La Divina Commedia (The Divine Comedy) : Purgatorio: La Divina Commedia (The Divine Comedy) : Purgatorio a Translation into English in Iambic Pentameter, Terza Rima Form

By Paul S. Bruckman

This is the second book of a trilogy. Click on the links below to view the other two volumes of the trilogy.
LA DIVINA COMMEDIA (THE DIVINE COMEDY) : Inferno
LA DIVINA COMMEDIA (THE DIVINE COMEDY) : Paradiso

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 7, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456878955

Paul S. Bruckman

Paul S. Bruckman was born in Florence, Italy and was baptized in the Baptistery of San Giovanni, just as Dante was. At an early age, he left Italy and emigrated to the U.S., but was raised in a northern Italian household, thus retaining his knowledge of the Italian language. On the maternal line was a long line of artists and artesans; his maternal grandfather was a well-known artist, musician and maker of violins. From this line, Bruckman inherited a love of classical studies, including classical mythology, history, literature, poetry and music. Bruckman graduated from the U. of Illinois in 1974 with a Masters Degree in Mathematics. His career as a pension actuary ended with his retirement in 2001, but he remains active with various mathematical activities. Beginning around 1985, he began to translate Dantes Divine Comedy, primarily as a labor of love. From the beginning, Bruckman intended this work to be used as an accessible source of Dantes monumental work for English-speaking students. Due to career commitments, progress was slow at fi rst, but picked up pace after Bruckmans retirement. The last lines of the translation of Paradiso were completed in 2010. The entire translation is intended to be appropriate for a modern, quasi-scholarly audience, and is enhanced by ample explanatory notes and supporting addenda. Bruckman is married, has 7 children and 6 grandchildren.

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Copyright © 2011 by Paul S. Bruckman.

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Contents

AUTHOR’S FOREWORD

CANTO I

CANTO II

CANTO III

CANTO IV

CANTO V

CANTO VI

CANTO VII

CANTO VIII

CANTO IX

CANTO X

CANTO XI

CANTO XII

CANTO XIII

CANTO XIV

CANTO XV

CANTO XVI

CANTO XVII

CANTO XVIII

CANTO XIX

CANTO XX

CANTO XXI

CANTO XXII

CANTO XXIII

CANTO XXIV

CANTO XXV

CANTO XXVI

CANTO XXVII

CANTO XXVIII

CANTO XXIX

CANTO XXX

CANTO XXXI

CANTO XXXII

CANTO XXXIII

INDEX OF TERMS FOR PURGATORIO

PURGATORIO TIMELINE

BIBLIOGRAPHY

AUTHOR’S FOREWORD

It has been a year since my translation of the INFERNO has come out in print. The journey to the stars continues. As I had anticipated in my comments for the INFERNO, this second leg of the journey has been somewhat more difficult. As was the case for Dante in climbing the Mountain of Purgatory, the effort has been laborious at first, but has become somewhat easier as I have ascended higher. Let us hope that this trend continues.

A few more observations about Dante than those I had previously made may be in order at this juncture. That his Commedia is a monumental work was never in doubt. It is somewhat more evident in PURGATORIO that Dante is deeply religious and totally committed to the quest for Salvation. The emphasis in INFERNO was on damnation; there, Dante gave vent to all of his vitriolic condemnation of the sins committed by clergy and nobility, by the powerful and the weak, regardless of sex, monetary status, political affiliation – a truly democratic denunciation of all the evils of his world. Dante, in INFERNO, demonstrated some of his baser instincts: how he could, at times, be petty and vindictive, and proud to the point of arrogance. At first, his feelings were misguided, as he frequently commiserated with some of the damned, listening to and believing their stories and witnessing their merited punishments. As he sank deeper into the funnel of Hell, he grew inured to the sufferings of the damned, realizing that it would be sinful to question Divine Judgment.

Here in PURGATORIO, we see a kinder, gentler Dante. True, there are occasional lapses into his customary virulence; but, on the whole, the emphasis in PURGATORIO is on Salvation. The shades who inhabit Purgatory are repentant, unlike the souls of the damned; therein lies the difference. Much more of Aristotelian and Aquinian doctrine is evident here than was the case in INFERNO, a body of beliefs which Dante had generally adopted as his own. Cantos XVII and XVIII are noteworthy for their detailed explanation of the nature of Love, as the inspiration of all good, but also as the source of all sin. The concept of Free Will is introduced there, as is the idea that Love must be moderated and regulated so as to lead to Salvation, rather than damnation. Canto XXV is also noteworthy for D.’s lengthy explanation (placed on the lips of Statius) of how first the body is generated (from both perfect blood and passive blood), then the soul, which God breathes into the body. As the soul develops in the human body, it eventually forms, after death, into a visible shade that retains the intellectual properties with which it was originally endowed. The scientific principles given here are, of course, outdated and largely erroneous; nevertheless, they are instructive demonstrations of the workings of D.’s mind. In Medieval times, the arguments used by D. would have been taken as logical and well-reasoned.

Along with the somewhat loftier subject matter dealt with in PURGATORIO comes an attendant increased loftiness of style. There is no question that the translation here has been concurrently fraught with increased difficulty. It would appear that, at times, Dante has used somewhat awkward phraseology, often difficult to follow and to decode precisely. One might even speculate that he wrote such lines hastily in certain instances, perhaps wishing to modify them at some future time to something more easily understood. This, of course, will never be known for sure.

There are also some narrative difficulties with PURGATORIO that seem bothersome, and that have not been fully resolved, at least not in my mind. The first example of this that comes to mind is Virgil’s seeming familiarity with Purgatory and its contents, along with God’s intent. In Inferno, Virgil’s familiarity with his surroundings was explained away by a literary device that Dante had introduced for the purpose, namely Virgil’s previous summons to the depths of Hell by the sorceress Erichtho. In Purgatory, however, we are told that Virgil has never previously been here; yet, he frequently seems to know and to correctly anticipate what is next in store for the poets as they ascend the Sacred Mountain. True, we are told that Virgil’s deductive powers are extraordinary; for as we know, Virgil represents Human Intellect and the power of Reason. We are also told, however, that Reason has its limitations, and that it must give way, ultimately, to Divine Revelation, as represented by Beatrice. Another possible explanation for V.’s seeming familiarity with Purgatory is that when he first met Beatrice in Limbo, She had explained to him what he would have to anticipate there; if this is accepted, we would also have to assume that Virgil neglected to mention this to Dante in INFERNO II. Yet, at times, it seems that Virgil knows more than he rightfully should know. We must accept this as poetic license and a literary device on Dante’s part. Perhaps this is yet another indication of Medieval belief in Virgil’s great powers as a magician. More likely, this represents a way to familiarize the reader with the environment of Purgatory, prior to the introduction of first Statius, then Matilda, and finally Beatrice.

By the same token, Virgil seems, at times, to have exceeded his authority, when Dante has Aquinian doctrine issuing from Virgil’s lips, a system of beliefs that Virgil himself could not possibly have held in his own life. Dante has Virgil frequently speak purely Medieval thoughts and principles, ideas that Dante surely held himself, although he frequently feigns ignorance of them in the narrative. To my mind, it would have appeared more appropriate for Beatrice, rather than Virgil, to be lecturing Dante about the finer points of Scholastic theology. With regard to the nature of Love, at least, one may forgive Dante for this apparent lapse, given Virgil’s famous line about Love: "Amor vincit omnes . . ." ("Love conquers all . . ."); what is somewhat lesser known, perhaps (though surely not to Dante) is Virgil’s next line: et nos cedamus amori (and let us yield to love.). Certainly, Virgil’s lecture regarding Love in PURG. XVII and XVIII does not recommend yielding to Love’s excesses, nor to its dearth (with respect to the Love of God). It may be that Dante simply wished to plump up the narrative with filler material, prior to reaching the peak of the Sacred Mountain, and needed to get his theological points across; Beatrice, of course, would not be available for comment prior to Dante’s arrival at the peak, and therefore, Virgil had to be the one to make such points. Another criticism I have of Dante’s narrative is how he creates a Christian pre-existence for Statius, one which almost certainly had no factual basis with regard to the historical Statius. This is, of course, an artifice that Dante introduces so as to give Statius a certain moral superiority over Virgil, an authority that Virgil himself is not allowed to ever possess. The construction is ingenious, all the more so since it is difficult, if not impossible, to contradict.

In the Author’s Foreword to INFERNO, I tried to convey some sense of how and why I had chosen Dante to be my companion for the next few years, at least. I also mentioned that I was a mathematician, as well as an atheist and skeptic, and that this might seem strange to some readers of what is an essentially religious work. At this point, I would like to insert some additional explanations, no doubt inadequate ones, of why these seemingly contradictory inclinations of mine are not at all in conflict with the task attempted. Those of you who are not totally unfamiliar with science or mathematics will know that certain rules of logic and methodology (known as axioms and postulates) apply when attempting to solve a problem scientifically, and a fortiori, mathematically. In order for the solution to appear, one must apply these rules invariably, dispassionately and methodically, irrespective of the solver’s (or attempted solver’s) race, creed, marital status, wealth, power or status. As Euclid is alleged to have once remarked, there is no royal road to geometry. Mathematics, which has been dubbed the Queen of the Sciences, is the most stringent of the sciences; unlike the so-called physical sciences, which rely to a great degree on experimentation with observable phenomena within the objective reality of the actual universe, one can do perfectly consistent mathematics within the framework of postulated universes, whose sole existence and justification takes root within the mind of the mathematician. No experiments are required in the world of mathematics (except in the area of empirical deduction, where real data lead to logical conclusions). Once one adopts the appropriate postulates and axioms that form the framework of a mathematical universe, and also assuming that these assumptions do not contradict each other or are redundant, these so-called rules of the game may be used again and again in the subsequent development; indeed, they must be used, and will thus form an entire body of knowledge that is logically consistent and correct, at least within that context.

How does this relate to Dante’s work? He too follows certain rules – perhaps not with the same degree of stringency that is required in mathematics, but certainly with a definite pattern and consistency in mind. When Dante describes his fictitious worlds, (Hell, Purgatory and Paradise), he is, of course, employing Ptolemy’s cosmogony when he gives us their physical descriptions and motions. That the earth, in fact, revolves around the sun and not vice-versa (as was believed by Ptolemy, Medieval astronomers and Dante) should not be of major concern; what is important is that the observable phenomena displayed by the stars, sun, moon and planets could be explained by the Ptolemaic theories of Dante’s day. It is irrelevant that these theories are wrong, as we now know. They produce the same effects, logically, as the correct principles, although they are factually false, in our objective universe; and in this respect, they bear some resemblance to mathematical axioms and postulates. At any rate, this is one way to look at Dante’s titanic construction, a view that would probably have been foreign to Dante himself. In my earlier foreword, I expressed the hope that Dante and I might have been friends, if only he were somehow transported whole to our century. I now realize that this was probably wishful thinking on my part. Upon closer scrutiny, the mind of Medieval man, even a giant like Dante, seems as foreign to that of modern man as does the mind of the Man on the Moon.

Political and religious thought have not changed very much since Dante’s time, it is true; however, science has made enormous strides since then. Granted, the germs of the scientific method were alive and well in Medieval times, but they remained well hidden with the alchemists, wizards and herbalists of the day; it would be centuries after Dante’s time before Aristotelian science would be banished and replaced by experimental methods, first introduced (or rediscovered) and honed by the likes of Copernicus, Kepler and Galileo, and culminating in the later 17th and early 18th century with the work of Newton and his successors. I scarcely mention Darwin, who produced yet another type of revolution in thought, whose effects resound to this very day.

Returning to the work of Dante, we need to emphasize its essentially religious nature, reflecting (as it does) Dante’s theology; this was acquired after years of study of the works of Aristotle, St. Augustine, Boethius, Albertus Magnus, St. Thomas Aquinas, not to mention Ptolemy and the many other classical (primarily Latin) scholars and poets, chiefly Virgil and Ovid. Interwoven into Dante’s work is his philosophy of government, as expressed more explicitly in works such as De Monarchia; of youthful love and passion, as given in La Vita Nuova; of poetic style, as given in De Vulgari Eloquentia; of the passion for scholarship, given in Il Convivio. All of these ideas are discussed and incorporated, at some point or other, into his magnum opus, the Commedia, in masterful, incomparably grandiloquent style.

Incidentally, it might be advisable at this point to indicate the traditional dates that most scholars have adopted as the approximate periods during which the three books of the Commedia were written: the consensus seems to be that INFERNO was written from 1306-1314, PURGATORIO from 1315-1318 and PARADISO from 1319-1321. These dates may be taken as an approximate context within which to compare the evolution of both the narrative and the thought processes revealed by Dante the pilgrim.

Here is another, admittedly fanciful, way to look at this work; namely, it may strike some of our modern readers that we may look at it as a work of fantasy, or even science fiction. Of course, this work is vastly different from the work of a Jules Verne, or even a satirist such as Jonathan Swift; yet, it is an account of a supposed traveler to other worlds, and it makes an attempt (with occasional lapses of poetic fancifulness) to maintain an aura of scientific plausibility, as science was understood in Medieval times. It is clear that D. wrote this as a work of fiction, as witnessed by his many ad hoc prophecies presented throughout the work, which had already come to pass by the time he had begun writing the work.

It is only natural that he should wish to vaunt his own encyclopaedic knowledge in the various matters dear to the intellectuals of his day, and in which he had very strong and definite views. If we take science to mean knowledge, its literal meaning, this may indeed be taken as a work of science fiction.

I have tried to follow essentially the same format as was given in INFERNO: a foreword; the poetry, followed by extensive (line by line) explanatory notes; an index of terms; a timeline, and a bibliography. In the third and final canticle (PARADISO), this format is continued.

Toward the end of PURGATORIO, we say goodbye to Virgil, the faithful guide and paternalistic companion, the great scholar and magician, the symbol of Human Intellect and of Imperial Power. Unfortunately, Virgil is destined never to gain admittance to Heaven, and must therefore be supplanted in the narrative by other, worthier spirits. He is slowly replaced, first by the figure of Statius, who symbolizes Triumphant Redemption, but is not yet a resident of Heaven; then by Matilda, the symbol of the Active Life of the Soul, an assistant to Dante in his preparations for Salvation and a precursor to Beatrice. Finally, we meet Beatrice Herself, a thoroughly Blessed and Angelic Spirit, already one of the Heavenly Host. Beatrice finally meets Dante in the Terrestrial Paradise at the top of the Mountain of Purgatory, and will guide him through the reaches of the Heavenly spheres high above.

When we first meet Beatrice, contrary to expectations, She harshly chastises Dante, on the grounds that he had not been faithful to her after her death, and had engaged in certain earthly pursuits far less worthy of him than was appropriate. Indeed, as we come to learn during the course of his ascent up the Mountain of Purgatory, Dante had been guilty of primarily two sins: Pride and Lust, of which he must purify himself and for which he must atone before proceeding. That Dante had been guilty of Pride should not surprise anyone; but to have been guilty of Lust is, perhaps, more unexpected in such a lofty intellect. Yet, we have it from the poet’s own mouth. He is haunted by his youthful peccadillos; in particular, he is ashamed of his faithlessness to the memory of Beatrice, with whom he had been so deeply enamoured. Or, perhaps, he is also ashamed of having felt such a deep physical attraction for Beatrice when he and she had been young; in his depths of grief, and by the studies in which he immersed himself, this feeling was transformed, in his maturity, into a powerful, profound, transcendental love for her. Beatrice has become a spiritual creature, a resident of Heaven, far exceeding her mere physical presence that had been such a source of inspiration for Dante in his youth. Although this idea had first taken seed in his work La Vita Nuova, it reaches its maturation point in the PURGATORIO. On a purely spiritual level also, he had been faithless to the memory of Beatrice, for he had immersed himself in pursuits of an earthly kind, that is to say, in largely intellectual matters dealing with what passed as science in Medieval times; Dante had ignored (or so he says) his spiritual well-being, concentrating instead on material pursuits (which included human knowledge itself). Only Divine Revelation, represented by Beatrice, is able to save him now, before he becomes irretrievably lost and damned forever.

As we leave the Terrestrial Paradise and prepare to ascend with Dante to the Empyrean, we see a sanitized D., ostensibly purified of Pride, Wrath, Lust and the other sins to which he was prey. At this point, he seems humble and meek enough, but in fact, Dante the narrator has lost none of his old vitriol and thunder. By adopting the novel device of having other figures express his righteous indignation as their own, he avoids having to show himself as being plagued by such turbulent emotions. As expressed through Beatrice’s lips in the final Canto, we see just how eager he is for Divine vengeance to descend on his native city Florence, and for a liberator to come and destroy the French monarchy, restore the Papacy in Rome, quell the numerous internecine wars that were raging throughout Italy, and to place Italy once again under the aegis of the Empire.

That these fond hopes and dreams had been dashed by 1313 with the death of Henry VII must have been yet another source of enormous disappointment and bitterness for Dante.

It seems to be around then that Dante wrote De Monarchia, a political treatise defending the institution of the Empire and prophesying the rise of a perfect prince and an idealized monarchy. Thus far at least, such a perfect ruler and realm have yet to appear.

We rise toward the stars with the same eager anticipation that Dante does at the end of Purgatorio. The reasons and the goals may be different, after the passage of seven centuries – but the stars remain our goal nonetheless.

Paul S. Bruckman,

Sointula, September, 2006

SECOND CANTICA

PURGATORIO

CANTO I

Prologue and Invocation

Ante-Purgatory: The Island and its Shore

Venus and the Four Stars – 

Cato, the Guardian of Ante-Purgatory – 

Virgil’s reply to Cato’s questions – Cato’s response to Virgil – 

Virgil cleanses Dante’s face and girds his waist with a reed – 

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PURG. I: Cato, the Guardian of Ante-Purgatory

NOTES TO CANTO I

Prologue and Invocation

Ante-Purgatory: The Island and its Shore

Venus and the Four Stars – 

Cato, the Guardian of Ante-Purgatory – 

Virgil’s reply to Cato’s questions – Cato’s response to Virgil – 

Virgil cleanses Dante’s face and girds his waist with a reed – 

1-12. PROLOGUE AND INVOCATION: After enunciating the premise of PURGATORIO, the second Cantica, which deals with the voyage through Purgatory, D. invokes the assistance of the Muses, particularly of Calliope.

1-3. Figuratively speaking, D.’s creative genius, or intellect, is likened to a small bark (boat) that has left behind the menacing, turbulent infernal ocean, now about to enter the calmer waters of Purgatory. The metaphor may have been patterned after the one used by V. in his Georgics IV, l. 117-118: Indeed, were I not furling now my sails in sight of the end of my task and hastening to turn my prow to land…; similar language is again used by D. in PARA. II: 1-6.

4-6. Purgatory is the Second Kingdom (Hell being the First one, Heaven the Third). The order of the three kingdoms is the same as the order of appearance in D.’s grandiose vision, and has nothing to do with the order of their creation. Heaven was the first to be created, then Hell (to house Lucifer and his rebellious Angels), and finally Purgatory.

The traditions of the Church placed Purgatory beneath the earth, like Hell; also, ancient traditions, as epitomized by the Aeneid, placed the abode of the dead, virtuous and wicked alike, underground. D. breaks with these traditions, in yet another demonstration of his creative genius. He incorporates certain elements of legend, superstition, theological speculations and mystical revelations, with geographical and cosmological considerations, by placing Purgatory in the open air. D. conceives of Purgatory as lying on an enormous mountain, indeed the tallest mountain on earth, occupying nearly the whole of an island in the Southern Hemisphere. Indeed, in D.’s conception, this island is the only piece of land in the Southern Hemisphere, which is otherwise covered by ocean, and it lies at the antipodes (diametrically opposed) to Jerusalem.

Just as Jerusalem is held to be at the center of the Northern Hemisphere, so the Island of Purgatory is held to be at the center of the Southern Hemisphere. The Mountain of Purgatory is a truncated cone divided into seven annular plateaus, or circles (like those in Hell), except that these circles become smaller as one ascends the mountain. The circles, also known as terraces, are connected by staircases excavated in the naked rock. The nethermost of these plateaus contains the poets’ exitway from Hell; together with the shore and the lower cliffs and prominences, this comprises the Ante-Purgatory (corresponding to the antechamber of Hell, between the Gate of Hell and the Acheron). The spirits of the departed arrive at the shore; further up, as we will see, some of the departed are detained before entering Purgatory proper.

Within the circles of Purgatory, different types of punishment are inflicted on the spirits, depending on their sins; as in the case of Hell (but only superficially), the punishments fit the sin. Like Hell, there is suffering here; however, unlike Hell, there is no torment. The tortures of those damned to Hell are eternal and involuntary, and the souls there remain forever unrepentant; here, the suffering is temporary, and is eagerly sought by the repentant soul being punished. In Hell, demons guard the souls of the damned, inflicting further punishments and preventing escape. In Purgatory, within certain requirements as to the duration of punishment (as will subsequently be explained), the shades are free to find respite from their suffering whenever they choose; it is only their own desire to be purified that drives them to accept their suffering. Again within certain requirements as to the length of the punishment (which will be explained in the subsequent Cantos), it is left to the shade that is suffering punishment, together with Divine Illumination, to determine the point at which it has achieved the required degree of purification, ready for the next stage. It is interesting to note the similarity between this concept of advancement of the soul with like concepts embedded in the Hindu and Buddhist philosophical systems.

The uppermost circle of Purgatory contains Eden, the Terrestrial Paradise, where Adam and Eve once resided. Here, all suffering ceases, and the souls complete their process of purification by bathing in the waters of the Lethe and the Eunoë. This done, the purified souls are at last allowed to soar up to their eternal bliss in the Empyrean, or Celestial Paradise, i.e. Heaven.

7-12. D. invokes the Muses again (as he did in INF. II: 7) for inspiration. Literally, D. is using the term dead poetry, referring to the poetic talent that he (assisted by the Muses) was able to employ in describing the horrors of Hell, the domain of spiritual Death. I thought that Death’s poesy (poetry) sounded a bit better, with roughly the same intent. In similar fashion, D. hopes to be able to again rise to the occasion here demanded, in describing his experiences in Purgatory.

D. claims to be the disciple, poet and narrator, singularly devoted to the Muses. In particular, he invokes Calliope, the Muse of Epic Poetry and the eldest of the Muses, as the Muse of his specialized field. V. had also made a similar peroration Calliope, I pray that the Muses inspire my song… (Aeneid IX: 525).

D. prays that his poetry might be accompanied by the same dulcet tones that issued from Calliope’s lyre when she took up the challenge of the Pierides. These were the nine daughters of King Pierus of Emathia in Thessaly; they presumed to challenge the nine Muses to a singing contest, as told by Ovid (Meta. V: 294-340, 662-678). The Muses accepted the challenge and chose Calliope to represent them. The moment that the divine Muse struck a chord on her lyre, the Pierides knew that they were beaten, and despaired of having pardon shown to them for their temerity. For their insolence, they were transformed into Magpies.

D. calls for the very song that Calliope used to humble the pretentious Pierides. This invocation seems entirely appropriate in the present context, introducing us to the domain of humility, where false pride, the origin of sin, is prostrated.

13-27. VENUS AND THE FOUR STARS: Having just issued from the dead air of Hell, D. delights in once again seeing the serene, sapphire – colored sky and contemplating its luminaries. He recognizes Venus, the brilliant planet of Love, and also sees Four very bright Stars, unknown to him. These Stars had not been seen by human eyes since the time of Adam and Eve, and lend a felicitous aspect to the entire southern firmament. They represent the four Cardinal Virtues: Prudence, Justice, Strength and Temperance. In another sense, D. is speaking of four actual stars in the heavens; it is possible, but unlikely, that D. had in mind the four stars that form the actual constellation of the Southern Cross. More likely, D. is inventing a constellation, with these four stars as indeterminate objects imparted with extraordinary brilliance, commensurate with their allegorical significance. The actual stars of the Southern Hemisphere, except for those close to the equator, were largely unknown to 14th century Europe. D. was free to use his poetic imagination to create his desired effect.

13-18. D. has just emerged from the tunnel leading back to Hell, filled with murky, stagnant and oppressive air. This dead air, consciously or subconsciously, had weighed upon his heart and soul, leaving him jaded and unaccustomed to the delight felt in observing the heavens, which he had nearly forgotten. We recall that D.’s feelings toward the damned had steadily evolved from pity to disgust and derision. He had repressed his humanity and inured himself to withstand the horrors of Hell. Although he had been in Hell slightly more than 24 hours, it now seemed to him as if it had been an eternity.

Now, in viewing the cerulean blue color of the sky in the pre-dawn hours, he once more feels delight, as if reborn. In D.’s time, the best and most highly prized sapphires came from Media, a section of Persia (and therefore from Asia, known collectively as the East, or Orient). D. says that the entire sky of the Southern Hemisphere is a softly-lit sapphire color, from horizon to the utmost pole.

19-21. In D.’s time as well as ours, the planet Venus was the brightest object in the night skies, except for the moon. Venus was also the goddess of Love; therefore the planet Venus, by association, was the Planet of Love. Never too far from the sun, from earth’s perspective, Venus would be in the eastern skies in the pre-dawn hours. In INF. I, D. indicated that the sun was in the constellation Aries, which implied that the month was April. The Fishes (Pisces) are next to Aries, and would thus be escorted through the skies by Venus, in a manner of speaking, albeit so cloaked by her brilliance as to be nearly invisible. In fact, Venus was never the morning star in April, 1300, since it then rose after the sun; this is merely D.’s allegorical device, suggesting that Love leads the way before Divine Illumination (the Sun).

About 21 hours have elapsed during the poets’ ascent from the center of Hell back up to the surface. As we recall (n. to INF. XXXIV: 94-96), it was around 7:30 A.M. of Easter Sunday up on the Southern Hemisphere, when the poets began their ascent. It is now about 4:30 A.M. on Monday. The total journey thus far has consumed a total of about 45½ hours of real time.

22-24. D. turns to the right and beholds the constellations around the South Pole. There, he sees Four brilliant Stars, which (he feels certain) have not been seen by any human eyes since the time of Adam and Eve, literally the first people. See the note to l. 13-27 above for the significance of these Four Stars. God had first placed Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, the Terrestrial Paradise.

D. has placed Eden on top of the Mountain of Purgatory; therefore, Adam and Eve would have literally been the first people to see these stars (which were created by God before these first people). However, after Adam and Eve had been banished from Eden, no human eyes, until now, had seen these stars (with the possible exception of Ulysses and his men, although this possibility is not brought up by D.).

Other commentators have, less successfully, attempted to describe the first people as the people of the Golden Age, or even the ancient Romans; more than likely, D. intended a literal interpretation.

25-27. It appears to D. that the Southern sky is exulting in the glow of these four brilliant stars. D. bemoans the fact that the Northern sky has no counterpart to this bright constellation. It is deprived of these stars’ spectacle, thus being widowed in some sense, humbled and overshadowed by their splendor.

28-48. CATO, THE GUARDIAN OF ANTE-PURGATORY: As D. turns toward the North, he discovers a venerable old man nearby, whose face is brightly illuminated by the light of the Four Stars. This worthy sage is astonished to see D and V., who have just issued forth from the tunnel leading to Hell. With some sarcasm in his tone, he asks them how such a thing is possible for two damned souls, as he believes them to be.

In life, he was Marcus Porcius Cato, known to history as Cato the Younger (b. 95 B.C., d. 46 B.C.). Cato was the inflexible, highly moral defender of Republican liberty in pre-Imperial Rome. During the time of civil war (between Pompey and Caesar), Cato opposed the policies of both men, but chose to side with Pompey, whom he regarded as the lesser of the two evils. After his cause was lost at the battle of Thapsus, rather than submit to the will of Caesar, whom he considered a tyrant, he slew himself on his sword. Since he committed suicide in Utica, history added the sobriquet Uticensis to his name.

As a pagan, he rightfully belongs (at best) in Limbo; as a Suicide, he should, by rights, be in the Second Ring of the Seventh Circle of Hell. However, D. made an exception in Cato’s case, as he did with certain Popes, patriarchs, and other ancients.

The reasons for such exceptions remain unclear; however, it may suffice to note that D. held the virtuous ancient Romans in great esteem and reverence, and apparently could not bring himself to condemn Cato to any portion of Hell, not even Limbo; indeed, D., to demonstrate his great admiration for this honorable Roman, makes Cato the Guardian of the Entrance to Purgatory. As one who slew himself for the sake of an unquenchable love of liberty, Cato is a worthy custodian of the site where souls are to acquire moral liberty.

In due time, all the spirits of Purgatory, Cato included, will have their various sins cleansed and purified; thus, their punishments are only temporary. On Judgment Day, Purgatory will cease to exist, and all its souls will rejoin their earthly remains and be allowed to ascend to the bliss of the Celestial Paradise. Unlike the souls of Hell, who have lost all freedom forever, the souls in Purgatory gladly and willingly submit to their punishments, in the certain knowledge that they will someday gain their spiritual freedom in an absolute sense. Meanwhile, already on the road to that blissful state, they are being purged of all traces of sin and evil tendencies, fully aware that moral liberty is the fundamental prerequisite for every form of true, rational freedom. Cato is a transitional symbol, representing supreme Natural Virtue, not quite Divine Virtue; an even higher being is required for D. to ascend to the peak of Purgatory.

28-30. D. leaves off gazing at the Four bright Stars near the South Pole and turns left, toward the horizon, in the direction of the North Pole. The Wagon (Ursa Major, or the Big Dipper) has disappeared over the horizon, since it lies near the North Pole. Indeed, the Wagon would never be visible from the South Pole. It seems that D. (as observer) is still somewhat disoriented by his passage through the center of the earth and his issuing out into the Southern Hemisphere; he may not have reckoned with the passage of time spent in regaining the surface (about 21 hours), and he has certainly not reckoned with the 12-hour forward adjustment in the measurement of time, due to the passage from Northern to Southern Hemisphere. As implied by the note to l. 19-21, about 45½ hours of real time have elapsed since the beginning of the infernal journey. Thus, since the infernal journey began at 7 P.M. on Holy Friday, the time is now about 4:30 A.M. on Monday (i.e., 4:30 P.M. on Eastern Sunday in the Northern Hemisphere).

31-36. As D. turns toward the north, he sees a solitary old man of venerable aspect standing nearby (Cato). According to Lucan (Pharsalia II: 373), who furnished an account of Cato’s last days, upon the outbreak of civil war in Rome, Cato ceased to cut his hair and to shave. Lucan’s description of Cato’s beard may be interpreted to mean mixed, as of a mixed color, which is apparently the interpretation adopted by D. The details about the two shocks of hair cascading down Cato’s breast (and likewise grizzled) seem to be D.’s addition.

At his death, Cato was a mere 49 or 49 years old, a detail that would not have escaped a well-read D. Nevertheless, D. seems to stretch out Cato’s age a bit, no doubt for effect, perhaps aided in his imagery by Lucan’s account. It should also be noted that D. deems old age to begin at age 45, as he expresses elsewhere. When we consider that Cato was a Senator of Rome in life, and is now the Guardian of the Entrance to Purgatory, it seems appropriate to equate the gravity of his office with a senatorial deportment, usually associated with old age (it should be noted that the words senator and senile have the same derivation; by and large, the Roman Senate consisted of old men). Thus, old age is generally associated with wisdom, majesty and rectitude, attributes that D. wished to impart to his depiction of Cato. D. does make some concessions to realism, since Cato’s beard is not pure white, but grizzled and flecked with gray; we may perhaps excuse D. for some of his exaggerated imagery.

37-39. The light of the Four brilliant Stars above shines on Cato’s face, illuminating it almost as brightly as if he were in full sunlight. Since those Stars represent Divine Virtue, and the Sun represents Divine Illumination, the symbolism is clear. Cato represents the highest Natural Virtue, though not quite Divine Virtue. In a sense, he is a parallel to V., who represents Human Intellect, but not Divine Intellect.

40-42. Cato had never seen these two and, having seen them issue from the passageway leading back to Hell, he assumes that they are spirits condemned to Hell, who have somehow managed to escape the Dark Kingdom. He immediately begins to interrogate them, mixing his wonder at this phenomenon with a certain degree of scorn. He wants to know how they have managed to ascend the long tunnel leading here from Hell (the eternal prison’s sack), against the flow of the hidden rivulet (the blind stream) described in the n. to INF. XXXIV: 127-130. The length of Cato’s locks and beard attest to his honesty and nobility, contributing to his dignified demeanor; however, he seems to be asking his questions in a somewhat ruffled manner, since his locks and beard are shaking in apparent agitation.

43-48. Cato continues his questioning by asking the poets who led them out of that deep, dark domain (Hell); he wants to know who was their beacon to light the way for them, since that way is forever black. He also asks if the rules of Hell (the Abyss) have been so far perverted as to allow the souls of the damned passage into Purgatory, along its cliffs that he is supposed to be guarding. Finally, he asks if some new decree has been issued in Heaven, unbeknownst to him, repealing the old law and now allowing these things to happen.

49-84. VIRGIL’S REPLY TO CATO’S QUESTIONS: V. motions D. and instructs him to bow and kneel before Cato, as a token of respect. Then, V. responds to Cato’s various questions; he explains their mission here, including the Divine identity of the blessed spirit (B.) who sanctioned it. V. then entreats Cato to allow them passage into the Kingdom of Purgatory, invoking the name of Marcia, who, like V., is condemned to Limbo; V. appeals to Cato’s erstwhile love for his former wife, and he promises Cato that he will sing his praises to her, once he returns to Limbo.

49-51. V. grabs D.’s arm, and by the various signals described, instructs D. to kneel and bow his head in reverence toward Cato. We recall that V. had instructed D. to bow and be silent before the Heavenly Messenger (see INF. IX: 85-87 and its note). Cato is not Divine, unlike the Angel sent down to Dis, but he does have Divine sanction to discharge his office as Guardian of the Entrance to Purgatory, and thus demands the full respect that such important office entails.

52-54. V. replies to Cato’s questions by first informing him that it was at the behest of B., a gracious Heaven-sent Lady, not of his own design, that he (V.) has been assisting this living man, D., as his guide and mentor. V. is replying to Cato’s second question first, apparently in an effort to allay Cato’s belligerence at once. He seems to be reasoning that if Cato knows who has sent them here, he (Cato) should take more notice of these visitors’ requests.

55-57. V. realizes that Cato’s questions remain largely unanswered, and politely introduces his next comments, which he trusts will more fully explain the poets’ mission and status.

58-60. Again, V. informs Cato that D. is still alive, contrary to what Cato had believed. It may also be gathered from V.’s comment that D. is not yet destined to become one of the damned, depending on his future conduct; however, he (D.) came very near to being damned through his own folly, and only turned just in time from a life that would have led to damnation, to one that may yet offer Salvation. As D. made clear in INF. I: 1-12, he had strayed from the path of rectitude and had lost sight of the ultimate goal in life, which is Salvation.

61-63. V. tells Cato that his (V.’s) mission was to take D. along the road that would eventually lead to D.’s Salvation. As we recall, D. had originally attempted to ascend the Delightful Mount (a metaphor for Salvation) unassisted and directly, but was turned back from this attempt by the three beasts representing man’s vices. It was established that the only road to Salvation would be the long and arduous one, aided by V. (the representative of Human Intellect), and later, by B. (the representative of Divine Revelation).

64-66. V. informs Cato that he (V.) has just shown D. the spirits of the damned, who are being severely and eternally punished for their unrepentance and denial of God; now, he intends to show D. the spirits in Purgatory. As for those damned to Hell, their punishments are inflicted by God’s vengeance or by demons, and are certainly undesired by these spirits. By contrast, the punishments of those who are in Purgatory (the charges for whom Cato is responsible and whom he guards) are self-inflicted. Their aim is to purge themselves of all sin, and they willingly, indeed gladly, suffer their punishments, knowing that they will eventually find Salvation thereby.

67-69. V.’s chief purpose in bringing D. here to Cato’s shoals (the cliffs and crags of the Island of Purgatory) is D.’s ultimate Salvation, not merely to see and hear Cato. V. seems to be employing more than a little flattery here, elevating the sage of Utica to a status higher than V.’s true intent requires. Nevertheless, it is literally true that this present encounter is a necessary consequence of their journey’s itinerary; V. is using this fact, and is directing refined flattery toward Cato (or at least attempting to do so), as if the main intent of the poets’ arrival in Purgatory is to see and hear Cato. V. also tells Cato that it would be a long story to relate the full details of just how they arrived here, and conveniently omits such details. It is Divine Virtue, he says, as such is represented by B., that is assisting him in this mission of Salvation.

70-72. V. politely offers Cato a little incentive for allowing the poets passage into Purgatory. He says that D. seeks his freedom, something for which certain people are willing to give their lives. Of course, it is clear to whom V. is referring, namely to Cato himself. However, the Republican kind of freedom for which Cato died is not the same kind of freedom to which V. is alluding in reference to D. When V. speaks of freedom in D.’s case, he speaks of moral freedom, the basis of all other kinds of human liberty.

Cato had been the champion of civil liberty; he chose to die rather than submit to political servitude under Caesar. No doubt, this had also required a great degree of moral liberty, which ensured that his principles would not be sacrificed for the sake of a cowardly desire to live, albeit abjectly. Likewise, D. seeks to rise to a high state of moral liberty by complete dominion of his rationality over his carnal appetites and desires. To D., civil liberty and moral liberty were two sides of the same coin; in their union, they represented the most sublime and perfect form of human liberty. In D.’s view, the most perfect government would be the one that affords man the greatest freedoms (though not taken to abusive and excessive forms); the maximum spiritual equilibrium for man should correspond to an equally enlightened political climate. In spite of these idealistic hopes, however, D. knew very well that the price of such freedom is high; V. alludes to this price, as applied to Cato’s specific situation.

73-75. V. addresses Cato as one who did not find death to be bitter, when he killed himself in Utica for the sake of liberty. In doing so, Cato gave up his body (his husk), the corporeal shell housing the soul. On Judgment Day (the Great Day), V. says, the souls and bodies of all spirits will be reunited; on that Day, Cato’s body and soul, thus united, will shine forth with blinding brilliance, lighting the way to everlasting Celestial bliss as it rises to Heaven, finally cleansed of all sin.

76-81. In further reply to Cato’s questions, V. once more confirms that D. is alive, and that neither he nor D. is breaking any of God’s Laws, particularly those Laws that prohibit the damned from exiting Hell. Of course, V. would also have been prohibited from leaving Hell, under normal circumstances; however, as we know, he has received special dispensation from God, through B., to guide D. through Hell and Purgatory. Moreover, V. says, he himself is not subject to the authority of Minos, and comes from Limbo, the First Circle, where Cato’s chaste wife Marcia is also confined, among the virtuous pagans (see INF. IV: 128 and n. to INF. IV: 127-129). Here, V. says, Marcia still weeps for her husband and prays for him, faithful to his memory. It would appear that V. describes her as continually praying to be reunited with Cato, fervently hopeful that he might still desire her and wish to reclaim her as his own; this feeling is maintained in spite of her knowledge that she and Cato are forever separated.

76-81. V. addresses Cato as a sacred heart, one whose heart is pure, and that forever holds Marcia to be his true wife. He beseeches Cato, by the eternal love that his devoted wife Marcia still feels for him, to allow him and D. through, contrary to the stern decree that would otherwise prohibit Cato from allowing any to pass, save those repentant souls of the dead who seek to be purified in Purgatory.

In Pharsalia II: 341, Lucan says that Marcia was the daughter of the Consul Philippus and was Cato’s second wife, bearing him three children. According to Lucan’s account, at Cato’s request, she was released from this marriage in 56 B.C., in order to be able to marry Cato’s friend Q. Hortensius; this was, of course, an unusual transaction, but it seems to have been approved by Philippus. After the death of Hortensius, the virtuous widow, still in love with Cato, readily returned to him, begging him to take her back in the name of the ancient and sacred vows of matrimony. She also prayed to die as Cato’s lawful wife, not as a rejected, lonely widow, and Cato willingly consented.

82-84. V. appeals to Cato’s imagined vanity, still hoping to flatter him with sufficient praise and enticements. He says that if Cato allows them through his fair seven kingdoms (an allusion to the seven circles of Purgatory), he promises that he will sing Cato’s praises to Marcia, when he returns to Limbo – provided that Cato condescends to be mentioned down in that region so near to Hell proper. V. is well aware that it may be beneath Cato’s dignity to be spoken of by a spirit who resides within the cone of Hell. This bribe, of sorts, is offered by V. as an added inducement to Cato, but should not be thought of as insincere. Very probably, V. does indeed intend to speak favorably to Marcia about Cato; to speak of one as virtuous as Cato in other than laudatory terms would be a calumny and lie, which we would not expect to escape V.’s lips.

85-111. CATO’S RESPONSE TO VIRGIL: With refined politeness, Cato replies that he had indeed loved Marcia tenderly; now that she haunts the region beyond the Acheron, no amount of persuasion based solely on the love that he bore Marcia can move Cato to allow passage to the poets. However, since the poets are here on a Divine missive, he says, there is no need to employ useless flattery to obtain the desired permission to pass, and the Divine authority permits this passage without further ado. Nevertheless, Cato instructs V. to rinse D.’s face of all trace of the infernal scum that had accresced like a veil during the voyage through Hell. Also, V. is to gird D.’s waist with one of the smooth, straight and pliant reeds growing at the edge of the island. Only then, Cato says, will D. be presentable to the Angel who guards the Gate of Purgatory.

85-87. Cato acknowledges that when he and Marcia were alive, far away in the Northern Hemisphere (yonder), it pleased him to look upon her pleasing countenance and to indulge her every whim.

88-90. In spite of Cato’s desire to please his Marcia, he says, no amount of flattery or enticements on V.’s part can influence his decision. Dwelling as she does in Limbo, beyond the Acheron (the evil stream), Marcia is no longer within his sphere of influence, and he is no longer influenced by her. The Divine Law that separates the redeemed from the unredeemed is inflexible; in any event, he has been charged to see to it that such Law is carried out, certainly without regard to any influence from Limbo. He is morally and spiritually bound to execute the dictates of this Law.

According to D.’s grand conception, when Cato died in 46 B.C., Purgatory did not yet exist, and Cato was still of the unredeemed, dwelling in Limbo. Before the Harrowing of Hell by Christ (q.v. note to INF. IV: 46-63), souls went either directly to Hell proper, or else to Limbo. If they went to Limbo, most of them were destined to remain there forever; a handful, however, were earmarked for future Salvation. The virtuous Cato was of this latter category; when he was assigned to be the Guardian of the newly-created Entrance to Purgatory, he was taken from Limbo to come here, and the Divine Law to which Cato now refers first went into effect.

91-93. Cato has been aware of V.’s flattering remarks, and informs V. that he (V.) has no need of employing this ruse. If it is true, Cato says, that B. (the Maid from Paradise) is V.’s guiding light and inspiration for this mission, there is no need for blandishments or flattering remarks. It is only required to invoke Her blessed name, in order to sanctify the poets’ passage through Purgatory. It is one thing to be bribed by the promise of what might benefit someone in Limbo who is dear to him; it is quite another matter to be told that a blessed spirit from the Empyrean sanctifies V.’s request.

94-99. Cato instructs V. to find a smooth, straight reed, down by the seashore, and wrap it around D.’s waist; also, V. is to rinse D.’s face of all traces of scum, the same scum that had accumulated on D.’s face during their journey through Hell. The plant thus described must be lowly and pliant, a fitting representative of humility. Indeed, the overriding attribute of Purgatory is humility, just as pride was the common attribute of the unrepentant damned. A pupil must be humble before his teacher, just as a suppliant for Salvation must display humility before his God.

Let us recap D.’s journey thus far, in its allegorical significance. The journey through Hell began with D., the pupil, being guided by his mentor V., the symbol of Human Intellect. The journey toward Salvation, which is now to continue, must begin with humility and the recognition of sin. Such recognition requires merely knowledge, which, again, is within V.’s area of expertise. However, knowledge alone does not suffice; also, great effort must be expended, and above all, humility must be felt. This effort lies ahead for D., as he ascends the Mountain of Purgatory.

First, V. is to rinse D.’s face and eyes of all traces of the infernal scum that cloud his eyes; this veil, or sheath, represents Ignorance (since Hell was the residence of supreme Ignorance, as represented by Satan’s black face), particularly the Ignorance of Divine Love. V., of course, is supremely qualified to dispel Ignorance. Next, V. is to gird D.’s waist with a reed representing humility, thereby instilling D.