to be a good reason for demanding such heavenly incursions into Hell, as was the case with Beatrice’s descent into Limbo. Virgil should have been up to the job of delivering Dante through Hell without any further intervention by one from on high. But his inability to honour his pledge to Beatrice because he failed to deal effectively with the demons called for a further descent, one that would have been avoidable had Virgil lived up to expectations. To make matters worse, Virgil had initially expressed to Dante his every confidence that he would succeed: “Tu, perch’io m’adiri, / non sbigottir, ch’io vincerò la prova, / qual ch’a la difension dentro s’aggiri” [“Be not dismayed because of my vexation, for I shall prevail in this, whatever be contrived within to hinder us”] (1.8.121–3), adding furthermore that the demons also vainly attempted to resist Christ when He harrowed Hell: “Questa lor tracotanza non è nova; / ché già l’usaro a men segreta porta” [“This insolence of theirs is nothing new, for they showed it once at a less secret gate”] (1.8.124–5).6 The other gate through which Dante and Virgil passed at the outset of their descent in Inferno 3 is the less secret one that now stands permanently open. But very soon after boasting that he would win the test of wills with the demons, Virgil had to concede that one (“tal”) was coming, the “messo” who would ensure that the city be opened to them. As discussed in chapter 2, early in Inferno 9 Virgil started having his doubts and in a panic, in one extraordinary tercet, he raised three issues: whether they would win the fight, Beatrice’s apparent offer of additional help, and why the “messo” was taking so long in coming: “Pur a noi converrà vincer la punga,” cominciò el, “se non… Tal ne s’offerse. Oh quanto tarda a me ch’altri qui giunga!”

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[“Yet we must win this fight,” he began, “or else ... such did she offer herself to us! Oh, how long to me it seems till someone come!”] (1.9.7–9) Did Beatrice in fact offer Virgil assistance where necessary? Virgil may have believed so. Understanding from Beatrice that her descent into Limbo arose from the intervention of three ladies (including Beatrice herself) who were looking after Dante (“tre donne benedette / curan di te ne la corte del cielo” [“three blessed ladies are mindful of you”] 1.2.124–5), he might have inferred that outside support would subsequently be obtainable in time of need. Yet, a re-reading of Virgil’s account of his conversation with Beatrice does not suggest that she made any such specific offer.7 Regarding whether it is fair to suppose that Virgil could overcome the demons on his own, one might conclude that, yes, that expectation did exist as part of his guiding task. As discussed in chapter 1, in Inferno 14 Dante the pilgrim will remind Virgil that he should have personally defeated these demons precisely as he had done elsewhere: “Maestro, tu che vinci / tutte le cose, fuor che ’ demon duri / ch’a l’intrar de la porta incontra uscinci ...” [“Master, you who overcome all things except the obdurate demons that came out against us at the entrance of the gate”] 1.14.43–5. Still more problematic in Virgil’s behaviour was, first, his questioning their victory over the demons despite his knowing that the “messo” was on the way, and second his asking why the “messo” was taking so long to come. Perhaps as a consequence it is no wonder that the “messo,” when he finally arrives later in Inferno 9, does what is required but departs without any exchange with Virgil, in marked contrast to what must have occurred in Inferno 2 when Beatrice addressed him so respectfully with the hope that he would go and rescue Dante. It is at this time, with Virgil’s standing already at its nadir, and here reinforced by the apparent snub by the “messo,” that the linguistic pattern under study first emerges: e noi movemmo i piedi inver’ la terra, sicuri appresso le parole sante. Dentro li ’ntrammo sanz’ alcuna guerra; e io, ch’avea di riguardar disio la condizion che tal fortezza serra ...

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[Then we moved our steps toward the city, secure after the holy words. We entered it without any strife; and I, who was eager to behold the condition which such a fortress encloses ...] (1.9.104–8) Dante’s adoption of the generic term “terra” to refer to the city of Dis has already been seen on two separate occasions in the previous canto: “quella terra sconsolata” [“that doleful city”] 1.8.77; and more significantly in the last tercet of Inferno 8 when Virgil had to confess to his charge that he was incapable of opening the gate and entering this “terra” without the descent of one from on high to do it for him: “e già di qua da lei discende l’erta, / passando per li cerchi sanza scorta, / tal che per lui ne fia la terra aperta” [“and already, on this side of it, there comes down the steep, passing the circles without escort, one by whom the city shall be opened to us”] (1.8.128–30). The repetition of “la terra” almost a whole canto later in Inferno 9.104 is yet another reminder of Virgil’s seeming powerlessness in this place and the amount of time that was wasted before they could continue on their way. Thanks to the “messo,” Virgil and Dante pass the demons at the gate, entering into Dis easily and without any strife: “sanz’ alcuna guerra.” These words have further implications for Virgil’s guiding incompetence. It is possible that, had Virgil confidently stood up to the demons and revealed in his speech the emptiness of their threat as he had done most recently with Plutus (“Taci, maladetto lupo!” [“Silence, accursed wolf!”] 1.7.8), that, just as Plutus had fallen defeated, they too might have fallen away at Virgil’s command and allowed this entry into Dis “sanz’ alcuna guerra.” It is perhaps not uncoincidental that prior to the appearance of “terra” to signify Dis in Inferno 8.77 (“quella terra sconsolata”), “terra” appears in contrast in Inferno 7.15 when Plutus, deflated by the word of Virgil, fell to the ground: “tal cadde a terra la fiera crudele” [“so fell that cruel beast to the ground”]. Dante and Virgil’s eventual entry into Dis without “alcuna guerra” also reminds the reader and Dante the pilgrim of Virgil’s limitations as a condemned soul himself. In Virgil’s previous encounters with demons such as Charon, Minos, and Plutus, when challenging them by the authority invested in him from on high, he appeared to enjoy a special status. Ironically it is through the impotence of these demons, who allow Dante and Virgil to now enter “sanz’

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alcuna guerra,” that we are reminded of Virgil’s true status as yet another condemned soul, likewise impotent.8 Commentators suggest that with these words the long scene of the entry into Dis is now over.9 This may be so from an episodic point of view; yet, our questions about Virgil’s guiding competence which arise from this decisive scene have only begun. This linguistic configuration extends into the next episode of Inferno 9, with Dante the pilgrim finally able to take in what the closed gate had previously blocked from his sight. After the long wait for the “messo” from without, Dante is perhaps more interested still (“e io, ch’avea di riguardar disio” [“and I, who was eager to behold”] 1.9.107) to see what lies within the city. Much like a soldier after a long military campaign outside a city’s walls would have built up a certain curiosity to observe what was on the inside, Dante is finally in a position to see what manner of sin the fortressed city encloses, “serra,” as he casts his eyes over this new landscape of death. Safely delivered into the city of Dis, Virgil has regained his footing as a guide and can confidently respond to Dante’s query about what kind of sinners these souls are, buried inside the tombs. He identifies them as heretics and adds that the degree to which the tombs burn hot is a reflection of the gravity of their sin. As they descend into the sixth circle, Virgil then knowingly turns with Dante to the right (“E poi ch’a la man destra si fu vòlto” [“Then, after he had turned to the right hand”] 1.9.132), even though until this point they have always turned to the left.10 On their way they pass the high ramparts (“li alti spaldi” 1.9.133) that surround Dis, one last reminder of their difficult entry into this city. Following the overt journey into Inferno 10, this episode of Virgil’s questionable guiding competence may have ended, at least for now;11 yet, by following the directional signal of the linguistic pattern of repetition we will jump forward some fifty-three cantos to Purgatorio 28 and there explore it in a new light. Purgatorio 28 As Virgil is about to take his formal leave at the end of Purgatorio 27, he anounces to Dante that they have reached a place beyond his discernment: “e se’ venuto in parte / dov’io per me più oltre non discerno” [“and you are come to a part where I of myself

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discern no farther onward”] 2.27.128–9).12 The “in parte” is all that Virgil knows about Earthly Paradise, which is there for Dante but not for him, and hence Virgil foretells what will be manifest when Matelda needs to condescend and speak by means of a corollary: he lacks any real understanding from this point onward. Despite this formal leave-taking Virgil will not disappear from the scene until Purgatorio 30. Had he disappeared after declaring to Dante in Purgatorio 27 that he should expect no further word or sign from him (“non aspettar mio dir più né mio cenno” 2.7.139), he would have left on a positive note, but if Virgil is going to be true to his promise and lead Dante to Beatrice, then he must stay on and suffer the indignity of appearing useless, much as he was first seen when he vainly attempted to enter the gate into Dis under his own power at the close of Inferno 8.13 Dante the pilgrim was at that time utterly dependent on Virgil when the demons said he should retrace his steps and return above alone. In contrast to Dante’s fear there, at the onset of Puratorio 28 Dante strikes out on his own without any trepidation into the divine forest: “sanza più aspettar, lasciai la riva” [“without waiting longer I left the bank”] (2.28.4). Singleton ties this “sanza più aspettar” with Virgil’s “non aspettar mio dir più” [“no longer expect word from me”] (2.27.139), noting the repetition of “aspettar” and “più” in such close textual proximity: “In willing obedience to Virgil” (Purg. xxvii, 139). We are reminded that Dante now for the first time moves forward alone, without looking to Virgil for guidance.”14 After our retrospective journey to the scene before the gate into Dis, we are also reminded that, in contrast to when Dante looked to Virgil and he looked to the “messo” and both were left waiting in fear for what seemed such a long time, here, without waiting, Dante can move forward in accord with his own free will. Consequently the order seen in recent cantos, of Virgil and Statius taking the lead with Dante proud to follow from behind in their footsteps, is here reversed; Dante moves ahead with Virgil now taking up the rear, following from a distance, as the reader will learn only later in the text.15 For the first time since Inferno 1 Dante appears to be on his own, and in contrast to his time with Virgil when there was no room for tarrying, the pilgrim proceeds through the landscape “lento lento” [“very slowly”] (2.28.5). With the poet’s description of how the pilgrim’s slow steps (“lenti passi” 2.28.22) take him further into the primeval forest (“dentro a la

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selva antica” [“into the ancient wood”] 2.28.23), the reader is reminded both of Virgil’s similar description from the Aeneid vi, 179 (“Itur in antiquam silvum” [“They pass into the forest primeval”]) and of the central role Virgil played in Inferno 1,16 when he rescued Dante from his retreat back toward the “selva oscura.” More parallels between Purgatorio 28 and Inferno 1 soon follow: Dante not seeing where he entered (“non potea rivedere ond’ io mi ’ntrassi” 2.28.24), previously, Dante not knowing how he entered (“Io non so ridir com’ i’ v’intrai” 1.1.10); the river that darkly flows under the perpetual shade (“che si mova bruna bruna / sotto l’ombra perpetüa” 2.28.31–2), previously, the dark wood (“la selva oscura” 1.1.2); the river that did not allow Dante to move further (“ed ecco più andar mi tolse un rio” 2.28.25), previously the leopard that so impeded Dante’s way (“anzi ’mpediva tanto il mio cammino” 1.1.35). These parallels only heighten the contrast between Matelda in Purgatorio 28 and Virgil in Inferno 1 when they await the solitary Dante, who has been blocked from going any further forward on his own: Matelda a lady all alone who goes about singing here (“una donna soletta che si gia / e cantando” 2.28.40–1);17 previously, Virgil who stood in the great desert there (“costui nel gran diserto” 1.1.64) ready to take on his role as guide. Blocked by the little stream of the Lethe, Dante stays with his feet but with his eyes he sees something marvellous on the other side,18 a beautiful lady who wanders alone, singing and picking flowers. Transfixed, he addresses her (“Deh, bella donna” 2.28.43), in the hope that she might draw closer to her side of the stream and he might better hear her song. Matelda does as Dante bids and moves nearer. Smiling, she stands directly opposite Dante: “Ella ridea da l’altra riva dritta” (2.28.67). When Matelda finally responds to Dante, she does not direct her words solely to him; her use of the second-person plural form of address (“Voi siete nuovi” [“You are newcomers”] 2.28.76) indicates to the reader that Dante is not alone after all. It becomes apparent that Virgil, and necessarily Statius, have both been following Dante ever since he set out to explore this forest (“Vago già di cercar dentro e dintorno / la divina foresta spessa e viva” [“Eager now to search within and round about the divine forest green and dense”] 2.28.1–2). Matelda explains to Dante, Statius, and Virgil her reason for smiling. This place, which she inhabits with such gladness, was chosen by God to be the nest of humankind, Eden: “questo luogo eletto / a l’umana

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natura per suo nido” (2.28.77–8). These are words that Matelda wishes Virgil to also hear, yet the reader may well ask why, since we are now in a place Virgil only knows as “in parte,” a place beyond his discernment. As Matelda continues, her discourse becomes more complex and less comprehensible to Virgil. She understands their doubting reaction (“meravigliando tienvi alcun sospetto” 2.28.79). Why should she be smiling if this place was permanently lost to humankind on account of original sin? If Virgil is already in the dark, his lack of knowledge will only be more palpable when Matelda explains her reason for smiling. She cites from Psalm 91 to shed light on the apparent contradiction: “ma luce rende il salmo Delectasti, / che puote disnebbiar vostro intelletto” [“but the psalm Delectasti gives light that may dispel the cloud from your minds”] (2.28.80–1).19 One can only imagine Virgil’s state of confusion. If even Eden is beyond his discernment, what can he possibly make of a reference to a specific psalm of which he is ignorant? Since he has no knowledge of it, his intellect cannot be cleared and he will not understand the delight of humankind in God’s creative work, expressed by the word “Delectasti.” This understanding will have become manifest to Dante and Statius who, mindful of the word, would comprehend also the meaning of those that follow: “Quia delectasti me, Domine, in factura tua; et in operibus manuum tuarum exsultabo. Quam magnificata sunt opera tua, Domine” [“Because Thou didst delight me, Lord, in Thy work; and in the works of Thy hands I will rejoice. How praiseworthy are Thy works, O Lord”].20 Conseqently, Dante and Statius know why Matelda is smiling. Virgil does not. Matelda’s address to all three of the “nuovi” ultimately serves to isolate Virgil not only from Dante, but from Statius as well. While Virgil and Statius had appeared on the surface to be an inseparable duo since their meeting in Purgatorio 21, as discussed in chapter 2 Virgil was allowing himself to be distracted in Statius’ presence and his guiding competence was being compromised. In line with that earlier discussion, this canto is also the natural conclusion to Virgil’s encounter with Statius, where Virgil is increasingly singled out for what he does not know. Right at the beginning of the verse that follows, with Matelda’s first two words, “E tu,” she redirects her attention to the one who addressed her in the first place with the words “Deh, bella donna”

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(2.28.43): Dante alone. Never again will Virgil be specifically acknowledged by any heavenly figure or representative; but the groundwork was already prepared for this dénouement when the “messo” ignored his presence back in Inferno 9. The “E tu” is followed by “che se’ dinanzi,” which reveals what the reader has already surmised: that Dante is the one walking ahead, with Statius and Virgil following from behind. While stating the obvious – that Dante approaches the stream ahead of Statius and Virgil – in her two addresses to the three poets, “voi siete nuovi” followed six lines later by “tu che se’ dinanzi” [“you that are in front”] (2.28.82), Matelda also emphasizes the change in perspective here in Earthly Paradise. Earlier, on the fifth and sixth terraces there was an implicit chronological order whereby Statius as a poet, and even as a Christian, followed in Virgil’s footsteps, and Dante who came some twelve hundred years after Statius, also followed the two physically, in part reflecting the influence they had upon him as a poet: “Elli givan dinanzi, e io soletto / di retro” [“They were going on in front, and I solitary behind”] (2.22.127–8). From Matelda’s perspective the order has been reversed, a reversal that the poet also calls to the reader’s attention by repeating the thematically relevant “dinanzi” in Purgatorio 28.82 for the first time since it appeared in Purgatorio 22.127. In both instances we are talking about the same three individuals: Dante, Statius, and Virgil. What changes with the repetition of “dinanzi” is their relative position. Here it is the ancients who follow, to hear what is known to Christians. Now they learn the truth of humankind’s origins, on this high ground at which they have newly arrived, which in essence stands outside of time, placing the two poets of pagan epics behind the Christian poet “dinanzi.”21 In singling Dante out as he who is “dinanzi,” Matelda also reminds him that, as the one who had already made a request of her (“ch’io possa intender che tu canti” [“that I may understand what you sing”] 2.28.48) he should feel free to follow up and ask her all the questions he would like: “ch’i’ venni presta / ad ogne tua question tanto che basti” [“for I have come ready to all your questions till you are satisfied”] (2.28.83–4). With the arrival on the scene of this new presence ready to answer Dante’s every query, the reader is again reminded of Inferno 1 and the arrival of Virgil, then described by Dante the pilgrim as the font of a broad river of speech (“quella fonte / che

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spandi di parlar sì largo fiume” 1.1.79–80), the glory and light of other poets (“de li altri poeti onore e lume” 1.1.82), Dante’s master and author (“lo mio maestro e ’l mio autore” 1.1.85), and the only one who influenced Dante as a poet (“tu se’ sol colui cu’ io tolsi / lo bello stilo” 1.1.86–7). Virgil responded that he would serve as Dante’s guide, and over the course of some sixty cantos he would answer the questions Dante put to him, starting with Dante’s doubt at the start of Inferno 2 as to his worthiness to follow in the footsteps of Aeneas and St Paul and undertake such a journey as this one. We are reminded that Virgil was not always up to the task of answering Dante’s questions. Indeed in Purgatorio 25, after responding briefly to Dante’s question (“Come si può far magro / là dove l’uopo di nodrir non tocca?” [“How can one grow lean there where the need of nourishment is not felt?”] 2.25.20–1), Virgil deemed it necessary to defer to Statius so that Dante could obtain a complete explanation to this difficult question: “Ma perché dentro a tuo voler t’adage, ecco qui Stazio; e io lui chiamo e prego che sia or sanator de le tue piage.” [“But, in order that you may find rest in your desire, here is Statius, and I call on him and pray that he be now the healer of your wounds.”] (2.25.28–30) By the time Statius finished his lengthy and complex discourse on the nature of souls in response to Dante’s enquiry, it was increasingly evident that Virgil, once Dante’s master and author, lacked what was needed to respond to every kind of question his charge might put to him. Perhaps mindful of such a lack of sufficiency on Virgil’s part, Matelda, who supplants Virgil as guide,22 says plainly that she is ready to answer every question Dante might have until he is satisfied: “tanto che basti” (2.28.84). Yet Virgil is still there standing behind Dante and is witness to his successor’s approach to her new student, who was once his. Interestingly, the question Dante immediately asks Matelda is precisely one that demands a response of greater sufficiency than that previously provided by Statius, who has already shown that he can answer questions more fully than Virgil:

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“L’acqua,” diss’ io, “e ’l suon de la foresta impugnan dentro a me novella fede di cosa ch’io udi’ contraria a questa.” [“The water,” I said, “and the sound of the forest contend in me with a recent belief in a thing I have heard contrary to this.”] (2.28.85–7) Dante’s lack of faith in both Virgil and Statius is evident, as he second-guesses the better informed of the two, in whose lengthy explanation (Purgatorio 21.43–72) Dante until recently had “fede” [“belief”]. If Statius has taken a back seat to Matelda, what does that say of Virgil, who has already been eclipsed by Statius? As we approach the part in the text where the linguistic pattern is repeated, he is all but redundant, much as he was unable before the gate into Dis. With both “savi” still close within earshot, before launching into a response to Dante’s doubt, his new teacher expends almost a full tercet to alert Dante, and most likely Virgil and Statius as well, that she is both ready and able to explain the cause of Dante’s doubt: “Io dicerò come procede / per sua cagion ciò ch’ammirar ti face, / e purgherò la nebbia che ti fiede” [“I will tell you how that which makes you wonder proceeds from its cause, and I will clear away the mist that offends you”] (2.28.88–90). Invoking God as the highest good (“Lo sommo Ben” 2.28.91), Matelda lays the groundwork for her response by stating that He gave man this place for the good (“a bene” v. 92). 23 After emphasizing the intentions of God with the repetition of “Ben” / “bene” in the first two verses of the discourse, and by repeating the formula of repetition “per sua difalta,” Matelda underlines man’s responsibility for the subsequent and quick loss of this place, and the eternal peace (“etterna pace” v. 93) that it would have offered:24 “Per sua difalta qui dimorò poco; per sua difalta in pianto e in affanno cambiò onesto riso e dolce gioco.” [“Through his fault he had short stay here; through his fault he exchanged honest joy and sweet sport for tears and toil.”] (2.28.94–6)

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This formula of repetition invites the reader to relate to the effect of this “difalta”: through man’s fault his stay here in Eden was a brief one; through man’s fault his happy state of “onesto riso e dolce gioco” turned into its opposite “in pianto e in affanno.” Those taking particular notice of Virgil’s presence in this canto should note the word “riso,” which emerges here just before the two tercets that contain the linguistic pattern of repetition under study, for it will appear again later in the canto with particular relevance to what Virgil may understand of Matelda’s message and his limited reaction to what he hears. In response to Dante’s question, Matelda describes how this Eden, meant to be the abode of humankind between heaven and earth, rose so high as to remain undisturbed by any ill effect that might ascend from the land and sea below.25 As we reach the passage in the text where the linguistic pattern of repetition is embedded and consider its meaning here in relation to the other text in Inferno 9, we may ask ourselves the following germane questions. Does this text also relate to a locking in or out? Is the perspective on Virgil as an outsider again given a particular bearing at this juncture? More concretely, is a heavenly representative here once more to facilitate Dante’s journey but effectively to ignore Virgil? Is this discourse meant for Virgil’s ears? Let us also reconsider the text in light of these questions: “Perché ’l turbar che sotto da sé fanno l’essalazion de l’acqua e de la terra, che quanto posson dietro ’l calor vanno, a l’uomo non facesse alcuna guerra, questo monte salìo verso ’l ciel tanto, e libero n’è d’indi ove si serra.” [“In order that the disturbance which the exhalations of the water and of the earth (which follow so far as they can the heat) produce below might do no hurt to man, this mountain rose thus high toward heaven, and stands clear of them from where it is locked.”] (2.28.97–102) The repetition of “la terra” has a negative connotation, first as an expression for the city of Dis, and second as a source, along with water, of vapors that cause every sort of climactic disturbance, from rain and wind to earthquakes. For Virgil “la terra” before which he

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suffered such humiliation owing to his incompetence in Inferno 8 and 9 and only entered with the sufferance of the “messo,” becomes in Purgatorio 28 “la terra” beneath which he will return to the company of the other four ancient poets, leaving above the once-pagan poet now a Christian, and a Christian poet who was once his charge. The repetition of the formula “alcuna guerra” recalls its first appearance and the contrast between Virgil’s failure to gain access to Dis and the ease with which he and Dante then enter (“sanz’ alcuna guerra”), thanks to the intervention of the “messo.” From the heavenly “messo” who ensured that Virgil and Dante would enter Dis without being disturbed we are now before “Lo sommo Ben,” who made this mountain rise so that His new creation, “l’uomo,” would not be disturbed. In Inferno 9 Virgil is centre-stage and is enabled by the intercession of the “messo” to enter Dis easily so that he can continue to guide Dante through a place he knows only too well for having been there once before. In Purgatorio 28 Virgil is the lone outsider who, having lived before Christ, has no hope of returning to this place of which he has no knowledge. Indeed he must perforce depart – and soon – to his less peaceful home, inevitably losing the company of his devoted Statius, who will never again suffer any illwind (“alcuna guerra”), and Dante the pilgrim as well, who while obliged to return to his life below is also destined to return to this place of eternal peace (“d’etterna pace” 2.28.93). The contrast becomes apparent: Virgil was able to guide others to a place without war, a place of eternal peace, and all the while his lot was to return and sustain the war (“sostener la guerra” 1.2.4) which will once more surround him, to re-coin a version of the phrase Dante used when the pilgrim was first readying himself for his descent into Hell. The re-emergence of “serra,” again situated in the final position of the linguistic pattern, has a particular relevance for Virgil at this juncture. In this second instance Matelda is describing a certain point on the mountain slope, above which no atmospheric perturbations may pass. It is unnecessary for Matelda to explain precisely where this locking out takes place because Statius has already described it, as follows: “Per che non pioggia, non grando, non neve, non rugiada, non brina più sù cade che la scaletta di tre gradi breve.”

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[“Wherefore neither rain, nor hail, nor snow, nor dew, nor hoarfrost falls any higher than the short little stairway of three steps.”] (2.21.46–-8) The “scaletta di tre gradi” is of course the one that leads to another gate, that of Purgatory in Purgatorio 9, which opened Dante’s way to the seven terraces, beyond the earthly influences of Ante-Purgatory below: “vidi una porta, e tre gradi di sotto” [“I saw a gate with three steps beneath”] (2.9.76). As in Inferno 9, in the canto of the same number, Purgatorio 9, Dante and Virgil were also challenged before the second gate, in that case by the “portier.” After Virgil’s mention that Lucia, a “donna del ciel,” had served as their escort, the then “cortese portinaio” invited Dante to proceed to the stairs, and once more Virgil and Dante were able to pass, “sanz’ alcuna guerra” as their passage was described in Inferno 9, (1.9.106). If we juxtapose these two episodes only, there is the obvious parallel: thanks in both cases to heavenly intercession, the poets were not locked out but enabled to move forward so that Virgil could continue to guide Dante on his journey. However, if we consider the directional signal that the repetition of “serra” provides, we are offered a different perspective on Virgil from the vantage point of Earthly Paradise near the time when he is about to return home to Limbo. As described above, Matelda’s discourse on the absence of atmospheric perturbations in Earthly Paradise inevitably points us in the direction of the three steps and that second gate, which initially locked Virgil and Dante out of Purgatory, held shut by a bolt. In revisiting the difficulties they experienced before the first gate into Dis, we may recall that there also the poet mentions a bolt. We are perhaps further justified in juxtaposing these two episodes by means of the directional prompt provided by the repetition of “serra” when we consider the word Dante the poet uses for bolt. In Purgatorio 9, where Virgil told Dante to ask the “portier” to withdraw the bolt, we read: “Chiedi / umilemente che ’l serrame scioglia” [“Beg him humbly that he withdraw the bolt”] (2.9.107–8); and in Inferno 8 it was also Virgil, then over-confident, who predicted that the demons would fail in their attempt to keep them out, reminding them of how they were defeated by Christ at the less secret gate into Hell (Inferno 3.1–9), which still remains unbolted: “Questa lor tracotanza non è nova; / ché già l’usaro a men segreta porta, / la qual

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sanza serrame ancor si trova” [“This insolence of theirs is nothing new, for they showed it once at a less secret gate, which still stands without a bolt”] (1.8.124–6). The repetition of “serrame,” appearing in these two episodes only, to which the reader was guided from Purgatorio 28 thanks to the repetition of “serra,” gives us further reason to reconsider the implication of these words from the perspective of Matelda’s discourse and her listening audience of three in Earthly Paradise. By reviewing the significance of both “serra” and “serrame” and the episodes in which they appear, of this audience comprised of Dante, Statius, and Virgil, only Virgil will have to return to his home in Hell behind the “men segreta porta ... sanza serrame.” If on his way back he is to retrace his steps, as the demons had once asked Dante to do alone (“sol si ritorni per la folle strada” 1.8.91), Virgil will again cross through the second gate out from Purgatory proper and then the first one out from Dis. But in his case the gate that matters most he will not re-cross: the “men segreta porta” of Inferno 3, which confines him in Hell for all eternity despite, ironically, being the only one of the three left open and unbolted. In effect it stands “sanza serrame” for those whose journeys are sanctioned from on high, as was Virgil’s for a time. The two gates, one that locks out the atmospheric perturbations (“ove si serra” 2.28.102) from Purgatory proper in Purgatorio 9 and the other that locks in the damned souls within Dis (“tal fortezza serra” 1.9.108), stand as reminders that at both junctures such authority as Virgil was granted amounted to precious little, for without further help from above, the journey could not have continued. By the close of Purgatorio 27, Virgil will relinquish his post as Dante’s guide and soon lose any claim to linger. But before he leaves, Matelda has more to say that she wishes Virgil to hear.26 Immediately after the last word of the repeated linguistic pattern “serra,” starting with the conjunction “Or,” Matelda shifts the thrust of her discourse. Rather than essentially restating what Statius had already described – how the exhalations of the water and the earth are locked down below – she turns to the nub of Dante’s original concern, that what he sees here puts Statius’ previous explanation in doubt. As Singleton ventures, the “‘Or’ serves to indicate that the exposition takes a new turn at this stage ... she must explain how it is that there is wind and running water at this summit that is above atmospheric change.”27 With the “Or”

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coming immediately on the heels of Matelda’s account, which echoed Statius’ words, she turns to material unknown to him – indeed to all the seed of Adam who have yet to return. While hers is subject-matter that Dante and Statius can understand, what of Virgil, who alone among the three is here only in a temporary halfpresence? How much can he understand at this point, just where the pattern of repetition leaves off? In Matelda’s first account of why they are experiencing wind, albeit slight, she explains that it is caused, not by any earthly perturbation but by the circling air moved from high above by “la prima volta” (2.28.104), whose actual identity may be the Primum Mobile.28 The top of the mountain can feel the effects of “la prima volta” because it rises so high as to be free in the living or pure air: “tutta disciolta / ne l’aere vivo”(2.28.106–7). Ironically, in contrast to Virgil’s previous knack for seeing from within the polluted air of the penitent wrathful (“l’aere amaro e sozzo” 2.16.13) on the third terrace of Purgatory where the pure air had been denied them (“questo ne tolse li occhi e l’aere puro” 2.15.145), here in Earthly Paradise, which he has already identified as beyond his discernment, in the clear air of day Virgil’s vision is all too dim. Virgil will doubtless remain in the dark during Matelda’s dissertation on the wonder of plant-life in Earthly Paradise and on the source of the constant water supply, including the Lethe that runs between them and the Eünoe beyond, which is replenished by God: “ma esce di fontana salda e certa, / che tanto dal voler di Dio riprende” [“but issues from a fountain constant and sure which by the will of God regains”] (2.28.124–5). While Dante’s earlier thirst for answers is sated, Matelda adds a corollary as a further gift to him: “darotti un corollario ancor per grazia” (2.28.136). Although she still addresses Dante, the nature of the corollary is such that it is evidently meant for Statius and Virgil as well. Virgil has already heard Statius’ words on atmospheric perturbations repeated to him by Matelda, and may be then surprised but pleased to hear her allude to words similar to those he wrote in his Fourth Eclogue. In Matelda’s corollary, echoes of the earlier Statius episode can be heard. With her mention of the ancient poets in the third person (“Quelli ch’anticamente poetaro” [“They who in olden times sang”] 2.28.139), despite there being two of them standing not far behind Dante, we are reminded that in Purgatorio 21 Statius, there unaware that it was Virgil engaged in conversation with him,

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also spoke in the third person when singing his praises: “E per esser vivuto di là quando / visse Virgilio” [“and to have lived yonder when Virgil lived”] (2.21.100–1). In the subsequent canto, by then recognizing that he was addressing Virgil, Statius explained that it was Virgil who had first led him to Parnassus (“Tu prima m’invïasti / verso Parnaso” 2.22.64–5), influencing him to become a poet; and it was also thanks to Virgil that he became a Christian when he gleaned truths from Virgil’s depiction of the renewal of the Saturnian Golden Age in his Fourth Eclogue 5–7, which Statius paraphrased: “Secol si rinova; / torna giustizia e primo tempo umano, / e progenïe scende da ciel nova” [“The ages are renewed; Justice returns and the first age of man, and a new progeny descends from heaven”] (2.22.70–2). Repeating the formulaic “per te,” Statius economically summed up the great debt that he owed Virgil: “Per te poeta fui, per te cristiano” [“Through you I was a poet, through you a Christian”] (2.22.73). Much as Matelda extends Statius’ previous discourse on atmospheric perturbations in Purgatory, so she here completes her tribute to poetry and the Golden Age. However, unlike Statius, who saw Virgil’s role as central, Matelda does not mention him: “Quelli ch’anticamente poetaro l’età de l’oro e suo stato felice, forse in Parnaso esto loco sognaro.” [“They who in olden times sang of the Age of Gold and its happy state perhaps in Parnassus dreamed of this place.”] (2.28.139–41) Statius’ singling out of the one particular ancient poet who greatly influenced him, Virgil, becomes geenralized in Matelda’s words as “Quelli ch’anticamente poetaro (v. 139).”29 Indeed, commentators rightly cite Ovid not Virgil when glossing this tercet, as Ovid described far more extensively than Virgil the myth of the Saturnian Kingdom and the Golden Age in his Metamorphoses i, 89–12. Yet, even though Matelda’s corollary no longer mentions Virgil, its relevance to Virgil’s limitations is central to our understanding of the surrounding text highlighted by the linguistic signposts. As the one among the ancients (“Quelli ch’anticamente poetaro”) and still a pagan who sang of the mythical Golden Age, Virgil is here to receive Matelda’s message and perhaps even partially

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understand it. While the first two lines of the corollary reveal nothing new, but simply identify the ancient poets who wrote about the happy age of Saturn, with the word “forse” [“perhaps”] at the start of the third line a different message begins to reveal itself, and while Matelda mentions no names, within her audience of three it is to Virgil she alludes, as having “perhaps” dreamed this place: “forse in Parnaso esto loco sognaro” (2.28.141). This note of uncertainty revealed by Matelda’s “forse” leaves us unsure as to whether pagans have or have not any such foresight. At this critical moment, with Virgil soon to depart, we are again confronted by the familiar question of how a pagan such as Virgil can function in this Christian world. Previously, especially in the Inferno, the pagan presence of Charon, Minos, and Plutus appeared to fit seamlessly into the structure of the Christian Hell, and Virgil the knowledgable pagan was at home there, with his blend of familiarity with such figures, which was second to none (so revealed in Book vi of the Aeneid) and the authority bestowed upon him from on high.30 But a note of uncertainty became apparent when, before the obdurate demons in Inferno 8 and 9, Virgil still thought he alone had the ability to defeat them, and said as much to Dante (“non sbigottir, ch’io vincerò la prova” [“Be not dismayed for I shall prevail in this”] 1.8.122). But his vaunted pagan knowledge proved insufficient and so they had to wait for the arrival of the “messo,” with Virgil in the meantime bound to his pagan belief that Medusa could truly turn the Christian Dante to stone.31 With Matelda’s “forse” we are again reminded of the uncertainty of Virgil’s knowledge, highlighted in Inferno 8 and 9, and of his lack of vision, made manifest by Statius in Purgatorio 22. Can pagans as worthy as Virgil anticipate Christian truths? It would be tempting to respond in the affirmative, that Virgil dreamed this place when he wrote his Fourth Eclogue. But the text includes the problematic word “forse,” and with it there is no avoiding the other possible response to the question. It may be that Virgil did not dream this place, that he sang of the Golden Age in its own right and saw no further.32 In that case those born after Christ such as Statius, who became Christians based on the influence of Virgil’s Fourth Eclogue, were able to divine the connection between this place (“esto loco”) and that of the Golden Age, but not Virgil himself. Statius’ unforgettable words describing Virgil as one who went in the dark carrying the light behind him (“Facesti

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come quei che va di notte, / che porta il lume dietro e sé non giova” [“You were like one who goes by night and carries the light behind him and profits not himself”] 2.22.67–8), also discussed in the previous chapter, might lend further credence to the notion that Virgil did not have any kind of dream-vision of this place, for if he had he would not have been described as one who went in darkness.33 Pagan poets such as Virgil are described as perhaps having dreamed this place, from the mountain of Parnassus, as if it was on that high ground where they were writing their poetry. But such poets who were there figuratively were destined to fall. They ended their days down below in the first circle of Hell, and Virgil also counts among their company of five. With Virgil poised to descend from another mountain, the mountain of Purgatory, back to Limbo and this company of fellow ancients (“quelli”), he is reminded that if not for his deficiencies he could remain on top. The doubt that Matelda’s “forse” raises about Virgil’s uncertain abilities will only linger on. In continuing the corollary, when describing the pre-lapsarian state of Adam and Eve, Matelda is mindful to use language that is also familiar to Virgil so that he too may gain some understanding of this place he will not reach before he must return to Limbo: “Qui fu innocente l’umana radice; qui primavera sempre e ogne frutto; nettare è questo di che ciascun dice.” [“Here the root of mankind was innocent; here is always spring, and every fruit; this is the nectar of which each tells.”] (2.28.142–4) Within the bounds of Virgil’s discernment, the “umana radice” would be the people of the Golden Age, who lived in eternal spring (“qui primavera sempre” v. 143). He would further be able to grasp through his understanding of Ovid’s Metamorphoses i, 107 (“ver erat aeternum” [“then spring was everlasting”]) and his own Second Georgic 149 (“hic ver adsiduum” [“Here is eternal spring”]) that Matelda’s corollary is describing their happy state (“suo stato felice” 2.28.140) during the Saturnian Age. And her reference to nectar (“nettare è questo”) would likewise be familiar to Virgil, again from the Metamorphoses i, 111 (“Iam flumina nectaris ibant”

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[“Streams of sweet nectar flowed”]).34 For Virgil to have dreamed this place he would have had to recognize it even if only dimly.35 What Dante and Statius would comprehend, but not Virgil, is that Eden was never the home of the people of the Golden Age. It was the home of Adam and Eve and it was for them, the root of humankind, that it was created, a land of eternal spring with all of nature’s bounty. Mindful of the impact this corollary must be having on the two ancient poets, one pagan, one Christian, Dante turns around to note how they are reacting: Io mi rivolsi ’n dietro allora tutto a’ miei poeti, e vidi che con riso udito avëan l’ultimo costrutto. [I turned then right round to my poets, and saw that with a smile they had heard these last words; then to the fair lady I turned my face.] (2.28.145–7) Both Virgil and Statius show by their smiles that they have heard Matelda’s corollary. While one might thus infer that what they jointly hear implies a common understanding, in fact the contrast could not be more arresting. Between these two “poeti” a line has already been drawn and there will be a parting of the ways. The ancient poet, a pagan, is here on borrowed time in a place beyond his discernment and before his last barrier, the Lethe, which he will not cross. Instead he is bound to turn back, downhill to his dwelling place in Hell. The ancient poet who is a Christian will come forward and, along with Dante, will pass through this boundary with the assistance of the new heavenly figure, Matelda. Statius will cross the Lethe because he not only heard Matelda’s corollary but was able to relate it to Christian truth – that “esto loco” is the place he had dreamed. That Virgil cannot cross the Lethe would confirm that, while he too heard her words, in contrast to Statius he was unable to fathom the truth of his own prophecy from his Fourth Eclogue and did not dream this place. While the words of Matelda’s corollary, which according to commentators constitute a sort of final tribute to Virgil,36 are so familiar to him that she also makes him smile, since this is the last time Virgil will be addressed, they may also be seen as words of dismissal. For despite these seemingly sweet words, which are also meant for

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Virgil’s ears, she has not come for Virgil and will not do for him what was done both by the “messo” before the gate into Dis and by Lucia before the gate into Purgatory. She will not help him come through the barrier that the Lethe represents. She is there to assist Dante and Statius, but not Virgil. Readers who have followed the linguistic markers from this canto back to Inferno 9 will recognize both the parallels and the contrasts between the two episodes. There the “messo” came and, without directing a word to Virgil, facilitated his passage through the gate. Here, mindful of Virgil’s presence, Matelda provides a corollary that he may also follow but only up to a point. Recalling the meaning of the words that make up the repeated linguistic pattern along with their context in Inferno 9, we may also apply them here: Virgil will not be able to enter this land (“terra”) which the Lethe encloses (“serra”) without any difficulty (“sanz’ alcuna guerra”). This time and, what is more important, in this place (“esto loco”), his crossing will not be sanctioned.37 Dante, still standing in front of his “poeti,” again turns his gaze away from them and back toward Matelda, the fair lady (“poi a la bella donna torna’ il viso” 2.28.148), curious to see more of “esto loco,” the place beyond the stream and beyond Virgil’s dreams.

part two In both chapters 2 and 3 the point of departure for the signposted journeys is Virgil’s vain struggle before the gate into Dis in Inferno 9, when for the first time he fails in his attempt to overcome all obstacles and must be rescued by the “messo.” In part one of this chapter we followed the directional prompt of “la terra” – “alcuna guerra” – “serra” to Earthly Paradise, where Matelda’s discourse on the absence of atmospheric perturbations guides the reader back to the three steps at Purgatory’s gate in Purgatorio 9, via Statius’ earlier discussion on the subject in Purgatorio 21. While thus far we have not seen any linguistic signals that in themselves have guided the reader to the episode in Purgatorio 9, we have noticed other kinds of directional prompts: • Dante and Virgil are before the gates of Dis and Purgatory

proper in both Inferno 9 and Purgatorio 9, cantos of the same number;

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• Dante and Virgil are challenged and threatened at both

gates; • There is a heavenly presence in each instance, with the “messo”

disregarding Virgil and the “portier” at least initially responding warily; • Only thanks to the intervention of heavenly figures can Dante and Virgil proceed through the gates without any difficulty; • In both episodes Virgil’s account of his conversation with Beatrice from Inferno 2 is recalled, first with his understanding that Beatrice had made the offer of help in Inferno 9 (“Tal ne s’offerse” v. 8), and second with the intercession of Lucia in Purgatorio 9. For the purpose of this study the question remains: Along with these overt prompts are there hidden linguistic signals embedded in the verses of Purgatorio 9 which also surface in other cantos that relate to episodes directly or implicitly concerning Virgil’s guiding competence? The relevant verses to consider from Purgatorio 9 appear just after Lucia takes her leave. For the first time since the arrival of Sordello in Purgatorio 6 Dante and Virgil make their way on their own toward the gate of Purgatory. After addressing the reader directly, the poet goes on to describe the gate: Lettor, tu vedi ben com’ io innalzo la mia matera, e però con più arte non ti maravigliar s’io la rincalzo. Noi ci appressammo, ed eravamo in parte che là dove pareami prima rotto pur come un fesso che muro diparte, vidi una porta, e tre gradi di sotto per gire ad essa, di color diversi, e un portier ch’ancor non facea motto. [You see well, reader, that I uplift my theme: do not wonder, therefore, if I sustain it with greater art. We drew near and came to a point from which, where at first there apeared to be merely a break, like a fissure that divides a wall, I saw a gate, with three steps beneath for going up to it, of different colours, and a warder who as yet spoke not a word.] (2.9.70–8)

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“Tre gradi” is precisely the formulation Statius will repeat in Purgatorio 21: “non brina più sù cade / che la scaletta di tre gradi breve” [“nor hoarfrost falls any higher than the short little stairway of three steps”] (2.21.47–8), and the stairway is understood in Matelda’s discourse to Dante in Purgatorio 28 to be the upper limit of atmospheric perturbations. The linguistic pattern “in parte,” with “parte” as a noun and again in rhyme with “arte,” will next occur when Virgil takes his formal leave of Dante: “veduto hai, figlio; e se’ venuto in parte / dov’ io per me più non discerno. / Tratto t’ho qui con ingegno e con arte” [“you have seen, my son, and are come to a part where I of myself discern no farther onward. I have brought you here with understanding and with art”] (2.27.128–30). With these last utterances, as Virgil’s guiding light is about to be spent, so that he can see no further, he does not realize that the place to which he refers with a sudden poverty of language only as “in parte” will be easily recognized by Christians as Eden. The only other instance in the Purgatorio where this pattern appears is in Purgatorio 1: “Quando noi fummo là ’ve la rugiada / pugna col sole, per essere in parte / ... ond’ io, che fui accorto di sua arte” [“When we came there where the dew strives with the sun, for being in a place ... I therefore, aware of his purpose”] (2.1.121–2,126).38 At that moment, fixed in the text between Cato’s words of chastisement to Virgil for having needlessly flattered him (“non c’è mestier lusinghe” 2.1.92) and Cato’s far angrier words of rebuke addressed to Virgil, Dante, and all the other spirits (“Che è ciò, spiriti lenti?” 2.2.120), Virgil’s standing as a guide fell to a new low, to be rivalled only when he was humiliated before the gate into Dis. It is in that text, when Dante and Virgil arrive with Phlegyas before the entryway to Dis (“intrata” 1.8.81), that the “in parte” pattern is first embedded: “venimmo in parte dove il nocchier forte / ‘Usciteci,’ gridò: ‘qui è l’intrata’” [“we came to a place where the boatman loudly cried, ‘Out with you here! This is the entrance’”] (1.8.80–1),39 with “in parte” relating to the place Virgil will suffer his first great failure at the hands of the demons. Purgatorio 2 Readers attuned to repeated linguistic patterns will also recognize that the more lengthy formula “ancor non facea motto” has appeared once before and also in rhyme with “di sotto,” some six

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cantos earlier at the start of Purgatorio 2. Dante and Virgil are still lingering by the shore of Purgatory when they see a light coming toward them at a speed far greater than anything Dante has seen previously, and Dante momentarily looks to Virgil and asks for some clarification. Although the source of the light is beginning to take shape, Virgil will not respond until he is sure of what he sees: Poi d’ogne lato ad esso m’appario un non sapeva che bianco, e di sotto a poco a poco un altro a lui uscìo. Lo mio maestro ancor non facea motto, mentre che i primi bianchi apparver ali; allor che ben conobbe il galeotto ... [Then on each side of it appeared to me a something white, and from beneath it, little by little, came forth another whiteness. My master still said not a word, until the first whitenesses appeared as wings; then, when he clearly discerned the pilot ...] (2.2.22–7) Meanwhile it is left to Dante the pilgrim to try and see around this light, which is growing in intensity as it moves closer to Purgatory’s shore. He begins to distinguish something that is white (“bianco”) which on closer scrutiny will take on the appearance of a pair of wings on each side of the light, and below it (“di sotto”), also drawing nearer, is what Dante can only describe as “un altro,” something “other,” which is white, most likely the vestment of the angel boat-captain (“galeotto”). Readers guided back to this passage by the linguistic signposts in Purgatorio 9 will recall that of the three stairs there described (“tre gradi di sotto” 2.9.76), the first is also white (“lo scaglion primaio / bianco marmo” 2.9.94–5). With “di sotto” reappearing at the beginning of this linguistic configuration as well, we may then consider two heavenly emissaries: the “portier” in Purgatorio 9, seated on the highest step with the whiteness of the first stair below him, and the “galeotto” in Purgatorio 2, with the whiteness of his vestment below the whiteness of his wings. Readers may also recall that similar to the “portier,” who is subsequently identified as “l’angel di Dio” (“l’angel di Dio sedendo in su la soglia” 2.9.104), the “galeotto” is likewise identified (“Ecco l’angel di Dio” 2.2.29) two verses after he is called the “galeotto.”40

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With Dante the pilgrim left to his own feeble devices to fathom the light that is speeding toward them, the tentative Virgil is of no help. Despite Dante’s previous attempt to question his guide (“dal qual com’ io un poco ebbi ritratto / l’occhio per domandar lo duca mio” [“from which when I had taken my eyes for a little in order to question my leader”] 2.2.19–20) and identify what this new sight is, Virgil still does not utter a word, and it is at this point that the linguistic formula under study first appears: “Lo mio maestro ancor non facea motto” (2.2.25).41 Why does Virgil remain silent despite Dante’s query? The verses that follow appear to provide the answer. Virgil is waiting until he can see clearly and be sure of the correct response, that this light is truly emitted by the angel of God.42 His desire to stay his response despite Dante’s insistence on an explanation can be better understood by turning back to the previous portion of this episode when Virgil should have held his words in check before Cato until he was certain of the new order in Purgatory. When Cato asked Dante and Virgil who they were and who had guided them that they might escape from the abyss of Hell, Virgil was quick to reply, embarking on a protracted response of some thirty-two verses. Virgil struck the proper notes in the first three lines of his speech by explaining that he did not come by his own authority but by that of the lady who had descended from above (“donna scese del ciel” 2.2.53),43 Beatrice, who prayed that Virgil might serve as a guide to Dante. But Virgil, a stranger to this new land, felt it incumbent upon him to provide a lengthier reply, and described first how he guided Dante through Hell and then how he intended to show him the souls who purge themselves under Cato’s charge.44 This would have been the moment for Virgil to take a pause and gauge Cato’s reaction to his words. Instead he persisted, in turn flattering Cato and then advancing his own domicile in Limbo, not bound by Minos where Cato’s wife Marcia also dwelt. Virgil mistakenly saw Cato as yet another irascible impediment to the continuation of the journey, similar to those in Hell who include in their number the demons at the gate into Dis. Yet he had long since abandoned his old, effective formula of repetition, “vuolsi così colà dove si puote / ciò che si vuole, e più non dimandare” [“thus is it willed there where that can be done which is willed; and ask no more”] (1.3.95–6; 1.5.23–4) and the shorter form, of “vuolsi ne l’alto” [“it is willed on high”] (1.7.11), which he

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used to overcome the obstructions posed by Charon, Minos, and Plutus respectively. Virgil mistakenly took his cue from the strategy he had attempted with the demons before Dis, and once more saw negotiation as his best option. In blunt terms, if Cato were to let them enter, Virgil would pass on to Cato’s wife his consideration: “Lasciane andar per li tuoi sette regni; / grazie riporterò di te a lei” [“let us go on through your seven realms. I will report to her your kindness”] (2.1.82–3).45 In contrast to Virgil’s rambling address, Cato was quick and to the point. Marcia could not move him any longer because she dwelt beyond the evil stream, “Ma se donna del ciel ti move e regge, come tu di’, non c’è mestier lusinghe: bastisi ben che per lei mi richegge. Va dunque.” [“But if a lady of Heaven moves and directs you, as you say, there is no need of flattery: let it fully suffice that for her sake you ask me. Go then.”] (2.1.91–4) When Cato told Virgil to go, the contrast between those who would try to block the journey in Hell and the figure of Cato is manifest. Cato not only allowed Virgil to pass but also instructed him where to go and what to do next. It is then, at the shore of Purgatory where Cato has directed them, with the light fast approaching and Dante seeking answers, that Virgil continues to remain silent (“ancor non facea motto” 2.2.25), not wishing to get it wrong again, but likewise not fulfilling his role as guide, which he had proudly described to Cato in his wordy address. In the meantime the angel’s wings become clearly visible, to the extent that Virgil can now see and recognize this winged boat-pilot: “ben conobbe il galeotto” (2.2.27). Does such recognition require great skill on Virgil’s part? Singleton notes the decline in Virgil’s powers of discernment in this new land: “If Virgil, in this place that is strange to him, can no longer qualify as the ‘savio gentil, che tutto seppe’ (Inf. vii, 3), he is at least able to recognize at once that the white wings are those of an angelboatman.”46 The poet’s choice of “galeotto” (literally one who sails on galleys) to describe this angelic boat-captain recalls the one previous instance in the Commedia when, as with “in parte” above, the reader’s attention has been drawn back to Phlegyas, the “galeoto”

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(minus one “t”) who ferried Dante and Virgil across the Styx (“com’ io vidi una nave piccioletta / ... / sotto ’l governo d’un sol galeoto” [“as a little bark I saw ... piloted by a single boatman”] 1.8.15;17),47 and to the pivotal episode before the gate into Dis. Now attuned to linguistic links between these two episodes, we note that the only previous past-tense form of “fare” plus “motto” also appeared in that episode and with great thematic relevance, when the “messo,” after opening the gate into Dis for Virgil and Dante, turned back on his way without uttering a word: “Poi si rivolse per la strada lorda, / e non fé motto a noi” (1.9.100–1). At last Virgil knows how to respond to Dante’s questions. He can identify the light that is coming toward them as emanating from the angel of God, and with much excitement and anticipation he begins by instructing Dante with a repeated “fa” that he bow down before this heavenly being: “Fa, fa che le ginocchia cali. / Ecco l’angel di Dio: piega le mani” [“Bend, bend your knees! Behold the angel of God! Clasp your hands”] (2.2.28–9). Correspondingly in Inferno 9, once Dante and Virgil realized that the “messo” was approaching over the waters of the Styx, Virgil had made a sign to Dante that he bow down before that heavenly figure: “e quei fé segno / ch’i’ stessi queto ed inchinassi ad esso” [“and he signed to me that I should stand quiet and bow down to him”] (1.9.87). Likewise, in Purgatorio 1 before Virgil launched into his long-winded response to Cato, he had Dante bow: “con parole e con mani e con cenni / reverenti mi fé le gambe e ’l ciglio” [“with speech and hand and sign made reverent my legs and brow”] (2.1.50–1), after which time Virgil – and by extension the still bowed Dante – were humbled by Cato’s sharp rejoinder. With these parallels in place we wait to see whether Virgil and Dante, again bowed, will similarly receive dismissive treatment from this latest heavenly figure, the angelic boat-captain. With Virgil’s repetition of the imperative “fa” followed by the imperative “vedi,” he instructs Dante in what is manifest, that this heavenly being with his immortal, angelic plumage requires neither oar nor sail to drive his boat, but just his own pair of wings. Earlier, when Dante desperately sought an explanation for the bright light coming their way over the waters, Virgil had remained silent: “ancor non facea motto” (2.2.25). Virgil only speaks once he is sure of what he sees, and yet at this point what he describes is likely already obvious to Dante: that the angel scorns all human

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instruments (“sdegna li argomenti umani” 2.2.31) such as sails and oars, an evident contrast with the boat by which Ulysses had come close to these same shores, propelled precisely by such instruments.48 This description of the angel as one who scorns (“sdegna”) recalls that of the “messo” in Inferno 9, who arrived on that scene likewise full of scorn: “Ahi quanto mi parea pien di disdegno!” [“ah, how full of disdain he seemed to me”] (1.9.88). The scorn of the “messo” for the hellish scene that greeted him may have included Virgil and Dante as well – hence his having ignored them. Likewise, the scorn of the angel of God here may relate to this journeying pair, one a condemned soul and the other not yet saved.49 Of course Virgil is the first pagan since Ulysses to have come this way by human means, albeit with the implicit support of a higher authority. While his reception is far less dramatic than was Ulysses’, it is nonetheless a significant one that was perhaps prefigured by the lack of response from the “messo” back in Inferno 9. It seems ironic that Virgil is the one to comment on the scornful behaviour of the “galeotto,” which is so similar to that of the “messo” who scorned him, not long after Dante’s guide had tried in vain to enter the gate by his own means or, to adopt his own phrase from Purgatorio 2, by “argomenti umani.” Virgil, so full of pride at the end of Inferno 8, did not invoke any higher authority but thought he could negotiate with the demons. By adopting such “argomenti umani” he was doomed to fail, just as Ulysses would with sail and oar. When Virgil came out of Hell by human means and faced Cato, there too he thought he could negotiate his way forward by invoking the name of Marcia whom he knew in Limbo. Now, Virgil, perhaps chastened, awaits his next encounter with the new heavenly figure soon to appear on the scene. After Virgil’s nine-verse oration, with the vessel so swift and light (“vasello snelletto e leggero” 2.2.41) drawing ever nearer, the angel first described as a “galeotto” and then a “divine bird” (“uccel divino” v. 38) upon closer scrutiny becomes the celestial steersman (“celestial nocchiero” v. 43) at the stern, about to deliver his load of penitent souls upon Purgatory’s shore. The angel’s transformation from a “galeotto” to a “nocchiero” is not new in the Commedia. Similarly Phlegyas, when he was about to discharge Dante and Virgil upon the shore near the entrance into Dis, was also transformed from a “galeoto” (1.8.17) into a “nocchier”: “venimmo in parte

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dove il nocchier forte / ‘Usciteci,’ gridò: ‘qui è l’intrata’” [“we came to a place where the boatman loudly cried, ‘Out with you here! This is the entrance’”] (1.8.80–1). Bearing in mind Virgil’s prior failure before the demons in that place (“in parte”),50 after the angelic “nocchiero” makes his sign by which the souls are to disembark, are we to anticipate that Virgil will fail on this shore as well? Unlike Phlegyas, this angel of God is silent, the only words heard being those from Psalm 113, “In exitu Israel de Aegypto,” sung by the souls aboard ship; upon reaching shore he will remain so, as he blesses the souls he has delivered: “Poi fece il segno lor di santa croce” [“Then he made the sign of holy cross upon them”] (2.2.49). That done and with his souls safely delivered to Purgatory’s shore, like the “messo” of Inferno 9 the angel turns back over the waters without speaking to Dante and Virgil: “ed el sen gì, come venne, veloce” [“and he went away swift as he had come”] (2.2.51).51 Robert Hollander contrasts this silence with Ulysses’ high rhetoric: “The angel’s silent beatitude counters the loquacity of the rhetorically attractive but mortally dangerous pagan.”52 But how is the angel’s silence relevant to this other pagan in our midst: Virgil? We might infer from the formula of repetition above, “ancor non facea motto,” that Virgil, unlike Ulysses, succeeded in keeping his own loquacity in check; yet, as this episode unfolds, we understand the irony implicit in the words of the formula. In his role as guide Virgil should have responded to Dante’s questions but kept silent, whereas in the previous canto before Cato his limitations were revealed in his not knowing when to cease talking. Ulysses should have stopped at the Pillars of Hercules; Virgil should have stopped before he began flattering Cato and invoked the name of his condemned wife. As this canto unfolds, Virgil’s poor timing regarding when he should remain silent and when he should speak will prove even more injurious to his pride and reputation as Dante’s guide. The parallel between the urgent and silent departures of the “messo” in Inferno 9 and the angel here in Purgatorio 2, which take place without acknowledging this pagan, Virgil, can only diminish further his already low standing in these two key episodes. The last words that Virgil pronounces in this canto are spoken in response to the recently abandoned souls who ask for guidance about the direction they should take: “Se voi sapete, / mostratene la via” [“If you know, show us the way”] (2.2.59–60). In his six-verse

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reply Virgil is incapable of providing an answer because he lacks the sense of direction expected of a guide. Instead he draws their attention to the unusual nature of the journey he has just undertaken with Dante. With the same overconfidence that he exhibited in Inferno 8 when he was sure he could prevail over the resistance mounted by the demons at the gate into Dis, he boasts about the ease with which he and Dante will climb the mountain: “lo salire omai ne parrà gioco” [“henceforth the climb will seem but play to us”] (2.2.66).53 Virgil’s words depicting the extraordinarily difficult nature of the journey he and Dante have just taken by another way (“per altra via, che fu sì aspra e forte” 2.2.65) serve to distract the souls’ focus from proceeding to the mountain as should be their every desire. Instead, they shift their attention to the figure who is at Virgil’s side, panting like a living man who is still perhaps trying to catch his breath after the hard climb. This last time Virgil speaks in the canto after his earlier silence when he did not utter a word “ancor non facea motto” sets off an unfortunate chain reaction of backsliding that will engross Dante and the entire crowd of souls, including Virgil, until Cato comes along to set them right. As in Purgatorio 1, had Virgil known when to restrain his words and only explained that he did not know the way because he and Dante were also pilgrims (“Voi credete / forse che siamo esperti d’esto loco; / ma noi siam peregrin com voi siete” [“Perhaps you think we are acquainted with this place; but we are pilgrims, like yourselves”] 2.2.61–3), the penitent souls’ curiosity would conceivably not have been piqued and they would not have taken any special note of Dante and his particular condition. But now their eyes are fixed on the living Dante, who proves such a distraction that any thought of setting forth to start cleansing themselves of their sins suddenly takes a decidedly back seat: così al viso mio s’affisar quelle anime fortunate tutte quante, quasi oblïando d’ire a farsi belle. [so did all of these fortunate souls fix their eyes on my face, as though forgetting to go to make themselves fair.] (2.2.73–5) With Dante now at centre stage, Virgil allows himself to become just one of the group of souls and it is precisely this passivity on his part that ultimately proves to be his gravest offence.

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Dante the pilgrim is like a child without any parental control as he begs his old friend Casella to pause for a while so that he can talk to him: “pregai / che, per parlarmi, un poco s’arrestasse” (2.2.86–7). One of a number of right moments for Virgil to speak and urge an end to this conversation and a resumption of the journey occurs with Casella’s mention of the speed of departure when he was taken up by the angel for delivery to Purgatory in accord with divine will (“giusto voler” 2.2.97).54 Virgil should also take his cue from the quick timing of the angel (“el sen gì, come venne, veloce” 2.2.51), yet another clear sign from on high that Virgil maintain his function as Dante’s time-keeper, which he fulfilled ably on countless occasions through Hell. As a guide to Dante the pilgrim he should be doing his job and not dawdling while the angel is working so diligently to deliver his pilgrim souls as swiftly as he can. But, to recall the formula of repetition, Virgil still does not speak (“ancora non facea motto”), nor will he say a word when Dante asks Casella to sing a song to soothe his wearied body and soul: “di ciò ti piaccia consolare alquanto l’anima mia, che, con la sua persona venendo qui, è affannata tanto!” [“may it please you therewith to comfort my soul somewhat, which coming hither with its body is so wearied.”] (2.2.109–11) Why Dante’s sudden mention of how weary he is? It may be that the last words Virgil spoke, describing how bitter and hard their climb had been, also gave Dante licence to voice the toll this hard climb had taken on him, both body and soul. Virgil’s words, which initially seemed merely unnecessary, are proving increasingly problematic as the unfortunate episode inevitably draws to its climactic conclusion. As Dante and all the other souls are quieted and satisfied by the sweetness of Casella’s song, the poet underscores Virgil’s passive participation by referring to him first among the contented listeners: “Lo mio maestro e io e quella gente / ch’eran con lui parevan sì contenti” [“My master and I and that folk who were with him appeared content”] (2.2.115–16).55 Virgil’s complicity is also implied in the following tercet where he is simply one of the pilgrims, all fixed and attentive to the notes Casella is singing: “Noi eravam tutti fissi e attenti / a le sue note” (2.2.118).56

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With regard to Virgil’s silence, the canto is coming to an end the way it began. Despite the need for him to speak, perhaps mindful of the words previously expressed in the formula of repetition (“ancor non facea motto”), he still does not utter a single word. If ever there is a right moment for Virgil to break that silence it is now, as he did before when Dante the pilgrim was engaged as a listener before the brawl between Master Adam and Sinon: “Ad ascoltarli er’ io del tutto fisso” [“I was standing all intent to listen to them”] (1.30.130). The shift from the singular “tutto fisso” reflecting only Dante, to the plural “tutti fissi” reflecting the entire group, further indicating that these two texts may be traced in counterpoint, begs the question as to why Virgil does not take issue with Dante for being fixed on the notes of Casella’s song as he did when Dante was likewise fixed on the scrap between Master Adam and Sinon (“Or pur mira, / che per poco che teco non mi risso!” [“Now just you keep on looking a little more and I will quarrel with you!”] 1.30.131–2). The answer to this question is made clear, by the shift in number from “tutto fisso” to “tutti fissi.” With that modification the poet underscores Virgil’s participation as well in the latter instance of backsliding. Here, he is one of the “tutti,” indeed foremost among them, according to the order set in the previous tercet where he comes first: “Lo mio maestro e io e quella gente” [“My master and I and that folk”] (2.2.115). If Virgil will still not speak, someone else must intervene this time and perform the role he so aptly played in Inferno 30. Consequently, it is left to the stern Cato to shout these negligent spirits to attention: “gridando: ‘Che è ciò, spiriti lenti?’” [“crying, ‘What is this, you laggard spirits?’”] (2.2.120).57 While commentators note that, strictly speaking, Cato does not address Virgil as one of these “spiriti lenti” because he is not a penitent soul who must purify himself, if we consider this passage by the light of the linguistic beacons “ancor non facea motto” and “tutti fissi,” Virgil is nonetheless implicated for not having spoken up when he should have done, and for not helping keep Dante on the right track as he promised he would at the close of Inferno 30 (“E fa ragion ch’io ti sia sempre allato, / se più avvien” [“and do not forget that I am always at your side should it again fall”] 1.30.145–6). In the opening verses of Purgatorio 3, while Dante and Virgil race to the mountain along with all the penitent souls, Dante initially runs ahead of his guide (“e come sare’ io sanza lui corso?” 2.3.5),

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still filled with remorse (“El mi parea da sé stesso rimorso” 2.3.7) for his failure to have spoken and acted responsibly.58 Despite Dante the poet’s apparent generosity toward Virgil in declaring his fault but a minor one (“come t’è picciol fallo amaro morso” 2.3.9), the cumulative effect of Virgil’s lack of judgment since he arrived on Purgatory’s shore suggests otherwise. In fact the poet is also drawing to the readers’ attention a pagan guide, once described in Inferno 1 as having a voice that was faint from its long silence (“per lungo silenzio parea fioco” 1.1.63),59 who lacks the understanding of this new Christian realm and, mindful of the formula of repetition “ancor non facea motto,” is unable to voice his words at the appropriate time to lead effectively. Although Virgil breaks into an undignified sprint so that he can reassert himself in the lead position (“Quando li piedi suoi lasciar la fretta, / che l’onestade ad ogn’ atto dismaga ” [“When his feet left off haste, which takes seemliness from every act”] 2.3.10–11), bearing in mind Virgil’s limitations as a guide to Dante in Purgatory, figuratively speaking, time and again Virgil will not be able to keep ahead of his charge. As a result, Virgil will soon depend on Sordello, the first of his two stand-in guides (the second being Statius),60 and it will be with Sordello in the Valley of the Princes in Purgatorio 9 that the next heavenly being, Lucia, will find Dante and bear him in her arms up to the gate of Purgatory, with Virgil following, literally, from behind. Purgatorio 9 Earlier in Purgatorio 9, still one of a company of five with Virgil, Sordello, Nino, and Corrado (“tutti e cinque” 2.9.12), Dante, the one among them bearing the flesh of Adam, beds down to sleep. Near dawn he has his first of three morning dreams in Purgatory (“Ne l’ora che comincia i tristi lai / la rondinella” [“At the hour near morning when the swallow begins her sad lays”] 2.9.13–14), announced with the formula “ne l’ora.” These words will also be repeated before Dante’s two other such dreams higher up the mountain in Purgatorio 19.1 (“Ne l’ora che non può ’l calor dïurno” [“At the hour when the day’s heat”]) and Purgatorio 27.94 (“Ne l’ora, credo, che de l’orïente” [“In the hour, I think, when from the east”]).61 Each time the context of the dream that the formula of repetition announces is a problematic one for Virgil’s guiding authority. In this first instance he requires the aid of Lucia, who will

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bear Dante up to the gate of Purgatory; in Purgatorio 19 a lady, possibly Beatrice, appears in the dream to urge Virgil to do his job and expose the “femmina balba” ( “‘O Virgilio, Virgilio, chi è questa?’ / fieramente dicea” [“‘O Virgil, Virgil, who is this?’ she said sternly”] 2.19.28–9); and in Purgatorio 27 the dream prophesizes Dante’s attainment first of Matelda and then Beatrice, both of whom he will encounter “in parte” beyond Virgil’s discernment.62 Once Dante awakens from his dream, in which it seemed to him that he, like Ganymede, was caught up by an eagle, he finds himself alone with Virgil, who announces that he has arrived at Purgatory (“Tu se’ omai al purgatorio giunto” 2.9.49). Dante learns from Virgil that it was not an eagle that bore him from the Valley of the Princes, but Lucia, who carried him to this high place at the gate into Purgatory proper. She identified herself to Virgil in the simplest terms: “I’ son Lucia” (2.9.55). This linguistic pattern was also used by Beatrice in Inferno 2, and there too her words were reported to Dante by Virgil: “I’ son Beatrice” (1.2.70). It was also in Inferno 2 that Lucia’s central role as intermediary for Dante was first related to him, and in that instance too it was Virgil who explained the critical pieces of the story of which Dante, not having witnessed them, was unaware. Ironically both in Inferno 2 and then in Purgatorio 9 what Dante has learned is that if he finds Virgil at his side there and here, it is not thanks to any personal authority Virgil might possess but thanks to the descent of Beatrice before and Lucia now, according to Virgil’s account. With the intermediary role of Lucia in Purgatorio 9 before the gate into Purgatory, we are also reminded of a parallel role that the “messo” played in Inferno 9 before the gate into Dis. Even their mode of transport is the same. Although they are heavenly creatures, the poet stresses that they both go on foot, alluding to the dry soles of the feet of the “messo” as he walked over the Styx (“passava Stige con le piante asciutte” 1.9.81) and the footprints Lucia leaves behind as she climbs and which Virgil dutifully follows (“sen venne suso; e io per le sue orme” 2.9.60). Despite the apparent similarities between the “messo” and Lucia, there are also marked differences. The “messo” came on the scene well after Virgil and Dante were told by Phlegyas that they had arrived at the gate: “‘Usciteci’ gridò: ‘qui è l’intrata’” (1.8.81). Lucia comes earlier, and with her beautiful eyes shows Virgil the open way to the gate: “mi dimostraro / li occhi suoi belli quella intrata aperta”

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(2.9.61–2).63 The repetition of “intrata,” here, for the first time since Inferno 8,64 accentuates the contrast between Phlegyas’ shrillvoiced announcement and Lucia’s silent and courtly directive. Unlike Inferno 9, where he had the aid of the “messo,” this time after Lucia’s departure Virgil will face any resistance at the gate on his own. After his series of missteps in Purgatorio 1 and 2, if he is to guide effectively through the seven terraces of Purgatory it is essential that he not fail the test this time. It is just when Dante and Virgil reach a point “in parte” that the formula “ancor non facea motto” reappears, again in rhyme with “di sotto”: Noi ci appressammo, ed eravamo in parte che là dove pareami prima rotto pur come un fesso che muro diparte, vidi una porta, e tre gradi di sotto per gire ad essa, di color diversi, e un portier ch’ancor non facea motto.65 [We drew near and came to a point from which, where at first there appeared to be merely a break, like a fissure that divides a wall, I saw a gate, with three steps beneath for going up to it, of different colours, and a warder who as yet spoke not a word.] (2.9.73–8) What Dante first sees as they move nearer is a break in the wall (“pareami prima rotto” v. 74). The noun “rotto,” part of the terza rima scheme along with “sotto” and “motto,” replaces the “galeotto” that was embedded in the previous text as the third rhyme in that scheme (Purgatorio 2.27). Do “rotto” and “galeotto” share anything more in common? From the perspective of Virgil’s guiding ability, in the case of “rotto” as demonstrated above it was Lucia who pointed out where to find the opening: “mi dimostraro / li occhi suoi belli quella intrata aperta” [“her beautiful eyes showed me that open entrance”] (2.9.61–2). That Lucia found it necessary to show Virgil the way to this break in the wall suggests that he might not have been able to locate it on his own. While a break might have appeared obvious, with our understanding that in Purgatorio 27.128 “in parte” signifies a place beyond Virgil’s discernment and in Inferno 8.80 a place before Dis where the ineffective Virgil had to be rescued by the “messo,” we are not surprised that “in parte”

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represents here a place Virgil would not have discerned if not for the outside assistance provided by Lucia. In Purgatorio 2, with the “galeotto” fast approaching, Virgil was at a loss to respond to Dante’s queries as to what they were seeing, and much to Dante’s distress he held his words until the “galeotto” was plainly evident. Virgil’s failure in Purgatorio 2 to see the “galeotto” until he was close up and his lacklustre response to that simplest of directional questions put to him by the penitent souls: “Se voi sapete, / mostratene la via di gire al monte” [“If you know, show us the way up the mountain”] (2.2.59–60), here translate into his inability to see the way to the opening in that same “monte” which likewise should have been obvious. Virgil’s flailing his way through Purgatorio 2 right up until its dramatic conclusion was an early example of his lack of sight in this new realm and his need for outside assistance. While in early Purgatorio 2 Dante was a mere bystander watching the “galeotto” deliver his load of penitent souls, as he is delivered through the initial break in the rock (the “rotto”) in Purgatorio 9, he comes to represent all such penitent souls. Beyond the “rotto” Dante next sees the gate itself with the three steps below it (“di sotto”), the first of which we later learn is white (“lo scaglion primaio / bianco marmo era” 2.9.94–5), reminding us of the whiteness Dante managed to see below the fast approaching light in Purgatorio 2: “un non sapeva che bianco, e di sotto / a poco a poco un altro a lui uscìo” [“something white, and from beneath it, little by little, came forth another whiteness”] 2.2.23–4, when all the while he was hoping for an explanation from Virgil. Similarly, in Purgatorio 9 Dante is looking as intently as he can to fathom what it is he sees (“E come l’occhio più e più v’apersi” [“And as I looked more and more intently” 2.9.79), but here without querying Virgil. Consequently, the whiteness (“di sotto”) of the vestment of the “galeotto” has become the whiteness (“di sotto”) of the first stair into Purgatory proper. Above the three stairs, Dante sees the “portier” who, as the formula of repetition makes clear, has yet to speak a word to them (“ancor non facea motto”). As mentioned above, we are reminded that the heavenly “messo” was described before the previous gate, also with the past-tense “fare” plus “motto” construction, as not uttering a single word (“non fé motto” 1.9.101) to Dante and Virgil and that with the first appearance of the formula “ancor non facea motto” in Purgatorio 2.25 Virgil did not utter a word to Dante

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because he was incapable of identifying the shape of the “galeotto” within the rapidly approaching light. In both previous instances Virgil was arguably a redundant figure. It is possible that Dante would have been able to make his way through the gate into Dis just as easily without Virgil. Similarly, by the time the “galeotto” drew sufficiently near, without any help from his guide Dante could have equally well recognized the light that shone forth from that angel of God bearing his load of penitent souls. If Virgil’s incapacity to see and comprehend the unfolding scene at the shore of Purgatory can be summed up in the four words “ancor non facea motto,” the repetition of the formula to describe the initial silence of the “portier” invites the reader to carefully consider whether Virgil can get it right this time and prove of some use to Dante. Virgil may also be taking his cue from the “portier” to speak economically so as to avoid a repeat of what occurred when he prattled on before Cato in Purgatorio 1 and again before the penitent souls in Purgatorio 2. When the “portier” does address Virgil and Dante his words are concise, direct, and mildly threatening: “Dite costinci: che volete voi?” cominciò elli a dire, “ov’è la scorta? Guardate che ’l venir sù non vi nòi.” [“Say from there, what is it you seek?” he began to say; “Where is the escort? Take care lest the coming upward be to your hurt.”] (2.9.85–7) The words of challenge “ov’è la scorta” recall those pronounced by Cato when he asked Virgil and Dante, who had guided them from darkest Hell (“Chi v’ha guidati” 2.1.43), which was the kind of question Virgil thought invited a response of some length.66 Implicit in both these challenges is that apparently neither Cato nor the “portier” recognizes Virgil’s authority to escort Dante through their rites of purgatorial passage on his own. It may be that the only reason the “messo” did not issue a like challenge to Virgil’s authority in Hell was to refuse even that level of recognition. Curiously, in that episode it was Virgil who used the word “scorta” when he announced to Dante at the end of Inferno 8 that as they spoke the “messo” was traversing the circles of Hell and was doing so without an escort: “passando per li cerchi sanza scorta” (1.8.129).67

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Just before Virgil’s reference, the demons had likewise issued their challenge that Dante turn back and retrace his steps. Employing the verb “iscortare,” they called for Virgil, who had escorted him, to remain: “ché tu qui rimarrai, / che li ha’ iscorta sì buia contrada” (1.8.92–3). In contrast to the “portier” before the gate into Purgatory, who does not recognize Virgil’s authority to serve as Dante’s escort, the demons at the previous gate into Dis apparently did recognize him as such, although they were still not prepared to let him pass through.68 Virgil has recalled the lesson he learned before, and in contrast to his lengthy response to Cato’s challenge, and with the minimum of words possible, he invokes the heavenly lady, Lucia, who has just departed: “Donna del ciel, di queste cose accorta,” rispuose ’l mio maestro a lui, “pur dianzi ne disse: ‘Andate là: quivi è la porta.’” [“A heavenly lady who knows these things well,” my master answered him, “said to us just now: ‘Go that way, there is the gate.’”] (2.9.88–90) Virgil’s allusion to Lucia as the “donna del ciel” recalls Cato’s use of the very same words when he reproached Virgil for his imprudent attempt at flattery: “Ma se donna del ciel ti move e regge, / come tu di’, non c’è mestier lusinghe” [“But if a lady of Heaven moves and directs you, as you say, there is no need of flattery.”] (2.1.91–2). Virgil may have learned his lesson well, but his response to the “portier” nonetheless begs the question: if all he is doing is parroting Cato and in this case keeping his words to an absolute minimum, what useful function is he serving as a guide? Virgil’s mention to the “portier” that Lucia had instructed him and the still-sleeping Dante by the spoken word on how to reach the gate (“Andate là: quivi è la porta” v. 90) appears to contradict what the reader has just learned – that Lucia showed Virgil the entrance with her beautiful eyes and then departed in silence. Given the lack of any textual indication that she uttered a single word after first appearing to Virgil in the Valley of the Princes, one may infer that he chose to translate what he saw in her eyes into words. In a more kind and subtle manner than Cato’s, when in Purgatorio 1 he had told Virgil that to invoke the “donna del ciel”

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(Beatrice) would have been sufficient of itself, the “portier” summons the “donna del ciel” (Lucia) just mentioned by Virgil to advance them on their way: “Ed ella i passi vostri in bene avanzi” (2.9.91). Despite the “portier’s” courteous words, after Virgil’s less than sterling record as a guide in Ante-Purgatory one must perforce re-evaluate his role as he prepares to cross into Purgatory proper. Through a significant portion of the Inferno he was the one who would advance Dante along his way, now, before the gate into Purgatory, that role is instead consigned to the heavenly Lucia. With their way now clear, Dante and Virgil are invited to come forward upon this stairway (“Venite dunque a’ nostri gradi innanzi” 2.9.93). Once they reach the top of the three stairs, as we will learn first from Statius and later from Matelda, Dante and Virgil will have crossed a key turning-point and reached the part of Purgatory that rises above all atmospheric perturbations. There Dante stands, desirous of being delivered through the gate of Purgatory by the “portier” seated at the threshold, who is now identified as the angel of God (“l’angel di Dio sedendo in su la soglia” 2.9.104). His name brings to mind the previous deliverer of souls, the “galeotto,” also called the angel of God (“Ecco l’angel di Dio” 2.2.29).69 Virgil instructs Dante to ask humbly that the bolt to the gate be opened: “Chiedi / umilemente che ’l serrame scioglia” (2.9.107–8). How different Virgil’s tone is here from his previous mention of another “serrame” in Inferno 8, when he proudly proclaimed to Dante that, just as the gate into Hell has stood “senza serrame” (1.8.126) from the time when Christ came and harrowed Hell, so too he would prevail over the demons and the gate into Dis would be similarly opened to him. For the balance of the canto, from verse 108 until verse 145, Virgil will not utter another word; nor does any reaction he might have register in the remaining scene between Dante and the Angel of God. The formula of repetition “ancor non facea motto” remains in effect for Virgil, although in contrast to the episode of the “galeotto” in Purgatorio 2, it is here unexpressed. That said, the repetition of the formula in Purgatorio 9 to describe the Angel of God’s initial silence bids the reader evaluate the earlier encounters between Virgil and the heavenly emissaries in light of this one. Virgil has come a long way since Inferno 8 when he was once so confident. Since then he has encountered the “messo,” Cato, and now the “portier” or Angel of God before whom he will stand in silence,

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keenly aware of his limitations and his lack of status to serve even as an escort to Dante. In describing the two keys that are needed to open the gate, the “portier” explains that the second key of silver can only unlock the gate with “arte” and “ingegno”: “l’altra vuol troppa / d’arte e d’ingegno avanti che diserri” [“the other requires great skill and wisdom before it will unlock”] (2.9.124–5). When Virgil takes his formal leave of Dante in Purgatorio 27, he speaks to Dante of how he guided him, also with skill and understanding: “Tratto t’ho qui con ingegno e con arte” [“I have brought you here with understanding and with art”] (2.27.130). However, in contrast to the silver key that will unlock the way to eventual salvation for those who enter and then move forward, Virgil’s guidance of Dante “con ingegno e con arte” will soon come to an end. While Dante is on his way to a place (“in parte” 2.27.128) beyond Virgil’s discernment (“più oltre non discerno” 2.27.129), for Virgil that way is closed, as he will soon have to turn back and retrace his way below this second gate, which locks in the climactic perturbations, and take his allotted place in Limbo where he was condemned along with his fellow ancient poets. In Limbo Virgil’s voice had grown hoarse from long silence, as it was when Dante first encountered him in Inferno 1. There, Virgil’s voice will become silent once more, but he has been preparing for that eventuality through a succession of silencing encounters with heavenly beings starting with the “messo” in Inferno 9. These encounters, interlinked by the repeated linguistic patterns in this study, guide the reader to the end of Virgil’s journey, where, blocked by the Lethe, he will hear Matelda’s corollary. He can listen and he can smile, but his voice is now still, as it was for a short while when first he spotted the light off in the distance from the shore of Purgatory below, and he would not speak until he was certain of what he saw: “ancor non facea motto” (2.2.25).

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4 The Eclipse of Virgil and the Ascent of Mary after Her Son

As Dante stands before the Lethe in Earthly Paradise, from the start of his journey home to God he has known no guide other than Virgil, upon whom he has depended utterly. For the course of their journey together, Virgil has become both father and mother to Dante, but with their arrival at the summit of Purgatory the time has come to cut the apron strings: “Non aspettar mio dir più né mio cenno” [“No longer expect word or sign from me”] (2.27.139). However, while Dante moves on into the divine forest without anyone to guide him for the first time since his vain attempt to climb out of the dark wood in Inferno 1, he is not truly alone. For, as discussed in the previous chapter, Virgil’s presence is still registered, but it is a silent one, as he follows at Dante’s heels alongside Statius until he can go no farther. On two separate occasions, standing before the Lethe, Dante turns around to gauge Virgil’s unvoiced response to what he witnesses. First, after Matelda’s corollary, when he sees that both Virgil and Statius react with a smile (“Io mi rivolsi ’n dietro allora tutto / a’ miei poeti, e vidi che con riso / udito avëan l’ultimo costrutto” [“I turned then right round to my poets, and saw that with a smile they had heard these last words”] 2.28.145–7); and second, when he wishes to share with Virgil his sense of wonder at the onset of the extraordinary pageant: “Io mi rivolsi d’ammirazion pieno / al buon Virgilio, ed esso mi rispuose / con vista carca di stupor non meno” [“I turned round full of wonder to the good Virgil, and he answered me with a look no less charged with amazement”] (2.29.55–7). Why is it necessary for the pilgrim to turn back and observe Virgil’s reaction if, true to Virgil’s word, Dante can expect

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no further communication from him neither by word nor sign? It seems that it is a comfort for the pilgrim simply to know he is there, and that he too is appreciating what Dante hears and sees, much as a child might who seeks an independent life from his parents but time and again still turns to them for their reassurance. After twice looking back to Virgil, with the second instance of the repeated “Io mi rivolsi” recalling the first,1 Dante can then renew his gaze forward, ready to take in the novel sights that are continuing to unfold for him across the Lethe: “poi a la bella donna torna’ il viso” [“then to the fair lady I turned my face”] (2.28.148); “Indi rendei l’aspetto a l’altre cose / che si movieno incontr’ a noi sì tardi” [“then I turned my face again to the high things, which moved towards us so slowly”] (2.29.58–9). It is in Purgatorio 30, with the advent of Beatrice in her second coming, however, that Dante, newly in the presence of his old love and on the verge of another round of melancholy, from which he long suffered for his love of her even while still a boy (“prima ch’io fuor di puerïzia fosse” 2.30.42),2 is most desperately in need of his parent, the calm listener from whom he will hope to gain the support to carry on, much as he has before.3 Accordingly, for the third and last time, Dante turns around with every expectation that Virgil will still be there for him: volsimi a la sinistra col respitto col quale il fantolin corre a la mamma quando ha paura o quando elli è afflitto, per dicere a Virgilio: “Men che dramma di sangue m’è rimaso che non tremi: conosco i segni de l’antica fiamma.” [I turned to the left with the confidence of a little child that runs to his mother when he is frightened or in distress, to say to Virgil, “Not a drop of blood is left in me that does not tremble: I know the tokens of the ancient flame.”] (2.30.43–8) Like a fraught young boy anxious for his mother, perhaps more than any time before, Dante is in need of Virgil, and yet at this precise moment Virgil has disappeared, no longer even a silent presence lingering behind in the distance. Dante is left bereft, like a small child who still needs sustenance from his mother yet loses her far too soon, just when his need is the greatest.

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In the heaven of the fixed stars in Paradiso 23, Dante the pilgrim is bidden by Beatrice to turn away from her face and look up to the lights of all the illuminated souls, described as flowers in a beautiful garden (“Perchè la faccia mia sì t’innamora, / che tu non ti rivolgi al bel giardino” [“Why does my face enamour you that you turn not to the fair garden”] 3.23.70–1), flowers that shine bright beneath the rays of the Son of God, the hosts of Christ’s triumph: “le schiere / del trïunfo di Cristo” (3.23.19–20). The fair flower that Beatrice draws to Dante’s attention is the Rose, the Virgin Mary within whom the Divine Word was made flesh (“Quivi è la rosa in che ’l verbo divino / carne si fece” 3.23.73–4). As her crowned flame ascends, following her Son toward the Primum Mobile, she disappears from Dante’s feeble sight, but what remains before him is the display of all the blessed souls whose flames reach upward after her, like infants stretching their arms toward their mother: però non ebber li occhi miei potenza di seguitar la coronata fiamma che si levò appresso sua semenza. E come fantolin che ’nver’ la mamma tende le braccia, poi che ’l latte prese, per l’animo che ’nfin di fuor s’infiamma; ciascun di quei candor in sù si stese ... [Therefore my eyes had no power to follow the crowned flame which mounted upward after her offspring. And as an infant which, when it has taken the milk, stretches its arms toward its mother, its affection glowing forth, each of these splendours stretched upward”] (3.23.118–24) At the end of the canto we are mindful that only from the perspective of Dante the pilgrim has Mary disappeared, while all the blessed souls triumph in this heaven beneath Mary and her Son: “Quivi trïunfa, sotto l’alto Filio / di Dio e di Maria” (3.23.136–7). In both passages cited above, “la mamma,” unique to these two episodes,4 is preceded on the same line by the noun “fantolin,” with the repeated “fiamma” also forming part of the terza rima scheme. The repeated simile and linguistic pattern that highlights this close bond between mother and son in both episodes has been noted before.5 What has not been noted is the degree to which this

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repetition sheds light on the disappearance of Virgil, thereby extending his eclipse well beyond Earthly Paradise to the heaven of the fixed stars. By means of an expanded version of this repeated linguistic pattern and another significant one, (“essilio” / “Filio” / “concilio”) to be examined later on, we also gain a greater understanding of how those who replace Virgil through the course of the Paradiso further underscore his inadequacies long after he has returned to his fellow ancients in the first circle of Hell. Purgatorio 30 Following the linguistic prompt, we return to the last fleeting moments before Virgil vanishes from the scene, with Dante alone on his side of the Lethe but still secure in the knowledge that Virgil stands close behind him. As Purgatorio 30 opens, we witness the arrival of Beatrice, described in terms that evoke the coming of Christ at the time of Last Judgment.6 The chariot has already stopped just opposite Dante, and one of the twenty-four elders, who symbolizes the Canticle of Canticles (the Song of Solomon), calls for the bride of Lebanon to come forth: la gente verace, venuta prima tra ’l grifone ed esso al carro volse sé come a sua pace; e un di loro, quasi da ciel messo, “Veni, sponsa, de Libano” cantando gridò tre volte, e tutti li altri appresso. [the truthful people, who had come first between the griffin and it, turned to the chariot as to their peace, and one of them, as if sent from Heaven, singing cried thrice, ‘Veni, sponsa de Libano,’ and all the others after.] (2.30.7–12) The linguistic pattern “da ciel messo” has appeared once earlier, in Inferno 9.85, where before the gate into Dis it was central in the text that questioned Virgil’s guiding competence, as highlighted in chapters 2 and 3 of this study:7 Ben m’accorsi ch’elli era da ciel messo e volsimi al maestro; e quei fé segno ch’i’ stessi queto ed inchinassi ad esso.

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[Well did I perceive that he was a messenger from Heaven; and I turned to my master, who signed to me that I should stand quiet and bow down to him.”] (1.9.85–7) By now we are well familiar with Virgil’s first great humiliation when, unable to overcome the demons on his own, he required outside help in the guise of the “messo.” The repetition here of both “da ciel messo” and “esso” prompts us to reconsider how we might gain a fuller understanding of this episode in light of that previous one. While the elder in Purgatorio 30, described as almost “da ciel messo,”8 may have little in common with the “messo” of Inferno 9, beckoned by the light of this linguistic formula to juxtapose the two passages, we note that on both occasions Dante the pilgrim stands ahead of Virgil and turns around to receive only a sign from him, but not the spoken word. The formula “Io mi rivolsi,” which depicts Dante’s turning around in Purgatorio 28.145 and 29.57, is not the one that appeared in Inferno 9.86. There, his turning around was conveyed by “volsimi.” But the third and key instance here under study of Dante’s turning around for a reassuring sign from Virgil is only a few tercets away, and here “volsimi” does reappear: “volsimi a la sinistra cl respitto / col quale il fantolin” [“I turned to the left with the confidence of a little child”] (2.30.43–4). The stage is set for Virgil’s final humiliation, but in contrast to Inferno 9 this is a scene he will not be there to witness. What of the repeated “esso”? The “esso” in Purgatorio 30.8 refers to the “settentrïon del primo cielo,” the seven candlesticks whose brightness had been the source of such wonder for both Dante and Virgil when Dante previously turned around for some sign (“Di sopra fiammeggiava il bello arnese ... Io mi rivolsi d’ammirazion pieno / al buon Virgilio” [“Above flamed the splendid array ... I turned round full of wonder to the good Virgil”] 2.29.52 and 55–6), the last sign he was to receive from Virgil. The “esso” in Inferno 9.87 relates to the “messo” before whom Virgil made his signal that Dante bow down, after Dante had turned around to take direction from him.9 In both cases the “esso” causes Dante to turn and look to Virgil, and in both cases Virgil is in a compromised position and can only respond without voice. Throughout the episode of the earlier “messo,” Virgil maintained his silence. After his instruction that Dante look in the direction from which the

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“messo” was approaching (1.9.73–5), Virgil was not to regain his voice until long after the “messo” had come and gone over fifty verses later (1.9.127). Here in Earthly Paradise he never will regain his voice, but can only watch for the very short time that remains to him. The episode of the “messo” of Inferno 9 who took no notice of Virgil prefigures this scene in which the symbol of the Canticle of Canticles, the almost “messo” of Purgatorio 30, calls three times for the “sponsa de Libano,” as cited above. The precise words from the Canticle of Canticles are: “Veni de Libano, sponsa mea, veni de Libano, veni, coronaberis” [“Come from Lebanon, my bride, come from Lebanon, come and you shall be crowned”] Cant. 4:8. There is general agreement among commentators that this bride cannot be the Church as one might expect, since it is already represented as the chariot. Rather, the bride who will come forth is Beatrice,10 and once she is present, Virgil, sidelined since the end of Purgatorio 27, will necessarily withdraw from this mountain top. Virgil himself was unambiguous on this matter back in Inferno 1, when he spoke of guiding Dante through Hell and Purgatory up to the point where the penitent souls become blessed: “A le quai poi se tu vorrai salire, anima fia a ciò più di me degna: con lei ti lascerò nel mio partire.” [“and to these if you would then ascend, there shall be a soul worthier than I to guide you; with her I shall leave you at my departing.”] (1.1.121–3) Later, on the sixth terrace of Purgatory in response to Forese Donati, it was Dante the pilgrim who reminded us when Virgil’s guiding role would cease: “Tanto dice di farmi sua compagna che io sarò là dove fia Beatrice; quivi convien che sanza lui rimagna. Virgilio è questi che così mi dice.” [“So long he says that he will bear me company until I shall be there where Beatrice will be: there must I remain bereft of him. Virgil is he who tells me this.”] (2.23.127–30)

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By Purgatorio 23 it was made abundantly clear that with the arrival of the next guide, named Beatrice, there was to be no overlap of guides. As a result, this threefold call by the one almost “da ciel messo” in Purgatorio 30 for the bride to appear is by extension a call for the already marginalized Virgil to disappear. After the previous intrusion of the one who was “da ciel messo” in Inferno 9, Virgil was able to recover his authority and continue to serve as guide. This time there will be no recovery. While the formula of repetition “da ciel messo” inexorably shines a light back to the episode of Virgil’s humiliation before the gate into Dis, the actual words from the Canticle of Canticles look ahead. They call not only for the bride to come but, with the third repetition of “veni,” that she also be crowned (“veni, coronaberis”). Although Beatrice will soon come forth, there is to be no crowning, at least not here. But by following the linguistic prompt “fantolin ... la mamma” into the next cantica, we will note that in the heaven of the fixed stars, when Beatrice directs Dante to turn his gaze away from her to the lights up above, he will then witness the supreme crowning of the Virgin Mary which may have been announced back here in Purgatorio 30. After all the other elders representing the books of the Old Testament repeat the singing cry of the one who is almost “da ciel messo,” a multitude of messenger angels of God, who are “messi” and come “da ciel,” follow suit by greeting Beatrice: “Benedictus qui venis” [“Blessed are you who come”]. These words, in the masculine, are an adaptation of “Benedictus qui venit” [“Blessed is he who comes”] from Matthew 21:9, which describe Christ’s arrival in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, and here maintain the analogy between the coming of Christ and that of Beatrice.11 Following this analogy, just as the crowd tossed fronds along the road for Christ when he entered Jerusalem, so too the angels scatter flowers for Beatrice. Yet while doing so, and much to our surprise, their follow-up to the adapted words from Matthew is crowned by a verbatim passage (except for the interjection of the “oh”) from the Aeneid vi, 883:12 “Manibus, oh, date lilia plenis” [“With full hands, give me lilies”]. As noted by a number of Dante scholars in recent years, ironically it is precisely in this canto where Virgil fades away that we also encounter so much of his poetry.13 John Freccero perceptively speaks to the connection between these

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apparent contrasts: “The foreignness of the Virgilian sentiment here at the top of the mountain, underscored by the foreignness of the original language, is neutralized by the otherwise seamless context; death is transformed into resurrection, leaving behind the distinctive mark of the disappearing father, his text in Latin like a foreign element.”14 Freccero’s references to death and resurrection aptly relate both to the episode at hand and also, if we follow the beacon of the linguistic pattern, to the episode in the heaven of the fixed stars. By considering the passage written by the “disappearing father” – from the foreign Latin word lilia or lilies, to which Anchises refers in the Aeneid when he concludes his prophecy of the death of the Emperor Augustus’ nephew Marcellus (who would have achieved greatness for Rome had he not been fated to die when still a boy) – we will reach upward to Paradiso 23. There, the non-foreign form of the word “gigli” will appear (“Quivi è la rosa in che ’l verbo divino / carne si fece; quivi son li gigli” [“Here is the Rose wherein the Divine Word became flesh; here are the lilies”] 3.23.73–4) in the scene where Christ will ascend with his flesh, followed by his mother. For Dante, who relates the death of the young Marcellus (“ostendent terris hunc tantum fata, nec ultra esse sinent” [“him the fates shall but show to earth, nor longer suffer him to stay”] Aeneid vi, 869) to the entry of Christ into Jerusalem and by extension to Christ’s death which will soon follow, what Virgil would never fathom, even if he was still on the scene to bear witness, is the relevance of that other text. It is the one cited first by the messenger angels, from the Book of Matthew before they followed up with Virgil’s own words taken verbatim from the Aeneid. For Christ, but not for Marcellus, there is a resurrection. For Dante, but not for Virgil, there will be a re-enactment of the resurrection, which will come when Dante is better able to see it in the heaven of the fixed stars. After the cry of the messenger angels, Dante describes how, through a lightly overcast sky in the east, he has at times been able to watch a rosy sunrise. On account of the tempering vapors (“per temperanza di vapori” 2.30.26) of the cloud cover he could for a while sustain the sight of the sun. With this latest reference to a rising sun, when in fact the sun had already risen by the end of Purgatorio 27 (in Virgil’s words, “Vedi lo sol che ’n fronte ti riluce,” v. 133), the reader is mindful that this is a simile evoked by Dante’s

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memory: “Io vidi già” (2.30.22). The expectation of the Christian reader who has just read this simile of the rising sun along with the prior reference from Matthew is that Christ is about to come.15 Despite the association with Christ, who like the sun rose in a cloud (see Actus 1:9 “Et cum haec dixisset, videntibus illis, elevatus est; et nubes suscepit cum ab oculis eorum” [“And when he had said this, he was lifted up before their eyes, and a cloud took him out of their sight”],16 within this cloud the sun is not to be Christ, but instead Beatrice who comes inside a cloud of flowers cast by the angels: Io vidi già nel cominciar del giorno la parte orïental tutta rosata, e l’altro ciel di bel sereno addorno; e la faccia del sol nascere ombrata, sì che per temperanza di vapori l’occhio la sostenea lunga fïata: così dentro una nuvola di fiori che da le mani angeliche saliva ... [Sometimes I have seen at the beginning of the day the eastern region all rosy, while the rest of the heaven was adorned with fair clear sky, and the face of the sun rise shaded, so that through the tempering of vapors the eye sustained it a long while: so within a cloud of flowers, which rose from the angelic hands ...] (2.30.22–9) While Beatrice’s coming here is analagous to the coming of Christ, what of Christ himself? Is he only to come as the Griffin? For Christ’s coming and his ascension, the repeated linguistic pattern under study will inevitably guide us to Paradiso 23, after passing through another evocation of a scene that again depicts a first dawn. Thanks to the moderating effect of this cloud of flowers, which shower both inside and outside the chariot, the eyes of Dante the pilgrim can sustain Beatrice’s light and discern her apparel in this her second coming for him: sovra candido vel cinta d’uliva donna m’apparve, sotto verde manto vestita di color di fiamma viva. [olive crowned over a white veil a lady appeared to me, clad, under a green mantle, with hue of living flame.] (2.30.31–3)

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The appearance of “fiamma,” here describing the crimson colour of Beatrice’s robe beneath the white veil and the green mantle, reminds us of the colour she wore when she first came to the nineyear-old Dante: Quasi dal principio del suo anno nono apparve a me, e io la vidi quasi alla fine del mio nono. Apparve vestita di nobilissimo colore umile e onesto sanguigno, cinta e ornata alla guisa che alla sua giovanissima etade si convenia. [Thus she had not long passed the beginning of her ninth year when she appeared to me and I was almost at the end of mine when I beheld her. She was dressed in a very noble colour, a decorous and delicate crimson, tied with a girdle and trimmed in a manner suited to her tender age.] (VN ii, 9–12). Between Beatrice’s appearances to Dante, then as a young girl and now in triumph, we also recall how, by Virgil’s account in Inferno 2, she came to him in Limbo (“Io era tra color che son sospesi, / e donna mi chiamò beata e bella” [“I was among those who are suspended, and a lady called me, so blessed and fair”] 1.2.52–3).17 There, by Virgil’s admission, he and his fellow souls were lost, eternally tormented by a desire to gain entry into God’s realm, a desire they had no hope of ever realizing: “semo perduti, e sol di tanto offesi / che sanza speme vivemo in disio” [“we are lost, and only so far afflicted that without hope we live in longing”] (1.4.41–2). Virgil’s fixation on the Empyrean was evident when he associated his desire with that of Beatrice, who explained to him that she wished to return there: “ove tornar disio” (1.2.71). Virgil presupposed, in his subsequent question to Beatrice as to why she was not apprehensive of descending into Hell, that she burned with a desire to return there: “Ma dimmi la cagion che non ti guardi de lo scender qua giuso in questo centro de l’ampio loco ove tornar tu ardi.” [“But tell me the reason why you are not wary of descending to this centre from that spacious region to which you long to return.”] (1.2.82–4) In response to Virgil’s question, Beatrice continued the idea of burning prompted by Virgil’s use of the verb “ardere.” Despite

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Beatrice’s ardent desire to return to Paradise once her task was complete, she was not burned because she was made by God to feel no ill-effects of Hell. The ones who burn are those who dwell there below: “I’ son fatta da Dio, sua mercé, tale, che la vostra miseria non mi tange, né fiamma d’esto ’ncendio non m’assale.” [“I am made such by God, of His grace, that your suffering does not touch me, and no flame of this burning assails me.”] (1.2.91–3) The noun “fiamma,” which forms part of the linguistic pattern of repetition, appears there for the first time in the Commedia and with evident reference to Virgil’s plight as a condemned soul. While we might assume that Beatrice’s mention of the “fiamma d’esto ’ncendio” referred to all of Hell, with “questo centro” in verse 83 – which makes specific reference to Limbo – we realize that the “fiamma” may have particular application for Virgil who, like the other Limbo-dwellers, must eternally withstand a burning but unresolved desire to be by God, in their case an emotional not the physical burning encountered further below. It would not be mere happenstance if Virgil projected his own burning desire to be with God onto Beatrice. But Beatrice made it crystal clear; unlike Virgil and all the other condemned souls, she was not one to burn. Beatrice further revealed to Virgil that in her place in Paradise it was the Virgin Mary who had first become aware of Dante’s “’mpedimento” (1.2.95) on the desert slope: “ne la diserta piaggia è impedito / sì nel cammin, che vòlt’ è per paura” [“finds his way so impeded on the desert slope that he has to turn back in fright”] (1.2.62–3). While Dante’s personal and deep-rooted relationship with Beatrice is a sine qua non from the start of the Vita Nuova, what of his bond with the Virgin Mary? Does he have a close connection with her as well? It is not until we follow the prompt provided by the linguistic pattern of repetition, including the repeated “fiamma,” to the episode of the resurrection of the Virgin Mary in Paradiso 23, there described as the “coronata fiamma” (3.23.119), that we learn of the depth of Dante’s devotion to her, and that he invokes her name every day both morning and evening: “Il nome del bel fior ch’io sempre invoco / e mane e sera” (3.23.88–9).

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Immediately after Dante notes the crimson colour (“di fiamma viva” 2.30.33) of Beatrice’s garb, he begins to feel the symptoms of the melancholy from which he had suffered even in boyhood. All the familiar words that reflect the impact on his being when in the company of his beloved pour forth in this passage, and his spirit, (“E lo spirito mio” v. 34), which for these ten years since Beatrice’s death has not been vulnerable, now trembles (“tremando, affranto” v. 36) anew as it used to whenever it sensed Beatrice’s presence. Beatrice is still behind her veil and yet such is the might of this hidden virtue (“occulta virtù” v. 38) that it has the power to strike through Dante’s visual faculty with as much force as if he could see her semblance:18 sanza de li occhi aver più conoscenza, per occulta virtù che da lei mosse, d’antico amor sentì la gran potenza.` [without having more knowledge by the eyes, through occult virtue that proceeded from her, felt old love’s great power.”] (2.30.37–9) Suddenly Dante is experiencing his past. He is once more subject to the power of old love (“antico amore” v. 39), thrust back in time to the way he was affected as a boy by Beatrice’s high virtue, which pierces him with as much vigour now as it did then: “l’alta virtù che già m’aveva trafitto / prima ch’io fuor di püerizia fosse” [“the lofty virtue smote that had already pierced me before I was out of boyhood”] (vv. 41–2). If Dante is returning to his boyhood, like any child who feels ill he would look to his mother to cure what ails him. Considering that the time-frame of Dante’s malady caused by this “antico amore” was some sixteen years, between the ages of nine and twenty-five, he is also reliving his young adulthood. When ill at that age he would also look to other individuals such as fellow courtly love poets to treat his melancholy. To better understand the nature of Dante’s melancholy, a brief discussion of the subject is in order. According to Dino del Garbo, the contemporary physician who wrote a lengthy commentary on Guido Cavalcanti’s philosophical treatise on love, Donna me prega, there are two possible cures for lovesickness:19 that the lover be distracted from thoughts pertaining to his beloved; or that the lady

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deliver forth her “mercede,” allowing for a joyous conclusion to the process. Turning to the first treatment of distracting the lover from all thoughts that relate to the beloved, Dino’s exact words are as follows: Modo videmus ad sensum quod amor hoc multotiens facit, scilicet quod interficit, quando aliquis vehementer perseverat in ipso, et videmus etiam quod, quando quis obliviscitur eius, ex oblivione sola redit ille homo ad dispositionem suam naturalem: et propterea medici ponunt quod maxima cura passionis, scilicet amoris, est ut homo distrahatur a cogitatione illius quod amat et obliviscatur eius.20 [We see that love often produces this effect, namely, that of causing the death of the person who vehemently perseveres in it. We also note that he who can forget his love can return to his natural disposition, whence the doctors of medicine say that the best cure for this passion is to distract the man from thinking about his beloved so that he will forget it.]21 Continuing with the example of the young Dante’s mentor (and perhaps his first potential ideal reader), Guido Cavalcanti, two examples among his extant works relate to Dino del Garbo’s cure, and have a particular bearing on Dante the pilgrim’s condition as he faces Beatrice from across the stream. In Cavalcanti’s “Io temo che la mia disaventura” [“I fear that my misfortune”] (xxxiii), the poet concludes by seeking a man with an understanding of love who might serve as that distraction from thoughts of the lady, a diversion he so desperately needs if he is to be cured of a love that has brought him to death’s door: Allor d’un uom che sia pietoso miro, che consolasse mia vita dolente dicendo: “Spiritei, non vi partite!”22 [Then I seek out a compassionate man who might console my grieving life, saying: “Little spirits, do not depart!”] (vv. 12–14) Should this hypothetical man succeed in distracting the poet from his obsession by counteracting the previous call in verse 11 for his vital spirits to flee (“Spiriti, fuggite”), Guido would thereby be restored to health. In Guido’s case a man is likely sought instead of

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a woman because this “disaventura” may have been caused by the “gentil foresetta” [“gentle country girl”] in xxxi, one of the two “foresette” in xxx who were to distract him from his love for Mandetta, the previous lady of Tolosa. Instead of soothing his wounds, this “foresetta” turns out to be the one attacking him herself. In Dante’s case, for an example of the problems that can arise when the lover turns to another woman to seek consolation, one need look no further than the “Donna Gentile” of the Vita Nuova, who temporarily displaces Beatrice in Dante’s affections over the period following her death, until in chapter xxxix he again recalls Beatrice just as she was when as a boy he first saw her, clad in crimson: Contra questo adversario della Ragione si levòe un die, quasi nell’ora della nona, una forte ymaginatione in me, che mi parve vedere questa gloriosa Beatrice con quelle vestimenta sanguigne colle quali apparve prima agli occhi miei. [In opposition to this opponent of reason there rose up one day within me, almost at the ninth hour, a vivid impression in which I seemed to see Beatrice in glory, clothed in the crimson garments in which she first appeared before my eyes.] (VN xxxix, 1–5) In Cavalcanti’s “Guata, Manetto” [“Take a look, Manetto”] (li), the poet becomes that very consoling man for his pining friend, Manetto. He suggests that should Manetto think of an old hunchback woman dressed in all the finery of a courtly lady, he would be distracted by that image to the point that all thoughts of his lady would vanish.23 If he earlier had been at risk of dying on account of his melancholy, death might still be a result but it would be due to the ensuing laughter at this incongruous picture drawn in words by his friend and fellow courtly love poet, Guido Cavalcanti. The consoling man, Cavalcanti himself, would apparently succeed where consoling women such as the “foresetta” or Dante’s own “Donna Gentile” had failed. For Dante the pilgrim, who is being assaulted anew from a familiar source, it is not surprising that he, like Guido with the “foresette” or Manetto, should turn to a man, in his case Virgil, whom he believes is still near, just behind him as he has been on the two previous occasions in Earthly Paradise when Dante chose to turn

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around and look his way. Virgil can be the ideal consoling figure – a combination of mother to Dante the boy, who first felt these pangs of lovesickness at the age of nine, and consoling man, who has written on unrequited love (the obvious example being that of Dido for Aeneas in Book iv of the Aeneid), to Dante the adult. In Dante the pilgrim’s eyes only Virgil could find the right words to distract him from his obsession and cure him of this malady that is overcoming his entire being. As a consequence, perhaps more desperate now for Virgil than ever before, the lovesick Dante turns around in search of the mother and man who can reassure him, as Virgil has done innumerable times before on this journey. It is here that the pattern of repetition first appears: volsimi a la sinistra col respitto col quale il fantolin corre a la mamma quando ha paura o quando elli è afflitto, per dicere a Virgilio: “Men che dramma di sangue m’è rimaso che non tremi: conosco i segni de l’antica fiamma.” [I turned to the left with the confidence of a little child who runs to his mother when he is frightened or in distress, to say to Virgil, “Not a drop of blood is left in me that does not tremble: I know the tokens of the ancient flame.”] (2.30.43–8) This passage captures the very last moment of Dante’s journey, when he still believes he can count on Virgil’s support, even if only a sign that Dante can read on Virgil’s face. What better way to elicit a knowing response from Virgil than to quote from his own text? Hence Dante expresses his reaction by citing Dido’s words to her sister Anna when she realizes that a flame of love similar to one she once felt for her husband, Sychaeus, is about to overwhelm her after the recent arrival of Aeneas in Carthage: “Adgnosco veteris vestigia flammae” [“I recognize the traces of the olden flame”] (Aeneid iv, 23). When Dante the pilgrim turns to Virgil, his use of a verbatim translation of this particular passage defines the degree to which he is here in Virgil’s debt. Through Dante’s vain attempt to be rescued once again by Virgil, we also understand that by means of Virgil’s text Dante hopes to communicate with his poetic master and authority for relief from his pangs of lovesickness.

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The careful reader of the passage cited above will note as well that the linguistic pattern of the rhyme words that make up this terza rima configuration have been seen before, with thematic relevance to this same question of poetic authority.24 In Purgatorio 21, Statius, who had just been released from serving his time on the fifth terrace of the prodigal, learned that Dante was not a shade but still a living man; however, he had yet to discover the identity of the one who served as guide, knowing only that he was condemned to eternal exile in Hell: “ne l’etterno essilio” (2.21.18). While revealing his identity and the times in which he lived, Statius spoke of the deep poetic debt he owed to Virgil, without realizing that it was Virgil himself who stood before him. It is at this point that the configuration of common rhyme words first emerges in the text:25 “Al mio ardor fuor seme le faville, che mi scaldar, de la divina fiamma onde sono allumati più di mille; de l’Eneïda dico, la qual mamma fummi, e fummi nutrice, poetando: sanz’ essa non fermai peso di dramma.” [“The sparks which warmed me from the divine flame whereby more than a thousand have been kindled were the seeds of my poetic fire: I mean the Aeneid, which in poetry was both mother and nurse to me – without it I had achieved little of worth.”] (2.21.94–9) The reader who has responded to the linguistic prompt provided in Purgatorio 30 and revisited this moment when Statius was paying the highest tribute to Virgil in Purgatorio 21 can also note the parallels between the two texts.26 In Purgatorio 30 Dante the pilgrim literally turns to look back at Virgil instead of facing the new challenge embodied in Beatrice. He should be focused on moving forward. Crossing the Lethe to reach Beatrice ought to be foremost in his thinking. Instead, Dante retreats into the past and re-enacts his childish behaviour, seeking the reassurance that only a mother could provide. For Dante, now, that mother is Virgil. In the case of Statius, he had just been released from the fifth terrace of Purgatory where he had languished for some five hundred years (“E io, che son giaciuto a questa doglia / cinquecent’ anni e più” 2.21.67–8). While Statius

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should also have focused on what was ahead, his thoughts regressed to his old familiar world of the Roman Empire, long since fallen and past, embodied in the Virgilian text. As we learned in Purgatorio 22, by which time Statius knew it was Virgil with whom he was speaking, Statius credited him with illuminating the way he would follow to become a Christian: “per te cristiano” (2.22.73), the very way that Virgil has also just illuminated for Dante the pilgrim. However, the message conveyed in the texts that bear the repeated linguistic pattern contrasts greatly with Virgil’s role as the guide to salvation. At a certain point Statius and Dante must stop looking back, and in the words of Paul, put away the childish things of their past (1 Corinthians 13:11). At a certain point Statius and Dante must recognize that the limitations of the Virgilian light confine them to their past, not their present. But they are not yet ready to give up their past. With regard to Statius, in the verses that immediately followed those containing the linguistic pattern, he revealed how Virgil would be a real hindrance to his forward journey: “E per esser vivuto di là quando visse Virgilio, assentirei un sole più che non deggio al mio uscir di bando.” [“and to have lived yonder when Virgil lived I would consent to one sun more than I owe to my coming forth from exile.”] (2.21.100–2) Statius’ declaration that he would have been willing to spend another year in Purgatory if he could have lived in Virgil’s time underscores the degree to which Virgil, who was once Statius’ guide to Christian salvation, would there hold him back from that very salvation, at least in the short term. If Statius had had his wish fulfilled and lived in Virgil’s time, he would have remained bound and prostrate on the ground of the fifth terrace, still one year shy of his release from Purgatory. In other words, to have known Virgil would have meant that Statius could not have here moved forward to the Lethe and onward to Paradise. Likewise in the case of Dante the pilgrim, by the time he is before the Lethe his ex-guide has become an impediment to his forward movement, insofar as his knee-jerk reaction to what lies ahead is to turn away and look back in search of Virgil. For both Statius then and Dante now, Virgil is

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that Dido-figure to their Aeneas. They, like Aeneas, must depart from their own shore of Carthage and continue the necessary journey forward. They are not to look back, no matter how seductive the figure whom they perforce must leave behind. The relevance of Statius’ words in Purgatorio 22, when he explained to Virgil that, despite the illuminating light he provides for those who come after him, he personally derives no benefit from this guiding beam (“Facesti come quei che va di notte, / che porta il lume dietro e sé non giova” 2.22.67–8), must be understood: in this Christian world such a being as Virgil, who cannot see the light he unknowingly emits, is necessarily condemned to Limbo, a place behind the two Christian pilgrims Dante and Statius, both temporally and spatially. By Purgatorio 30, for Dante the pilgrim and for Statius (who has remained off centre-stage since Purgatorio 25), Virgil has long since shifted from his position in front to one behind, at which point the guiding light that he carries behind him no longer illuminates their way. The shift occurred in Purgatorio 27 when Virgil pronounced that he would no longer serve as Dante’s guide for he could discern no further ahead (“io per me più oltre non discerno” 2.27.129). At first Virgil was just a few steps to the rear, but inevitably much further back, in his place allotted for all eternity (“ne l’etterno essilio” 2.21.18): Limbo. At the point where Dante, both frightened child and lovesick man, turns to his left in search of his once-trusted guide and more recently appreciative listener, Dante has yet to realize that Virgil is gone; nor, apparently, does he realize that the source of his fear is about to take his place. This passage, which contains the linguistic pattern, comes at a significant moment in the Commedia. With the arrival of the new guide who will replace Virgil, Dante can only turn away to the left, in a symbolic retreat from his forward movement, as he did once before in Inferno 1 when he was literally pushed back down the slope by the she-wolf. On that desert plain he found Virgil, who came to rescue him, and here once more, in what the pilgrim sees as his dire need of Virgil, the poet relates the pilgrim’s renewed state of melancholia to that of a helpless child who in fear and pain runs to his mother: “il fantolin corre a la mamma / quando ha paura o quando elli è afflitto” [“a little child who runs to his mother when he is frightened or in distress”] (2.30.44–5).

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Dante frantically appeals to the Virgil-mother to appreciate that every dram of blood courses through his veins trembles, a sure sign that Dante’s lady must be very near: “Men che dramma / di sangue m’è rimaso che non tremi: / conosco i segni de l’antica fiamma” [“Not a drop of blood is left in me that does not tremble: I know the tokens of the ancient flame”] (2.30.46–8).27 In leading up to this moment of crisis marked by his trembling, Dante also registers how he used to tremble in his youth (“tremando” 2.30.36). In Inferno 1, after another turning back before the she-wolf, Dante also described his symptom of trembling in his veins, and there too he addressed Virgil: “Aiutami da lei, famoso saggio, ch’ella mi fa tremar le vene e i polsi.” “A te convien tenere altro vïaggio,” rispuose, poi che lagrimar mi vide, “se vuo’ campar d’esto loco selvaggio.” [“Help me against her, famous sage, for she makes my veins and pulses tremble.” “It behooves you to go by another way if you would escape from this wild place,” he answered when he saw me weep.] (1.1.89–93) There, before the trembling and teary-eyed Dante, Virgil’s response was quick and sure: Dante would have to go by a different way if he hoped to escape that forbidding place. And later in the canto Virgil further reassured the lost Dante, that he needed only follow him, that he would serve as his guide: “Ond’ io per lo tuo me’ penso e discerno / che tu mi segui, e io sarò tua guida” [“Therefore I think and deem it best that you should follow me, and I will be your guide”] (1.1.112–13). Virgil’s use of “discerno” first in Inferno 1.112 and last in Purgatorio 27.129 (both times “etterno” also forms part of the terza rima) creates bookends for Virgil’s guidance of Dante, from the start of Virgil’s discernment to the end of it. It is the Dante-child persona, tearful and trembling both in Inferno 1 with Virgil’s first appearance and then again in Purgatorio 30 with his disappearance, who encloses the entirety of the Virgilian phase of his journey to salvation. As far as Dante the pilgrim’s particular relationship with Virgil is concerned, his trembling is a symptom of an illness that must be calmed. That is why he turns to him like a child who runs to his

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mother.28 Who better to soothe Dante’s trembling than the author of the Aeneid, the poet who first penned the words “Adgnosco veteris vestigia flammae” (Aeneid iv, 23), which depict Dido’s oncoming lovesickness? But would Virgil truly have the right answer for Dante? In the case of Dido, his answer was to provide a wretched end to the love between Dido and Aeneas, which resulted in his abandoning Dido and her consequent suicide. The identification in this passage of a correspondence between Dante’s lovesickness and Dido’s provides a useful contrast at a critical juncture in Dante’s journey. While Dido’s lovesickness ended with her death, Dante’s leads to a new life. While the object of Dido’s love, Aeneas, inevitably disappeared from her shores, the object of Dante’s love, Beatrice, has only just appeared. Dante is soon to realize that his guide, the “mother” to whom he would run for consolation, like his protagonist Aeneas, has also disappeared from the scene. In short order Dante will find a new mother and if she causes a trembling perhaps that is not such a bad thing after all.29 In an earlier sonnet Guido Cavalcanti implied an analogy between his lady and another mother who would also be the source of a trembling: Chi è questa che vèn, ch’ogn’om la mira, che fa tremar di chiaritate l’âre e mena seco Amor, sì che parlare null’omo pote, ma ciascun sospira? [Who is she who comes, that everyone looks at her, who makes the air tremble with clarity and brings Love with her, so that no one can speak, though everyone sighs?] (iv, 1–4) The first verse of this sonnet, which describes the coming of Guido’s angelic lady, evokes the words from the Canticle of Canticles 8: 5: “Quae est ista quae ascendit?” [“Who is that coming up?”], and Isaiah 63, 1: “Quis est iste, qui venit?” [“Who is this that comes?”]. According to Christian exegesis the one who comes in the Canticle of Canticles is the Virgin Mary.30 In recognizing the words so familiar to the Christian reader, we understand that this Cavalcantian lady who comes and maintains such a hold on all those near her is not just any lady but one who corresponds to the Virgin Mary. His lady, by analogy the mother of God, causes the

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very air to tremble (“tremar”), leaving all men who see her speechless before such splendour, such that they can only sigh in response. But in contrast to Dido’s end, this lovesickness will not end in death – neither for Cavalcanti there nor for the trembling Dante here. For Dante’s lovesickness to lead to his betterment as a Christian, he must turn away from the Virgilian mother because Virgil is no longer equipped to respond to his every need. Virgil may be able to cure Dante of his lovesickness by distracting him from his love, as Dino del Garbo recommends. Otherwise, following that same medical tradition, death would be the result of such an illness, which in the case of Virgil’s Dido comes by her own hand. And yet, what if Dante’s lovesickness does not have to be cured but just channelled from a profane love to a sacred one? For that transformation to occur Dante must leave Virgil behind and turn to the true mother of God. However, before he can bear that vision of her, he must be enabled, and that enabling is just about to begin through the intervention of Beatrice, who has come to replace Virgil. But that cannot happen before Dante grieves his loss. The two subsequent tercets, which describe Dante the pilgrim’s reaction to the disappearance of Virgil, are, as Freccero points out, introduced by the adversative “ma,” which “records the loss yet transcends it with an affirmation.”31 In turning back to the left, in seeking Virgil’s familiar presence just as a child might run to his mother, Dante first becomes conscious that he is gone: Ma Virgilio n’avea lasciati scemi di sé, Virgilio dolcissimo patre, Virgilio a cui per mia salute die’mi; né quantunque perdeo l’antica matre, valse a le guance nette di rugiada che, lagrimando, non tornasser atre. [But Virgil had left us bereft of himself, Virgil sweetest father, Virgil to whom I gave myself for my salvation; nor did all that our ancient mother lost keep my dew-washed cheeks from turning dark again with tears.] (2.30.49–54) During this short interlude Dante is without a guide. He is bereft of Virgil’s presence, and still Beatrice, source of his trembling, has yet to speak and formally identify herself. Each of the three

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repetitions of “Virgilio” provides a different perspective on Dante’s loss.32 After the first repetition we are reminded with the “ne” that it is not only Dante who suffers the loss of Virgil but Statius as well. While the reader is not witness to Statius’ reaction, the subtle “ne” recalls Statius’ parallel relationship with Virgil. Since Statius also looked excessively back to Virgil, he too may be facing a being like Beatrice who might use precisely the words she recites, with only the substitution of his name for that of Dante (“Dante, perché Virgilio se ne vada” [“Dante, because Virgil leaves you”] 2.30.55). With the second repetition, Virgil, the mother figure to whom Dante has just turned, is here described as the “dolcissimo patre.”33 In one stroke the orphaned Dante has lost the figure who was both father and mother to him. By the climactic third repetition of “Virgilio,” it is to Virgil that Dante gives himself, once the trembling pilgrim pushed back by the she-wolf (“ch’ella mi fa tremar le bene e i polsi” [“for she makes my veins and pulses tremble”] 1.1.90) on the desert plain, in need of Virgil for the “salute” or health of his soul. Yet, what is the state of Dante’s health currently? Physically, he is again trembling in every dram of his blood, such is the depth of his melancholy. Spiritually, he has shifted his focus backward instead of ahead, mourning the loss of Virgil instead of seeing his way forward. When we examine this immediate text, on both counts Virgil, the reputed deliverer of Dante’s “salute,” has not left Dante in the best of shape. In the second tercet, Dante’s health is in free-fall. To his physical state, already weakened from lovesickness, are added tears, yet another tell-tale sign of a man who suffers from melancholy. Moreover, an examination of this text makes it apparent that Dante’s tears are an even greater sign of spiritual back-sliding: né quantunque perdeo l’antica matre, valse a le guance nette di rugiada che, lagrimando, non tornasser atre. [nor did all that our ancient mother lost keep my dew-washed cheeks from turning dark again with tears.] (2.30.52–4) Wholly taken up with his lamentation on the loss of Virgil, Dante refuses to acknowledge and appreciate the greater loss, that of the Earthly Paradise he has just attained, at the hands of the first mother, “l’antica matre.”34 Instead of rejoicing for having reached

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this long-sought place, Dante becomes teary-eyed and his cheeks turn dark, just as they did when he had exited from Hell. In response to Cato’s injunction, Virgil was there at the shore of Purgatory (“Va dunque, e fa che ... li lavi ‘l viso” [“Go then and see that ... you bathe his face”] 2.1.94–5) to cleanse and restore Dante’s tear-stained cheeks: “le guance lagrimose; / ivi mi fece tutto discoverto / quel color che l’inferno mi nascose” [“my tear-stained cheeks, and on them he wholly disclosed that colour of mine which Hell had hidden”] (2.1.127–9). Dante’s new tears appear to undo Virgil’s positive handiwork as he reverts to the state he was in before he began his upward journey under Virgil’s guidance, his journey of cleansing himself of his sins. By now the role of the mother-figure is not a positive one. Virgil, the “mamma,” who was a temptation for Dante to look backward instead of forward to Beatrice, turns out to be an absent “mother” who leaves her “fantolin” in an even more precarious state than when he had sought “her” attention in the first place. This “mamma” soon gives way to another unhelpful mother, Eve, the “antica matre” who left her offspring stained by original sin; and Dante, “her son,” is the primary illustration of this taint as Beatrice begins her call to the transgressing “fantolin.” Beatrice’s words are direct and unambiguous: “Dante, perché Virgilio se ne vada, non pianger anco, non piangere ancora; ché pianger ti conven per altra spada.” [“Dante, because Virgil leaves you, do not weep yet, do not weep yet, for you must weep for another sword!”] (2.30.55–7) After taking the extraordinary measure of calling Dante to attention by name, Beatrice responds to the tercet of lament for the loss of Virgil (vv. 49–51) with three repetitions of her own: Dante is not to weep for Virgil, for he will soon have another reason to weep. In effect, the three repetitions of “pianger/e” serve as a corrective to those of “Virgilio” and further deny Dante’s claim to mourn his loss. Dante is still the weeping “fantolin” who must be told in no uncertain terms that a new reality is taking hold. The old mother is gone and every vestige of her presence, including the mourning of that loss, must be erased if he is to continue his journey, starting with his crossing of the Lethe.

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In place of the feminized Virgil Dante had thought to find when he turned to the left, he is called by name to fix his attention upon a masculinized Beatrice.35 The contrast between Virgil, likened to a comforting mother toward whom a frightened child turns, and Beatrice, described as an admiral looking after “his” men (“Quasi ammiraglio che in poppa e in prora / viene a veder la gente che ministra” [“Like an admiral who goes to stern and bow to see the men that are serving”] 2.30.58–9) could not be more arresting.36 This contrast between Virgil and Beatrice is further reinforced by the linguistic prompts embedded in these two revealing passages. Previously it was the lovesick Dante’s turn to the left (“volsimi a la sinistra” 2.30.43) in search of Virgil that also initiated the linguistic pattern of repetition here under study. Subsequently, after Beatrice identifies Dante by name, he makes a second turn, a turning back so that once more he is facing ahead, and what he finds is the one who called out to him from the left side of the chariot: “in su la sponda del carro sinistra, / quando mi volsi al suon del nome mio” [“so on the left side of the chariot – when I turned at the sound of my name”] (2.30.61–2). In this instance Dante’s second turning to the one on the left countermands his first one. In contrast to Dante’s vain attempt to find Virgil behind him and to the left, by turning for a second time Dante will find Beatrice ahead of him and to the left. In case Dante has any doubt about the identity of the veiled figure who stands to the left of the chariot, she demands that he look at her closely: “Guardaci ben! Ben son, ben son Beatrice. Come degnasti d’accedere al monte? non sapei tu che qui è l’uom felice?”37 [“Look at me well: indeed I am, indeed I am Beatrice! How did you deign to climb the mountain? Did you not know that here man is happy?”] (2.30.73–5) This lady does not mince her words. Again, she alludes to Virgil’s name by replacing it, reinforcing the thrice-repeated corrective “pianger/e” there, with the thrice-repeated “ben” here. Indeed she is Beatrice, indeed she is the one to whom Dante must now turn. If Virgil’s name is here absent, the unhappy state in which he left his charge upon his departure is not. With the pilgrim in tears despite

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having reached Earthly Paradise, Beatrice is quick to remind him that he should not mourn but rejoice in this place. Virgil himself promised this joyous land; first in Inferno 1 when he described the mountain there which prefigures this one (“il dilettoso monte / ch’è principio e cagion di tutta gioia” [“the delectable mountain, the source and cause of every happiness”] 1.1.77–8); and second upon taking his leave in Purgatorio 27 when referring to the Earthly Paradise where Dante was to find his peace (“Quel dolce pome che per tanti rami / cercando va la cura de’ mortali, / oggi porrà in pace le tue fami” [“That sweet fruit which the care of mortals goes seeking on so many branches, this day shall give your hungerings peace”] 2.27.115–17). Ironically, it is on account of Virgil that, at least so far on this day, Dante, in a questionable state of moral health despite Virgil’s guidance (“Virgilio a cui per mia salute die’mi” 2.30.51) is to find no such promised peace. The transition period for Dante the pilgrim from one “mother” to the next reaches its conclusion with his suffering such a sense of shame that he cannot sustain his own reflected image in the stream, but must draw his eyes back to the grass. Dante, no longer a “fantolin” who runs to the Virgilian “mamma,” becomes the “figlio” of another: Così la madre al figlio par superba, com’ella parve a me; perché d’amaro sente il sapor de la pietade acerba. [So does the mother seem harsh to her child as she seemed to me, for bitter tastes the savour of stern pity.] (2.30.79–81) Beatrice has become for Dante his replacement mother, a stern one who must rein in his childish excess for his own protection. Paradiso 23 Following the directional prompt provided by the pattern of repetition to Paradiso 23, we find that Beatrice’s severe demeanour toward her “figlio” (2.30.79) in Purgatorio 30 has given way to the controlling image of Beatrice as the assiduous mother nurturer.38 Accordingly, the canto opens with a simile that describes a mother bird who, during the darkness of the night, longs for the first dawn so that by the early light once again she can see the features of her

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adored nestlings (“li aspetti disïati 3.23.4)39 and further provide for their sustenance. This simile, with its allusions to this springtime scene (“Come l’augello, intra l’amate fronde, / posato al nido de’ suoi dolci nati” [“As the bird, among the beloved leaves, having sat on the nest of her sweet brood”] 3.23.1–2), evokes memories of the “etterno piacer” (2.29.32) that is Earthly Paradise.40 Like the “augello,” Beatrice also awaits the sun at dawn so that she can provide further nourishment for her nestling, Dante. Here in the eighth heaven of Paradise, with this evocation of an Earthly Paradise–like landscape and the role played by this mother-figure within it, we are reminded of the earlier “mamma,” Virgil, to whom the fearful Dante initially turned, like a young boy in need of his mother. There Virgil was already positioned on the margins before he necessarily vanished, with the mournful pilgrim’s consequent refusal to appreciate that place of eternal spring which, if not for original sin, should have remained the abode of humankind. By contrast, in this scene in which spring is called to mind by means of the simile of the mother bird, Beatrice, the mother who replaced Virgil in Purgatorio 30, looks forward to providing for her young one who, like the “dolci nati,” now looks to her for his every need. This much anticipated sunrise takes us back to an earlier one in Purgatorio 30 when Dante adopted the simile of the rosy hue at dawn (“Io vidi già nel cominciar del giorno / la parte orïental tutta rosata” [“Sometimes I have seen at the beginning of the day the eastern region all rosy”] 2.30.22–3) in an overcast eastern sky whose vapours would allow his eyes to bear the rising sun. There it was not Christ who in his Advent came as the sun but, by analogy, Beatrice who appeared within a cloud of flowers that moderated her light sufficiently for Dante’s eyes to sustain the sight of her despite the intensity of her light. In Paradiso 23 it is Beatrice who looks out above the horizon and beneath the zenith of the sky (“rivolta inver’ la plaga / sotto la quale il sol mostra men fretta” [“turned toward the region beneath which the sun shows less haste”] 3.23.11–12) in longing for the sun after dawn; but instead of rising from below the sun will descend from above. And here, it is Christ who comes, marking the third of his four appearances in the course of Dante the pilgrim’s journey, the first of which occurred when he came as the Griffin in Earthly Paradise:41

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E Bëatrice disse: “Ecco le schiere del trïunfo di Cristo e tutto ’l frutto ricolto del girar di queste spere!” [And Beatrice said, “Behold the hosts of Christ’s triumph and all the fruit garnered from the circling of these spheres!”] (3.23.19–21) Dante looks to his guide who invites him to turn his gaze skyward to the astonishing event that is taking place. He sees her face far brighter than before, as if it were all aflame (“pariemi che ’l viso ardesse tutto” v. 22), altered in part by the spiritual sun of the descending Christ that she reflects.42 There is no cloud of flowers to moderate the powerful effect of her light upon him, and he must renounce any attempt to describe this lady who stands beside him: “che passarmen convien sanza costrutto” [“that I must needs pass it by undescribed”] (3.23.24). But by now the time has long past since the once lovesick Dante felt the need to turn away from his once courtly lady’s overpowering presence to the reassuring comfort of a Virgilian mother. Beatrice calls Dante’s attention to the host of Christ’s “trïunfo,” whose coming she had already announced at the close of the previous canto: “la turba trïunfante / che lieta vien per questo etera tondo” [“the triumphant throng which comes glad through this round ether”] (3.22.131–2). While the reference to triumph relates to the victory of the Church militant, in the context it can also be understood as the triumph of Roman legions upon returning from their earthly victories.43 The fourteenth-century commentator Francesco da Buti interprets this reference as follows: “Come li Romani, quando trionfano, menano inanti al carro la preda tolta ai nemici; così finge l’autore che venisse Cristo co la preda che aveva tolto al dimonio” [“Like the Romans when they triumph lead before the chariot the prey taken from their enemies; so the author simulates how Christ came with the prey that he had taken from the devil”].44 Da Buti’s reference to the Roman triumphal “carro” reminds us of Dante’s description of the triumphal chariot that symbolizes the Church in the unfolding pageant in Earthly Paradise: Lo spazio dentro a lor quattro contenne un carro, in su due rote, trïunfale, ch’al collo d’un grifon tirato venne.

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[The space within the four of them contained a triumphal chariot on two wheels, which came drawn at the neck of a griffin.] (2.29.106–8) That “carro” drawn by the Griffin – Christ in his first apparition in the Commedia – came just as Virgil was fading from the scene, his presence having been recorded for the last time some fifty verses earlier: “esso mi rispuose / con vista carca di stupor non meno” [“he answered me with a look no less charged with amazement”] (2.29.56–7). Here in Paradiso 23, with the third apparition of a triumphant Christ, coming like a rising sun, we are once more reminded that for Virgil, who was actually witness to Roman military triumphs, Christ’s light after dawn came too late, for Virgil had already been condemned to the darkness, to an eternity of the never-ending night of Hell. We may be further alert to a lingering Virgilian presence in the subsequent three tercets, which detail the host of Christ’s triumph. In the simile of the moon he refers to it as Trivia (“Quale ne’ plenilunïi sereni / Trivïa ride” [“as in the clear skies at the full moon Trivia smiles”] 3.23.25) or goddess at the three ways, the name adopted by Virgil for Diana, goddess of the Moon, in four passages from the Aeneid (iv, 13, 35; vii, 516, 774).45 By means of this simile Dante recalls a nighttime scene in which the moon shines bright in contrast to the lesser stars, to communicate to the reader how in this daylight the spiritual sunlight, which the figure of Christ radiates, shines so much more brightly than the lesser reflected lights of the blessed souls: vid’ i’ sopra migliaia di lucerne un sol che tutte quante l’accendea, come fa ’l nostro le viste superne. [I saw, above thousands of lamps, a Sun which kindled each one of them as does our own the things we see above.] (3.23.28–30) This is not the first time in the Commedia that an account is provided by one who is witness to a scene of a descended Christ-figure surrounded by a multitude of blessed souls. Some 1,300 years before Christ’s appearances during the course of the pilgrim’s journey, with his Harrowing he had descended into Limbo and

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rescued the worthy pre-Christians or, in Francesco da Buti’s words, cited above, “la preda che aveva tolto al dimonio” [“the prey taken from the devil”]. Virgil was already there to witness that event, which he recounted to Dante as they journeyed through Limbo in Inferno 4: “ci vidi venire un possente, / con segno di vittoria coronato. / Trasseci l’ombra del primo parente ... e altri molti, e feceli beati” [“I saw a Mighty One come here, crowned with sign of victory. He took hence the shade of our first parent ... and many others; and He made them blessed”] (1.4.53–5 and 61). Unlike the case with the spiritual nourishment provided by Christ’s reflecting sun, a light so strong that Dante’s eyes have not yet been enabled to tolerate it (“la lucente sustanza tanto chiara / nel viso mio, che non la sostenea” [“the lucent Substance outglowed so bright upon my vision that it endured it not”] vv. 32–3), Virgil had no difficulty seeing the Christ “possente,” because no sun can shine, be it material or spiritual, upon condemned souls like Virgil, who were left behind by Christ in the darkness of Hell because they had not worshipped God rightly (“non adorar debitamente a Dio” 1.4.38). In evoking the name of Beatrice, who will explain the nature of the overpowering “lucente sustanza,” Dante expresses the depth of the feeling he holds for his guide in terms that have become familiar to the reader: “Oh Bëatrice, dolce guida e cara!” [“O Beatrice, sweet guide and dear!”] (3.23.34). However, it is not toward Beatrice as a guide but toward Virgil that we have previously seen Dante turn with such effusive expressions of affection. Indeed these words closely match those adopted by Dante the pilgrim in Purgatorio 18, when he begged Virgil to demonstrate the nature of love: “Però ti prego, dolce padre caro” [“wherefore, dear and gentle father, I pray”] (2.18.13). While the pilgrim referred to Virgil as “dolce” twelve times in the Purgatorio, this is only the second time in the Paradiso that Beatrice is described thus (the first occurs in Paradiso 3.23: “la dolce guida” but without “cara”). We also recall that, when in Purgatorio 30 the pilgrim mourned the loss of Virgil by repeating his name three times – much to the displeasure of Beatrice – in the middle verse Virgil was described as “dolcissimo”: “Virgilio dolcissimo patre.” This is the only instance in which this absolute superlative is adopted to describe anyone in the Commedia.46 In this episode, where so much of the scene from Purgatorio 30 is re-evoked and corrected, it is perhaps not surprising that we

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hear Beatrice, who came there to replace Virgil as guide, finally described in similar terms of affection. Beatrice, now “dolce” and “cara” like Virgil previously, speaks of how this “lucente sostanza” (3.23.32), which just radiated the light that had proven too intense for Dante’s vision, also descended into Hell to open the way to salvation for the worthy pre-Christians: “Quivi è la sapïenza e la possanza ch’aprì le strade tra ’l cielo e la terra, onde fu già sì lunga disïanza.” [“Therein are the wisdom and the power that opened the roads between Heaven and earth, for which of old there was such long desire.”] (3.23.37–9) By means of the example adopted by Beatrice to illustrate Christ’s power and wisdom, we are expressly reminded of His descent into Hell, to which the descent of the hosts of Christ’s triumph above serves as an analogy. The worthy pre-Christians who suffered for all those many years (“sì lunga disïanza”) in their longing to be by God were at last rescued by Christ, who opened the way for them. The unworthy pre-Christians who were left behind remain in a state of eternal longing: “sanza speme vivemo in disio” (1.4.42), and Virgil counts among them (“di questi son io medesmo” 1.4.39). Of the many examples of Christ’s power, Beatrice chose this one, perhaps as a further counteractive and reminder of the vast difference between herself and Virgil. While the same adjectives (“dolce” and “caro/a”) might be chosen to describe both Virgil and Beatrice, these modifiers serve instead to underline the contrast between them: one is damned; the other is blessed. By the light of the Christ-sun that has descended, Dante has become more than he was, such that Beatrice invites him to open his eyes and bear the full radiance of her smile: “se’ fatto a sostener lo riso mio” (3.23.48). As recently as the heaven of Saturn, had Beatrice turned her smile (whose aspect is increasingly kindled by the divine) upon the pilgrim, Dante would have been reduced to ashes like Semele before Jupiter, since his mortal powers would not have been able to sustain the vision (“‘S’io ridessi,’ / mi cominciò, ‘tu ti faresti quale / fu Semelè quando di cener fessi’” 3.21.4–6).47 Thus enabled, the pilgrim now bears her smile, but as the poet who has returned to his mortal condition, in

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these verses Dante cannot relate even one-thousandth of the truth of her holy smile: “al millesmo del vero / non si verria, cantando il santo riso” (3.23.58–9). The formula “santo riso” has appeared once before, also with respect to Beatrice. In Purgatorio 32 Dante recounted how after a ten-year thirst her smile drew his eyes with the old net: “così lo santo riso / a sé traéli con l’antica rete!” (2.32.5–6), to such a degree that he had to turn to the left and heed the reproachful voices of the three theological virtues telling him he was looking upon Beatrice too fixedly: quando per forza mi fu vòlto il viso ver’ la sinistra mia da quelle dee, perch’ io udi’ da loro un “Troppo fiso!” [when my face turned perforce to my left by those goddesses, for I heard from them a “Too fixedly!”] (2.32.7–9) When Dante had previously turned to the left “volsimi a la sinistra” (2.30.43), for the first time since Beatrice had died ten years earlier he was in the throws of lovesickness, even while Beatrice’s allure was still tempered by her veil. There, in the lead-up to the linguistic pattern of repetition, he sought reassurance from Virgil, much like a child who would run to his mother (“fantolin ... la mamma” 2.30.44), only to find that Virgil was gone. After Dante crossed the Lethe voices in fact came forth from the left, not to reassure Dante nor to distract him from his lovesickness, but to serve as a Christian rectification to the one that they replaced. The repetition of the formula “santo riso” as a thematic identifier in Paradiso 23 is a key prompt for the reader to consider the expanse that Dante has covered from the weakened lovesick state in which Virgil had left him in Earthly Paradise, when he was still looking at Beatrice’s smile to quench the thirst of his desire, to his enablement here under Beatrice’s guidance to tolerate and appreciate the blessed nature of her holy smile.48 We should also be mindful that in contrast to the Virgilian light, which has long since been extinguished, Christ’s “lucente sostanza” (3.23.32), although too bright for Dante’s vision, illuminates his mind to become greater than it was (“la mente mia ... / fatta più grande” 3.23.43–4), enabling him to see Beatrice’s smile by that light.

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We are further invited to appreciate the distance Dante has traversed when, as poet, he addresses the reader, increasingly mindful of the weight of this theme that he bears upon his mortal shoulders. If on occasion the poet should tremble beneath this considerable load, surely he cannot be blamed: “nol biasmerebbe se sott’ esso trema” (3.23.66). Despite the textual space between the scene of the lovesick pilgrim before Beatrice and this scene, where he is enabled to sustain her smile by the illuminating power of Christ, Dante is still trembling. In Purgatorio 30 it was on account of his lovesickness that he trembled with every dram of his blood and vainly sought the comfort that only Virgil could provide (“per dicere a Virgilio: ‘Men che dramma / di sangue m’è rimaso che non tremi’” 2.30.46–7). There Beatrice had every reason to blame the trembling pilgrim, who was further distressed once he realized Virgil was gone. Now it is the poet who trembles, but with a positive difference. As in Purgatorio 30, where the poet adopts a nautical simile of Beatrice like an admiral commanding from stern to prow (“Quasi ammiraglio che in poppa e in prora” 2.30.58) who reprimands the lost and fearful pilgrim already blinded by his tears for Virgil, in Paradiso 23, through the re-evocation of the nautical figure of narrative, Dante’s shoulders become that prow, the daring ship that cleaves the seas with its heavy load: “fendendo va l’ardita prora” (3.23.68). The repetition of a form of “tremare” and “prora” in these two texts fixes in counterpoint the two Dantes. On the basis of this disparity, it would be difficult to imagine that the weak and weeping “fantolin” whom Virgil passed on to Beatrice could ever become the daring poet who, tremble though he might, does not do so out of fear but for the weight of the theme he must carry upon his mortal shoulders. In words analogous to those of the three theological virtues who gently chastised Dante for looking too fixedly at Beatrice’s “santo riso” in Earthly Paradise, Beatrice here tenderly chides Dante for being overly enamoured with her face, when he should be looking at those who are blessed by Christ’s triumph, whose lights are illustrated by the biblical and liturgical metaphor of flowers in a beautiful garden: “Quivi è la rosa in che ’l verbo divino carne si fece; quivi son li gigli al cui odor si prese il buon cammino.”

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[“Here is the Rose wherein the Divine Word became flesh; here are the lilies by whose odour the good way was taken.”] (3.23.73–5) This metaphor is a familiar one for Dante’s intended Christian readers. The Virgin Mary is the “rosa,” the mystic Rose of the liturgy, the womb within which, as in John 1:14, “Verbum caro factum est” [“the Word became flesh”]; and the “gigli” are the apostles, so described in 2 Corinthians 2:14: “Deo autem gratias, qui semper triumphat nos in Christo Iesu, et odorem notitiae suae manifestat per nos in omni loco” [“But thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ Jesus, manifesting through us the odor of his knowledge in every place”].49 In juxtaposing this scene, which anticipates the Ascension of Christ, with the Advent pageant back in Earthly Paradise, we note the earlier reference to “gigli” there (“ma di gigli” 2.29.146), which recalled the garlands of lilies worn by the twenty-four elders in the pageant that Virgil may still have been on hand to witness. More pertinent to this study, as noted earlier in this chapter, is the way the direct quotation from the Aeneid (“Manibus, oh, date lilia plenis” [“With full hands, give me lilies”] vi, 883) was adapted in Purgatorio 30, where flowers were strewn by the angels to envelope the newly come Beatrice: “e fior gittando e di sopra e dintorno, / “Manibus, oh, date lilïa plenis!” (2.30.20–1). Freccero’s previously cited analysis of this passage notes the transformative role of the Virgilian reference, which had relevance for the Christian reader but not for Virgil, from the death of Marcellus to the resurrection of Christ: “leaving behind the distinctive mark of the disappearing father.”50 Keeping in mind Freccero’s gloss on the passage in Purgatorio 30 as we follow in the path of the “gigli” back to Paradiso 23, we realize that, in contrast to the funereal flowers in the Virgilian text, these lilies are close to the resurrected Christ, illuminated by Him, and it is by their odour that others may be led on their road to salvation: “al cui odor si prese il buon cammino” (3.23.75). Virgil only saw death in these lilies, and was unresponsive to their perfume, which could have shown the way to his own deliverance, at the time of their first appearance on the brow of the elders in Purgatorio 29, when Virgil was already taking his leave. Dante is quick to respond to Beatrice’s request. He looks up at the “bel giardino” with his mortal eyes and faces the ongoing battle

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he must wage in the hope that they can meet this latest test and be sufficiently enabled to sustain these reflections of the divine light: “ancor mi rendei / a la battaglia de’ debili cigli” (3.23.77–8).51 As in Purgatorio 30, when Dante met the first challenge to his eyes and was able to tolerate that initial sight of the veiled Beatrice only because her light was tempered by the flowers that acted like filtering clouds at sunrise, so here Dante’s compromised “occhi miei” are adequate to the job only through a similar accommodation. Dante manages to see the blessed souls because the source of the light, the “lucente sostanza” (3.23.32) of Christ, has – for the sake of Dante’s eyes – risen so far as to be out of his range of vision, like the sun hidden from view by a broken cloud that allows for only a tempered light to shine upon a flowering meadow: “già prato di fiori / vider, coverti d’ombra, li occhi miei” (3.23.80–1). Among all the illuminated flowers the one that burns brightest draws Dante’s complete attention. His eyes recognize this fairest of flowers as the mystic Rose, the Virgin Mary whose name Dante invokes daily, both morning and evening: “Il nome del bel fior ch’io sempre invoco / e mane e sera” (3.23.88–9). Such asides, which provide us with a rare window into Dante’s personal life, seldom occur in the Commedia. This acknowledgment, which discloses Dante’s special affection for the Virgin Mary, manifest by his daily practice, invites the reader to recall other such personal affirmations in the text. When Virgil first appeared in Inferno 1, Dante the pilgrim expressed the singular nature of his bond with Virgil in two verses, both introduced by the formulaic “tu se’”: “Tu se’ lo maestro e ’l mio autore, / tu se’ solo colui da cu’ io tolsi / lo bello stilo” [“You are my master and my author. You alone are he from whom I took the fair style”] (1.1.85–7). Since the time in Purgatorio 30 when Dante sought the comfort of the already disappeared Virgil like a blind “fantolin” who in error ran to the wrong mother, he has been enabled to become more than he was, in a transformation that is particularly underlined in this heaven of the fixed stars. He is wholly absorbed in his gaze upon the Rose that is Mary, true mother of God, who, “tutto mi ristrinse / l’animo ad avvisar lo maggior foco” [“absorbed all my mind as I gazed on the greatest flame”] (3.23.89–90). Dante’s eyes do not fail him, as he sees descending through the heaven a flaming light that rotates in a form much like a crown that encircles the Virgin Mary, no longer a rose but the most beautiful sapphire.

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From this rotating flame, recognized by commentators as the Archangel Gabriel of the Annunciation, a voice issues forth. After drawing our attention to Mary’s maternity as the vessel of Christ (“ventre / che fu albergo del nostro disiro” 3.23.104–5) the voice addresses her directly, saying that she will follow her Son and enter the Empyrean: “e girerommi, donna del ciel, mentre che seguirai tuo figlio, e farai dia più la spera supprema perché li entre.” [“and I shall circle, Lady of Heaven, until thou shalt follow thy Son, and make the supreme sphere more divine by entering it.”] (3.23.106–8) As we recall from chapter 3, the formula “donna del ciel,” which here refers to Mary, has appeared twice previously in the text: in Purgatorio 1.91 representing Beatrice, and in Purgatorio 9.88 Lucia. From the perspective of Paradiso 23, the reader who tracks the linguistic prompts inversely from third to first, will note that these donne are the same “tre donne benedette” (1.2.124) – Mary, Lucia, and Beatrice – to whom Virgil referred in that very order when in Inferno 2 he mentioned that the three ladies made possible his entry on to the scene to rescue Dante. As seen in chapter 3, during the lead-up to the first occurrence of the formula “donna del ciel” in response to Cato’s challenge, Virgil mistakenly believed that if he flattered him sufficiently and invoked the name of his condemned wife, Marcia, he and Dante would be allowed to traverse the terraces of Purgatory. Cato rejected Virgil’s approach, but then provided the correct, prescribed words, “donna del ciel,” which would grant Virgil and Dante access to Purgatory: “Ma se donna del ciel ti move e regge, / come tu di’, non c’è mestier lusinghe” [“But if a lady of Heaven moves and directs you, as you say, there is no need of flattery”] (2.1.91–2). In Purgatorio 9, then before the gatekeeper at the threshold of the “sette regni,” their right to gain access was again challenged, but Virgil remembered Cato’s lesson and invoked a heavenly lady: “‘Donna del ciel, di queste cose accorta,’ / rispuose ’l mio maestro a lui” [“‘A heavenly lady who knows these things well,’ my master answered him”] (2.9.88–9), who had pointed out the way for them to go before she took her leave. Thanks to the

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prescribed words of the formula that Virgil learned from Cato, the gatekeeper’s challenge turned into a welcome. Before that “portier” in Purgatorio 9 whom Dante reached through the intervention of Lucia, Virgil appeared as one who had merely recalled how to parrot Cato’s formulaic words, “donna del ciel,” and remembered not to repeat wordy invocations laden with flattery such as he recited in Purgatorio 1.52 In sum, both episodes, underlined by the formula “donna del ciel,” demonstrated Virgil’s acute limitations as a guide during critical rites of passage for Dante the pilgrim. With the repetition of “donna del ciel” in Paradiso 23, these prescribed words appear for the third time and, while they are recited by the “amore angelico” to refer to Mary without actually using her name and no longer relate to the Virgilian quest, their repetition inevitably evokes the memory of Virgil’s humiliation before the heavenly envoys of Purgatory. There is a long history in the Commedia of finding other names for Mary: in this canto, from the “rosa” in verse 71, to the “bel fior” in verse 88, to the “bel zaffiro” in verse 101, and finally the “donna del ciel” in verse 106. Looking back, this practice of hiding Mary’s name first occurred in the words of Virgil in Inferno 2. Quoting Beatrice, he referred to Mary in terms also reminiscent of the formula “donna del ciel”: “Donna è gentil nel ciel ” (1.2.94). While Virgil was the first one to so describe Mary, as a pagan he could not begin to fathom her mystery and how faith in the mother of Christ the saviour could lead to the salvation of the soul. In contrast to the condemned Virgil’s words, the actual wording employed by the poet when Mary is named after this long lead-up in Paradiso 23.111: “facean sonare il nome di Maria” [“made Mary’s name resound”], serves as a linguistic signpost that provides the ideal reader with examples of how those with faith in her are on the right path to salvation. Earlier, in Purgatorio 5.101, it was Buonconte who had defied all expectations that upon his death he would be condemned to Hell, when with his last breath he uttered the name of Mary: “nel nome di Maria” and as a result was saved.53 Here in Paradiso 23 it is Dante who both as pilgrim and as poet in his life’s journey home to God and salvation always invokes the name of Mary: “il nome del bel fior ch’io sempre invoco” (3.23.88), this “donna” first mentioned by Virgil who, unwittingly at her initial behest, had hastened to rescue Dante, her faithful one.

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Following the alternative journey guided by the linguistic pattern of repetition, from Dante the pilgrim who lost sight of Virgil – “mamma” in Purgatorio 30 – the stage is now set for the pilgrim to witness the disappearance from his feeble eyes of Mary – “mamma” in Paradiso 23 – whose Annunciation as mother to Christ was just re-enacted by the “amore angelico,” the Archangel Gabriel. With the ascent of Mary after her Son toward the “real manto” (3.23.112) that is the Primum Mobile, well beyond the power of Dante’s eyes to fathom, the pilgrim focuses instead on what he can see still within the heaven of the fixed stars: Però non ebber li occhi miei potenza di seguitar la coronata fiamma che si levò appresso sua semenza. E come fantolin che ’nver’ la mamma tende le braccia, poi che ’l latte prese, per l’animo che ’nfin di fuor s’infiamma. [Therefore my eyes had not power to follow the crowned flame which mounted upward after her offspring. And as an infant which, when it has taken the milk, stretches its arms toward its mother, its affection glowing forth.] (3.23.118–23) The initial word of this repeated configuration, “fiamma” in the singular, despite its relevant connotation, appears only four times in the Commedia, not even once in the Inferno, notwithstanding all that burns there: twice in the Purgatorio as considered earlier, and twice in the Paradiso, here in its first manifestation.54 To recap, in both passages from the Purgatorio “fiamma” relates directly to Virgil: first in Purgatorio 21.95 where Statius identified the Aeneid as the “divina fiamma” that kindled his own poetry; and second in Purgatorio 30.48, within the linguistic configuration under study, when the lovesick pilgrim, sensing the onslaught of “l’antica fiamma,” turned to Virgil to express in a direct translation from the Aeneid how he equated his state to that endured by Dido after the arrival of Aeneas at the shores of Carthage. With both Statius and Dante the great debt they owed to the Virgilian flame lured them to look back. In the case of Statius it occurred when he concluded his expression of obligation to the Aeneid by confessing he would spend another year in Purgatory to have lived in the time of Virgil, and in Dante’s case

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with his literal looking back in search of his old guide, to Beatrice’s great consternation. With the next repetition of “fiamma” in the rhyme position here in Paradiso 23, Virgil’s “fiamma” has been replaced by the ascending “coronata fiamma” of Mary, whom Dante the pilgrim, looking toward the Primum Mobile, would wish to follow with his eyes had he the necessary vision. Like Virgil in Purgatorio 30, Mary has disappeared from Dante’s sight, and yet the contrast between their two departures could not be stronger. Previously, Dante, like Statius before, was so fixed upon Virgil that he could not see the way ahead without him and consequently turned around, expecting to still find him there. It was only when Dante realized that Virgil had vanished and Beatrice called him to attention that he again faced forward. Here he experiences no sense of abandonment. With Beatrice at his side in unison with all the blessed souls, Dante faces forward and upward, and the disappearing Mary, who has ascended after her Son, guides Dante’s eyes toward the next heaven, as far as they are able until such time as he may reach her in the Empyrean. With the repetition of the formula “fantolin ... la mamma,” adopted by the poet to refer to the “alto affetto” [“deep love”] (3.23.125), which underpins the relationship of the blessed souls with Mary, our attention is – as anticipated – drawn back to Purgatorio 30.44, the only other occasion in the Commedia where this suggestive formula appears. What makes the directional prompt of this repeated formula yet more forceful is that its two independent parts act equally as beacons unto themselves, since both “fantolin” and, curiously, even so common an expression as “la mamma” are also unique to these two cantos.55 If we accept the invitation of the linguistic prompt and juxtapose the relationship between mother and child in the two episodes in basic human terms, in Purgatorio 30 we find a sick and trembling child who looked to his mother to respond to his great need, and in contrast we find in Paradiso 23 a sated child who turns to his mother out of deep love. In Purgatorio 30 the child, Dante, would soon learn that the mother-figure, Virgil, to whom he turned so that “she” might sustain him during his time of need, had vanished, which only aggravated his condition. In Paradiso 23 the child and all the blessed souls, fully nourished in the reflected light of their mother, Mary, glow forth; “s’infiamma” being the odd rhyme word

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out of the otherwise repeated terza rima scheme that in Paradiso 23.123 takes the place of “dramma” from Purgatorio 30.46. As we necessarily direct our attention to a juxtaposition between the two rhyme words, “dramma” there and “s’infiamma” here, we note that the latter, which describes the healthy glow that radiates from these souls who have gained sustenance from the Virgin Mary like a baby at a mother’s breast, contrasts with the former, where Dante was in such a poor state that not even one “dramma” of his blood did not tremble. Like a baby who, after having had his fill at his mother’s breast, draws his arms up to “la mamma,” these blessed souls demonstrate their great love for the ascending Mary by extending the peak of their flames upward after her: ciascun di quei candori in sù si stese con la sua cima, sì che l’alto affetto ch’elli avieno a Maria mi fu palese. [each of these splendours stretched upward with its peak, so that the deep love they had for Mary was made plain to me.] (3.23.124–6) Here, in the tercet subsequent to the simile that contains the formula of repetition “fantolin ... la mamma,” the name of the true mother “Maria” appears, for the second time in this canto, as the true object of this “alto affetto” so vividly expressed by these souls, an affection that Dante the pilgrim cannot fail to notice. In Purgatorio 30, also in the tercet subsequent to the simile containing the formula of repetition, the name “Virgilio” emerges (“per dicere a Virgilio: ‘Men che dramma’” 2.30.46), Dante’s erstwhile “mother” to whom he turned for support. Indeed, in the Statius episode, in the tercet following the one in which he describes the Aeneid as his “mamma” (2.21.97), the name of that author “Virgilio” likewise appears (“E per esser vivuto di là quando / visse Virgilio” 2.21.100–1). The rarity of actual names appearing at all in the Commedia, and the fact that they are similarly placed in all three texts, further begs the question: What is the relevance of the bond that Statius and Dante had with “Virgilio” in Purgatory to the relationship between the blessed souls and “Maria” here in Paradise? By contextualizing Statius’ reference to “mamma” (“de l’Eneïda dico, la qual mamma / fummi, e fummi nutrice”

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[2.21.97–8]), we realize that the Aeneid was not just “mamma” to Statius but it was also his “nutrice,” the nurse that sustained him.56 After Dante the pilgrim realized that “Virgilio” had actually gone, with the third repetition of his name he described Virgil as the one to whom he gave himself for his salvation: “Virgilio a cui per mia salute die’mi” (2.30.51). However, considering Dante the pilgrim’s ill-health at the time, and the fact that he had just turned to Virgil in the hope that he would care for him through that bout of lovesickness, we may also understand “salute” not only in terms of Dante’s salvation but also in terms of his physical health. In recalling “Virgilio,” who from the end of Purgatorio 28 onward had lacked any capacity to serve as “nutrice” to Dante the despairing “fantolin,” we recognize that the Virgin Mary by contrast, like the “mamma” who supplies her milk to the “fantolin” at her breast, can be the true “nutrice” for those who turn to her, be they pilgrim or blessed souls. These blessed souls, the “candori” (3.23.124) who glow forth, remain in the pilgrim’s sight so that he can witness the affection they express for Mary by the “Regina celi” that they sing so sweetly: “Indi rimaser lì nel mio cospetto, / ‘Regina celi’ cantando sì dolce” [“Then they remained there in my sight, singing Regina celi so sweetly”] (3.23.127–8). Such was Dante’s delight in this joyous outpouring of love that it stayed with him (“che mai da me non si partì ’l diletto” 3.23.129) as he rejoiced in the spiritual treasury, the just reward attained by these souls who abjured all earthly treasure when they suffered on earth. While this passage, which recalls both the pain endured in the exile of earthly life and the celebration by these hosts of Christ’s triumph, does not appear to relate to Virgil’s condition, a pattern of repetition embedded within it suggests otherwise: Quivi si vive e gode del tesoro che s’acquistò piangendo ne lo essilio di Babillòn, ove si lasciò l’oro. Quivi trïunfa, sotto l’alto Filio di Dio e di Maria, di sua vittoria, e con l’antico e col novo concilio, colui che tien le chiavi di tal gloria. [Here they live and rejoice in the treasure that was gained with tears in the exile of Babylon, where gold was scorned. Here,

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under the exalted Son of God and Mary, together with both the ancient and the new council, he triumphs in his victory who holds the keys of such glory.] (3.23.133–9) The repetition of these rhyme words, “essilio” and “concilio,” recalls another journey, guided by one of the most complex linguistic configurations in the Commedia, in which “Virgilio” appears as the third rhyme word in all instances save this one.57 Back in Inferno 23, after Catalano had identified Caiaphas as the one stretched on the ground crucified, and before pointing to Caiaphas’s father-in-law, Annas, and the others of the council of the Pharisees all in a like position, Dante watched Virgil marvel at this extraordinary display: “E a tal modo il socero si stenta in questa fossa, e li altri dal concilio che fu per li Giudei mala sementa.” Allor vid’ io maravigliar Virgilio sovra colui ch’era disteso in croce tanto vilmente ne l’etterno essilio. [“And in like fashion is his father-in-law racked in this ditch, and the others of that council which was a seed of evil for the Jews.” Then I saw Virgil wonder over him who was thus outstretched, as on a cross, so vilely in the eternal exile.] (1.23.121–6) Except for Virgil marvelling, it would not appear that he had much to do with the scene since neither the contrapasso there described nor the “concilio” pertained to him. However, in responding to the prompt of the repeated linguistic pattern and moving forward to Purgatorio 21 (the same canto where the linguistic pattern “fiamma” / “mamma” / “dramma” also first emerges in 2.21.95–9), we find Virgil at the centre of the action. There, the newly freed Statius greeted Dante and Virgil, and Virgil first responded to his salutation by contrasting Statius’ newfound freedom with his own sentence to eternal exile: “O frati miei, Dio vi dea pace.” Noi ci volgemmo sùbiti, e Virgilio rendéli ’l cenno ch’a ciò si conface.

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Poi cominciò: “Nel beato concilio ti ponga in pace la verace corte che me rilega ne l’etterno essilio.” [“O my brothers, may God give you peace.” We turned quickly and Virgil answered him with the greeting that is fitting thereto; then he began, “May the true court which binds me in the eternal exile bring you in peace to the assembly of the blest.”] (2.21.13–18) In contrast to Inferno 21, the “etterno essilio” was by Virgil’s admission his own, and the “concilio,” once that of the Pharisees, was then the heavenly council to which Statius was bound but not Virgil, who would have already returned to Hell where, like Caiaphas, he was condemned for eternity. What binds Virgil’s fate even closer to that of Caiaphas is the larger linguistic configuration that frames the repeated formula and terza rima pattern, as charted below: Inferno 23.116–38 “convenia” “via” “pria” “concilio” “Virgilio” “ne l’etterno essilio” [eight lines later] “cerchia” “coperchia” “soperchia”

Purgatorio 21.8–30 “via” “venìa” “pria” “Virgilio” “concilio” “ne l’etterno essilio” [eight lines later] “concchia” “serocchia” “adocchia”

The formula of repetition “ne l’etterno essilio” unique to those two cantos, appears in the same position not only within the terza rima but also within the greater configuration, ten lines after it begins, six lines after “pria” and eight lines before the start of the “-chia” rhyme scheme. This elaborate frame, which surrounds the repeated formula “ne l’etterno essilio” in Purgatorio 21, emphasizes both Virgil’s plight as a condemned soul and his kinship to Caiaphas, the implications of which are discussed in my study Formulas of Repetition in Dante’s Commedia (116–30).

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There is one further point in the text where this terza rima scheme appears: in Paradiso 26 when Adam explains to Dante the cause of his lengthy exile in Limbo, the place where Virgil still dwells: “Or, figliuol mio, non il gustar del legno fu per sé la cagion di tanto essilio ma solamente il trapassar del segno. Quindi onde mosse tua donna Virgilio quattromilia trecento e due volumi di sol desiderai questo concilio.” [“Now know, my son, that the tasting of the tree was not in itself the cause of so long an exile, but solely the overpassing of the bound. In the place whence your lady dispatched Virgil, I longed for this assembly during four thousand three hundred and two revolutions of the sun.”] (3.26.115–20) This last repetition of the terza rima bears increased scrutiny not upon Caiaphas and his other Pharisees, not upon Statius, but upon Virgil, whose name – not theirs – remains a constant, represented in the rhyme position these three times only, once per cantica. The crucial omission here is the adjective “etterno,” for in Adam’s case his exile was not eternal; and yet the poet selects him to refer to Virgil by name for the last time in the Commedia, juxtaposing his non-eternal exile with Virgil’s exile for all eternity, an exile that leaves him behind in Limbo when Christ comes to rescue worthy pre-Christians, Adam first among them. With our understanding of this signposted journey across the textual space of the Commedia and our gaze focused upon the relevant passage in Paradiso 23 through this lens, we note here that, as with the missing modifer “etterno” in Paradiso 26, another word is missing: “Virgilio.” The lack of “etterno” underscores the great divide between Adam and Virgil, who once languished in Limbo together: the one is eventually saved, the other is eternally damned. The lack of “Virgilio” tells us something more, because in its place we find another word, “Filio,” Christ who came for Adam but not for Virgil, because the poet lacked faith in the Christ who was to come. Dante the pilgrim, who once mourned the loss of his “Virgilio” (in Purgatorio 30.49–51, where his name is thrice repeated but not

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in the rhyme position), now looks on as the blessed souls rejoice in the spiritual treasure which in its material manifestation they had forsaken when they lived, as with the Jews in Babylon, in the exile (“essilio”) that is this life. Here the newly presented Peter triumphs with the assembly (“concilio”) of the blessed of the Old and New Testament under the Son of God and his mother, Mary: “Quivi trïunfa, sotto l’alto Filio / di Dio e di Maria” (3.23.136–7), who with the repeated formula “fantolin ... la mamma” replaces Virgil as the true mother, while the “Filio” replaces “Virgilio.” Following the lead of Beatrice who is shining bright, Dante has inevitably turned to the illuminating presence of the Son, looking upward, as opposed to Virgil, to whom he once in error turned, looking back. Paradiso 31 and 33 For Dante to be able to attain a higher vision of Mary and her Son, he must await his arrival in the Empyrean. In Paradiso 31 Dante’s new guide, Bernard of Clairvaux, invites him to look up to the highest circle, where the Queen of the realm presides. As Dante describes what he sees, a final vestige of the linguistic pattern emerges: E come quivi ove s’aspetta il temo che mal guidò Fetonte, più s’infiamma, e quinci e quindi il lume si fa scemo, così quella pacifica oriafiamma nel mezzo s’avvivava, e d’ogne parte per igual modo allentava la fiamma. [And in the point where we await the pole that Phaethon misguided is most aglow, and on this side and on that the light diminishes, so was that pacific oriflamme quickened in the middle, on either side in equal measure tempering its flame.] (3.31.124–9) While “fiamma” is all that remains of the initial linguistic pattern, with the replacement of “dramma” with “s’infiamma” in Paradiso 23 we may consider the repetition of both “fiamma” and “s’infiamma” here in Paradiso 31 an invitation to take our signposted journey this one last step.

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If, as previously, we carefully examine the lead-up to this highlighted passage, we note that once more the poet adopts the simile of the light at first dawn to describe what he sees when he raises his eyes to the highest circle of the celestial rose: Io levai li occhi; e come da mattina la parte orïental de l’orizzonte soverchia quella dove ’l sol declina [I lifted up my eyes; and as at morning the eastern parts of the horizon outshine that where the sun declines] (3.31.118–20) From this vantage point we recall that the light at dawn was also a controlling image at the start of each of the other two texts under study, how in Paradiso 23 the “augello” looked to the eastern sky in longing for the day to break: “fiso guardando pur che l’alba nasca” (3.23.9), and more significantly how with the coming of Beatrice’s light in Purgatorio 30 Dante was reminded of the rosy hue at dawn when a cloud-cover tempers the face of the rising sun: Io vidi già nel cominciar del giorno la parte orïental tutta rosata, e l’altro ciel di bel sereno addorno. [Sometimes I have seen at the beginning of the day the eastern region all rosy, while the rest of the heaven was adorned with fair clear sky.] (2.30.22–4) The formula of repetition “la parte oriental,” exclusive to these two passages in Paradiso 31 and Purgatorio 30, recalls the connection between Beatrice and Mary in the eyes of Dante, who registers his first sight of their light in similar terms. While keeping in mind the episode of the coming of Beatrice’s light, which dawns all rosy (“tutta rosata” 2.30.23) there in Purgatorio 30, we can see further common points with the simile of Mary’s light, which unfolds here in the celestial rose, an extension from the heaven of the fixed stars where, as “la rosa in che ’l verbo divino / carne si fece” [“the Rose wherein the Divine Word became flesh”] (3.23.73–4), her light first shone over Dante. As did the “augello” in Paradiso 23, in Paradiso 31 Dante’s eyes wait on the spot where the light will glow brightest (“più s’infiamma” 3.31.125),

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the spot where, like a rising sun, the flaming light of the oriflamme (l’oriafiamma” 3.31.127) of Mary gleams forth, brightest in the middle but with a tempering flame (“allentava la fiamma” 3.31.129) in equal measure on either side. As with the “oriafiamma,” both of these other rhyme words likewise relate to Mary, who in Paradiso 23 was last depicted as a crowned flame (“coronata fiamma” 3.23.119) when she ascended above the blessed souls who had stretched toward her, like children reaching up to their mothers (“come fantolin ... ’inver’ la mamma” 3.23.121). From the overt text in Purgatorio 30, which describes the circumstances under which Beatrice replaces Virgil as guide to Dante, by following the linguistic signposts via an alternative route we also come to the Empyrean. At the time of this last highlighted passage in Paradiso 31, Dante acknowledges his debt to his once-guide Beatrice, who in Purgatorio 30 found him in ill-health, lovesick, and made him well, she who underwent a journey into Hell in order to save him: “soffristi per la mia salute / in inferno lasciar le tue vestige” [“for my salvation you endured to leave in Hell your footprints”] (3.31.80–1). While Dante makes reference to Beatrice’s encounter with Virgil, he no longer identifies Virgil as the one to whom he gave himself for his well-being, as he once did (“Virgilio a cui per mia salute die’mi” [“Virgil to whom I gave myself for my salvation”] 2.30.51). Virgil has been expunged from the record; Beatrice has replaced him in every way that matters. In Paradiso 22, just before the manifestations of Christ and Mary, Beatrice declared that Dante was near the end of his salvific journey. His eyes had to be readied for the last stretch ahead: “Tu se’ sì presso a l’ultima salute,” cominciò Bëatrice, “che tu dei aver le luci tue chiare e acute.” [“You are so near to the final blessedness,” Beatrice began, “that you must have your eyes clear and keen.”] (3.22.124–6) Following the beacon of this final pattern of repetition, “l’ultima salute,” we are inevitably drawn up to Paradiso 33, where we find Bernard in prayer to Mary that she mediate for Dante a vision of God by granting him the requisite power to see: “che possa con li occhi levarsi / più alto verso l’ultima salute” [“that he be able with his eyes to rise still higher toward the last salvation”] (3.33.26–7).

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The formula, “l’ultima salute,” exclusive to these two passages, brings our journey to its closing stage. The addition of the modifier “ultima,” first in Paradiso 22 and again here, reminds the reader how far Dante has risen from the time he mourned his loss of Virgil back in Purgatorio 30. There, in his lovesick state, he trembled before the presence of the veiled Beatrice and in vain turned to Virgil for a remedy. Here, with Dante’s “ultima salute” soon at hand, all the figures who have replaced Virgil are gathered. Beatrice, with so many other blessed souls (“Beatrice con quanti beati” 3.33.38), turns in prayer to the Virgin Mary, that this true “mamma” grant Dante the necessary power of sight for his “ultima salute.” By her grace, Dante’s eyes are enabled to see, and he seems to detect our human image (“la nostra effige” 3.33.131) within the three circles of the trinity, the “Filio” who back in Purgatorio 23 took the place of “Virgilio,” long since returned “ne l’etterno essilio.” But, coming full circle, the poet can little remember what he saw as a pilgrim, no more than a small child might who still “bathes” at a mother’s breast: “pur a quel ch’io ricordo, che d’un fante / che bagni ancor la lingua a la mammella” (3.33.107–8).58

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5 Virgil, John the Baptist, and the Downward Journey “di giro in giro”

By the time Dante and Virgil reach the ninth bolgia, that of the condemned schismatic souls of Inferno 28, but for a few words with which Virgil deferred the speaking role to Dante in Inferno 27 (“Parla tu ...” 1.27.33), he has not been quoted in speech since their earlier encounter with Ulysses and Diomedes in Inferno 26.79–84.1 There he deemed it most appropriate that, as a fellow ancient, he, not Dante, speak to the two Greek heroes: “Lascia parlare a me, ch’i’ ho concetto / ciò che tu vuoi” [“leave speech to me, for I have understood what you wish”] (1.26.73–4). In accord with the Greeks’ high status, Virgil brings to bear his skill as a rhetorician and addresses them in high formulaic style: “O voi che siete due dentro ad un foco, s’io meritai di voi mentre ch’io vissi, s’io meritai di voi assai o poco quando nel mondo li alti versi scrissi, non vi movete; ma l’un di voi dica dove, per lui, perduto a morir gissi.” [“O you who are two within one fire, if I deserved of you while I lived, if I deserved of you much or little when in the world I wrote the lofty lines, move not; but let the one of you tell where he went, lost, to die.”] (1.26.79–84) With the repetition of the formula “s’io meritai di voi,” which closes the first tercet of his address, Virgil anticipates that his selfintroduction as poet of the “alti versi” of Book ii of the Aeneid, which sang of their war against the Trojans, will induce the two

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Greeks to stay their steps in deference to him so that one of them might explain the circumstances that led to his death. Subsequent to that encounter, having overheard Virgil speak in his Lombard tongue, Guido da Montefeltro directs his words to him, under the mistaken impression that Virgil is a fellow Northern Italian of his own time.2 But here Virgil invites Dante to speak because Guido is a fellow Italian: “questi è latino” (1.27.33). After these parallel examples, in which this issue of who is to serve as spokesman to these souls of such consequence has been underscored, as Inferno 28 unfolds we wait with some anticipation to see whether Virgil or Dante will respond to the founder of Islam, Mohammed, one neither ancient nor modern, neither pagan nor Christian. If Virgil and Dante are to follow the order of alternation established in the previous two cantos, it stands to reason that this time it should be Virgil’s turn to enter into a dialogue with Mohammed, particularly since Guido da Montefeltro had addressed Virgil only to hear Dante’s voice in reply, while in this instance conversely it is to Dante that Mohammed directs his words: “Ma tu chi se’ che ’n su lo scoglio muse?” [“But who are you that are musing on the ridge?”] (1.28.43). Although it is in fact Virgil who responds, in contrast to the previous two occasions, we here witness no exchange between Virgil and Dante that might help us fathom why Virgil thinks himself the better fit to reply to Mohammed’s query. In the second tercet of his deferential response Virgil affixes details of his own condition: “a me, che morto son, convien menarlo per lo ’nferno qua giù di giro in giro; e quest’ è ver così com’ io ti parlo.” [“it behooves me, who am dead, to lead him down here through Hell from circle to circle; and this is as true as that I speak to you.”] (1.28.49–51) While Virgil is of no apparent interest to Mohammed or the other souls whose eyes are all fixed in wonder (“per maraviglia” 1.28.54) upon the living Dante, his words are of considerable interest to this study, as the tercet contains a linguistic pattern to be repeated in Paradiso 32. By Paradiso 32 Beatrice has returned to her allotted seat beside Rachel, and Dante finds Bernard of Clairvaux in her place. Here

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there is no alternation of speaking roles, no question as to whether pilgrim or guide can better relate to one soul or another. Dante spoke last in the previous canto when, upon first seeing Bernard, he asked him where Beatrice had gone (“Ov’ è ella?” 3.31.64). Having assumed the office of teacher to Dante, Bernard begins his instruction by describing first those who occupy the petals of the Celestial Rose in gradations downward from the lofty seat of the Virgin Mary, and then those in the petals beneath John the Baptist directly opposite her. It is in this latter passage, which also lists two founders of orders and a father of the Church, that a familiar linguistic pattern reappears: “così di contra quel del gran Giovanni, che sempre santo ’l diserto e ’l martiro sofferse, e poi l’inferno da due anni; e sotto lui così cerner sortiro Francesco, Benedetto e Augustino e altri fin qua giù di giro in giro.” [“thus, opposite, does the seat of the great John who, ever holy, endured the desert and martyrdom, and then Hell for two years; and beneath him, Francis and Benedict and Augustine and others were allotted thus to divide, as far down as here, from circle to circle.”] (3.32.31–6) Bernard’s imagined tour (“vola con li occhi per questo giardino” [“fly with your eyes throughout this garden”] 3.31.97) of the Celestial Rose from the seat in the uppermost circle, down through the circles below, in part mirrors Dante’s in carnem journey, which Virgil describes to Mohammed, down through the “inferno” from circle to circle. The formula of repetition, “qua giù di giro in giro,” highlighted above and unique to these two texts, alerts the reader to compare and contrast the episodes they relate, which appear entirely disparate in nature. The spokesmen – Dante’s first guide followed by his third – lead him downward through a cone-shaped series of circles (“di giro in giro” 1.28.50; 3.32.36). They pass from Virgil conducting the living Dante through the “’nferno” (1.28.50), which causes the condemned souls to temporarily forget their torment (“martiro” 1.28.54), to Bernard guiding Dante’s eyes starting with John the Baptist, who spent two years in “inferno”

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after he had suffered his martyrdom (“martiro” 3.32.32). In both cases the point of departure for the tour is the uppermost circle and Dante and his guide are positioned below, “qua giù” (1.28.50; 3.32.36). Virgil and Dante are in the ninth bolgia of the eighth circle of Hell, with just one “giro” to traverse before they reach the bottom; Bernard and Dante are beneath all the circling ranks of the Celestial Rose, hence Bernard’s invitation to Dante in the previous canto that he look up from where they stand at the base to the highest circle (“guarda i cerchi infino al più remoto” 3.31.115). By following the directional prompt of this series of linguistic repetitions we may shift our attention back so as to revisit Dante and Virgil’s encounter with Mohammed, but from the perspective of readers who have neared the end of the poem, casting our eye back downward. Inferno 28 As Inferno 28 opens, Virgil’s indiscernible presence is maintained, for he neither speaks nor has warranted a mention by the poet since Guido da Montefeltro mistook him for a fellow Lombard from his own time early in Inferno 27. Essentially, Dante the pilgrim has been on his own ever since Virgil addressed Ulysses earlier in Inferno 26, as described above. Yet, while Virgil is absent from the text of verses 7 to 21, his poetry still echoes in the panorama that evokes the bloodbath of past wars in Southern Italy.3 At the close of this evocation, when glossing “aequar” (“d’aequar sarebbe nulla” [“it would be nothing to equal ...”] v. 20), Charles Singleton cites Virgil as an inspiration for these scenes of bloodshed: “The Latinism ‘aequar’ points to the possibility that the whole imagined scene and this conclusion were in some sense inspired by Virgil. See Aen. ii, 361–2: ‘Quis cladem illius noctis ...’ [‘Who could unfold in speech that night’s havoc ...’].”4 Yet, Dante the poet does not acknowledge the influence of the Aeneid.5 The only source Dante cites is the one he calls the reliable Livy: “come Livïo scrive, che non erra” [“as Livy writes, who does not err”] (1.28.12), as discussed in the introduction.6 With Virgil’s exclusion from the text, it comes perhaps as no surprise that Mohammed as well does not register his company but speaks only to Dante, whose attention has been fixed on Mohammed’s fictive body, which has been prey to such fierce

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violence. Repeating the second person singular “tu” form “vedi” on the two successive lines of his initial addresses, he calls out to Dante, who stands over him on the bridge that spans the ninth bolgia: “Or vedi com’ io mi dilacco! / vedi come storpiato è Maometto!” [“Now see how I rend myself, see how mangled is Mohammed!”] (1.28.30–1),7 and he follows with an account of how he and his fellows are recurrently cleaved. What prompts the final words of Mohammed’s address is a curiosity as to the identity of this gawking spectator: “Ma tu chi se’ che ’n su lo scoglio muse, forse per indugiar d’ire a la pena ch’è giudicata in su le tue accuse?” [“But who are you that are musing on the ridge, perhaps to delay going to the punishment pronounced on your own accusations?”] (1.28.43–5) Mohammed’s adoption of the formulaic “ma tu chi se’ che,” which appears on two other occasions in the Inferno (8.35; 29.93),8 is a further reminder that Virgil’s presence is secondary. Moreover, when Mohammed mistakes Dante for a condemned soul who is perhaps trying to postpone his punishment by delaying on the bridge, the reader may wonder whether Mohammed even notices Virgil by Dante’s side, as one would not expect a soul cast by Minos into Hell to have an escort. The nearly complete absence of Virgil for almost two cantos makes his unanticipated response to a question directed to Dante, not to him, all the more jarring and further begs the question: Why does Virgil respond in place of Dante? If one bears in mind Dante’s view that Mohammed was an apostate Christian, then he, not Virgil, would be in a better position to relate to this founder of Islam. As a consequence, were Dante the pilgrim to respond to Mohammed, who in Dante’s view had fractured that Christian world, we could imagine his reaction being one of anger, perhaps not unlike his later response to Mosca, whose utterance had caused a lasting rupture among the Tuscan people: “E morte di tua schiatta” [“and death to your own stock”] (1.28.109). The courtesy of Virgil’s words in response to Mohammed’s confrontational question to Dante may help us understand why Virgil feels he is in the better position to reply. Although Virgil could not

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have known this founder of Islam, in Limbo he dwells in the company of Mohammed’s most worthy followers, Saladin, Avicenna, and Averroes.9 Based on what we learn of the familiarity that exists between Virgil and his fellow Limbo-dwellers (two examples that surface in the text are Virgil’s close relationship with Marcia and Juvenal), Virgil is likely also on good terms with these three worthy Muslims. While far fewer Muslims than pagans are mentioned in Limbo, they appear on an equal footing, suggesting a correspondence between these two non-Christian groups.10 Indeed, in the case of Avicenna and Averroes, when listed among those most wise situated above, they are interspersed with pagans (“Ipocràte, Avicenna e Galïeno, / Averoìs che ’l gran comento feo” [“Hippocrates, Avicenna, Galen, and Averroës, who made the great commentary”] 1.4.143–4). Consequently, much as Virgil saw the pagan Ulysses as one to whom he should direct his speech, based on the apparent kinship between pagans and Muslims in his home circle of Limbo, it stands to reason that he also respond to the founder of the latter religion, and with all due deference: “Né morte ’l giunse ancor, né colpa ’l mena,” rispuose ’l mio maestro, “a tormentarlo; ma per dar lui esperïenza piena, a me, che morto son, convien menarlo per lo ’nferno qua giù di giro in giro; e quest’ è ver così com’ io ti parlo.” [“Neither has death yet reached him, nor does guilt bring him torment,” replied my master, “but in order to give him full experience, it behooves me, who am dead, to lead him down here through Hell from circle to circle; and this is as true as that I speak to you.”] (1.28.46–51) Virgil is quick to correct Mohammed: Dante is neither dead nor here on account of any sin and he himself has been assigned the task of providing Dante every experience of Hell. The formula “esperïenza piena” appeared in reverse order in Inferno 17.37–8 when Virgil sent Dante off alone to learn all about that bolgia and the usurers condemned to it, while he stayed behind to negotiate their passage with Geryon: “Acciò che tutta piena / esperïenza d’esto giron porti / ... va, e vedi la lor mena” [“That you may carry away full experience of this ring ... go and see their condition”] (1.17.38–9).11 Paradoxically, in

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that one other instance in the Commedia where Virgil made reference to “esperïenza piena,” he did not perform his designated task in that he left it to Dante to gain the full experience on his own, thereby undermining the very reason for his serving as guide to Dante, according to what he conveys to Mohammed.12 In the subsequent tercet Virgil draws the focus onto his own condition and at least initially adopts a parallel discourse that emphasizes the contrast between the two of them. Dante is alive: “Né morte” (v. 46), while he is dead: “morto son” (v. 49). However, in the second part of verse 49, Virgil fails to maintain the distinction between them, that in contrast to Dante, who is here without any guilt (“né colpa ...” v. 46), he is in Hell on account of a failing on his part. In short, while Virgil is quick to disabuse Mohammed of the notion that Dante is a condemned soul, he is not so candid when it comes to his own condition. From the perspective of Paradiso 32, the reader who is revisiting this passage prompted by the linguistic markers may understand that Virgil’s unstated guilt has implications that are manifest later on. He does not occupy a seat in the Celestial Rose among those who believed in Christ to come because, unlike Dante, he does bear guilt (“colpa”), to the extent that he was not rescued by Christ when He descended into Limbo and bore worthy souls like John the Baptist up to Paradise. Unprompted, Virgil provides further detail about his role as a guide to the living Dante, by delineating the itinerary they are following from circle to circle as they make their way down through Hell: “per lo ’nferno qua giù di giro in giro” (1.28.50), words which, with the exception of “per lo,” Bernard will also adopt later on in Paradiso 32. Thematically, Virgil’s unnecessary extension of what began as an answer to Mohammed’s question resembles his necessarily thorough response to the centaur Chiron in Inferno 12. There, Virgil hoped Chiron would be obliged to provide them with an escort who could set them back on their way: “Ben è vivo, e sì soletto / mostrar li mi convien la valle buia; / necessità ’l ci ’nduce, e non diletto” [“Indeed he is alive, and thus alone have I to show him the dark valley: necessity brings him to it, and not sport”] (1.12.85–7). Virgil’s account continued for another three tercets, and while there as well he did not admit to his own personal guilt, in that case he may have had good reason for withholding such information. It was paramount for Chiron to understand that, like Charon, Minos, and Plutus before, their journey was willed from on high.

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Linguistically, Virgil’s reply to Mohammed bears a closer resemblance to the one he offers in Inferno 29 to Griffolino, the condemned soul who, similar to Mohammed in Inferno 28.43, begins by repeating the formulaic interrogative: “Ma tu chi se’ che” (1.29.93).13 Griffolino addresses the question to Virgil, who is ready with a response that echoes his words to Mohammed, including an adaptation of the formula “giù di giro in giro” and a repetition of “’nferno,” but this time he is more succinct: “I’ son un che discendo / con questo vivo giù di balzo in balzo, / e di mostrar lo ’nferno a lui intendo” [“I am one who with this living man descend from ledge to ledge, and I mean to show him Hell”] (1.29.94–6). More important, what distinguishes Virgil’s self-described role in Inferno 28 is that the words of the formula he pronounces there alone are the very ones that will resurface in Paradise. Just as he proudly describes to Mohammed how he is guiding Dante “giù di giro in giro,” down through Hell, if Virgil truly were without guilt, as his omission before Mohammed could imply, in the course of Dante’s eye-tour “giù di giro in giro” down the petals of the Celestial Rose, he would be seen by Dante in his due place up there. What also differentiates Virgil’s communication to Mohammed from his exchanges with Chiron and Griffolino, is that, perhaps out of respect for this founder of Islam, here alone he finds it necessary to persuade Mohammed that what he is saying is true: “e quest’ è ver così com’ io ti parlo” (1.28.51). By such a statement Virgil is placing himself in the lesser position, leaving it to Mohammed to judge the reliability of his assertion. Apparently the other souls have no problem believing Virgil’s remarkable claim. On account of his words they gaze in wonder at Dante, the living man: Più fuor di cento che, quando l’udiro, s’arrestaron nel fosso a riguardarmi per maraviglia, oblïando il martiro. [More than a hundred there were who when they heard him, stopped in the ditch to look at me, forgetting their torment in their wonder.] (1.28.52–4) Much as in Purgatorio 2, where Virgil draws the living Dante to the attention of the penitent souls so that they almost forget they must move on to purify themselves, “quasi oblïando d’ire a farsi belle” (2.2.75) – a transgression for which Cato will take them all to task

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– Virgil’s account here causes these condemned souls to forget their contrapasso, “oblïando il martiro” (1.28.54). Indeed, they stop in the ditch where the circling path of their “dolente strada” (1.28.40) would inevitably take them back to the devil, and delay their re-cleaving.14 Despite the respect Virgil conveys toward Mohammed in the course of his two-tercet narrative, which affords him and the other souls a short reprieve from their bitter torment,15 Mohammed continues to ignore him and as before engages in conversation with Dante only: “Or dì a fra Dolcin dunque che s’armi, / tu che forse vedra’ il sole in breve” [“Tell Fra Dolcino, then, you who perhaps will see the sun before long”] (1.28.55–6). Beyond not acknowledging the presence of Virgil, with the insertion of the possibility (“forse”) that Dante will soon (“in breve”) be returning to the world of the living,16 Mohammed may also be casting doubt on the veracity of Virgil’s tale, despite his having entreated Mohammed to believe it as true. Over the balance of the canto, from verse 52 onward, Virgil again becomes silent. He is overlooked by all, while the pilgrim engages in conversation with three of the guilty souls who, having heard from Virgil that Dante is still alive, in turn draw themselves to his attention: Pier da Medicina, Mosca de’ Lamberti, and Bertran de Born. At last Virgil can hold his tongue no more, and near the start of Inferno 29 he reprimands Dante for having delayed his journey by fixing his attention overly long upon these hewn souls, ironically the same criticism that was mooted by Mohammed when he had thought Dante a condemned soul: Ma Virgilio mi disse: “Che pur guate? perché la vista tua pur si soffolge là giù tra l’ombre triste smozzicate?” [But Virgil said to me, “What are you still gazing at? Why does your sight still rest down there among the dismal mutilated shades?”] (1.29.4–6) Dante will bear none of this disapproval, and sends his own volley back to Virgil by criticizing him for not having been a sufficiently attentive guide; moreover, Virgil does not appreciate the reason behind his desire to linger:

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“Se tu avessi,” risuos’ io appresso, “atteso a la cagion per ch’io guardava, forse m’avresti ancor lo star dimesso.” [“If you had given heed to my reason for looking,” I answered then, “perhaps you would have granted me a longer stay.”] (1.29.13–15) In addition, the pilgrim casts doubt upon Virgil’s capacity to read his thoughts, for he would otherwise have understood the reason behind Dante’s prolonged gaze upon Bertran without his having to defend himself.17 While the rationale Dante provides for his long stay with Bertran was the further distracting voice he heard from his relative Geri del Bello, whose death was still not avenged by Dante’s family, Virgil is not prepared to accept this explanation: “Tu eri allor sì del tutto impedito sovra colui che già tenne Altaforte, che non guadasti in là, sì fu partito.” [“You were then so wholly occupied with him who once held Hautefort that you did not look that way till he was gone.”] (1.29.28–30) Rather, Virgil persists in believing that the object of Dante’s fixation was Bertran de Born alone. This after-the-fact bickering between Virgil and Dante does beg a series of perhaps unanswerable questions. Why does Virgil choose not to intervene during the course of Inferno 28? Does he fathom the depth of Dante’s reaction to the sight of the schismatic souls? Can he understand Dante’s latter thoughts with regard to Geri? Does he have the capacity to read any of Dante’s thoughts? What cannot be questioned is that, just as Virgil remains inactive before Geri even when he could have intervened and facilitated a conversation between the two relatives, so too he has stood in the background at every possible turn before all the condemned schismatic souls. His two-tercet response to Mohammed, highlighted by the linguistic pattern of repetition, is the exception. However, in contrast to Dante, who is entirely fixed on Mohammed’s mutilated, fictive body (“tutto in lui veder m’attacco” 1.28.28) such that

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Mohammed accuses him of delaying on the ridge above, Virgil registers no understanding of, or reaction to, this castigation. Immediately after Bertran’s disembodied head concludes his description of the contrapasso in the last verse of the canto (“Così s’osserva in me lo contrapasso” [“Thus is the retribution observed in me”] (1.28.142), the first tercet of the subsequent canto provides further confirmation that these souls and their wounds have such an impact upon the pilgrim that he cannot tear his eyes away: La molta gente e le diverse piaghe avean le luci miei sì inebrïate, che de lo stare a piangere eran vaghe. [The many people and the strange wounds had made my eyes so drunken that they longed to stay and weep.] (1.29.1–3) While Dante would linger over “la molta gente” who endure these wounds, Virgil remains impervious to this particular punishment and the impact it has on his Christian charge. Consequently he launches into his reprimand: “Che pur guate?” [“What are you still gazing at?”] (1.29.4). Giuseppe Mazzotta asks a question with regard to Dante’s delaying before these souls: “How does he move beyond the impasse figured by the schismatics? He certainly knows ... that the workings of justice remain always beyond his grasp, as they are beyond ours.”18 The horrific nature of God’s justice, which registers so profoundly upon the pilgrim that it paralyses his downward movement, does not affect Virgil because, as a pagan guide, he derives no profit from his own guiding light and may not be able to comprehend the consequence of God’s justice that Dante’s lingering eyes can see. Presently, in Purgatory, when we read Statius’ description of Virgil as one who walks in the darkness of night and carries a lantern behind him (“che porta il lume dietro” 2.22.68), we will recall that as the outcome of this ghastly justice Bertran de Born carries his own talking head by the hair, as if it were a lantern: “e ’l capo tronco tenea per le chiome, / pesol con mano a guisa di lanterna” [“and it was holding the severed head by the hair, swinging it in hand like a lantern”] (1.28.121–2).19 This is the sight that stops Dante in his tracks despite the call from Geri: the spectacle of a soul who clutches his disembodied head, which speaks to Dante.

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But as Virgil’s words in early Inferno 29 attest, he does not react to the contrapasso endured by the schismatic souls, from Mohammed to Bertran. Virgil walks right by the incorporeal head that Bertran holds, carrying his own metaphorical lantern, the “lume” that he holds behind him to illuminate for Dante the strange wounds (“le diverse piaghe” 1.29.1) of these souls which so intoxicate him. While Virgil proudly declares to Mohammed that he is guiding Dante down through the circles of Hell (“per lo ’nferno qua giù di giro in giro” 1.28.50) to provide him with a full experience (“per dar lui esperïenza piena” 1.28.48), as Inferno 28 gives way to Inferno 29 we are reminded that the full experience of this contrapasso is there for Dante but not for Virgil. This experience, which Dante gains by the light of Virgil’s guidance – an experience from which Virgil appears particularly disengaged – is yet another example of circumstances that Virgil cannot strictly fathom, and adds weight to what Statius reveals later on: Virgil derives no personal benefit (“e sé non giova” 2.22.68) from his own guiding light. Keeping in mind the “esperïenza piena” of the schismatic souls which by his assertion before Mohammed, Virgil gives to Dante, and considering the extension of this experience into early Inferno 29, where Virgil’s inability to grasp the experiential value of the pilgrim’s encounters with these souls is further revealed, we may follow the directional signal provided by the linguistic pattern of repetition back to Paradiso 32 and re-reconsider the new experience facilitated for Dante’s benefit in the Empyrean. Paradiso 32 As Paradiso 32 opens, before Bernard embarks upon his lesson to Dante, which he delivers without pause until verse 87, he assumes the office of “dottore” (“Affetto al suo piacer, quel contemplante / libero officio di dottore assunse” [“With his love fixed on his Delight, that contemplator freely assumed the office of a teacher”] 3.32.1–2). “Dottore” is the honorific title that had been conferred upon Virgil exclusively on seven separate occasions from Inferno 5.70 through Purgatorio 21.22, until Purgatorio 24.143, when Statius was also granted this appellation alongside Virgil. Considering that, with the exception of Dominic in Paradiso 12.85, on every occasion it has been Virgil alone who merited the title, with the repetition of “dottore” in Paradiso 32.2 we are invited once more to

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visit the matter of the absent Virgil and his replacement by yet another figure, even if by now some time has passed since Dante’s first teacher returned to his home in Limbo.20 If one compares the first time Virgil is identified as a “dottore” in Inferno 5 with Bernard’s identification here in Paradiso 32, the dissimilarity could not be more arresting. There, Virgil’s observations helped activate in Dante a misguided sympathy for the condemned lustful of the second circle of Hell: Poscia ch’io ebbi ’l mio dottore udito nomar le donne antiche e ‘ cavalieri, pietà mi giunse, e fui quasi smarrito. [When I heard my teacher name the ladies and the knights of old, pity overcame me and I was as one bewildered.] (1.5.70–2) By Virgil’s uncritical naming of such unrepentant lustful souls as Semiramis, Cleopatra, Helen, Achilles, Paris, and Tristan in the tercets that immediately precede the one cited above, Dante’s “dottore” opened old wounds in his charge and inspired such pity in him that he was almost lost (“quasi smarrito”) at that early juncture, with his journey to salvation barely underway.21 To be sure, Dante’s perilous condition only deteriorated after he followed Virgil’s advice that he beseech Paolo and Francesca in the name of their love (which condemned them!) to come forth (“e tu allor li priega / per quello amor che i mena, ed ei verranno.” 1.5.77–8), resulting in Dante’s literal fall before Francesca at the end of the canto: “E caddi come corpo morto cade” [“and I fell as a dead body falls”] (1.5.142).22 Counterpoised with the naming of the souls in Inferno 5 by Dante’s old “dottore,” is Dante’s new “dottore,” Bernard, who is finally at his side, ready to do some naming of his own (“e cominciò queste parole sante” 3.32.3) with holy words that begin by privileging the healing of the old wound of sin over its opening:23 “La piaga che Maria richiuse e unse, quella ch’è tanto bella da’ suoi piedi è colei che l’aperse e che la punse.” [“The wound which Mary closed and annointed, that one who is so beautiful at her feet is she who opened and pierced it.”] (3.32.4–6)

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From the perspective of the Empyrean, which is beyond time and space, through the rhetorical figure of hysteron proteron, it is Mary who comes first to close the wound (“piaga”) of original sin, followed by the un-named Eve, who initially opened it, at her feet. Dante the pilgrim had previously undergone the healing of his own wounds, which the custodian at the gate into Purgatory symbolized by the seven “P”s he traced on Dante’s forehead with the instruction that he be sure to wash away these wounds (“Fa che lavi, / quando se’ dentro, queste piaghe” 2.9.113–14) in the course of his climb up the terraces of the mountain. The last of Dante’s “piaghe” to be healed in Purgatory was the “P” denoting the sin of lust, for which he may have felt the excruciating sting of the fire in Purgatorio 27,24 the first of Dante’s wounds, which Virgil helped re-open back in Inferno 5. Starting with a mention of Eve, Bernard goes on to name five other women and make reference to a sixth. They are Hebrew women (“Ebree” v. 17) whom Virgil would have known in Limbo before their rescue by Christ and, much later, Beatrice who, like Christ, descended into the first circle of Hell to urge him to rescue Dante. But for Beatrice, whose place is beside Rachel and not in a direct line down the petals of the Rose, all the pre-Christian souls are seated according to their level, from Mary downward: “puoi tu veder così di soglia in soglia giù digradar, com’ io ch’a proprio nome vo per la rosa giù di foglia in foglia.” [“you may see, thus from rank to rank in gradation downward, as with the name of each I go downward through the rose from petal to petal.”] (3.32.13–15) In this eye-tour of the Celestial Rose, Bernard’s holy words guide Dante downward with each Old Testament soul’s name he utters. The linguistic patterns in the rhyme position, “di soglia in soglia” and “giù di foglia in foglia,” anticipate the approaching formula of repetition “qua giù di giro in giro,” which they mirror thematically and resemble linguistically.25 The expression “di soglia in soglia” is equally a pattern of repetition in its own right, as it occurred once previously in Paradiso 3.82 where, in answer to Dante’s query as to whether those of a lower station long to be higher, Piccarda described how they in their ranking, “come noi sem di soglia in

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soglia” [“our being thus from threshold to threshold”], are in complete concord with God’s will. The repetition of “di soglia in soglia” is yet another example of the value of considering formulas of repetition as textual markers across the space of the poem, for also with this example we may collapse the twenty-nine cantos of intervening text and relate the “soglia,” or threshold of the sphere of the Moon, to what in reality we understand it to be as we follow along with Dante on this eye-tour of the Empyrean: a lower “soglia” within the Celestial Rose.26 Bernard emphasizes that this line of Hebrew women who looked ahead to the Christian faith (“secondo lo sguardo che fée / la fede in Cristo” vv. 19–20) serves as the wall that divides pre-Christians who believed in a Christ yet to come (“quei che credettero in Cristo venturo” v. 24) from those Christians who looked back to Christ already come (“quei ch’a Cristo venuto ebber li visi” v. 27). The linguistic parallels evident in verses 24 and 27 also define the parallels between the two groups, which are separate but equal in size and rank. Within the half of the Celestial Rose reserved for those who believed in Christ yet to come, Bernard describes two general categories of pre-Christians: worthy Hebrew souls like the Old Testament women whom he names, and all other blessed pre-Christian souls who were not necessarily of the Jewish faith. Despite the vastness of an entire half-section of the Celestial Rose, the places on its every petal are filled (“Da questa parte onde ’l fiore è maturo / di tutte le foglie” [“On this side, wherein the flower is mature in all its petals”] vv. 22–3), and by God’s count, they match perfectly the number of souls delivered by Christ when he harrowed Hell, plus one: Trajan. For any reader who might have been wondering if another Trajan-like case would perhaps be made for Virgil despite mounting evidence to the contrary over the course of Dante’s journey, it is now clear there will be no more special cases; the halfsection is already complete. What makes Virgil’s exclusion from Paradise conspicuous is that it was not just a few souls that Christ rescued from Limbo, but more than half the current population of Paradise (keeping in mind that on the other side of the Rose there are still some empty spaces), and yet within this multitude of souls whom Christ bore up to Paradise, the noble Virgil was not to be counted. In contrast to all these others he was deemed unworthy, left behind. What makes his exclusion even more pointed is that pagans were also included

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among the population of Paradise. We know of three, Cato, Ripheus and Trajan, but there is reason to assume other pagans are among those rescued from Limbo who looked ahead to the coming of Christ. With reference to Ripheus and Trajan, who appear in the heaven of Jupiter, Teodolinda Barolini underlines how their salvation contrasts with Virgil’s damnation: “But the presence of Ripheus is not a salutary one for Vergil, since it implies that Vergil’s exile is not simply the result of an impartial dogma. Dante could have reduced the tension surrounding Vergil by tacitly excluding all pagans from Heaven [but] he draws attention to the intentionality of Vergil’s exclusion.”27 If we read with these insightful words in mind, this tension can only increase with the further (theologically unfounded) revelation in Paradiso 32 of the vast number of pre-Christian souls who were saved.28 From the key reference point that is the Virgin Mary, identified here simply as the “donna del cielo” (v. 29), Bernard’s eye-tour has funneled us down the petals of the Celestial Rose as far as Ruth. He there draws our attention to the seat occupied by John the Baptist situated directly opposite her, whence another downward journey is about to begin:29 “così di contra quel del gran Giovanni, che sempre santo ’l diserto e ’l martiro sofferse, e poi l’inferno da due anni.” [“thus, opposite, is the seat of the great John who, ever holy, endured the desert and the martyrdom, and then Hell for two years.”] (3.32.31–3) Before descending the petals on this side, Bernard pauses for the length of a tercet to briefly recap John the Baptist’s life and initial after-life in Limbo. In describing John as great (“gran”), Bernard is echoing the words uttered by the voice within the fronds of the fruit tree back in Purgatorio 22.153–4: “tanto grande / quanto per lo Vangelio v’è aperto” [“so great, as in the Gospel is revealed to you”]. The supporting “Vangelio” to which the voice refers is Matthew 11:11, wherein Christ privileges John among all men: “Amen dico vobis, non surrexit inter natos mulierem maior Ioanne Baptista” [“Amen I say to you, among those born of women there has not risen a greater than John the Baptist.”].30 Accordingly, this greatest of the

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souls whom Christ liberated from Hell merits the high seat directly opposite the Virgin Mary. In the previous chapter we examined Dante’s special relationship with the Virgin Mary and, following the formula of repetition, reviewed the “mamma” (3.23.121) who replaced Dante’s Virgilian “mamma” from Purgatorio 30.44. Given that by another signposted journey we are here to reconsider the role of the Virgin Mary’s counterpart in the Celestial Rose, John the Baptist, we may begin by posing a variant of the question: For Dante, can Virgil be seen as analogous to John the Baptist, and if so, as with Mary, can John also be understood as a replacement figure to the now long-absent Virgil? I would submit that the answer is “yes” on both counts. While scholars such as André Pézard, Dunstan Tucker, Bruno Porcelli, and John S. Carroll have previously noted a correlation between Virgil and John the Baptist, Robert Hollander has developed an overarching discussion on the subject which includes a cogent interpretation of the prologue scene of Inferno 1–2 and also the “baptism” ritual of Purgatorio 1.31 Citing the finding of Ulrich Leo that Dante returned to the Aeneid while writing the Trattato Quarto of the Convivio,32 Hollander offers the following analysis: “The Virgil he read then, first in an allegorical-philosophical light, must have seemed to him gradually and increasingly a different kind of poet, a poet who reached out of Limbo into a Christian dispensation to help create the Commedia and who, the text would clearly seem to imply, was a “John the Baptist” to Beatrice’s “Christ,” and who led Dante, a “Hebrew in the wilderness,” back to Beatrice.33 Hollander further equates the wilderness where Dante the pilgrim is first lost in the prologue scene to that of “the philosophically oriented Convivio” in which the call of Virgil is also heard.34 For Dante the pilgrim, who has been driven back to the desert wilderness by the she-wolf in Inferno 1, Virgil’s voice is the “vox clamantis” [“voice crying”] (Matthew 3:3) of John the Baptist. Dante the poet had previously referred to him in the Vita Nuova xxiv (“Giovanna è da quello Giovanni lo quale precedette la verace luce, dicendo: ‘Ego vox clamantis in deserto: parate viam Domini’” [“Joan comes from John, who preceded the True Light, saying ‘I am a voice crying in the wilderness: prepare ye the way of the Lord’”]), when he proposed Guido Cavalcanti’s courtly lady Giovanna as the John the Baptist-figure who precedes Beatrice as the

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Christ-figure.35 The water scene evoked by Lucia in Inferno 2.108 where Dante is being assaulted (“la fiumana ove ’l mar non ha vanto” [“that flood over which the sea has no vaunt”]), in which Virgil’s voice will resound albeit hoarse from long silence, and Virgil’s presiding over Dante’s baptism by another desert shore in Purgatorio 1 (at the command of Cato) likewise illustrate that Virgil is performing as Dante’s John the Baptist. The analogy between the two voices of those in the desert, Virgil who first appears to Dante in the great desert (“vidi costui nel gran diserto” 1.1.64), and John the Baptist (“vox clamantis in deserto”), also invites the reader to consider the words they speak in these deserts. With reference to God, their voices are poles apart. In contrast to John’s “parate viam Domini” [“prepare ye the way of the Lord”] Virgil can only understand God as the emperor who will not grant him entry into his city: “ché quello imperador che là sù regna, perch’ i’ fu’ ribellante a la sua legge, non vuol che ’n su città per me si vegna. In tutte parti impera e quivi regge; quivi è la sua città e l’alto seggio: oh felice colui cu’ ivi elegge!” [“For the Emperor who reigns there-above wills not that I come into His city, because I was rebellious to His law. In all parts is His empire, in that part is His kingdom, there is His city and His lofty seat. Oh happy he whom He elects thereto!”] (1.1.124–9) In this Dante’s barren landscape, Virgil evokes a time in the desert of his own life when he too could have responded to the call, but he was rebellious to God’s law (“i’ fu’ ribellante” v. 125). Inside the “città” of the “imperador” who, according to Virgil, did not allow his entry therein, Bernard concisely reviews the life of John the Baptist, recalling first the penitential time he endured in the desert (“’l diserto ... / sofferse” 3.32.32–3). From the perspective of this last of four appearances of the noun “diserto” we may journey back through the text and try to fathom how each of the earlier instances relates to this one and imbues it with added significance. The second time we find “diserto,” it is voiced by the penitent souls of the first terrace of Purgatory, who are entreating

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God in the Lord’s Prayer they recite to provide sustenance (“Dà oggi a noi la cotidiana manna” [“Give us this day our daily manna”] 2.11.13) for those who journey through “questo aspro diserto” [“this harsh desert”] (2.11.14). Within the context of Exodus, the “diserto” denotes the wilderness that is this life, in which Dante first struggles before heeding Virgil’s call as Dante’s John the Baptist in the desert (“costui nel gran diserto” 1.1.64) where we find the first occurrence of “diserto.” The third occurrence suggests yet another link between the description of John in Paradiso 32 and the one in Purgatorio 22, because in the passage where his toil in the desert is also recollected, we learn in addition the nature of God’s “manna” which sustained him in the barren wilderness: “Mele e locuste furon le vivande / che nodriro il Batista nel diserto” [“Honey and locuts were the viands that nourished the Baptist in the desert”] (2.22.151–2), echoing passages from Matthew 3:4 and Mark 1:6. Hence, looking at the three previous occurrences of “diserto” from the vantage of the last one in Paradiso 32.32, we realize that with the exception of the general reference of Purgatorio 11.13 (but which also has bearing on this discussion), they either place Virgil or John in the desert; from Virgil as “costui nel gran diserto” (1.1.64) to John “il Batista nel diserto” (2.22.152) and again “gran Giovanni / ... ’l diserto” (3.32.31–2).36 With this realization in mind we may contrast Virgil as Dante’s John the Baptist with the genuine article. Virgil is damned, for as a rebel against God’s law he did not look ahead to the coming of Christ, while John is saved, and the turning point for both occurred back in the desert of their lives. John the Baptist’s martyrdom to which the highlighted text refers (“e ’l martiro / sofferse” 3.32.32–3), was his grisly beheading by Herod Antipas, who had granted his step-daughter Salome’s wish (at her mother’s urging) to have his head.37 Salome’s dance is recalled in Paradiso 18, where reference to the “martiro” of John the Baptist first emerges, preceded by yet another suggestion of the time he spent alone in the desert: “colui che volle vivere solo / e che per salti fu tratto al martiro” [“he who willed to live alone, and who, for a dance, was dragged to martyrdom”] (3.18.134–5). When “martiro” first appears in rhyme with the formula of repetition “qua giù di giro in giro” back in Inferno 28.53–4: “s’arrestaron nel fosso a riguardarmi / per maraviglia, öbliando il martiro” [“they stopped in the ditch to look at me, forgetting their torment in their wonder”], we understand it solely as the contrapasso that the schis-

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matic souls suffer, one they momentarily forgot as they gaped in wonder at the sight of the living Dante. We also understand the nature of the contrapasso these souls must endure, the details of which were supplied by Mohammed: “E tutti li altri che tu vedi qui, seminator di scandalo e di scisma fuor vivi, e però son fessi così. Un diavolo è qua dietro che n’accisma sì crudelmente.” [“and all the others whom you see here were in their lifetime sowers of scandal and of schism, and therefore are thus cleft. A devil is here behind that fashions us thus cruelly.”] (1.28.34–8) John the Baptist’s own “martiro” serves as both a linguistic and a thematic pointer, for by returning first to the text that surrounds the “martiro” of the schismatic souls, we are inevitably drawn to the last of these “seminator di scandalo” (v. 35), Bertran de Born, the very definition of contrapasso (“Così s’osserva in me lo contrapasso” v. 142), who like John the Baptist was decapitated: “Io vidi certo, e ancor par ch’io ’l veggia, / un busto sanza capo” [“Truly I saw, and seem to see it still, a trunk without the head”] (1.28.118–19). As seen earlier in this chapter, once we hear Statius’ description of Virgil as one guiding in darkness bearing his lantern behind him (“che porta il lume dietro” 2.22.68), we realize that the “martiro” of Bertran, who carries his severed head like a lantern (“a guisa di lanterna” 1.28.122), grotesquely anticipates that depiction of Virgil. By Statius’ portrayal, Dante’s guide, his John the Baptist, is limited, for while he can successfully shine his light for Dante to follow, he proves incapable of illuminating his own way ahead and thus cannot save himself. Much as Virgil does not react to the “martiro” that is Bertran’s severed head, on account of his rebellion he would equally fail to react to the “martiro” of John’s severed head. While walking blindly in the darkness of his night he cannot follow the call of a John the Baptist because he cannot perceive it. In the final words of his succinct précis on the life of John the Baptist, Bernard reminds Dante that the pain John endured did not end with his bitter death, for in the afterlife he suffered another two years in Hell: “sofferse, poi l’inferno da anni”

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(3.32.33). This mention of a blessed soul necessarily spending a determined number of years in Hell before his rescue by Christ suggests the words spoken by Adam in describing his yearning for release from Limbo during all the long years he was to endure there: “Quindi onde mosse tua donna Virgilio, quattromilia trecento e due volumi di sol desiderai questo concilio.” [“In the place whence your lady dispatched Virgil, I longed for this assembly during four thousand three hundred and two revolutions of the sun.”] (3.26.118–20) Like John the Baptist, Adam was also made to suffer in Hell and, whereas John resided down below for the briefest of time – a mere two years – Adam spent precisely four-thousand three-hundred years more in that nether region than John, with Adam’s final “due volumi” coinciding with John’s “due anni.”38 When Adam first cited Hell he referred to it not by name, which he would only do later on in the canto (“l’infernale ambascia” v. 133), but as Virgil’s place (“Quindi onde mosse tua donna Virgilio” v. 118), the two by then becoming synonymous. After Adam, Virgil’s name will never again be worthy of mention. Here in the Empyrean, some time since Virgil’s return to Limbo, his every vestige has also been made to disappear. Along with the vast number of pre-Christian souls who were liberated by Christ, and who occupy half the petals of the entire Celestial Rose to Virgil’s exclusion, figure those who replaced him in his stead: Beatrice, Mary, and John the Baptist. Even Virgil’s place, where John the Baptist spent the first “due anni” after death, is recognized thus no longer, for now it is simply “l’inferno.” From the seat of John the Baptist, Bernard guides Dante’s eyes down the petals directly beneath him, where he cites the names of three further blessed souls who are also seated in that section which divides the two semi-circles of the Celestial Rose: “e sotto lui così cerner sortiro Francesco, Benedetto e Augustino e altri fin qua giù di giro in giro.”

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[“and beneath him, Francis and Benedict and Augustine and others were allotted thus to divide, as far down as here, from circle to circle.”] (3.32.34–6) The rhyme word “sortiro” is the one that does not appear in the terza rima configuration from Inferno 28 “giro / udiro / martiro.” It appears once only as an alternative in another relevant episode from the preceding canto, where Bernard first speaks to Dante in response to his question as to the whereabouts of Beatrice: “A terminar lo tuo disiro mosse Beatrice me del loco mio; e se riguardi sù nel terzo giro dal sommo grado, tu la rivedrai nel trono che suoi merti le sortiro.” [“To terminate your desire Beatrice urged me from my place; and if you look up to the circle which is third from the highest tier, you will see her again, in the throne her merits have allotted to her.”] [3.31.65–9) In contrast to Virgil, who had vanished from the scene back in Purgatorio 30, here we learn that even while Beatrice has likewise disappeared from Dante’s side, he can in fact still see her in the “giro” third from the top, seated in the place which her merits have allotted (“sortiro”) her. What also catches our eye in that passage (to which we have been guided by this earlier emergence of “sortiro”) are the words Bernard’s chooses to explain how he came to be standing alongside Dante: he came at Beatrice’s urging (“mosse Beatrice me” 3.31.66). Following the directional prompt provided by the thematically relevant verb “mosse,” we make a brief return visit to Paradiso 26 where Adam described Virgil’s place in Limbo as the place from which Beatrice urged Virgil to come to Dante’s rescue: “onde mosse tua donna Virgilio” (3.26.118). To better understand Beatrice’s reasons for her descent into Limbo we note two other repetitions of “mosse.” It occurs later in Paradiso 32, where Bernard describes Lucia as one who urged Beatrice on: “Lucia, che mosse la tua donna” (3.32.137), and finally in the words of Beatrice herself to Virgil when she encountered him down below in his place: “amor

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mi mosse” (1.2.72). Through this brief linguistic detour, the distinction between Virgil’s absence from the emperor’s city, to quote his own words from Inferno 1 (“la sua città” v. 128) and the presence of the ladies within, who are forever blessed in the seats they were allotted (“sortiro” also in the case of Beatrice), is drawn in ever greater relief, confirming Virgil’s eternal isolation in his allotted place down below. From the standpoint of our alternative journey’s destination, Paradiso 32.36 where the formula of repetition “qua giù di giro in giro” lastly reappears, we have been prompted to cast our eye back in the direction of its first occurrence in Inferno 28.50. However, along the way it is also useful to note the positioning of the analogous linguistic patterns discussed earlier and see how “qua giù di giro in giro” frames them: “qua giù di giro in giro” (Inferno 28.50) “giù di balzo in balzo” (Inferno 29.94) “di soglia in soglia” (Paradiso 3.83) “di soglia in soglia” (Paradiso 32.13) “giù di foglia in foglia” (Paradiso 32.15) “qua giù di giro in giro” (Paradiso 32.36) What we find in this curious symmetry is that the two occurrences of “di soglia in soglia” hold the central position. They emphasize the hierarchy of the blessed souls by the example of the graded stations upward, “di soglia in soglia” from the lowest sphere of the Moon to the fixed stars above, which in the funnel-shaped Celestial Rose are synthesized, but conversely in the graded ranks downward “di soglia in soglia” from the highest petals to the lowest. Upon reaching back to Inferno 28.50, we may also pause to reconsider how the funnelling pecking-order in Hell “di giro in giro,” relates to the ordering of the Empyrean “di giro in giro.” Implicit in Virgil’s self-described role before Mohammed as he who is guiding Dante “qua giù di giro in giro” is the point of departure from the first circle (“di giro”) of Hell above Virgil and Dante, the circle he occupies and one he will describe to Cato with some pride as that not bound by Minos (“Minòs me non lega” 2.1.77). The point of departure for Bernard’s guided eye-tour “qua giù di giro in giro” is the uppermost circle (“di giro”), which is the most remote (“più remoto” 3.31.115) from Bernard and Dante who

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stand well below, and it is there on high that John the Baptist holds his seat opposite the Virgin Mary. Within the two hierarchies, both of Dante’s dottori begin their guidance from parallel points on high (“di giro”), which they describe from parallel points here below (“qua giù”). The repetition of the first part of the formula “qua giù,” which specifies where Bernard and Dante are positioned, extends from another more immediate occurrence of “qua giù” in the preceding canto, where Bernard mildly admonishes Dante for looking down and not up to the highest circle: “quest’ esser giocondo,” / cominciò elli, “non ti sarà noto, / tenendo li occhi pur qua giù al fondo” [“this joyous being,” he began, “will not be known to you if you hold your eyes only down here at the base”] (3.31.112–14). Should he shift his eyes from looking only “qua giù” and raise them to the farthest reaches of the Celestial Rose, there on her high throne he will see the Virgin Mary, Queen of the Empyrean, “cui questo regno è suddito e devoto” [“to whom this realm is subject and devoted”] (3.31.117), who will ultimately intercede on the pilgrim’s behalf, that he may attain a vision of God. From here below, the reader’s imagination has also been drawn aloft by the poet, along with the pilgrim, to the highest circle of the Celestial Rose where Bernard will turn in prayer to the Virgin Mary so that she may intercede on Dante’s behalf before God. For all those in this life here below, there is still time to heed the call of a John the Baptist, which for Dante’s readers may even be this poem. Such readers who followed Virgil and Dante “di giro in giro” down through Hell, up the “giri” of Purgatory,39 and finally “di giro in giro” down the rows of the Celestial Rose may have responded to the call and come out of the wilderness so that they too might be saved. As for Virgil, Dante’s own John the Baptist, he is forever lost. Still, perhaps he will be left with a wistful curiosity as to how Dante fared after he was obliged to disappear from the scene, and what it might have been like had he been able to continue on with his pilgrim charge and take another journey with him downward “di giro in giro,” not through Hell but through the city ruled by that emperor who would not allow him entry there above.

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5 Conclusion

What has been illustrated in this study is another method of tracking the progress of the figure of Virgil through the space of Dante’s poem. Instead of simply noting patterns of repetition in an ad hoc manner, which has been the customary approach, we have followed the lead of formulas of repetition and other rhyme words and found that, more times than not, they have communicated a message far different from that of their literal meaning. By noting where they are repeated in the text, we have been able to bring the scattered pieces together to help build the picture of Virgil as it unfolds at various moments across the Commedia. In the first three chapters, we have seen how the patterns of repetition typically guide the reader back to the key passages when Virgil was still serving as guide to Dante and his authority was under greatest scrutiny. Indeed, by following the prompts provided by the repeated linguistic patterns, we have come to realize how two episodes, which expose Virgil’s impotence in Inferno 8 and 9 and his blindness in Purgatorio 21 to 23, each serve as a veritable crossroad where the greatest number of linguistic journeys intersect. When I first began my research on patterns of repetition that relate to Virgil, I had no preconceived notion that the episode before the gate into Dis would loom so large. Yet, prompted by the linguistic signposts that emerged, I found myself drawn time and again back to that place in the text. While the significance of the event for those interested in Virgil’s diminishing authority is manifest, this study has further detailed how the incident serves not just as a point of entry into Dis, but also as a point of departure toward

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a signposted journey that will take us far beyond Inferno 14, linked by Dante the pilgrim overtly, right through the second cantica from Purgatorio 1 to 30, linked by the linguistic patterns covertly. When we reconsider the question of Virgil’s guiding role in these cantos, with the signposts inevitably pointing us back to Inferno 8 and 9 we are mindful that after that early juncture Virgil would never again sustain the lofty status he had once enjoyed in the earliest cantos of the Inferno, when Dante the pilgrim, and also Beatrice, held him in the highest regard. As discussed in chapters 2, 3, and 4, over the course of the Purgatorio we may fathom how lasting is the damage done to the figure of Virgil on account of that inept performance at the hands of the demons. Figuratively speaking, the able Virgil we briefly knew, who expertly overcame Charon, Minos, and Plutus, never did make it through that gate. Prompted by the array of linguistic signals discussed in chapters 2, 3, and 4, we have also found our way to Virgil’s defining encounter with Statius in Purgatorio 21 to 23. Situated in close proximity to the centre of the Commedia, the alternative journeys fan out in both directions, down the mountain to the the first part of the Inferno and up inevitably to the last cantos of the Paradiso. The initial stop on the downward journey occurs in Purgatorio 15 and 16, where the pilgrim is well served by his guide. This stop in our itinerary is an anomaly, that stands in marked contrast to every other. The reminder in Purgatorio 15 and 16 of what good guidance should look like is not a gain for Virgil, but only begs the question: why is it that he cannot be consistent and provide this level of service at every turn? As we pivot to the signposted journey ahead, from Statius, who replaces Virgil in Purgatorio 25 as the one who instructs Dante, we move on to stops in Purgatorio 28 and 30. There, even as Dante’s ex-guide falls away from this high place, his lack of understanding and his lingering hold on Dante are counterpoised with the truth that Dante’s replacement teachers can offer, first Matelda and then Beatrice, who will illuminate his way forward. As we journey through the Paradiso, one might assume that with Virgil forever silenced, our portrait of Dante’s first guide is complete. However, the signposted journeys tracked in chapters 4 and 5, with departure points firmly rooted in the Inferno and the Purgatorio, suggest that there is yet more to understand. The relevant linguistic pointers, which include “fantolin ... la mamma,” “Filio,”

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“dottore,” and “qua giù di giro in giro,” guide the reader’s eye through the haze that is the textual space of the first two thirds of the Paradiso, so that we may focus our attention upon encounters in Paradiso 23 and then Paradiso 31, 32, and 33. Beyond Beatrice, still new significant figures wait to replace Virgil and expose his limitations: the Virgin Mary, Christ, Bernard of Clairvaux, and John the Baptist, in that order. Accordingly, as we near the close of the Commedia, the puzzle that is the Virgilian picture can be further pieced together by these canto links, even while we endeavour to fathom a more complex puzzle, that of the medieval mind which forged them.

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introduction 1 Milman Parry, The Making of Homeric Verse 174. 2 For a review of the decreasing influence of the “Parry Test” to define a formula over the decades following Milman Parry’s death, see David E. Bynum, The Daemon in the Woods 3–13. Bruce A. Rosenberg, “Oral Literature in the Middle Ages” 443–4, succinctly describes the adjustment of the concept of a formula over this period: “In nearly all of the applications of the Parry-Lord theory to national literatures, the starting point has been a modification of the original conception, adjusted to suit the demands of a particular language being studied and the tradition in which it was being performed. Old English scholars, for instance, found it necessary to modify the Parry specification of ‘a group of words,’ since some single words ... appeared to be used formulaically ... The stipulation that the formula be ‘regularly employed’ also had problems, particularly if one adhered to Magoun’s interpretation of that to mean ‘repeated’ ... The result has been a series of very flexible interpretations ... And, as H.L. Rogers has pointed out, ‘under the same metrical conditions’ has come to be rendered as ‘under no metrical conditions.’” 3 Lloyd H. Howard, Formulas of Repetition in Dante’s Commedia 3. 4 The formulas of repetition in this study stand in contrast to those that appear in close succession and could serve as mnemonic prompts, such as “s’io meritai di voi” in Virgil’s lofty rhetoric before the Homeric heroes Ulysses and Diomedes: “O voi che siete due dentro ad un foco, / s’io meritai di voi mentre ch’io vissi, / s’io meritai di voi assai o poco” [“O you who are two within one fire, if I deserved

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of you while I lived, if I deserved of you much or little”] (1.26.79–81) or the Eagle’s “ora conosce” [“now he knows”] in Paradiso 20, repeated six times at the start of every other tercet from verse 40 to 70.to describe what each of the blessed souls who illuminate its eye have learned. For a novel and insightful analysis of Dante’s judgment of his fellow, contemporary poets see Justin Steinberg, Accounting for Dante. John Ahern, “The New Life of the Book” 10, sees in Dante’s words “a ploy to instill in the reader a deep desire to belong to the rightreading elite”; Steinberg 62, focuses on the verb “udire,” which will also reappear twice early in the section that immediately follows, as an indication of the “mixed oral and written aspects” of the transmission of the Vita Nuova. See Bosco-Reggio, Purgatorio 136, who expand on the gloss of Pietro di Dante, that even though the veil has worn thin, it takes a sharp reader to avoid misunderstanding the truth that lies beneath it. Ahern, “The New Life of the Book” 10, considers Guido Cavalcanti the ideal reader of the Vita Nuova based on references in iii 13; xxv, 10; xxx, 3. I would also add chapter xxiv to the list, where Dante is clear in his hope for his audience of one: his best friend Guido Cavalcanti. As the ideal reader of this text and akin to Dante’s thinking, Guido would understand from his reading what Dante is outlining for him, that by returning to what his ex-lady Giovanna represents he may yet find his way to salvation. John Ahern, “What Did the First Copies of the Comedy Look Like?”1–2. Ibid., 2–4. John Ahern, “The New Life of the Book” 10. Jerome Mazzaro, “The Divina Commedia and the Rhetoric of Memory” 114–15. In Mary Carruthers and Jan M. Ziokowski, The Medieval Craft of Memory, the introduction provided by Ziolkowski to his translation of Albertus Magnus’ commentary on Aristotle, On Memory and Recollection (120), relates what Magnus considers to be the best temperament for a good memory: “The best qualities for attainment of memory as an art are dryness and coldness in the posterior cell or ventricle of the brain. Despite – or because of – such strangenesses, the treatise by Albertus Magnus was fundamental in its influence on later medieval thinking and writing on memory.” As melancholics, those disposed to love (and suffer from lovesickness if their love is

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unrequited), such as Dante and his poet readers, possess a superfluity of black bile which is cold and dry, the humor which Albertus Magnus would suggest is the ideal one for memory. The translation of Boncompagno da Signa’s treatise On Memory (107) underscores how the melancholic has the right disposition for a good memory: “Melancholics, to be sure, acquire knowledge only with the greatest difficulty, because this hard humor is one of the earth. But after long labors they preserve what they have heard, because what is imprinted into a substance with solidity and hardness is not moved with ease. It is to be noted, though, that ‘melancholy’ is the name of an illness as well as the name of a humor. Those who, according to their humor, are naturally melancholic have the aforesaid nature of learning and preserving.” For another perspective which relates the composition of images to that of Dante’s text, see Hans Belting, “Das Bild als Text Wandmalerei und Literatur im Zeitalter Dantes” 23–64, who builds upon the research of Frances A.Yates, The Art of Memory 57–60, which sees the images of punishments in the Inferno as a structured memory system. Belting considers the Grisaille figures in Giotto’s wall-paintings in Padua an illustration of mnemonic technique by interpreting the virtues and vices presented in these figures as “sign-pictures” (Merkbilder) which help imprint a succession of ethical lessons in the observer’s mind (54). As with my work on formulas of repetition, these individual ‘sign-pictures’ follow a certain sequence which necessarily guides the viewer to the desired goal. Jan M. Ziolkowski, “Mnemotechnics and the Reception of the Aeneid” 167. See also Jerome Mazzaro, “The Divina Commedia and the Rhetoric of Memory” 121, who describes the presentation of the afterworld in Book vi of the Aeneid “as arranged in places very much like those of Augustine’s subsequent map of memory,” and sees the example he provides of the tripartite structure of Livy’s Ab urbe condita as reflecting a classical memory house, a medieval version of which may also be seen in Dante’s poem (114–20). Ibid., 168–9. Ibid., 172–3. Ernst Robert Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages 327. Sam Guyler, “Virgil the Hypocrite – Almost: A Re-interpretation of Inferno xxiii” 37. Guyler, 39–40. John A. Scott, Understanding Dante 234, describes Virgil’s vision as

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myopic, and “limited to the mission with which he is entrusted by Beatrice.” This readership made up of the “pochi” is a fictitious creation of Dante’s mind, the right-reading elite of the future. As Walter J. Ong, Orality and Literacy 177, suggests, “the writer conjures up a fictional person or persons. The writer’s audience is always a fiction.” Armando Petrucci, Writers and Readers in Medieval Italy 189, maintains that the codices at the “banco” of Dante’s imagined, elite reader “would contain the Commedia as books not different from those in Latin that he and other intellectuals of the time habitually read at desks.” Robert Hollander, Studies in Dante 86. Edward Moore, Studies in Dante. Robert Hollander, “Dante’s Use of Aeneid i in Inferno i and ii” 142–56. A key commentary published in 1837 which also references much source material from Virgil, is that of Niccolò Tommaseo, La Commedia di Dante Allighieri col comento. Kenneth McKenzie, “Virgil and Dante” 13–20; Antonio Fiammazzo, “Virgilio veggente cristiano?” 138–47; John Webster Spargo, Virgil the Necromancer. Aristide Marigo, “Le Georgiche di Virgilio fonte di Dante” 31–44; Karl Vossler, Mediaeval Culture, first published as Die Göttliche Komödie in 1907–10; Erich Auerbach, Dante, Poet of the Secular World, first published as Dante als Dichter der Irdischen Welt in 1929. Ernst Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages 358–9. Ulrich Leo, “The Unfinished Convivio” 45. Charles T. Davis, Dante and the Idea of Rome; Domenico Consoli, Significato del Virgilio dantesco. Robert Hollander, “Dante’s Virgil: A Light that Failed” 7. For a fine overview of Dante’s conflicted relationship with Virgil, see Robert Hollander, Dante a Life in Works 114–21. See also: Sam Guyler, “Virgil the Hypocrite” 25–42; Teodolinda Barolini, Dante’s Poets; Christopher J. Ryan, “Virgil’s Wisdom in the Divine Comedy” 1–38; Margherita Frankel, “Dante’s Anti-Virgilian Villanello (Inf. xxiv, 1–21)” 81–109; Anthony K. Cassell, Lectura Dantis Americana, Inferno 1; Guy P. Raffa, “Dante’s Beloved Yet Damned Virgil” 266–85; Stefano Prandi, “I gesti di Virgilio” 56–75; John Kleiner, “On Failing One’s Teachers: Dante, Virgil, and the Ironies of Instruction” 61–74. Amilcare A. Iannucci, “The Mountainquake of Purgatorio and Virgil’s

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Story” 56–57n11, contrasts this more negative approach to Virgil with his own, which is nearer that of Kenelm Foster (The Two Dantes and Other Studies) and Giorgio Padoan (Il pio Enea l’empio Ulisse) in emphasizing that Dante the poet and pilgrim’s high praise for Virgil should not be overshadowed by his limitations. Other bibliographical sources which have highlighted passages from the Aeneid that echo in the verses of the Commedia and to varying degrees also the limitations of the Virgilian poem, include: D.L. Drew, The Allegory of the Aeneid; J.H. Whitfield, “Dante and Virgil” 61–106; Gino Funaioli, “Dante e il mondo antico” 321–38; Albert L. Rossi, “Miro gurge (Par. xxx, 68) Virgilian Language” 79–101; Rachel Jacoff and Jeffrey T. Schnapp (eds.), The Poetry of Allusion; Robert L. Martinez, “Dante and the Two Canons” 151–76. Along with Barolini, Dante’s Poets, other relevant canto-by-canto accounts include Hollander, Il Virgilio Dantesco and Robin Kirkpatrick, Dante’s ‘Inferno’: Difficulty and Dead Poetry. A recent encyclopedic study that details Virgil’s influence on Dante from different perspectives is Jan M. Ziolkowski and Michael C.J. Putnam, The Virgilian Tradition. 33 Anthony K. Cassell, Lectura Dantis Americana 173–4n45. 34 For an overview of relevant Dante criticism pertaining to repetition and retrospection in the Commedia, see Lloyd H. Howard, Formulas of Repetition 20–2, which glosses the contributions of Umberto Bosco, “La ‘Follia’ di Dante,” Charles S. Singleton, “The Vistas in Retrospect,” Amilcare A. Iannucci, “Autoesegesi dantesca” and “Dante’s Intertextual and Intratextual Strategies in the Commedia,” and Zygmunt Baranski, “Structural Retrospection in Dante’s Comedy” and “The ‘Marvellous.’” chapter one 1 See Gregorio di Siena (1867), who noted the repetition of “labbia” and contrasted the two episodes by highlighting the greater vehemence of Virgil’s speech in the latter instance (Dartmouth Dante Database). The formula “Poi si rivolse a” on its own, which would seem widespread, is also unique to these two episodes. 2 See Bosco-Reggio, Inferno 99, who propose two possible sources for Dante which identify Plutus with Dis: Cicero’s De natura deorum ii 26; Isidore of Seville’s Etym. viii xi 42. Since Dante refers to Lucifer as Dis in Inferno 34.20, one or both of these sources may have influenced his referring to Plutus as the “gran nemico.”

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3 A form of “nemico” occurs on two previous occasions where the enemies of the damned are cited, “Lucia, nimica di ciascun crudele” [“Lucy, foe of every cruelty”] (1.2.100) and “quando verrà la nimica podesta” [“until the hostile Power comes”] (1.6.96), plus once earlier, where there is general reference to the damned “a Dio spiacenti e a’ nemici sui” [“displeasing to God and to his enemies”] (1.3.63). 4 Justin Steinberg, Accounting for Dante 153, notes that harsh rhymes of Inferno 7 such as ripa – scipa (verses 17 and 19), first introduced by Plutus’ “voce chioccia,” are unique to this text and that of Monte Andrea. These and like rhyme words, repeated by both authors, invite the reader to consider further connections between them. Robin Kirkpatrick, “Dante’s fortuna: Inferno 7” 22–3, contrasts Plutus’ nonsense line, “Pape Satàn, pape Satàn aleppe,” at the lowest linguistic register, with the “well-formed finality of Virgil’s address” in the subsequent Fortuna sequence, yet another indication of Virgil’s high standing in this canto. 5 Teodolinda Barolini, Dante’s Poets: Textuality and Truth in the Commedia 203, probes the more formal relationship between Virgil and Dante in the initial cantos through the use of emblematic nouns (“tu duca, tu segnore e tu maestro,” “buon maestro,” “duca mio”), and considers “recurrent expressions denoting absolute confidence in Virgil’s judgment and understanding” such as: “quel savio gentil, che tutto seppe” 1.7.3; “E io mi volsi al mar di tutto ’l senno” [“And I turned to the sea of all wisdom”] 1.8.7. Barolini further studies the use of “saggio” and “savio” from the perspective of the Statius episode (266) and notes that Virgil is “saggio” in Inferno 1, “savio” in Inferno 2, among the “savi” of Inferno 4, after which “savio” refers only to Virgil until Inferno 24, when again he is part of a group of ancient “savi.” Within Purgatory, specific reference to one who is wise relates to Virgil alone, until Statius makes his appearance. For further background discussion on the topic see Michele D’Andrea, “Dell’uso di ‘savio’ e ‘saggio’ nella Divina Commedia,” 9–18. 6 Hollander, Inferno 128, posits that the description of Virgil as one who “tutto seppe” (1.7.3) coming after Plutus’ threatening words, “Pape Satàn, pape Satàn aleppe!” (1.7.1), suggests that Virgil understood the meaning of those words, “perhaps the only one to have done so.” 7 See also Dante’s more specific identification of the ancient rock as “questa vecchia roccia” 1.12.44, repeated twelve lines after its previous reference as “questa roccia” (1.12.56).

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8 Giovanni Boccaccio, Esposizioni sopra la Commedia 382, relates the “wolf” Plutus, the embodiment of the vice of avaraciousness, to the she-wolf in Inferno 1; Robin Kirkpatrick, Dante’s ‘Inferno’: Difficulty and Dead Poetry 100–1, further notes that parallel to Virgil’s forceful response to Plutus in Inferno 7. It was before the “lupa” in Inferno 1 where his intervention was first manifest. The wording to describe this she-wolf in Purgatorio 20.10, “Maladetta sie tu, antica lupa” [“Accursed be you, ancient wolf”] also evokes Virgil’s imperative to Plutus: “Taci, maladetto lupo!” [“Silence accursed wolf!”] (1.7.9). 9 Aldo Vallone, “Canto vii dell’Inferno” 235, links Virgil’s reference to Plutus as the “maladetto lupo” with “l’avaro maladetto” in the Convivio iii, 15 9, suggesting that the passage from the Convivio helps explain the role of Plutus as symbol of the fifth circle of the avaricious and prodigal; Giovanna Bardazzi, “Canto vii dell’Inferno” 107, notes the parallels with the prologue scene and the confidence Dante the pilgrim places in the all-knowing Virgil to combat that previous lupine threat posed by the she-wolf: “Vedi la bestia per cu’ io mi volsi; / aiutami da lei, famoso saggio” [“See the beast that has turned me back. Help me against her, famous sage”] (1.1.88–9). 10 Zygmunt G. Baranski, “‘’nfiata labbia’ and ‘dolce stil novo’: A Note on Dante Ethics, and the Technical Vocabulary of Literature” 18, while recognizing along with other commentators that “’nfiata labbia” relates to Plutus’ bloated appearance or face and not his lips: “the neuter plural of labium, lip, draws attention to the monster’s mouth and thus, by extension, his peculiar speech.” Such a gloss will also prove useful when we consider Virgil’s “miglior labbia” in Inferno 14.67, the gentler face that he shows Dante after having scorned Capaneus. There too, attention can be drawn to Virgil’s words that describe Capaneus’ undiminished but empty disdain for God. 11 Simon A. Gilson, “Medieval Magical Lore and Dante’s Commedia: Divination and Demonic Agency” 43, describes Virgil’s repeated use of these “formulae” (“vuolsi ...” ): “In other words it may be possible that the way in which the poet presents Virgil’s powers over the demons, bears some imprint of the ritualistic techniques used by magi.” If such is the case, at least for now Dante the pilgrim along with Virgil has complete confidence in these powers. 12 Another canine, Cerberus, with his three dog-like heads attempts to threaten the poets’ passage into the third circle, but there without the need of words the all-knowing Virgil quells Cerberus’ appetite by throwing fistfuls of dirt (as opposed to the drugged honey cake of his

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Aeneid vi, 417–23) into the three menacing mouths. Christopher Kleinhenz, “Plutus, Fortune, and Michael: The Eternal Triangle” 37–8, notes the repetition of “gran” and the formula “fiera crudele” to describe both Cerberus (“gran vermo” [“the great worm”] 1.6.22; “Cerbero, fiera crudele e diversa” [“Cerberus, monstruous beast and cruel”] 1.6.13) and Plutus (“gran nemico” [“the great enemy”] 1.6.115; “la fiera crudele” [“the cruel beast”] 1.7.15), further linking these two menacing canines who would claim to guard the third and fourth circles respectively until they are easily subjugated by Virgil. This link is also drawn thematically in that both relate to Lucifer, Cerberus with his three heads (39), and Plutus by Virgil’s reference to Michael having vanquished the rebellious angels (43). For the confusion between Plutus and Pluto and the implicit association with Lucifer, see also Giorgio Padoan, “Pluto” 557–8. Leonardi, Inferno 124, identifies the image of the wind-swelled sails as a symbol of wrathful pride, hence Plutus’ seeming appearance as both huge and empty; Kleinhenz, 44, relates that image and the similar depiction of Plutus’ swollen face “’nfiata labbia” to Oderisi’s description of pride as a great tumor: “e gran tumor m’appiani” [“and abate in me a great swelling”] (2.11.119). Guy P. Raffa, “Virgil’s Beloved Yet Damned Virgil” 239, relates the collapse of Plutus to that of Malacoda in Inferno 21.85–7. The similarity of language in both episodes invites the reader to compare them. Once more it becomes evident how Virgil’s authority has been undermined by the latter passage, at which time “the pilgrim adopts an appropriately suspicious attitude” while “Virgil remains hopelessly ingenuous.” Raffa also sees Virgil’s naive assertiveness before Malacoda as an over-compensation after the humiliation he suffered at the hands of the demons in Inferno 8 and 9. Singleton, Inferno 186, notes this repetition of “fiacca” and “lacca.” The repetition of the two rhyme words occurs once more in Purg. 7.71 and 75, but in the latter instance with a different meaning. Virgil’s uses of “forse” merit careful study as they can highlight that Virgil is not all-knowing. See chapter 3 for an example of how his “forse” in Purgatorio 23.15 further reveals his less than attentive guidance of Dante once Statius is on the scene. Howard, Formulas of Repetition 44–5. Hollander, Il Virgilio Dantesco 128, points out that Virgil’s fear that his mission might fail despite the assurance he had received from Beatrice that the entire journey he was asked to undertake was decreed

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from on high represents a lack of faith on Virgil’s part, which can also perhaps be tied to his damnation. See chapters 2 and 3 for a more comprehensive discussion of this episode. Barolini, Dante’s Poets 210–11, contrasts Virgil’s performance in Inferno 12 with that in Inferno 14 by highlighting his partially recovered authority in the former instance and the pilgrim’s less than tactful reminder to Virgil of his failure before the devils at the gate of Dis in the latter. David Pike, “Storming the Gates of Paradise” 104–5, contrasts Virgil, who remains on the edge of the desert where Dante first encounters him in Inferno 1, with Cato, who moves across it, a contrast that draws us to “the narrative crux of the damnation of the one virtuous pagan and the salvation of another that frames the Purgatorio.” Charles Singleton, Inferno 228, comments that “vendetta di Dio” is further pointed in that here we have those who are violent against God, more specifically, the second of the three groups: the blasphemers. The choice of “vendetta di Dio” in 1.14.16 recognizes God’s response to this violence done unto Him in contrast to the “giustizia di Dio” in 1.7.19, but by linking “vendetta” to the vengeance wrought upon Satan for his act of pride, of Satan’s many sins his doing violence unto God is also implicit. Leonardi, Inferno 247. For example, Leonardi, Inferno 244, relates Farinata’s disdain for Hell (“com’ avesse l’inferno a gran dispitto” [“as if he had great scorn of Hell”] 1.10.36), plus Dante the pilgrim’s reference to Guido Cavalcanti’s disdain (“forse cui Guido vostro ebbe a disdegno” [“perhaps to the one whom your Guido had in disdain.”] 1.10.63), both in Inferno 10, to Virgil’s description of Capaneus’s disdain in Inferno 14: “ebbe e par che elli abbia / Dio in disdegno” [“held and seems to hold God in disdain”] (1.14.69–70); Aldo Vallone, “Inferno xiv” 81, contrasts Dante’s admiration for Farinata, whose posture is upright with his chest high “s’ergea col petto” (1.10.35) holding Hell in disdain (“in gran dispitto” 1.10.36), with his lack of respect towards Capaneaus, who lies (like the other blasphemers) supine and disdainful (“giace dispettoso” 1.14.47); Hollander, Inferno 247, relates Farinata, whom Dante describes as “magnanimo” (1.10.73) and appears unaffected by the torments of Hell, to Capaneus, similarly un-phased by the pains of Hell, whom Statius in the Thebaid xi, 1 calls “magnanimus.” Porena, Inferno 134, suggests that the pilgrim maliciously recalls the

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incident before the gate into Dis so that Virgil will show greater resolve when responding to the threatening Capaneus. See Singleton, Inferno 234, and Leonardi, Inferno 259, who agree with the earlier manuscript tradition that “maturi” more subtly conveys the effect caused by the rain of fire which should “ripen” or humble Capaneus, as opposed to “marturi” (from “marturare”), which would only torture him, as Petrocchi suggests in his critical edition. See Inferno 9.91, where the messenger from God refers to the demons as “gente dispetta.” The description of Capaneus comes from Statius’s Thebaid x, 872–939. See Barolini, Dante’s Poets 211: “Here we find the shabby figure of Capaneus (whom Vergil treats with a vehemence perhaps intensified by the pilgrim’s stinging words)”; Hollander, Inferno 248, suggests the interpretation that Virgil, upset by Dante’s mention of his earlier defeat, vents his frustration upon Capaneus. Giuseppe Di Scipio, “Inferno xiv” 180–1, alerts the reader to Dante the pilgrim’s repetition of “par” in the second part of his question about the “grande” who does not seem (“par” v. 46) to be bothered by Hell’s fire which does not seem (“par” v. 48) to ripen him by its rain. When Virgil turns his attention to Dante he also twice uses “par”: “par ch’elli abbia” [“seems to hold”] v. 69; “par che ’l pregi” [“seems to prize him”] v. 70, to underline the emptiness of Capaneus’ rhetoric, which had previously caused Dante to fear him. Virgil’s repetition of “par” may also serve as his subtle way of conveying to Dante that he has not forgotten that in the first part of his question he had inserted the element of doubt regarding Virgil’s guiding competence when he reminded him of his failure before the gate into Dis. chapter two

1 Dante addresses his readers similarly in Purgatorio 8.19–21, after which there is also intervention from on high. See Leonardi, Inferno 164, who expands on the allegory hidden under the veil, linking this passage to the Convivio ii, I.3 and the allegorical sense as that which “si nasconde sotto ’l manto.” 2 Giacomo Poletto (1894) and Francesco Torraca (1904) note the repetition of the linguistic pattern “dar di cozzo” (Dartmouth Dante Database).

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3 See Joseph A. Barber, “Inferno ix” 110, who highlights the “sotto ’l velame” passage and relates how, by using the “retrospective vision,” the phrase coined by Singleton in “Vistas in Retrospect,” one gains a better understanding of Inferno 9 from the perspective of Purgatorio 8 and 9 when Dante the pilgrim comes before another gate, the one that enters Purgatory proper. In this case the “velame” would also serve as that haze of textual space of some 34 cantos through which readers with the “’ntelletti sani” could see with greater insight from Purgatorio 9 back to Inferno 9. 4 If one allows that Virgil mentions having been sent by Erichtho as far as the ninth circle to draw a soul out of deepest Hell to reassure the despairing Dante that he does indeed have guiding experience because he has been this way before, then ironically Erichtho unwittingly joins Beatrice, Lucy, and Mary as yet another female figure without whom the journey may not have been able to succeed. Had Virgil not taken that prior journey, he would have been as lost in Hell as he will be in Purgatory, but of course Hell seems a far more dangerous place in which to lose one’s way. The instance in Hell when Virgil does not know the way occurs in the fifth bolgia (Inf. 21–3), where the landscape has changed owing to the great earthquake that took place at the time of the crucifixion and therefore occurred after his previous journey had taken place. One can only imagine what difficulties might arise if Virgil were so uncertain of the right path throughout all the circles of Hell. 5 For recent overviews of critical opinion on the Erichtho passage and Lucan’s Pharsalia as an influence on Dante’s text, see Amilcare A. Iannucci “Virgil’s Erichthean Descent and the Crisis of Intertextuality” 13–26; Simon A. Gilson, “Medieval Magical Love and Dante’s Commedia: Divination and Demonic Agency” 27–66. Robert Hollander, Studies in Dante 178–80, suggests that the soul Virgil drew from the ninth circle might have been Pompey, who perhaps was condemned there along with Brutus and Cassius owing to his opposition to the imperial authority symbolized by Caesar. Hollander extends this hypothesis further by referring to another opponent of Caesar who was also drawn out of Hell, namely Cato: “Of the rest, Caesar is in Limbo, Brutus and Cassius are in Satan’s jaws, Cato is at the shore of Purgatory on his eventual way to salvation. Where is Pompey?” Extending from Hollander’s hypothesis, is it possible that Virgil’s previous journey also had a positive outcome for this one soul, that by drawing Pompey from the ninth circle he now resides elsewhere?

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Following Lucan’s Pharsalia, could Pompey’s opposition to Caesar’s imperial ambitions allow his soul, “rescued” from the ninth circle, to end up in Limbo or even Purgatory like Cato’s? When Virgil was sent to take forth (“per trarne” 1.9.27) a soul from the ninth circle and Christ took forth (“trasseci” 1.4.55) Adam and all the others (including, as we will learn in Purgatorio 1 Cato), the same verb is repeated, “trarre,” further linking the two actions – all of which begs the question: was Virgil’s prior action also salvific? See the Aeneid: vi, 570–2; vii, 324–9; xii, 845–8. For a discussion on the parallel description of the area surrounding Dis in the Aeneid, see George F. Butler, “Statius, Lucan, and Dante’s Giants” 7–9. Teodolinda Barolini, Dante’s Poets 206, speaks to Virgil’s “flaccid attitude” when dealing with Medusa and compares it to his passivity under the power of Erichtho when she forced him through the wall into Dis (“ella mi fece intrar dentr’ a quel muro”). It could be argued nonetheless that Virgil’s passivity was necessary in the prior instance for, had he stood his ground with Erichtho and not entered Dis the first time, he would not know the way to guide Dante once they enter, for Virgil now a second time. As a condemned soul in Hell, Virgil’s fears for Dante may be based on his awareness of the transformation to which his infernal peers are subject when they suffer certain contrapassi. For a discussion of the petrification of souls as it relates to Ugolino turning to stone, see John Freccero, “Medusa: The Letter and the Spirit” 1–18. In the Convivio iv, 15 10–11, Dante similarly invokes those with sound intellects who can distinguish between truth and falseness (“è manifesto a li sani intelletti”), and further defines what he means by “sani”: “E dico sani non sanza cagione. Onde è da sapere che lo nostro intelletto si può dire sano e infermo” [“I use the term ‘healthy’ with some care. I should explain that our intellect can be described as healthy and sick”]. See for example Leonardi, Inferno 164: “Dante si appella al lettore, la cui mente non sia corrotta dal male (con intelletto sano), perché comprenda l’allegoria qui significata; la dottrina che si nasconde sotto il velo dei versi è l’allegoria” [“Dante appeals to the reader, whose mind is not corrupted by sin (with a healthy intellect), so that he/she may understand the allegory that is here made known; the doctrine which is hidden under the veil of verses is allegory”] (Conv. i, 1.3 ...). Freccero, “Medusa: The Letter and the Spirit” 1–18, maintains that

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the allegory beneath the “velame” is theological and that Dante’s address is an invitation to see beyond surface distractions like Medusa and heed the call to conversion and deliverance, which the readers await along with the pilgrim here in the guise of the celestial “messo”; William Franke, Dante’s Interpretive Journey 82–3, highlights the poet’s earlier address in 1.8.94–6 (“Pensa, lettor, se io mi sconfortai” [“Judge, reader, if I did not lose heart”]), when both Dante and Virgil are directly threatened by the demons, as the point of departure for the “parallel between the progress of Dante and Virgil on their journey through the other world and the progress of the reader’s understanding of the poem” (82). Margherita De Bonfils Templer, “Il Virgilio dantesco e il secondo sogno del Purgatorio (Purg. xix)” 51n7, ties Virgil’s protecting Dante from the harmful effects of Medusa to his exposing the threat to Dante, symbolized by the Femmina Balba in Purgatorio 19. In both instances Virgil is humiliated, first by the opposition of the demons, and second by his non-action, for which he is reproved by the “donna santa.” Leonardi, Inferno 166: “acerbo: acre, aspro (agli occhi), perché più denso” [“acerbo: acrid, bitter (for the eyes), because more thick”]; see Purg. 16.6–7, “dove si parla di un altro fumo aspro appunto alla vista cioè pungente” [“where one speaks of another bitter fume precisely with regard to vision because it is pungent”]. Leonardi, Inferno 167, notes that the same formula, “da ciel messo,” also appears in 2.30.10, where, I would add, “esso” also reappears in the terza rima configuration. There is a previous reference to “da ciel,” “da ciel piovuti” in Inferno 8.83, namely the Paradise where these demons also once dwelled. There being no further identification than “da ciel messo,” debate continues as to the identity of the celestial emissary. Hollander, Inferno 163, interprets this heavenly figure as an angel, more specifically the archangel Michael to whom Virgil referred in Inferno 7.10–12 (see chapter 1), but “‘dressed up’ as Mercury, a fused identity that is not problematic in any way, given Dante’s practice of combining pagan and Christian material.” For a detailed analysis of the “messo” as an overlapping of Mercury and Michael, see Susanna Barsella, “The Mercurial Integumentum of the Heavenly Messenger (Inf. ix 79–103)” 371–95. In Purgatory 2.28 Virgil again urges Dante to bow in reverence to the “galeotto” of God, and this angel is likewise scornful, here of human

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means, and similarly he departs without acknowledging Dante and Virgil. Twice more Virgil will call on Dante to show reverence to the angels of God, in Purgatorio 9.109 and 12.82, and in both latter instances the angels will acknowledge him, beginning with Dante before another gate in Purgatorio 9, in contrast to the lack of response from the “messo” before in Inferno 9. As discussed in the previous chapter, in Inferno 14.43–5 Dante the pilgrim will further remind Virgil of the demons’ obduracy at this gate and Virgil’s personal failure: “Maestro, tu che vinci / tutte le cose, fuor che ’ demon duri / ch’a l’intrar de la porta incontra uscinci” [“Master, you who overcome all things except the obdurate demons that came out against us at the entrance of the gate”]. That failure before the “demon duri” is all the more emphasized when juxtaposed with the demons’ passivity before the “messo.” Leonardi, Inferno 168, points to the repetition of “le fata”: “plurale femminile derivato dal neutro latino (come le peccata di v 9) portato forse dal ricordo del verso virgiliano: ‘desine fata ...’” [“plural feminine derived from the neutre Latin (like le peccata of v 9) lifted perhaps from the memory of the Virgilian verse, ‘desine fata ...’”] (Aen. vi, 376). Dante the pilgrim recalls Virgil’s attention to his passage from the Aeneid specifically in Purgatorio 6.28–30: “El par che tu mi nieghi, / o luce mia, espresso in alcun testo / che decreto del cielo orazion pieghi” [“It seems to me, O my light, that you deny expressly in a certain passage that prayer bends the decree of heaven”]. See Caron Ann Cioffi, “Fame, Prayer, and Politics” 179–200, who explores how this episode is central to understanding Dante’s displacement of the Aeneid and by extension Virgil himself. With the replacement of “gozzo” with “sozzo” in Purgatorio 16.13, “gozzo” will not appear again in any form in the Commedia. Leonardi, Inferno 168, describes Dante and Virgil as belonging to Hell for the reasons described above and since the “messo” does not want to show his disgust toward these two individuals of Hell, it is best to simply remain silent and make as if there are other affairs to which he must attend. The formula “da ciel messo” from Inferno 9.85 is repeated in Purgatorio 30.10 (“e un di loro, quasi da ciel messo” [“and one of them, as if sent from Heaven”]) but in this case the “messo” who will sing “Veni sponsa de Libano” on the following line does not come from the sky but is the elder representing the Canticle of Canticles. The appear-

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ance of the “messo” in Purgatorio 33.44 relates to one who has not yet come, the famous Five Hundred, Ten and Five of the enigmatic prophecy: “messo di Dio, anciderà la fuia ...” [“messenger of God, shall slay the thievish woman”]. The “messo” in Paradiso 28.32, “’l messo di Iuno,” Juno’s messenger Iris, is the only one neither “da ciel” in a Christian sense nor “di Dio” and bears no relationship to any of the previous messi. Hollander, Purgatorio 313, notes the repetitions of “messo,” which were first introduced in Inferno 9.85. These other points of entry where we also find a celestial being, occur in 2.12.88, 2.17.67, 2.19.46–8, 2.22.2, 2.24.139–41, and 2.27.55. As seen earlier, in Purgatorio 6.43–5 Virgil previously invoked Beatrice’s name as the higher authority. For a similar example, see Purgatorio 18.46–8. Theodore Cachey Jr., Purgatorio xv 220–1, sees Virgil’s limitations as subtly revealed in this passage: first, by his mistakenly suggesting that Beatrice will be the one to enlighten Dante on this question when in fact it will be Piccarda (Par. 3.58–90), and second, when Dante’s response to Virgil’s disquisition is suddenly interrupted by his vision. There are three occurrences of “fummo” to describe the scene of the wrathful in Hell: “portando dentro accidïoso fummo” [“bearing within us the sluggish fumes”] (1.7.123); “se ’l fummo del pantan nol ti nasconde” [“if the fumes of the marsh do not hide it from you”] (1.8.12); “per indi ove quel fummo è più acerbo” [“there where that fume is harshest”] 1.9.75. Hollander, Purgatorio 334, counts five occurrences of “fummo” on this terrace, all of which denote the sin of wrath: 2.15.142; 2.16.5; 23; 35; 142. The formula “sì grosso velo” along with the rhyme word “cielo” appears once earlier in Inferno 32.25.27. There Dante likens the sheet of ice beneath his feet in the ninth circle to the thick veil of ice over northern rivers chilled by the cold sky. The sheet of ice “sì grosso” which envelops the condemned souls in deepest Hell becomes the smoke “sí grosso” (2.16.4) which envelops the penitent wrathful in Purgatory, where the poet shifts his allusion to the fume darker than any in Hell through which Dante the pilgrim is guided by his trusted Virgil. See Leonardi, Purgatorio 282, who calls the reader’s attention to the notion that blindness was considered a classic consequence of wrath. Dante’s blindness here and his blindness in Inferno 9 are also a reflection of Dante’s own wrath. See Leonardi, Purgatorio 282, and Bosco-Reggio, Purgatorio 274.

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28 The depiction of Dante as one blinded by darkness who must stay close to his guide in order not to lose his way (“per non smarrirsi”) is reminiscent of Inferno 1, when Virgil first offered his guidance to the pilgrim who had just before gone astray in the Dark Wood (“che la diritta via era smarrita” [“for the straight way was lost”] 1.1.3). 29 Lauren Scancarelli Seem, “Dante’s Drunkenness and Virgil’s Rebuke” 78, considers Virgil’s qualifying phrase and asks whether the poet “intentionally saddled Virgil with this convoluted simile” as another way of reflecting his insistence that he understood the nature of Dante’s visions when in fact his claim may have been excessive. 30 “Mozzo” and “sozzo” also appear in an early configuration in 1.28.17–21, but with “Tagliacozzo” replacing the formula of repetition, “dar di cozzo.” 31 See Singleton, who highlights previous appearances of “mozzo” with a masculine agreement in 1.9.95 and 1.28.19. It is only in 1.9.95 and 2.16.15 that “mozzo” appears as a past participle. 32 Dante Della Terza, Forma e memoria 57, links Virgil’s words to Dante, “Guarda che da me tu non sia mozzo” (2.16.15), to those of Dante to Marco Lombardo, “Per fede mi ti lego” [“I pledge my faith to you”] (2.16.52). The sin of wrath represented by the fog isolates the wrathful, as contrasted with Virgil’s linking himself to Dante and Dante’s later offer to Marco to form a bond of solidarity with him. 33 In both cases “Io” begins the tercet four lines above “modo.” 34 Giovanni Andrea Scartazzini (1872–82) makes reference to the repetition of “solvendo il nodo” and the similarity between the two surrounding texts. Glossing the second repetition, he notes: “questa terzina somiglia quasi troppo all’altra Purg. xvi, 22–4. La stessa dimanda, la stessa risposta, la medesima forma” [“This tercet resembles almost too closely the other one in Purg. xvi, 22–4. The same question, the same response, the same form”] (Dartmouth Dante Database). 35 Of the three other appearances of the formula “ch’i odo,” only in 1.3.32 does Dante similarly hear sounds emitted from souls and turn to Virgil for clarification. In this case it is the the neutral souls who lived without praise or disgrace. The other two instances occur in 2.24.57, where Bonagiunta hears the “dolce stil novo,” and in 3.7.55, where Beatrice hears Dante’s confusion over the seeming contradiction in the punishment of the Jews. 36 See Amilcare Iannucci, “The Mountainquake of Purgatorio and Virgil’s Story” 54, who points to the Statius episode as one that has

Notes to pages 59–60

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intratextual dependence not just on Limbo but on Virgil’s story in general, an episode which, when not read in isolation from the rest of the poem, can reflect “narratological links, both close and far” (49). Virgil has been long accustomed to a sunless world, and explains in 2.7.25–6 what he did to lose the sun’s light: “Non per far, ma per non fare ho perduto / a veder l’alto sol che tu disiri” [“Not for doing, but for not doing, have I lost the sight of the high Sun that you desire”]. Singleton, Purgatorio 342. The light by which the ancients guided humankind still pierces the darkness of Limbo: “io vidi un foco / ch’emisperio di tenebre vincia” [“I saw a fire, which overcame a hemisphere of darkness”] 1.4.68–9. For references by Dante the pilgrim to Virgil as a light see 1.1.82: “O de li altri poeti onore e lume” [“O glory and light of other poets”] where Virgil’s poetry illuminates the way for other poets; and 1.11.91: “O sol che sani ogne vista turbata” [“O sun that heal every troubled vision”], where Virgil as human reason is like a sun piercing Hell’s darkness that can allow one to see and understand clearly. Porena, Purgatorio 151, sees in Virgil’s admonishment the possibility of Virgil’s allegorical sense as human reason, and suggests that the wrath of this terrace (of which Dante is not entirely devoid) can be combatted by always heeding the voice of reason. See Leonardi, Purgatorio 282, where she maintains that the question is not superfluous, as those singing could be angels, thus underlining Dante’s complete blindness. If Dante is so blind, he is greater in need of his guide here than perhaps anywhere else in Purgatory. What becomes apparent in these tercets is how capable Virgil is at the task of guiding his helpless charge. Early in the encounter with Marco Lombardo, another signposted journey (also born out of the darkness of the black smoke) commences, beginning with the first appearance of the formula “l’infernale ambascia” within a configuration of rhyme words “fascia” and “lascia,” which is repeated once only in Paradiso 26. See Lloyd H. Howard, Formulas of Repetition 29–40. See Robert Hollander, Il Virgilio Dantesco 71, who ties Dante’s renewed faith in Christ to Statius’ conversion. They are both indebted to Virgil for having written the Aeneid, yet paradoxically they surpass him, their master, for they have faith. William Franke, Dante’s Interpretive Journey 195–6, suggests that in inventing Statius’

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conversion with the assistance of Virgil, the poet provides himself with the means to “present his own experience of conversion, assisted by Virgilian poetry, in historically objectivized form.” For a re-reading of the Aeneid based on its influence upon Statius’ Thebaid, see Randall T. Ganiban, Statius and Virgil, which opens by referencing Dante’s own reinterpretations of the Fourth Eclogue and Statius’ religious life. The Statius episode is at the crossroads of a number of journeys signposted by repeated linguistic patterns. See chapter 4 for an analysis of Virgil’s role in the Statius episode from the perspective of a signposted journey highlighted by the repetition of the formula “ne l’etterno essilio” within a complex linguistic configuration (in the rhyme position with “Virgilio” and “concilio,” with “pria” six lines above the formula and the “-chia” rhyme eight lines below it) in Purgatorio 21.18, which has surfaced once previously in precisely the same configuration in Inferno 23.126; Hollander, Il Virgilio Dantesco 96, notes the interpretive importance of tracing the formula “più di mille” from where it first appears in Purgatorio 21.96 to Paradiso 18.103, where it is repeated, both times accompanied by “faville.” Hollander, Purgatorio 442, registers the debate around the meaning of “scola” (see also 1.4.94 and 2.33.85) and the “predictable allegorizations,” which he finds unconvincing. This is the last of the six occurrences of the word “inferno” in the Purgatorio, with the final three appearing in one of the two texts under review in this study. Virgil previously refers to “inferno” in 2.21.32 and prior to that in 2.16.33. For an analysis of Virgil’s question to Statius see Christopher Kleinhenz, “The Celebration of Poetry: A Reading of Purgatory xxii” 28, who distinguished between the “candele” and the “sole,” with the former pertaining to the human and the latter to the divine, and the verb “stenebraron,” referring to the “tenebrae” of pre-Christian times that shrouded the world prior to Christ. The nautical image of Peter as a fisherman adds to the idea of human life as a sea journey, linking Statius as a poet to Dante (Thebaid xii, 809 and Purg. 1.1–3; Par. 2.1–15). See Hollander, Il Virgilio dantesco 129–30, who sums up how the Aeneid and the Fourth Eclogue are to be viewed in the Commedia. They are a source of faith for those who came after him, but not for Virgil himself. Virgil among all the pagans should have had faith in the coming Christ, but did not. If he had, like the other pre-Christians “che credettero in Cristo venturo” (3.32.24), he would now be seated

Notes to pages 64–7

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in the presence of God in the Empyrean. Thus the Aeneid is for Dante a tragedy in that it reflects the thinking of Virgil while he lived, when he rendered his services to Caesar but not to God. See Teodolinda Barolini, Dante’s Poets 251, who notes the “credo che” and how much more tentative Virgil is here, even though he knew as early as Purgatorio 13 how to move up the mountain of Purgatory. Singleton, Purgatorio 535. As early as Purg.13.13–15, with the intervention of no other soul but only the sun as his guide, with every confidence Virgil saw the way to turn: “Poi fisamente al sole li occhi porse; / fece del destro lato a muover centro, / e la sinistra parte di sé torse” [“Then he set his eyes fixedly on the sun, made of his right side a centre for his movement, and brought round his left”]. Giuseppe Mazzotta, Dante, Poet of the Desert 225, contrasts the fourth example, the Spartan diet of the golden age, with the fifth, John the Baptist’s spare diet in the desert as is revealed in the Gospel, seeing the Gospel as “the privileged text that fulfills and transcends what secular literature foreshadows: retrospectively, it also redefines Virgil’s own prophecy of the golden age (Purg. 22.70–2).” As Kleinhenz, “The Celebration of Poetry” 36–8 suggests, we are invited by the mysterious voice to find nourishment from the story of John the Baptist, as presented in the text of the Gospel, for our salvation, just as Statius found his through Virgil’s prophecy of a new age in the Fourth Eclogue, ironically an age which Virgil would never see. That Virgil appears oblivious to the mysterious voice is a further reflection of his state in utter darkness as he continues his conversation with Statius, steeped in memories of the old days. For further discussion of Virgil and John the Baptist see chapter 5. At this point on the sixth terrace, time presses more on Virgil than on Dante and Statius, who will carry on into Earthly Paradise without him. Virgil is doubtless aware that Statius is slowing his ascent for his sake (as Dante will describe to Forese in the following canto: “Ella sen va sù forse più tarda / che non farebbe, per altrui cagione” [“He goes up perchance for another’s sake more slowly than he would do”] 2.24.8–9), and seizes his sole opportunity to converse with this fellow Roman who became a Christian through his light, likewise aware that his time is fast running out. After gently reprimanding Dante, he turns his talk back to Statius and the early times, all but oblivious to the terrace that they are traversing. There are only four occurrences in the Commedia of the plural “savi”:

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Inf. 4.110; Inf. 24.106; Purg. 23.8; Par. 5.7. In all cases they refer to figures from the ancient world, with all but Statius being pagans. 55 After Virgil’s unhelpful response to Dante’s query about the souls he hears singing, Virgil remains silent for the balance of Purgatorio 23 plus all of Purgatorio 24. At the former canto’s end Dante speaks in Virgil’s stead, describing what Virgil would say: “Tanto dice di farmi sua compagna / che io sarò là dove fia Beatrice; / quivi convien che sanza lui rimanga. / Virgilio è questi che così mi dice” [“So long he says that he will bear me company until I shall be there where Beatrice will be: there must I remain bereft of him. Virgil is he who tells me this”] 2.23.127–30). And when next Dante asks his master a question in 2.25.20–1, Virgil calls on Statius as the one to heal Dante’s wounds: “Ma perché dentro a tuo voler t’adage, / ecco qui Stazio; e io lui chiamo e prego / che sia or sanator de le tue piage” [“But, in order that you may find rest in your desire, here is Statius, and I call on him and pray that he be now the healer of your wounds”] 2.25.28–30. It is only with the completion of Statius’s discourse on generation and their attention to other care (“ed eravamo attenti ad altra cura” [“and we were intent on other care”] 2.25.111) upon their arrival on the terrace of the lustful, that Statius withdraws to the background and Virgil resumes his role as a confident and engaged guide: “Per questo loco / si vuol tenere a li occhi stretto il freno, / però ch’errar potrebbesi per poco” [“Along this place the rein must be kept tight on the eyes, for one might easily take a false step”] 2.25.118–20. See Riccardo Scrivano, “Stazio personaggio, poeta e cristiano” 194, who cites Statius’ discourse in Purgatorio 25 as closing the circle that began with his arrival in Purgatorio 21. chapter three 1 See Leonardi, Purgatorio 379, and the distinction she makes between Statius’ certainty with regard to the situation of Purgatory and the actual cause of atmospheric perturbations. Statius is still limited in his awareness, for he is not yet a blessed soul. 2 While the precise scheme that includes the formula of repetition “la terra” / “alcuna guerra” / “serra” is unique to these two episodes, the rhyme scheme “terra” / “guerra” / “serra” appears in the same order in 1.17.20–4 and 3.18.125–9 and in a different order in 1.31.119–23 and 3.25.2–6. Although the indefinite adjective “alcuna,” which

Notes to pages 72–4

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forms part of the formula of repetition, is missing in these other instances, in 1.31.121 “la terra” with its definite article forms part of the scheme. As noted in the introduction, “guerra” and “terra” appear in 1.2.2–5 and 1.28.8–11, along with the formula of repetition “che non erra,” and with “non erra” in 2.20.142–8. From Charles Singleton, “The Vistas in Retrospect” 55–80. See for example Sapegno, Inferno 106, and Leonardi, Inferno 168, who describe the “messo” as being desirous of his return to his other responsibilities. Robert Hollander, “Inferno II: Dante’s Authority” in Allen Mandelbaum, Anthony Oldcom, Charles Ross, eds. California Lectura Dantis 32, notes that even after Virgil had witnessed Christ’s harrowing of Hell, he still did not grasp that blessed souls such as Beatrice had no fear of Hell: “Since hell cannot harm the blessed, these do not remain absent from hell because of fear (as Virgil assumes) but only because of the harsh law of heaven (duro giudicio, 96): the blessed may not show the damned any form of compassion, such as their very presence might seem to imply.” Christopher J. Ryan, “Inferno xxi: Virgil and Dante: A Study in Contrasts” 16–31, describes Virgil’s innocence before another set of devils, those of the fifth bolgia, and his inability to recognize their evil, which marks the difference between a limited pagan understanding and a Christian awareness of what the Devil is capable of doing (22). Here too, with all confidence, Virgil tells Dante he need not fear, as Virgil has been this way before. Ryan draws the link between this episode and the last time Virgil tried to calm Dante’s fears by telling him of his previous journey down through Hell, before the gate into Dis when Virgil also failed the test (20). While outside the purview of this study, the links between Virgil’s “negotiations” with the devils before the gate into Dis Inferno 8 and 9, and his dealings with those of the fifth bolgia in Inferno 21–3 merit closer scutiny. Teodolinda Barolini, Dante’s Poets 222, also cites Virgil’s reassuring words to Dante in Inferno 21.62–3: “non temer tu, ch’i’ ho le cose conte, / per ch’altra volta fui a tal baratta” [“be not afraid, for I know about things here and was in a like fray before”], which are a reminder to Dante of his earlier attempt to calm his fears when in Inferno 9 Virgil told him that he had been this way before. Dante the pilgrim and the reader are doubtless also aware that the fray he was in previously with the demons at the gate of Dis was one that he lost. Barolini agrees with

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Notes to pages 74–7

Ryan that it is not so much excessive confidence on Virgil’s part as his innocence before the demons. Silvio Pasquazi, “Messo Celeste” 920 maintains that the “Tal ne s’offerse” does not refer to Beatrice, who did not offer Virgil any help but rather asked it of him; Bosco-Reggio, Inferno 134 point out that in Inferno 2.124–5 Beatrice did not offer any special help to Virgil, and that “Tal” must be seen as an indirect reference in which Beatrice, urged on by the other two “donne benedette” and determined by divine will, is only one of the instruments of that will; Barolini, Dante’s Poets 205 cites 1.9.7–9 where Virgil’s failure at the gate into Dis is also seen as a reflection of his lack of faith in Beatrice; Robert Hollander, Il Virgilio Dantesco 128 sees a possible sin on Virgil’s part here for his not believing what Beatrice had evidently assured him to be the case, that this journey was decreed from on high. Mark Musa, Advent at the Gates 71, notes that Virgil’s formulaic address, “vuolsi così colà dove si puote, ciò che si vuole, e più non dimandare,” to Charon and Minos would have been even more suited to his encounter with the demons because it is only here that they actually ask a question: “Granting that Virgil had to fail in order to make possible the arrival of the messo, his failure had taken a form that is utterly inexplicable according to normal psychological laws” (152). Leonardi, Inferno 168–9. Singleton, Inferno 143, notes that this turn to the right instead of to the left as is normal is particularly striking when one considers that the right turn is the typical one in Purgatory and thus the turn in Hell should be the opposite; Bosco-Reggio, Inferno 143, refer to the other such exception in Inf. 17.31, in both cases with the symbolic point of departure coming from Proverbs 4:27; Leonardi, Inferno 170, in agreement with Bosco-Reggio, sees no clear allegorical sense, but posits an explanation made by the nineteenth-century commentator G.A. Scartazzini based on the falseness that the heretics and the fraudulent have in common. Dante is full of praise for Virgil’s guidance when he next asks Virgil a question: “O virtù somma, che per li empi giri / mi volvi,” cominciai, “com’ a te piace” [“O supreme virtue,” I began, “who lead me round as you will through the impious circles”] 1.10.4–5 and Virgil responds confidently with knowledge of the Last Judgment, using the verb “serrare”: “Tutti saran serrati / quando di Iosafàt qui torneranno” [“All shall be closed when from Jehoshaphat they return here”] 1.10.10–11.

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12 Charles Singleton, Dante Studies 2 257, describes Virgil allegorically as the light that was given to the wise pagan philosophers: “If Virgil discerns no further than this, it must be that the ‘philosophers,’ the savi who dwell as he does in Limbo, discerned no further.” 13 Christopher Ryan, “Virgil’s Wisdom in the Divine Comedy” 7–9, notes Virgil’s limitations are such that when he crowns and mitres Dante at the end of Purgatorio 27 he has no idea that Dante will have to undergo further purification and Beatrice will be so displeased with him. Likewise in Purgatorio 27.54 when, in order to comfort Dante as he passes through the fire, Virgil thinks he will see Beatrice’s eyes and be happy, so he says to Dante “Li occhi suoi già parmi”] [“Already I seem to behold her eyes”], having no idea that Dante will first face a highly displeased Beatrice (7). Virgil will be spared witnessing his final miscalculation, as the last time Dante catches sight of him is in Purgatorio 29.43–51, and by the time Beatrice addresses Dante he is gone. 14 Singleton, Purgatorio 667. 15 Dante had once felt honoured to be welcomed by the ancient poets to be the sixth in their company: “ch’e’ sì mi fecer de la loro schiera, / sì ch’io fui sesto tra cotanto senno” [“for they made me one of their company, so that I was sixth amid so much wisdom”] 1.4.101–2, and once happily followed Virgil and Statius from behind: “Elli givan dinanzi, e io soletto / di retro, e ascoltava i lor sermoni, / ch’a poetar mi davano intelletto” [“They were going in front, and I solitary behind, and I was listening to their speech, which gave me understanding in poetry”] 2.22.127–9, but with this reversal of order Dante the Christian poet, no longer in the shadow of the ancients, takes the lead. See Jeffrey T. Schnapp, “Lucanian Estimations” 114–15, who notes Dante’s re-ordering of the chronology of ancient poets where Statius who came last becomes first: “The Commedia sets out to transfer the evangelical dictum that the “last shall be first” into the domain of literary genealogy, with the result that Statius, chronologically last among the ancient poets and last in authority ... becomes the missing genealogical link between Dante-poet and the other members of the bella scuola.” 16 Singleton, Purgatorio 669. 17 The question of Matelda’s identity (her name is withheld from the reader until Purg. 33.118–19, when Beatrice says to Dante: “Priega / Matelda che ’l ti dica” [“Ask Matelda to tell you”]), has been long debated by scholars, with the traditionalists holding that she is the

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Countess Matilda of Tuscany, daughter of one also named Beatrice. For good overviews of this continuing attempt at problem-solving, her manifestation of the active life that Leah represents from Dante’s last morning dream, and her allegorical significance see Singleton, Dante Studies 2 184–203; Renato Poggioli, “Dante poco tempo silvano” 1–20; Fiorenzo Forti, “Matelda” 854–60; Robert Hollander, Purgatorio 587–9; Jerome Mazzaro, “The Vernal Paradox: Dante’s Matelda” 107–20, who in treating the issue also notes a correspondence (110–11) between Matelda the “donna soletta” (2.27.40) and Cato the “veglio solo” (2.1.31), also to be considered in part two of this chapter: the solitary Cato in ordering Virgil to go and wash the filth from Dante’s face, anticipates the solitary Matelda who will cleanse Dante; Peter Armour, “Matelda in Eden: The Teacher and the Apple” 23, contrasts the wisdom of Matelda when she discourses on the lack of climactic perturbations in Purgatory with Dante’s imperfect love of wisdom, reflected in Casella’s song (Dante’s own “Amor che ne la mente mi ragiona”), which is condemned by Cato. Barolini, Dante’s Poets 211, relates how in the Inferno Virgil corrects his previous understanding from the Aeneid that the Lethe is in the underworld: “Letè vedrai, ma fuor di questa fossa” [“Lethe you shall see, but out of this abyss”] (1.14.136). The Lethe, which temporarily blocks Dante’s way when he initially approaches it, will prove the terminus of Virgil’s journey, the stream that he earlier misunderstood when writing the Aeneid, now “in parte” beyond his discernment as a pagan. See Caron Ann Cioffi, “Il cantor de’ bucolici carmi” 93–119, who describes the influence of Virgil’s Eclogues upon Earthly Paradise as one of frustrated desire. See Singleton, Dante Studies 2 206–7, for a detailed discussion of this passage and its relationship to the original state of humankind in Eden, as noted by Peter Abelard more than a century earlier. As discussed in the Introduction, there is an earlier precedent for Dante moving ahead of the company of ancient poets, which he had temporarily joined in Inferno 4.102, in Inferno 25.94–102 where with the repetition of “taccia” [“be silent”] (“Taccia Lucano” [v. 94]; “Taccia di Cadmo e d’Aretusa Ovidio” [v. 97]) Dante describes himself as having accomplished a greater poetic feat than that attempted by either Lucan or Ovid. While Virgil was in essence supplanted as guide by Statius in Purgatorio 25, subsequent to that Virgil regained his authority once Statius

Notes to pages 82–9

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had completed his discourse, as they turned to the seventh terrace (“Lo duca mio dicea: ‘Per questo loco / si vuol tenere a li occhi stretto il freno’” [“My leader said, “Along this place the rein must be kept on the eyes”] 2.25.118–19). But in contrast, here there is no comeback for Virgil, who now appears as nothing more than a redundant figure. Kenelm Foster, The Two Dantes 197, suggests that implicit in Matelda’s words is the difference between her happiness in Earthly Paradise and the gravity of the adult Limbo-dwellers: “In this respect Matelda is Virgil’s clearest correlative; in this respect he and she stand in contrast exactly as the good-for-man minus grace is in contrast with the good-for-man plus grace. Singleton, Purgatorio 680, notes the previous appearance of “pace” in 2.27.117, when Virgil tells Dante of the peace that he will soon attain: “oggi porrà in pace le tue fami” [“this day shall give your hungerings peace”]. The repetition of “pace” underlines Virgil’s misunderstanding of the peace that Dante would soon experience, and his inability to comprehend the peace that should have been the destiny for all humankind in a land that is beyond his discernment. Bruno Nardi, “Il mito dell’Eden” 328–9, distinguishes the early theological tradition that Dante followed in placing Earthly Paradise above the upper limit of climactic perturbations from the Aristotelean tradition which informed Thomas Aquinas’ thinking as seen in the Summa theol. I, q. 102, a. 1, ad 1. In Purgatorio 33.121–3, Matelda, ever the teacher, will recall in Beatrice’s presence her instruction to Dante on the source of the waters that run through Earthly Paradise: “Questo e altre cose / dette li son per me; e son sicura / che l’acqua di Letè non gliel nascose” [“This and other things I have told him, and I am certain that Lethe’s water did not hide it from him”]. Singleton, Purgatorio 682. Bosco-Reggio, Purgatorio 104, suggest three possible interpretations for the “prima volta,” either the Primum Mobile, the heaven of the Moon, or the sphere of fire. The verb “poetare” has appeared three times previously in the Purgatorio, all in the episode where Virgil and Dante first encounter Statius, and all in relation to Virgil’s poetry: “de l’Eneïda dico, la qual mamma / fummi, e fummi nutrice, poetando” [“I mean the Aeneid, which in poetry was both mother and nurse to me”] 2.21.97–8, where Statius expresses his debt to the Aeneid; “E pria

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Notes to pages 89–92

ch’io conducessi i Greci a’ fiumi / di Tebe poetando, ebb’ io battesmo” [“And before I had led the Greeks to the rivers of Thebes in my verse, I received baptism”] 2.22.88–9, where Statius explains the point at which he became a Christian (thanks to Virgil’s guiding light); and “ch’a poetar mi davano intelletto” [“which gave me understanding in poetry”] 2.22.129, where Dante gains a lesson in poetry thanks to the conversation he hears between Virgil and Statius. Kevin Brownlee, “Dante and the Classical Poets” 103, notes that after Virgil’s humiliation at the gate into Dis there is an immediate falling off of Virgilian influences in general, and in the sixth circle of Hell which immediately follows in particular; Amilcare A. Iannucci, “Virgil’s Erichthean Descent” 20–1, also describes the waning influence of the Aeneid from Inferno 9 onward. Consequently, the earlier demons with whom Virgil dealt handily were his as well in a literary sense. Virgil’s difficulties before the gate into Dis also herald Dante the poet’s abandonment of Virgil as his primary literary source (21–2), after which the tone will be more Lucanian than Virgilian. Musa, Advent at the Gates 70, suggests that implicit in Virgil’s fear of Medusa’s power is a loss of faith in the coming of the “messo.” He has in effect submitted once more to pagan laws. See Singleton, Purgatorio 689–90, who cites the corollary as “a concordance between the ‘scriptura paganorum’), as Dante terms the writings of the ancient poets in his Letter to Can Grande (Epist. xiii, 63), and the Holy Scriptures.” Singleton, Dante Studies 2 189, refers to the “little word ‘forse’ used by Matelda: ‘perhaps the ancient poets dreamed of this place when they wrote of the golden age.’ The suggestion is tentative, and the more suggestive in being so.” According to the “forse,” the ancient poets may have had a presentment of Earthly Paradise when they sang of the Golden Age and Earthly Paradise. Conversely “forse” can also imply that the ancient poets possibly had no such presentment. Regarding Virgil’s reputation as a seer in the Middle Ages and how it is manifest particularly in Inferno 20, see Barolini, Dante’s Poets 214–23; Robert Hollander, Studies in Dante 131–218; Robert Hollander, “Dante’s Misreadings of the Aeneid in Inferno 20” 77–93. Patrizia Grimaldi Pizzorno, “Matelda’s Dance and the Smile of the Poets” 129, recalls this Ovidian passage to underline Dante’s implied message that his representation of this place is the most refined of nectar (“nettare è questo di che ciascun dice” [“this is the nectar of which each tells”] 2.28.144), surpassing that of the ancient poets,

Notes to pages 92–7

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personified here by Virgil and Statius: “If this is the meaning of Dante’s construct, then the smile of the poets appears as Dante’s own gloss on his supreme self confidence.” Singleton, Dante Studies 2 190–1, describes Virgil’s Virgo from the Fourth Eclogue (“iam redit et Virgo”), who may find her corresponding figure in Matelda. As Dante’s text shows, perhaps Virgil dreamed this place and by extension Matelda who dwells within it or, as with his fellow ancients, perhaps he did not. Leonardi, Purgatorio 516. Leonardi, Purgatorio 504, describes another passage in the text where borders are crossed between the pagan and Christian worlds, when Ulysses reaches the shore of this same mountain and sees this world which had then only been granted to pagans in dreams. In Paradiso 25.1–9 the rhyme words “terra-serra-guerra” reappear. There it is the exile Dante suffers which locks him out (“serra”) from Florence. The words “in parte” also appear in Purgatorio 11.84 and Purgatorio 33.137, but as adverbs with understandably different meanings. The only other appearance of “in parte” previous to Inferno 8 is in Inferno 4.151, where Dante and Virgil reach a place that no longer has any source of light (“E vegno in parte ove non è che luca”), just after they parted company from the other four ancient poets. The seemingly common formula “l’angel di Dio” is unique to the Purgatorio, appearing on three occasions in addition to the two under study: 2.4.129; 2.5.104; 2.27.6. The first occurrence of the formula in Purgatorio 4.129 also references the “portier.” Bosco-Reggio, Purgatorio 32, note that in some editions for the sake of homogeneity the other preterit form of fare is inserted instead of the imperfect “facea”; however as with the Petrocchi text and virtually all other recent editions, they also opt for “facea.” While “ancor non facea motto” is unique to the two texts under study, if one looks to similar constructions elsewhere with the preterit form of “fare” plus “motto,” there is only one case in the Commedia, in Inferno 9.101 with the relevant passage for the purposes of this study when the “messo” did not utter a word to Dante and Virgil: “e non fé motto a noi, ma fé sembiante.” For an overview of the role of silence in the Commedia, see Aldo Vallone, “Il ‘silenzio’ in Dante” 45–56. It is worthy of note that Virgil’s first reference to Beatrice, the “donna” who descended from above, occurs in the same verse, line 53, in the Inferno: “donna mi chiamò beata e bella” (1.2.53).

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44 Hollander, “Inferno II Dante’s Authority” 31, reminds the readers that “Beatrice’s descent gives Virgil motive and cause; without her intervention he would have known nothing (the damned, we learn in Canto x, do not know the recent state of things on earth) and done nothing.” Mindful of his limitations, Virgil would have done well before Cato to relay the kind of message that he had in Inferno 2 and filled in the detail about the three ladies who were concerned for Dante’s well-being, rather than placing so much focus upon himself. 45 Robert Hollander, Studies in Dante 85, describes Virgil’s gaffe of invoking the name of Marcia as his attempt to imitate what Beatrice had previously said to him: “Quando sarò dinanzi al signor mio, / di te loderò sovente a lui” [“When I am before my Lord I will often praise you to Him”] 1.2.73–4). 46 Singleton, Purgatorio 28–9. 47 Changes between double and single consonants were commonplace in early Italian. See Singleton, Inferno 123. “Galeotto” appears only once elsewhere but with an entirely different meaning, in the Francesca episode as a proper noun identifying the Gallehault, the name of the story of Lancelot and Guinevere and its author, in Inferno 5.137. 48 Robert Hollander, Purgatorio ii 23–4, draws our attention to the linguistic parallels between this boat piloted by the angel and Ulysses’ boat with the repetition of the words for “oar” (“remo”) and “poop” (“poppa”). The “remo,” seen in Purgatorio 2.32, previously appeared in the plural in the Ulysses episode in Inferno 26.125, “de’ remi facemmo ali al folle volo,” with the ignorant Ulysses unaware that the true boat that will provide passage to Purgatory will in fact be propelled by wings, “ali”; the word “poppa” or poop deck where the angelic boatman stands (“Da poppa stava il celestial nocchiero” 2.2.43), was previously seen on two occasions in Inferno 26, first when the “poppa” is steered in the mad, westerly direction of Purgatory (“volta nostra poppa nel mattino” [“turning our stern to the morning”] v. 124) and soon after when, before Purgatory, the ship is turned in the whirlwind with the poop aloft (“la poppa in suso” v. 140) before it goes down. 49 Hollander, “Inferno ii: Dante’s Authority” 32, in glossing Beatrice’s answer to Virgil in verses 85–114 highlights the stern judgment (“duro giudicio” v. 96) that does not allow blessed souls to show compassion for damned souls. With the “messo,” Cato, and now the angel of God, we are witness to the result of that judgment.

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50 As mentioned earlier, the repetition of “in parte” creates a pair of bookends in part one of this chapter, with the initial reference in 1.8.80 to the gate into Dis and the latter one in 2.27.128–9 to Eden, the place beyond Virgil’s discernment. 51 Leonardi, Purgatorio 30, notes that a form of the verb “gettarsi” is used both in this scene (“si gittar tutti in su la piaggia” 2.2.50) to describe the eagerness with which the penitent souls fling themselves onto the shore, and in the scene that depicts the condemned souls’ arrival at that other shore in Hell, once they alight from Charon’s boat (“gittansi di quel lito ad una ad una” 1.3.116). 52 Hollander, Purgatorio ii 4. 53 It is ironic that while Virgil looks forward to an easy climb up ahead, as Hollander, Purgatorio ii 20, points out, “no part of the Commedia is as concertedly concerned with Virgil’s failure to have had faith and with his resultant limitations as guide in the territory of the blessed as the first seven cantos of Purgatorio. 54 Leonardi, Purgatorio 34, suggests the reason that Casella arrives only now, even though the angel has taken all who were ready to embark for the last three months, is that individual souls decide when they are ready, as Statius will explain in relation to when a soul knows the moment is at hand to be freed from Purgatory (2.21.58–66). 55 John Freccero, “Casella’s Song” 186–94, challenges the view of critics who see the song Casella sings as a love song, and argues that it must be understood with its full philosophical force. He relates Virgil’s earlier response that he too is a pilgrim to his turning quiet and delaying before Casella’s song, “Amor che ne la mente mi ragiona” [“Love which discourses to me”] from Book iii of the Convivio. By Casella’s singing of the “Donna Gentile,” who relates to Lady Philosophy from the Consolation of Boethius, at the shore of Purgatory “Virgil is a pilgrim here, as is everyone else (v. 63), and Ulysses’ attempt to reach a philosophical truth without supernatural guidance is a faint memory (Purg. i, 132). In such a setting, the otium traditionally required for philosophy is negligenza (v. 121) and philosophical pride (cf. “usato orgoglio,” v. 126) must give way to Christian humility” (193). Robert Hollander, Studies in Dante 91–105, likewise challenges the conventional view, maintaining that Casella’s singing “Amor che ne la mente mi ragiona” in contravention of the new law is extremely harmful in that it tempts those who stop and listen, much as the Israelites were tempted before the Golden Calf.

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Notes to pages 103–7

56 For a discussion of the formula of repetition “fissi e attenti” and the way it relates to the song “Amor che ne la mente mi ragiona” from the Convivio, see Howard, Formulas of Repetition 131–53. 57 Amilcare A. Iannucci, “Musica e ordine” 104–5, describes the two opposing critical interpretations of Cato’s reprimand. The more traditional group consider the entire scene, which also details Dante’s affectionate relationship with Casella, while the other group, including Hollander and Freccero, argue that the severity of Cato’s response cannot be minimized. 58 Alan Levitan, “Dante as Listener ... and Virgil’s Self-Reproach” 37–55, provides a novel reading by suggesting that, much as Dante the pilgrim is tempted by his earlier text from the Convivio, Virgil is tempted by his earlier text from the Aeneid, and that Virgil’s selfremorse in Purgatorio 3.7 comes also because he did not recall in time his own words from Book vi spoken by that more competent guide, the Sibyl, whose words of reprimand echo those of Cato (43–4): “cessas in uota precesque, / Tros” ait “Aenea? Cessas?” [“Art thou slow to vow and to pray?” / she cries, “Art slow, Trojan Aeneas?”], vv. 51–2. 59 For a gloss of this defining verse, see Enrico Malato, “Il ‘silenzio’ della ragione” 353–76. 60 Hollander, Purgatorio ii 21: “Virgil must now serve as a guide who can warn but cannot truly guide, giving way to such as Sordello and Statius, to name the two most important surrogate Virgils who instruct Dante during his ascent of the mountain.” 61 Commentators have noted this repetition. See for example Leonardi, Purgatorio 336; Zygmunt G. Baranski, “Dante’s Three Reflective Dreams” 225, in registering this repeated linguistic formula which introduces each of the three dreams, notes that with other intratextual elements of similarity that unite them, they record the pilgrim’s development in his journey upward to Earthy Paradise. 62 For an in-depth discussion of the prophetic nature of this third dream see Singleton, Dante Studies 2 109–16. 63 Peter Armour, The Door of Purgatory 123, draws parallels between Casella’s mention in Purg. 2 of the angel delivering “chi ha voluto intrar” [“whoever would embark”] (2.2.99) and the door into Purgatory, identified, I would note, as the “intrata.” Both entries, Armour maintains, are subject to the will of the individual soul, in which case the prior waiting is self-imposed. 64 The word “intrata” appears only three times: first in 1.5.5; 1.8.81;

Notes to pages 107–14

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and in 2.9.62. The other form of the noun, “entrata,” appears once only and also in this episode when, eleven verses earlier, Virgil announces to Dante: “vedi l’entrata là ’ve par digiunto” [“see the entrance there where it appears cleft”] 2.9.51. Armour, The Door of Purgatory 42, refers the reader to the scene of the pilgrim before the simoniac Pope Nicholas III where the rhyme words “rotto – sotto – motto” also appear, suggesting that it may or may not be coincidence: “No one can know if this fact was deliberate, unconscious, or purely accidental, but it does raise an interesting series of possibilities relating to known symmetries and themes in Dante’s presentation of the Papacy in the Commedia.” I would add that beyond this earlier emergence of the rhyme words alone, “di” also appears there before “sotto” (“di sotto”), along with a form of “fare” before “motto” (“fa motto”), when Dante asks the Pope whether he can speak. See Armour, The Door of Purgatory 41, who refers the reader not only to the Cato episode, but also to “the places in which hell tries to resist Dante’s entry.” In both Inferno 8.127 and Purgatorio 9.90, “porta” forms part of the terza rima scheme, referring to the gate into Hell and the gate into Purgatory proper respectively. While there are numerous references to Virgil as “scorta” to Dante in both the Inferno and the Purgatorio, there is never any outside validation by any heavenly figure of Virgil having that status. This “angel di Dio” is the same one that Belacqua invokes, who will not yet allow him to enter Purgatory. There too the angel is described as seated: “l’angel di Dio che siede in su la porta” (2.4.129), with “porta” in rhyme with “iscorta,” a reference Dante the pilgrim makes when, in a mocking tone, he asks Belacqua if he is waiting for an escort. chapter four

1 It is only in these two passages that the formula “Io mi rivolsi” is used to indicate the relative positions of Dante and Virgil. This repetition further links the two initial instances of Dante’s turning back to Virgil who is still there, in contrast to the third one in Purgatorio 30 by which time Virgil will be gone. The repetition of “rivolsi” also underscores for the reader the new reality that Virgil is now behind Dante. See Gary P. Cestaro, Dante and the Grammar of the Nursing Body

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144–5, who understands this sequence as setting up the reader for the disappearance of Virgil as maternal breast. Peter S. Hawkins, “Dido, Beatrice, and the Signs of Ancient Love” 274n2, refers the reader back to Virgil’s directive to Dante in Inferno 4.15 (“Io sarò primo, e tu sarai secondo” [“I will be first and you second”]), establishing the order of Virgil walking ahead and Dante following behind which will be maintained from Inferno 2.141–2, when they enter Hell, until just before Virgil takes his formal leave of Dante, when in Purgatorio 27.46 he enters the fire ahead of Dante: “Poi dentro al foco innanzi mi si mise” [“Then he entered into the fire in front of me”]. See Charles Singleton, Dante Studies 2 73: “As judgment is delivered here, moreover, there is brought to mind by her charges the whole experience of the Vita Nuova ... Because of this, Beatrice’s coming here in Purgatory can be revealed as a second coming.” The last example of Virgil supporting Dante before he sends him off on his own occurs earlier in Purgatorio 27.54 when Dante, feeling the intense pain from the fire, derives comfort from Virgil’s words. Referring to Beatrice, he says: “Li occhi suoi già veder parmi” [“Already I seem to behold her eyes”]. Surprisingly, the article “la” plus “mamma” appears in only these two instances in the Commedia. See Ruggero Stefanini, “Purgatorio xxx” 455: “Dante’s soul is reaching and stretching after Mother-Vergil as the flames of the Blessed will later surge towards Mary who, leaving them in the Sphere of the Fixed Stars, rises to the Empiraeum to follow Christ (Par. xxiii.121–9).” Singleton, Dante Studies 2 72–3, points out how here the reader expects to see the coming of Beatrice but instead is faced with a scene that appears to announce the Advent of Christ “by deliberate poetic strategy” on the part of the poet. But Beatrice is not here to represent Christ; nor is she to serve as a kind of equivalent. Christ was already represented by the Griffin in the previous canto. Singleton sees instead that she comes as an analogy to the way Christ will come at Last Judgment: “Beatrice comes in her own special cloud of glory to stand in judgment of her lover.” Commentators such as Singleton, Bosco-Reggio, and Leonardi have registered this repetition. In noting the repetition of the formula “da ciel messo” and the “quasi” that precedes it, Leonardi, Purgatorio 542, sees in this messenger an almost prophet who has been sent by God to herald the coming of Christ.

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9 Robert Hollander, Il Virgilio Dantesco 133n25, views Virgil’s last expression of “stupor” as one that underlines Virgil’s lack of competence before Christian truth; Leonardi, Purgatorio 527, notes that a relationship between Virgil and Dante based on unvoiced looks was established first in Purgatorio 18.1–3 and then in Purgatorio 21.103–4. She sees their silent exchange in Purgatorio 29.55–7 as the last of the series of three. I would submit that Dante’s turn to Virgil and Statius in Purgatorio 28.145–8 would add to that series; however, in that case Statius makes for a third party. 10 See, for example, Singleton, Purgatorio 730, who also provides further detail on the question of the “sponsa.” 11 Singleton, Dante Studies 2 79, describes Beatrice’s advent as similar to Christ’s three advents: when he came in the flesh, when he will come to judge, and the middle, less-known advent, which occurs based on an understanding gained from Bernard’s Sermons for the Season of Advent, “whenever the individual soul of a Christian is prepared for it” (80). Beatrice comes in a way reminiscent of Christ’s arrival in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, she will come to judge Dante, and she comes at this time when Dante is prepared for her coming. 12 John Freccero, Dante: The Poetics of Conversion 207, underlines this passage as “the only verse from the Aeneid literally quoted in the original Latin in the Commedia”; Singleton, Purgatorio 735, notes these words as the last from the Aeneid vi which are spoken. 13 See Michael C.J. Putnam, “Virgil’s Inferno” 107; Rachel Jacoff, “Intertextualities in Arcadia: Purgatorio 30.49–51” 131, who credits John Freccero as “the first to point out a textual equivalent of the fade-out of Vergil from the narrative,” in Freccero 206–8. Robert M. Durling “Virgil and the Fourth Eclogue” in Durling and Ronald L. Martinez, The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio 620–2, relates Virgil’s departure from the scene to his turning away from the light of his own Fourth Eclogue because of his refusal to believe in the text’s prophecy. 14 Freccero The Poetics of Conversion 207. In Freccero, “Virgil, Sweet Father” 6–7, the lilies, which in a Christian context are those of the Resurrection and the triumph of love over death, are yet another example of how “Dante employs Virgil’s text, much as the Middle Ages read the Fourth Eclogue, superimposing the Christian revelation on Virgil’s own, though thoroughly Roman, typology” (6). 15 Singleton, Dante Studies 1 51: “A rising sun was the image for Christ, the established image for the coming of Christ.”

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Notes to pages 121–8

16 See Singleton, Purgatorio, 737, who also notes that in the vision of Beatrice’s death in the Vita Nuova xxiii, she is seen to ascend in a cloud, like Christ whose ascension is also associated with clouds in Apoc. 1:7, which describes his return above “cum nubibus, et videbit cum omnis oculus” [“with the clouds, and every eye shall be on him”]. 17 The past participle “sospesi” is repeated in Inferno 4.45 with the same meaning and context, but from the perspective of Dante the pilgrim, who has just learned that Virgil and others of great worth are suspended in this Limbo: “gente di molto valore / conobbi che ’n quel limbo eran sospesi”(1.4.44–5). 18 See for example Guido Cavalcanti’s philosophical treatise on love, “Donna me prega” v. 21–3: “Vèn da veduta forma che s’intende, / che prende nel possibile intelletto, / come in subietto, loco e dimoranza” [“(Love) derives from a seen form that becomes intelligible, that takes its place and dwelling in the possible intellect as a substance”]. 19 For a more detailed discussion of Dino del Garbo’s commentary as a source for analysing courtly love poetry, see Lloyd Howard, “Dino’s Interpretation of ‘Donna me prega’ and Cavalcanti’s Canzoniere” 167–82. 20 Enrico Fenzi, La canzone d’amore di Guido Cavalcanti 112. 21 Otto Bird, “The Canzone d’Amore of Cavalcanti according to the Commentary of Dino del Garbo” 168. 22 Quotations and the numbering adopted to identify the poetry of Guido Cavalcanti are taken from the critical edition of Guido Favati, Le Rime di Guido Cavalcanti. 23 For a fuller discussion, see Lloyd Howard, “An Interpretation of Cavalcanti’s ‘Guata, Manetto, quella scrignutuzza’” 183–7. 24 Robert Ball, “Theological Semantics: Virgil’s Pietas and Dante’s Pietà” 32, 258n43, notes an earlier reference to Virgil where he is also depicted as a protective mother figure who cares for her boychild Dante, in a passage from the Inferno where there is also reference to the “fiamme”: “Lo duca mio di sùbito mi prese, / come la madre ch’al romore è desta / e vede presso a sé le fiamme accese, / che prende il figlio” [“My leader instantly took me up, like a mother who is awakened by the noise and sees beside her the kindled flames, and catches up her child”] (1.23.37–40). 25 The repetition of these three rhyme words has been noted in a number of recent studies which relate the Statius episode to that of

Notes to pages 128–32

26

27

28

29 30

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Dante before Beatrice in Earthly Paradise. See Robert Hollander, Studies in Dante 126–7; Peter S. Hawkins, “Dido, Beatrice, and the Signs of Ancient Love” 116; Rachel Jacoff, “Intertextualities in Arcadia” 143, 278n28; Ronald L. Martinez, “Dante and the Two Canons: Statius in Virgil’s Footsteps (Purgatorio 21–30)” 165; John A. Scott, Understanding Dante 238. The Statius episode, virtually at the centre of Dante’s pilgrimage, is a literal crossroad of journeys through the textual space of the Commedia, signposted by linguistic patterns of repetition which, along with the “fiamma” / “dramma” / “mamma” configuration, include: “concilio” / “Virgilio” / “ne l’etterno essilio” (1.23.121–6), and “Virgilio” / “concilio” / “ne l’etterno essilio” (2.21.14–8), noted in Howard, Formulas of Repetition 116–30; “modo” / “ch’i’ odo” / “solvendo il nodo” (2.16.19–24) and “modo” / “ch’i’ odo” / “solvendo il nodo” (2.23.10–15), noted in chapter 2 and previously in Howard, “Virgil the Blind Guide in Purgatorio xv–xvi and Purgatorio xxii–xxiii” 407–19; “cenno” / “fenno” / “tra cotanto senno” (1.4.98–102) and “tra cotanto senno” / “fenno” / “cenno” (2.22.23–7), noted in Martinez, “Dante and the Two Canons” 170; “faville” / “più di mille” (2.21.94–6, which comes immediately before the terza rima configuration beginning with “mamma” here under study) and “faville” / “più di mille” (3.18.100–8), noted in Hollander, Studies in Dante 196–7. Dante’s melancholia which is manifest repeatedly in the first half of the Vita Nuova also catches the attention of the other ladies in chapter xviii, who see the paradox that he loves the lady who makes him ill whenever she is near, and so they query him as to what the goal of such a love might be: “A che fine ami tu questa tua donna, poi che tu non puoi sostenere la sua presenza?” [“What is the point of your love for your lady since you are unable to endure her presence?”]. For a discussion of Virgil and the Aeneid as mother and nurse to Dante, see Marianne Shapiro, Dante and the Knot of Body and Soul 88–90: “An essential aspect of what Virgilio has to impart to the pilgrim is the means of eventual disengagement from Virgil, which Dante depicts as the pilgrim’s detachment from Virgilio’s ‘body’” (88). The Vita Nuova is precisely that book which tells of the good that came out of Dante’s initial state of melancholia. See Gianfranco Contini, Poeti del duecento ii 495, who also mentions these and two other relevant passages in the Canticle of Canticles, 3: 6; 6: 9.

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Notes to pages 133–6

31 Freccero, Dante: The Poetics of Conversion 208. 32 Commentators going back to Edward Moore, Studies in Dante. First Series 20–1, have noted the three repetitions of “Virgilio” echoing those of “Eurydice” in his Georgic iv, 525–7. See Hollander, Il Virgilio Dantesco 132–4, who, in recalling how Orpheus still seeks Eurydice, thrice repeating her name, also notes (133n24) that some verses later, for the first and only time in his work, Virgil names himself (“illo Vergilium me tempore dolcis alebat” (563). Similarly here in Purgatorio 30, in this case four verses after the thrice repetition of Virgil’s name, for the first and only time in his work Dante names himself. Rachel Jacoff, “Intertextualities in Arcadia” 136, along with perceptively spotting other parallels, draws this one further, pointing out how both Eurydice and Dante’s Virgil are temporarily allowed to escape their underworld placement before being required to return once more. 33 Teodolinda Barolini, Dante’s Poets 245, notes that Virgil is called “dolce” twelve times in the Purgatorio, and comments also on the increase in feeling for Virgil as the moment of his disappearance comes nearer, first through the use of a second adjective, such as “dolce padre caro” (2.17.82), “lo dolce padre mio” (2.25.17; 2.27.52), and finally “Virgilio dolcissimo patre” (2.30.50), the only time in the Commedia that “dolcissimo” is adopted to modify any individual. 34 Ronald L. Martinez, “Lament and Lamentations in Purgatorio and the Case of Dante’s Statius” 71, relates the loss of Virgil to Matelda’s “corollary identifying Eden with the Golden Age of the pagans (xxviii, 139–44), a remark that brings a smile, a moment of tempus ridendi, to the classical poets Virgilio and Stazio ... when Dante describes the loss of Vergil he compares it to no less a catastrophe than the loss of Eden.” 35 For an interesting review of the sexual substitutions that take place in this canto, see Jeffrey T. Schnapp, “Dante’s Sexual Solecisms” 143–63. 36 See also Purgatorio 31.64, where the poet again likens Dante the pilgrim to a child, here with the plural “fanciulli” in place of the singular “fantolin”: “Quali fanciulli, vergognando” [“As children stand ashamed”]. The child simile is not one that Beatrice is willing to accept, as she expects Dante to respond as the grown man he is, capable of growing a beard: “Quando / per udir se’ dolente, alza la barba” [“Since you are grieved through hearing, lift up your beard”]

Notes to pages 136–42

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(2.31.67–8), the importance of which Dante comes to understand: “e quando per la barba il viso chiese, / ben conobbi il velen de l’argomento” [“and when by the beard she asked for my face, well I knew the venom of the argument”] (2.31.74–5). There is a disagreement among commentators as to whether “ci” is a pronoun, in which case, in this plural majesterial form the first person plural of “essere” should follow with “ben sem, ben sem,” or an adverb for “qui,” in which case the first person singular “ben son, ben son” would follow. Neither reading changes the meaning or intensity of Beatrice’s invective. Freccero, Dante: The Poetics of Conversion 75, sees the evocation of Beatrice as the nurturing maternal figure to be particularly evident in Paradiso 23. Just as the young birds who with their “aspetti disïati” await the nourishment that the spring-like landscape can provide, so too in Purgatorio 29.33 Dante the pilgrim is “disïoso” to experience what it has to offer, but there before Virgil disappears when Dante still has every confidence that he stands behind him for support whenever he should feel the need to look his way. Umberto Bosco, Dante Vicino 346–7, relates the description of the eternal spring that Dante tasted in Purgatorio 29.31–3 when he walked “tutto sospeso” (v. 32) to Beatrice “sospesa e vaga” (3.23.13), who is there to provide for Dante’s spiritual nourishment. Cesare Federico Goffis, “Paradiso xxiii” 828–9, refers to Christ’s four apparitions, first as the Griffin in Purgatorio 29, second as the Redeemer in Paradiso 14, and the third and fourth in Paradiso 23 and 33 respectively, which are under discussion in this chapter. See Franco Masciandaro, “Paradiso xxiii” 335, who describes Beatrice further: “no longer a mediator or a sign that points to Christ and the mystery of Incarnation, and, correspondingly, to the mystery of faith, [she] has become herself an ineffable source and goal of Dante’s vision.” Leonardi, Paradiso 406. Bosco, Dante Vicino 342, in his dissenting opinion, cites this interpretation of Francesco da Buti. Singleton, Paradiso 373. Barolini, Dante’s Poets 245. Kevin Brownlee, “Ovid’s Semele and Dante’s Metamorphosis: Paradiso 21–2” 230, interprets the simile of the thunderbolt in Paradiso 23.40–2 as the preparation by Jupiter for his descent to visit the

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53 54 55

56

57 58

Notes to pages 142–59

mortal Semele: “It is only at this point, having been transformed, transfigured, by his exposure to Christ, that Dante emerges as a fully corrected, redeemed Semele.” See Masciandaro, “Paradiso xxiii” 339, who also recalls Purgatorio 30 and considers Beatrice’s address to Dante with her thrice repeated “ben.” Opting for “sem” over “son”: “Guardaci ben! Ben sem, ben sem Beatrice.” [“Look at me well: indeed I am, indeed I am Beatrice!”] (2.30.73), he provides a prologue to the action in this scene. For these references noted in the commentaries, see for example Singleton, Paradiso 377. Freccero, Dante: The Poetics of Conversion 207. The “cigli” form part of the terza rima scheme with “gigli” both here and in Purgatorio 29.150 where the “cigli” also relate to flowers, red lilies along with roses worn above the brows of the seven books of the New Testament. The formulaic words “donna del ciel” referenced by Cato and then adopted by Virgil at Purgatory’s gate, recall the formula that Virgil employed in Hell to move past challenges mounted by Charon and Minos: “vuolsi così colà dove si puote / ciò che si vuole, e più non dimandare” (1.3.95–6; 1.5.23–4); and the shorter version in response to Plutus: “vuolsi ne l’alto” (1.7.11). This repetition of the linguistic pattern “nome di Maria,” is one that has been noted by commentators in the past. Ronald L. Martinez, “Dante and the Two Canons: Statius in Virgil’s Footsteps (Purgatorio 21–30)” 168. Apart from the two repetitions of the form “fantolin,” “fantolino” appears once in 3.30.140 as does the plural “fantolini” in 2.24.108. While the article “la” plus “mamma” is unique to these two cantos, “mamma,” without the article immediately preceding, appears in 1.32.9 and, as discussed earlier, in the Statius episode in 2.21.97. The plural form, “mamme,” is also only found once in 3.14.64. While this reference is specific to Statius’ poetry, the wider episode reveals how another Virgilian poem, the Fourth Eclogue, by extension can also serve as “nutrice,” for it led to Statius’ becoming a Christian. For a detailed discussion of this alternative journey see Howard, Formulas of Repetition 116–30. See Mazzaro, “Dante and the Image of the ‘Madonna Allattante’” 95–6, who draws together this image of the infant nursing at its mother’s breast from 3.23.121–3; 3.30.82–5; 3.33.106–8. Cestaro,

Notes to pages 159–64

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Dante and the Grammar of the Nursing Body 166, relates this nursing image to the “culminating moment of deepest truth” when pilgrim and poet merge into one at the end of the poem. chapter five 1 In Inferno 27.3 Virgil has a bit part as the one who gives license for Ulysses to leave: “con la licenza del dolce poeta,” but he has no speaking role. 2 Leonardi, Inferno 471, notes two other occasions in Hell plus two in Purgatory where Virgil is also mistaken for a Lombard: 1.1.68; 1.22.99; 2.4.73–5; 2.7.17. 3 Singleton, Inferno 495, when glossing the introduction to this panorama of past wars, vv. 4–6, “Ogni lingua ... poco seno,” among other commentators recalls the Aeneid vi, 625–7: “non mihi si linguae centum sint oraque centum ... nomina possim” [“Nay had I a hundred tongues, a hundred mouths ... I could not sum up”]. 4 Singleton, Inferno 501. 5 Giuseppe Mazzotta, Dante’s Vision and the Circle of Knowledge 93, describes how these opening lines, vv. 7–20, also echo the poetry of Bertran de Born, encountered at the end of the canto, particularly his “Si tuit li dole e. lh plor e. lh marimen.” 6 For detailed background on commentators’ glosses of these verses, discussion regarding whether the “Troiani” in verse 10 are actually Aeneas’ Trojans or their Roman descendants, and an interpretation of why Dante cites Livy and not Virgil, see Pietro G. Beltrami, “L’epica di Malebolge (ancora su “Inferno xxviii” 129–31; Leonardi, Inferno 499, who in her interpretive section considers the “Troiani” Aeneas’ Trojans only and not Romans. For a brief discussion of the formula “che non erra,” which first appears in 1.2.6, see the Introduction. 7 Thomas Peterson, “Inferno xxviii” 376, notes that even with the widespread use of forms of “vedere” throughout the Commedia, this canto contains more such repetitions than any other, some twenty in total. “Or vedi” is again repeated nearer the end of the canto in verse 130 when it is Bertran de Born’s turn to address Dante. 8 The other two occurrences of the formula in this cantica are in Inferno 8.35, when in response to Phlegyas’ query as to his identity (“Chi se’ tu” 1.8.33) Dante asks him who he is, and in Inferno

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11 12

13

14 15

Notes to pages 164–8

1.29.93, when one of the two “Latin” ask the same question of Virgil. Di Salvo, Inferno 475, notes that implicit in Virgil’s courteous tone with Mohammed is Arab culture and science embodied in Avicenna and Averroes, and in Mohammed it is almost as if Virgil has found a companion from the noble castle of Limbo. That Virgil is on a par with all the Limbo dwellers, be they pagan or Muslim, is apparent when he counts himself among them in Inferno 4.39: “e di questi cotai son io medesmo,” they who did not sin but are condemned to Limbo for wont of baptism; and in Purgatorio 7 where he describes to Sordello how he resides in a place in Hell that knows no torment, starting with a repetition of the formula “quivi sto io” from verse 31: “quivi sto io con quei che le tre sante / virtù non si vestiro, e sanza vizio / conobber l’altre e seguir tutte quante” [“there I abide with those who were not clothed with the three holy virtues, and without sin knew the others and followed all of them”] (2.7.34–6). Singleton, Inferno 507, draws the reader’s attention to the parallel language, esperïenza piena, which appears in Inferno 17.37–8. The other two repetitions of “esperïenza” occur in Inferno 26.116, when Ulysses urges his companions on, saying that they must not deny themselves the experience of the world beyond the Pillars of Hercules, and in Inferno 31.99, the only instance which extends from Virgil’s response to Mohammed where Dante asks Virgil to be allowed a particular experience of Hell. There is one earlier occurrence of the formula “ma tu chi se’ che” in Inferno 8.35. In response to Filippo Argenti’s mocking words to Dante as if he were a condemned soul who had come before his appointed hour of death (“Chi se’ tu che vieni anzi ora?” [“Who are you that come before your time?”] 1.8.33), he turns those words back upon Filippo: “ma tu chi se’, che sì se’ fatto brutto?” [“but you, who are you that have become so foul?”]. See Leonardi, Inferno 490–1, who notes the repetition of the gerund, “oblïando.” Pietro G. Beltrami, “L’epica di Malebolge” 138, juxtaposes the irony of Mohammed’s words with the direness of the contrapasso he endures, which is manifest in descriptors such as “sì crudelmente” (v. 38) and “dolente strada” (v. 40), which would provide the reader with an insight into Mohammed’s thinking, when earlier he imagines that perhaps Dante is attempting to delay his own punishment.

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16 Here is the second time Mohammed has used “forse” to question Dante. Previously he assumed Dante was a condemned soul who was perhaps delaying his torment by staring at him: “forse per indugiar d’ire a la pena” 1.28.44). Beltrami, 139, notes that Mohammed’s warning for fra Dolcino also provides him and his fellows, who had already stopped to gawk at Dante in amazement, some further delay time of their own (albeit extremely brief) before they must return to their eternal punishment. 17 Mark Musa, “Virgil Reads the Pilgrim’s Mind” 149–52, highlights Inferno 4.51, 10.17–18, 16.119–20, 19.39, 23.25–30, and 26.73–4, where Virgil may appear to have the ability to read the pilgrim’s mind; however, his capacity, which is based on the highest of rational thought, still falls far short of that possessed by Beatrice and the other blessed souls. Robert Hollander, Inferno 395, presents Musa’s explanation with regard to the previous instances, while positing this dispute between Dante and Virgil (498) as a confirmation “that Virgil cannot in fact ‘read’ Dante’s thoughts.” Other commentators, such as Singleton, Inferno 527, maintain that Virgil does possess the ability to read his charge’s thoughts at every juncture. 18 Mazzotta, Dante’s Vision and the Circle of Knowledge 95. 19 Beltrami, “L’epica di Malebolge” 151–2, notes the parallel language used to describe Bertran carrying his head and Virgil’s metaphorical light (n80) which he bears behind him. 20 Only three individuals in the Commedia are conferred the title of “dottore”: Virgil, Dominic, and Bernard. Of the eight repetitions in which Virgil is labelled a “dottor/e” or along with Statius one of two “dottori,” Dante adopts possessive adjectives on six of the occasions to refer to him as his: “mio” (1.5.70; 1.16.13; 2.21.22; and 2.21.131); “miei” with Statius (2.24.143); “tuo” (1.5.123) when Francesca is speaking to Dante. Other than this reference to Bernard as a “dottore,” the term appears on three other occasions only, in 3.9.133 and 3.25.64 with a generic usage, and in 3.12.85 when Dominic is given the title. 21 Virgil’s sympathetic naming of these souls begins in verse 52, the first of those Dante would wish to know being Semiramis (“La prima di color di cui novelle / tu vuo’ sapere” [“The first of these of these of whom you wish to know”]). After Virgil’s named list, he then proceeds to point out and name over a thousand more: “e più di mille / ombre mostrommi e nominommi a dito / ch’amor di nostra vita dipartille” [“and more than a thousand shades whom love had

228

22

23

24

25

26 27

Notes to pages 172–5

parted from our life he showed me, pointing them out and naming them”] (1.5.67–9). The second occurrence of “dottore” also appears in Inferno 5.123 where Francesca sees in Virgil a kindred spirit who, like her, would also mourn the loss of a love: “e ciò sa ’l tuo dottore.” Based on Virgil’s sympathetic words earlier, there is no reason to doubt Francesca’s judgment. Antonio Russi, “Paradiso xxxii” 1137, notes that the words that describe how Bernard begins his instruction to Dante, “e cominciò queste parole sante” v. 3, are in large part repeated in the last verse of the canto when he begins his oration to Mary: “E cominciò questa santa orazione” [“And he began this holy prayer”] (v. 151). Whether the fire of Purgatorio 27 is an extension of the purging flames that envelope the penitent lustful of the seventh terrace, or one which serves simply as a rite of passage for all penitent souls remains a subject of debate among commentators. Steven Botterill, Dante and the Mystic Tradition 94, notes the repetition of “giù” in the latter two expressions and the importance of the “vertical dimension”: “Bernard’s description of its occupants begins at the top and continues ‘per la rosa giù di foglia in foglia’ (15), ‘fin qua giù di giro in giro’ (36), with the result that some of the souls are placed above others and therefore, in a reductive physical sense, seem ‘closer’ to God.” Michelangelo Picone, “Paradiso xxxii” 495, draws our attention to a reference to the plural “soglie” in Paradiso 30.113, to the “più di mille soglie” that Dante sees within the Celestial Rose. This passage has led some commentators to understand that there would be a similar number of circular rows or “giri.” But “soglie” like “foglie” are seats and not to be confused with “giri” or rows, which suggests there would be a far smaller number of “giri” than one thousand. Leonardi, Paradiso 56, notes the repetition of “di soglia in soglia.” Teodolinda Barolini, Dante’s Poets 254–5. In support of Barolini’s comment that all pagans could have been excluded, see also Foster, The Two Dantes 171, who points out that in this regard Dante was not following contemporary theologians: “Catholic theology by and large did not much concern itself with the ultimate destiny, in God’s sight, of the pagan world whether before or since the coming of Christ.” For a debate surrounding the question regarding Dante’s hopes for Virgil’s salvation, see: Mowbray Allan, “Does Dante hope for salvation?” 193–205; Barolini, “Q: Does Dante hope for Vergil’s salvation?

Notes to pages 175–8

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32 33 34 35 36

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A: Why do we care?” 138–44; Allan, “Response to Teodolinda Barolini” 144–7; Barolini, “Second Response to Mowbray Allan” 147–9. Nicolae Iliescu, “Sarà salvo Virgilio?” 112–33, considers the question of Virgil’s possible salvation by reviewing the system of rewards and punishments throughout the course of Dante’s journey. For a discussion on Virgil’s exclusion in general from the Paradiso see, Richard J. Quinones, “The Exclusion of Virgil” 73–98. See, for example, Singleton, Paradiso 537, who describes the strain that Dante’s conception places upon Christian doctrine, “That Christ’s coming did count for more than this balance with salvation out of B.C. time.” In this passage the poet refers to the Virgin Mary in verse 29 by the formula “donna del cielo,” a variant of which is adopted by Virgil to describe her in Inferno 2.94: “Donna è gentil nel ciel,” the Queen of the Celestial Rose, who calls upon her subject lady Lucia, who urges Beatrice to rush to Dante’s assistance. Subsequently, in Purgatory these other two ladies are referenced by the formula “donna del ciel,” first Beatrice in Purgatorio 2.91and then Lucia in Purgatorio 9.88. In Paradise, the formula identifies Mary alone, first in Paradiso 23.106 and second with the present example. Over the course of the chapters of this study these formulas have all emerged at one time or another within the signposted journeys. This link back to Purgatorio 22.153–4, is noted by commentators. See for example Singleton, Purgatorio 539, and Leonardi, Purgatorio 403, who also refer the reader to Luke 1:15 and 7:28. See André Pézard, Dante sous la pluie de feu 342; Dunstan Tucker, “In Exitu Israel de Aegypto: The Divine Comedy in the Light of the Easter Liturgy” 43–61; Bruno Porcelli, “’Chi per lungo silenzio parea fioco’ e il valore della parola nella ‘Commedia,’” 32–8; John S. Carroll, Exiles of Eternity 27; Robert Hollander’s chapters, “Dante ‘TheologusPoeta’” 39–90 and “The Tragedy of Divination in ‘Inferno xx” 131–218, in Studies in Dante; Hollander, Il Virgilio Dantesco 8, 71–7, 126–8; and more recently Lodovico Cardellino, “Virgilio imagine del Battista” 19–29. Ulrich Leo, “The Unfinished Convivio and Dante’s Rereading of the Aeneid ” 41–64. Hollander, Studies in Dante 86. Ibid., 87n96. Hollander, Il Virgilio Dantesco 77. There is one further repetition of the noun but in the plural:

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“diserti,” which appears in Purgatorio 10.21 where perhaps in anticipation of the Lord’s Prayer in the subsequent canto both Virgil and Dante find themselves on a desert-like road. This reference highlights the passage that immediately precedes it in which yet again Virgil’s usefulness as a guide is put into question: “ïo stancato e amendue incerti / di nostra via, restammo in su un piano / solingo più che strade per diserti” [“I weary and each of us uncertain of our way, we stopped on a level place more solitary than roads through deserts”] (2.10.19–21). 37 See Matthew 14:3–11 and Mark 6:17–28. 38 It is useful to note that the only previous instance where the formula “due anni” emerges in the text is with reference to the one who is seated directly beneath John the Baptist, Francis who bore the stigmata for two years: “da Cristo prese l’ultimo sigillo, / che le sue membra due anni portarno” [“he received from Christ the last seal, which his limbs bore for two years”] (3.11.107–8). 39 The term “giro” is also used for the terraces in Purgatory; for example, “nel giro dove semo” (2.17.83), “nel quinto giro” (2.19.70), “sesto giro” 2.22.2, and in the plural “li altri giri” 2.23.90.

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Virgil’s Taming of Plutus and Capaneus

241

Index

“A ciascun alma presa,” 5 Adam: non-eternal exile of, 155; in Limbo, 180 Aeneid: memory grid, 10; night’s havoc; “vestigia flammae,” 17, 127, 132; Aeneas crossing the Styx and the Sibyl’s response to Palinurus, 49–50; the forest primeval, 79; death of Marcellus, 120, 145 “Agnus Dei,” 15, 57, 59. See also “Labïa mëa Domine” Ahern, John, 5, 188n6 Albertus Magnus, 188n13 “alcuna guerra,” repetition of, 16–17, 70–2, 75–7, 84–6 Allan, Mowbray, 228n27 “altra fïata,” repetition of, 25, 29. See also Erichtho “altro rio,” repetition of, 21 “ancor non facea motto,” repetition of, 94–7, 107, 112 Archangel Gabriel: as rotating flame, 147 Archangel Michael, 22, 26, 33–4, 47–8 Argenti, Filippo, 226n13

Armour, Peter, 210n17, 217n65 “arte,” repetition of, 94–5, 112 Auerbach, Erich, 20, Ball, Robert, 220n24 Baranski, Zygmunt G., 193n10, 216n61 Barber, Joseph A., 197n3 Bardazzi, Giovanna, 193n9 Barolini, Teodolinda, 20; on: salvation of pre-Christians, 175, 228n27; Virgil’s titles, 192n5, 222n33; Virgil’s recovered authority, 195n19; passivity before Erichtho, 198n7; tentative guide, 205n49; overconfident guide: 207n6; lack of faith, 208n7; Aeneid corrected, 210n18 Barsella, Susanna, 199n14 Beatrice: as faith, 13, 50, 52–3; courtly lady, 17; descent into Limbo, 43, 54, 73–5, 97, 106, 181; Virgil leading to her, 72, 78; advent, 114, 118–33, 157, 159; guide in Par. 22, 158; guide in Par. 23, 18; 115,

242

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137–50; scolding in Purg. 30, 133–7; seated in Empyrean, 161–2, 173, 182; Dante’s personal Christ, 176–7 Belacqua, 217n69 Belting, Hans, 189n13 Beltrami, Pietro G., 225n6, 226n15, 226n16, 227n19 Bernard of Clairvaux: guiding “di giro in giro,” 19, 162, 173–80; “dottore” 171–2, 186; prayer to Mary, 183 Bird, Otto, 220n21. See also “Donna me prega” blind prison, 65, 69 Boccaccio, Giovanni, 193n8 Bonagiunta, 6. See also Guinizzelli, Guido Bosco, Umberto, 223n40 Botterill, Steven, 228n25 Brownlee, Kevin, 212n30, 223n47 Butler, George F., 198n6 Bynum, David E., 187n3 Cachey Jr, Theodore, 201n23 Caiaphas, 154–5. See also “ne l’etterno essilio” Canticle of Canticles, 116, 118, 132 Capaneus: blasphemy of, 13; demise of, 14, 23–4; as condemned soul, 33; boastful pride of, 37; dispatched, 39 Carruthers, Mary, 188n13 Casella: song of, 103–4 Cassell, Anthony K., 20–1. See also “altro rio” Cato: Pompeian army, 32; and Virgil, 97–104, 147–8 Cavalcanti, Guido: as Dante’s first

friend, 6; as most famous poet, 11; from his Biltà di donna, 33; Donna me prega, 124, 220n18; Io temo che la mia disaventura, 125; Guata Manetto, 126; Chi è questa, 132; Giovanna, 176; on the ideal reader, 188n8. See also “Donna me prega” Cerberus, 50, 193–4n12 Cestaro, Gary P., 217n1, 224n58 “ch’elli abbia,” repetition of, 13, 22–3, 37, 39 “ch’i’ odo,” repetition of, 4, 15, 57–9, 67 Charon: attempt of to impede the way, 26, 33, 49, 50, 90, 198. See also “vuolsi così colà dove si puote ...” “che non erra,” repetition of, 7–9. See also Mazzaro, Jerome Chiavacci Leonardi, Anna Maria: apostrophes, 32; on “fummo ... acerbo,” 46 Chiron, 167 Cioffi, Caron Ann, 200n18 “color,” repetition of, 34 Comparetti, Domenico, 20 “concilio,” repetition of, 153–5 Consoli, Domenico, 20 Contini, Gianfranco, 221n30 Convivio: definition of “subtlety” in 7; on a good memory, 9; those few, 13; left unfinished, 20; fables told by poets, 45 Curtius, Ernst, 10, 20 D’Andrea, Michele, 192n5 d’Arezzo, Guittone, 7 da Barberino, Francesco, 7 da Buti, Francesco, 139, 141

Index

da Castelfiorentino, Terino, 6 “da ciel messo,” repetition of, 116–17, 119 da Maiano, Dante, 6 da Medicina, Pier, 168 da Montefeltro, Guido, 161, 163. da Pistoia, Cino: in the De Vulgari Eloquentia, 6; Su per la costa, Amor de l’alto monte, 7. See also ideal reader da San Gimignano, Tieri degli Useppi, 7 da Signa, Boncompagno, 189n13 “dar di cozzo,” repetition of, 14, 41–2, 49, 54–5 Davis, Charles, 20 De Bonfils Templer, Margherita, 199n12 de Born, Bertran: contrapasso of, 19, 168, 170–1, 179 de’ Lamberti, Mosca, 164, 168 del Bello, Geri, 169–71 del Duca, Guido, 52 del Garbo, Dino, 124–5, 133. See also lovesickness del Virgilio, Giovanni, 7 Della Terza, Dante, 202n32 Di Scipio, Giuseppe, 196n29 di Siena, Gregorio, 191n1 “di soglia in soglia,” repetition of, 173–4, 182 “di sotto,” repetition of, 94, 96, 107–8 Dido: unrequited love for Aeneas, 17, 132–3, 149 “dinanzi,” repetition of, 81 Diomedes, 160 “diserto,” repetition of, 177–8. See also John the Baptist Donati, Forese, 118

243

“donna del ciel,” repetition of, 110–11, 147–8, 175, 229n29 “Donna me prega,” 220n18. See also Cavalcanti, Guido “Donne ch’avete intelletto d’amore,” 5 “dottore,” 19, 227n20, 228n22. See also Bernard of Clairvaux Drew, D.L., 191n32 Durling, Robert M., 219n13 Eclogues: memory grid, 10; a new progeny descends in Fourth Eclogue, 64, 88–92 “ed elli,” repetition of, 5, 14, 57–9, 67 Emperor Henry VII, 6 Erichtho: Virgil’s previous descent, 29; Virgil conjured, 43–4, 48; 197n4–5, 198n7. See also “altra fïata” “esperienza piena,” repetition of, 165, 171 “esso,” repetition of, 116–17 Eve: at Mary’s feet, 173 “fantolin ... la mamma,” repetition of, 17–18, 114–15, 130, 149–50 Favati, Guido, 220n22 “fiacca,” repetition of, 27–8, 31. See also “lacca” “fiamma,” repetition of, 18, 114–15, 121–3, 128, 131, 149, 156, 158 Fiammazzo, Antonio, 20 “fissi e attenti,” 103–4 formula: definition of, 3–4 Formulas of Repetition, 4 Foster, Kenelm, 191n32, 211n23

244

Index

Fra Dolcino, 168. See also Mohammed Francesca and Paolo, 172 Franke, William, 199n11, 203n43 Frankel, Margherita, 20 Freccero, John: on death and resurrection, 120, 145; “ma,” 133; seeing beneath surface distractions, 198n11; Casella’s philosophical song, 215n55; from the Aeneid, 219n12, n14; maternal figure, 223n38 Furies, 44–5. See also Medusa “galeotto,” 96, 98, 100, 107–9 Ganiban, Randall T., 204n43 Georgics: and memory grid, 10 Gilson, Simon A., 193n11 “giri,” repetition of, 183, 228n25 “giro,” 230n39 “giù di balzo in balzo,” 167, 182 “giù di foglia in foglia,” 182 Goffis, Cesare Federico, 223n41 “gozzo,” repetition of, 14 Griffolino, 167 “guerra,” repetition of, 8–9 Guinizzelli, Guido: as father of poetic style, 6–7; as famous poet, 11 Guyler, Sam, 12, 20 Hawkins, Peter S., 218n1 Hercules, 50 Hollander, Robert: on: Virgil and John the Baptist, 19, 176; Edward Moore, 20; Virgil’s flaws, 20, 214n44, n45, 215n53, 216n60, 219n9; Virgil’s silence, 101; Virgil’s fear of failure, 194n18; Virgil’s previous

descent, 197n5; debt to Virgil, 203n43, 204n44; witness to Christ’s harrowing, 207n5; ships near Purgatory’s shore, 214n48; Virgil before blessed souls, 214n49, 215n53; Casella’s song, 215n55; patterns of repetition, 221n26, 222n32 Homer, 11 Horace, 11 Howard, Lloyd H., 191n34, 216n56, 221n26 “I’ son,” repetition of, 106 Iannucci, Amilcare A., 190n32, 202n36, 212n30, 216n57 ideal reader: one who can find hidden meaning, 4, 45–6, 125. See also right-reading elite “il nome,” repetition of, 148. See also Mary Iliescu, Nicolae, 229n27 “in parte,” repetition of, 77, 80, 84, 94–5, 107, 112 “inferno,” repetition of, 19, 161–2, 165–7, 179 “intrata,” repetition of, 106–7 “Io mi rivolsi,” repetition of, 113–14, 117 Jacoff, Rachel, 219n13, 222n32 John of Garland, 10 John the Baptist: his seat, 19, 163–4, 175; as voice in wilderness, 176–7; decapitated, 179; in Limbo, 180 Juvenal, 62 Kirkpatrick, Robin, 192n4, 193n8 Kleiner, John, 21,

Index

Kleinhenz, Christopher, 194n12, 204n47, 205n52 “l’angel di Dio”: celestial boatpilot, 17; repetition of, 96, 111 “l’ultima salute,” repetition of, 158 “la mente,” repetition of, 8 “la parte orïental,” repetition of, 157 “la terra,” repetition of, 16, 70–2, 75–7, 84 “la tua rabbia,” repetition of, 13, 22–3, 25, 37–9 “Labïa mëa Domine,” 15, 58, 67–8. See also “Agnus Dei” “lacca,” repetition of, 27, 31. See also “ fiacca” Lancia, Andrea, 7 Leo, Ulrich, 20 Levitan, Alan, 216n58 Livy, 9, 163 “loco ove tornar,” repetition of, 74 Lombardo, Marco, 60 lovesickness, 124–7, 132–4, 143–4. See also del Garbo, Dino Lucan, 11, 197n5 Lucia: departure of, 17; pointed the way, 105–8, urged Beatrice, 181 “ma tu chi se’ che,” repetition of, 226n13 Malato, Enrico, 216n59 Marigo, Aristide, 20 Martinez, Robert L., 219n13, 222n34 “martiro,” repetition of, 19, 162–3, 167, 178 Mary: as fair flower, 18, 145–6,

245

148; Dante’s devotion to, 123, 146; by analogy, 132; souls’ affection for, 152; seated, 173, 176 Masciandaro, Franco, 223n42, 224n48 Master Adam, 104 Matelda: poets’ encounter with, 79, 81; discourse of, 16, 71–2, 82–8; corollary of, 88–92 Mazzaro, Jerome: on Dante’s nonerring memory, 8–9, 189n14, 210n17, 224n58 Mazzotta, Giuseppe: on Dante’s delaying, 170, 205n52, 225n5 McKenzie, Kenneth, 20 Medusa: as threat, 40, 44–6, 51–2, 54–5 “messo”: rescues journey, 14, snubs Virgil, 16, 75; silent departure of, 17; rebuke of, 40; harrowing of, 46–51, 56; vanquished demons, 73; of Purgatory, 41, 51–2 Metamorphoses i, 89, 91 “mia salute,” repetition of, 158 Minos: attempt of to impede the way, 26, 33, 49, 90, 198. See also “vuolsi così colà dove si puote ...” Minotaur: ire of, 28, 31–2 “modo,” repetition of, 4, 15, 57 Mohammed: lack of interest in Virgil, 18–19; encounter with, 161, 164–71 Moore, Edward, 20, 222n32 “mosse,” repetition of, 181 “mozzo,” repetition of, 41, 54–7 Musa, Mark, 208n8, 212n31, 227n17

246

Index

Nardi, Bruno, 211n25 “ne l’etterno essilio,” repetition of, 128, 153–4. See also “Virgilio” “ne l’ora,” repetition of, 105 “nome di Maria,” repetition of, 148 “oblïando,” repetition of, 167–8 Ong, Walter J., 190n21 Ovid, 11 Padoan, Giorgio, 191n32 Parisiana Poetria, 10 Parnassus, 89 Parry Test, 187n2 Parry, Milman, 3, Parry-Lord theory, 187n3 Pasquazi, Silvio, 208n7 “per sua difalta,” repetition of, 83. See also Matelda “per te,” repetition of, 89 Peterson, Thomas, 225n7 Petrucci, Armando, 190n21 Pézard, André, 229n31 Phlegyas, 100–1, 106. See also “intrata” Picone, Michelangelo, 228n25 Pike, David, 195n20 Pizzorno, Patrizia Grimaldi, 212n34 Plutus: as great enemy, 13, 23–4, 35–6; demise of, 14, 76; as guardian of fourth circle, 22; swollen face of, 26; deflated, 28, 31, 38; dispatched, 39 “Poi si rivolse a ... labbia,” repetition of, 13–14, 22–3, 25, 37–9 Poletto, Giacomo, 196n2 Pompey, 197n5

Prandi, Stefano, 21 “prora,” repetition of, 144 Psalm 91: Delectasti, 80. See also Matelda Putnam, Michael C.J., 191n32 “qua giù di giro in giro,” repetition of, 19, 161–2, 166, 182, 186 “questa roccia,” repetition of, 25, 27–9, 31 Quinones, Richard J., 229n27 Quirini, Giovanni, 7 “quivi sto io,” repetition of, 226n10 Raffa, Guy P., 20, 194n14 “Regina celi,” 152. See also Mary right-reading elite, 5. See also ideal reader Ripheus, 175. See also Trajan Rogers, H.L., 187n3 Rosenberg, Bruce A., 187n3 Rossi, Albert L., 191n32 rota Vergilii, 10 “rotto,” repetition of, 94 Russi, Antonio, 228n23 Ryan, Christopher J., 20, 207n6, 209n13 “s’infiamma,” repetition of, 150, 156, 157 “s’io meritai di voi,” repetition of, 160, 187n4. See also Ulysses Saint Augustine, 10. See also Simplicius “santo riso,” repetition of, 143–4 Scancarelli Seem, Lauren, 202n29

Index

Scartazzini, Giovanni Andrea, 202n34, 208n10 Schnapp, Jeffrey T., 209n15 “scorta,” repetition of, 109. See also Cato Scott, John A., 189n20 Scrivano, Riccardo, 206n55 Semele, 223n47 “serra,” repetition of, 16, 70–2, 75–7, 87 “serrame,” repetition of, 86–7, 111 Shapiro, Marianne, 221n28 “sì grosso velo,” repetition of, 201n25 Simplicius, 10. See also Saint Augustine Singleton, Charles: on: the Minotaur, 28; Virgil’s way of seeing, 59; “sanza più aspettar,” 78; “or’,” 87; Virgil’s light, 209n12; humankind’s original state, 210n20, Virgil and Matelda: 212n32, 213n35; Beatrice’s advent, 218n2, n6, 219n11 “solvendo il nodo,” repetition of, 4, 15, 57–9, 67 Sordello, 105 “sortiro,” repetition of, 181–2. See also Beatrice Spargo, John Webster, 20 Statius: as a distraction, 4; Virgil’s blindness, 12; unseeing Virgil, 15, Virgil’s lack, 19, encounter of with Virgil, 60–9; on climactic perturbations, 71; on the nature of souls, 82; irrelevant in Earthly Paradise, 130, 134; lured by Virgil, 149

247

Stefanini, Ruggero, 218n5 Steinberg, Justin, 188n5, n6, 192n4 “terra,” repetition of, 8–9 textual space: 3–4. See also formula Tommaseo, Niccolò, 190n25 Torraca, Francesco, 196n2 Trajan, 175. See also Ripheus “tre gradi,” repetition of, 94 “tu se’,” repetition of, 146 Ulysses, 160 Vallone, Aldo, 193n9, 195n23 “Virgilio,” repetition of, 153–5. See also “ne l’etterno essilio” Vita Nuova: first sonnet circulates in chapter iii, 5; closest friend in chapters iii and xxx, 6; quality of subtlety in chapter xxix, 11; first description of Beatrice in chapter ii, 122; Dante’s return to Beatrice in chapter xxxix, 126 “vo’ che sappi,” repetition of, 29–30 Vossler, Karl, 20 “vuolsi così colà dove si puote ...,” repetition of, 26, 49, 97, 193n11, 224n52. See also Charon and Minos Whitfield, J.H., 191n32 Yates, Francis A., 189n13 Ziolkowski, Jan M., 10, 188n13, 191n34