by Dante
93–96. Virgil’s request that one of the centaurs bear Dante on his back to cross over the river of blood will be answered indirectly, between vv. 114 and 115. [return to English / Italian]
97–99. The “tour” of the river of blood is only now ready to begin, under the guidance of Nessus, perhaps because Ovid had said of him that he was “membrisque valens scitusque vadorum” (strong of limb and schooled in fording streams—Metam. IX.108). [return to English / Italian]
104. Dante’s negative view of tyrants, seen as serving themselves rather than the state they govern, is also found in Monarchia (III.iv.10). [return to English / Italian]
106–111. The first (and worst) group of the violent against others are the tyrants, including Alexander the Great and Dionysius the Elder of Syracuse. Both these identities are disputed, some modern commentators arguing for Alexander of Pherae, some for Dionysius the Younger, the son of the Elder. Singleton’s notes to the passage offer convincing support for both traditional identifications. On Dante’s view of tyrants see Carp.1998.1.
Ezzelino III da Romano (1194–1259), Ghibelline strongman in the March of Treviso in northern Italy, was, in Guelph eyes, a monster of cruelty. (See Giovanni Villani’s account of his misdeeds, cited by Singleton.) He is coupled with a Guelph, Òpizzo II d’Este (1247–93), lord of Ferrara and a supporter of the French forces in Italy and of the pope. His violence was rewarded in life by his murder at the hands of either his own and “denatured” son or his illegitimate (“natural”) offspring (the commentators are divided). [return to English / Italian]
114–115. In handing Dante over to Nessus, Virgil does not tell him to “mount up.” Yet this is what we should almost certainly understand is happening. The rest of the canto, up to its final two lines, takes place with Dante looking down from Nessus’s back (see note to v. 126). This is almost clear when we consider the next verse: “A little farther on the centaur stopped.” Up to now the movements of Dante and Virgil have been noted as they made their way along; now it is the centaur’s movement which is recorded. Why? Because Dante is sitting on his back. Why did Dante handle this part of the journey so delicately? Perhaps because he was aware that the scene would have been “outrageous,” a Dante on horseback in hell, too much for a reader to accept if merely told. In this formulation the poet once again invites the reader to become his accomplice in making his fiction. (For discussion see Holl.1984.1.) [return to English / Italian]
116–120. This slightly less bloodied crew contains “mere” murderers, only one of whom is indicated (by periphrasis): Guy de Montfort (1243–98), of royal English blood, in order to avenge his father Simon’s murder killed his cousin, Henry of Cornwall in a church at Viterbo in 1271, supposedly while Henry was praying during the elevation of the Host. Henry’s heart, returned to England, “still drips with blood” because his murder was not avenged. [return to English / Italian]
121–123. Those who rise higher from the blood are generally understood to be the non-murderous violent. It seems likely that their counterpart group, perhaps 180 degrees across the river, is the final one referred to before the end of the canto (vv. 134–137). Dante recognizes many of the present group, thus perhaps asking us to understand that they are local Tuscan ruffians. [return to English / Italian]
124–125. Although those who merely stand in blood are not further identified in any way, we may assume that they were the least destructive of those violent against the property of others, perhaps pickpockets and others of that ilk. [return to English / Italian]
126. Not every reader notices that at this point Dante (astride Nessus’s back, we may want to remember) crosses over the river of blood. [return to English / Italian]
127–132. As he crosses toward the far side of the river (the one nearer to the center of hell) Nessus looks back over the area they have traversed (to their right), where the river grew increasingly shallow, and then looks left, where, he knows, the riverbed gradually deepens until it reaches its lowest point, which coincides with the first place Dante saw, that in which the tyrants are punished. This information suggests that Dante and Virgil have traversed a semicircle in order to reach this shallowest point, where they have forded the river. The unexplored run of the river thus also occupies 180 degrees of the circle. [return to English / Italian]
133–138. The only group referred to in that unexplored bend of the river includes those whose violence was limited to property, the group parallel in placement to the third group seen by Dante in his journey along Phlegethon. This new group is situated roughly halfway along the untraversed semicircle. The five identified personages that he has already seen in the one he has traveled are in parallel with the five he will only hear described: Attila the Hun (ca. 406–53), Pyrrhus of Epirus (ca. 318–272 B.C.), and Sextus Pompeius Magnus (d. 35 B.C.), the son of Pompey the Great, who, according to Lucan, disgraced the family name when he turned pirate (Pharsalia VI.119–122). The identities of the last two are sometimes disputed; one reason to think that they are as given here is that the resulting group of exemplary plunderers has in common its depredations of Rome. For a brief and clear representation of the various confusions among potential identities for Pyrrhus and Sextus see Botterill (Bott.1990.1), p. 156. [return to English / Italian]
136–138. The “moderns” are represented by two highwaymen named Rinier, both contemporaries of Dante. Rinier da Corneto worked the wild country around Rome, the Maremma, while Rinier Pazzo, dead by 1280, had his turf in the roads south of Florence and toward Arezzo. [return to English / Italian]
139. His task accomplished, Nessus crosses back over the river of blood without a word. It seems clear that he would not have crossed over had he not been carrying Dante on his back. [return to English / Italian]
INFERNO XIII
1–3. Ettore Paratore (Para.1965.1, pp. 281–82) has studied the phenomenon of the “connected canti” of the Comedy, those, like XII and XIII, in which the action flows from one into the other, in which a canto is not “end-stopped.” He counts 16 such in Inferno; 10 in Purgatorio; 8 in Paradiso. That one third of the borders of Dante’s cantos are so fluid helps us to understand that he has a strong sense of delineation of the units of the whole and, at the same time, a desire not to be restrained by these borders. [return to English / Italian]
4–9. Dante refers to the wilds of the Maremma, here between the river Cecina to the north and the town of Corneto to the south, a wild part of Tuscany. [return to English / Italian]
10–15. The Harpies, heavy birds with the faces of women and clawed hands, the demonic monsters who preside over this canto (once again, like the Minotaur and the Centaurs, part human, part beast), derive from Virgil (Aen. III.210–212; 216–217; 253–257). Having twice befouled the food of the Trojan refugees, one of them (Celaeno) then attempts to convince Aeneas and his followers that they, in their voyage to Italy, are doomed to starvation and failure. [return to English / Italian]
20–21. Virgil’s words offer the occasion for a certain ingenuity on the part of some commentators, who believe that Virgil here refers to the text of the Aeneid. Literally, what they mean is clear enough: “were I only to tell you what you are about to see, you would not believe me” (i.e., Dante has to hear the vegetation speak in order to accept its ability to do so). But see note to vv. 46–51. [return to English / Italian]
24. Dante, lost in a dark wood, as he was at the beginning of the poem, is smarrito (bewildered), as his path was lost (smarrita) in that wood. The repetition of the word here seems deliberate, and perhaps invites us to consider the possibility that the lost soul whom we met in Inferno I was in some way himself suicidal. [return to English / Italian]
25. This is perhaps the most self-consciously “literary” line in a canto filled with “literariness.” See the elegant essay by Leo Spitzer (Spit.1942.1) for a close analysis of Inferno XIII. [return to English / Italian]
31–39. Dante’s hesitant gesture and the sinner’s horrified response reflect closely a scene i
n the Aeneid in which Aeneas similarly tears pieces of vegetation from the grave of murdered Polydorus, who finally cries out in words that are echoed in this sinner’s complaints (Aen. III.22–48). Just before the Greeks overran Troy, Priam sent his son Polydorus to be raised by the Thracian king Polymnestor, and with him the treasure of Troy. Once the city fell, Polymnestor killed Polydorus, stole the treasure, and had the youth’s body cast into the sea.
The speaker, we will later learn from the historical details to which he refers (he is never named), is Pier delle Vigne, the chancellor of Frederick II of Sicily and Naples (see note to vv. 58–61). Here he is represented as a “gran pruno” (tall thorn-bush), and while the modifying adjective grants him a certain dignity, it also reduces him to the least pleasant of plants. The forest of the suicides resembles a dense thicket of briar, the only “vegetation” found in hell after the green meadow of Limbo (Inf. IV.111). [return to English / Italian]
40–44. Dante’s simile, which sounds like the sounds it describes, reduces Pier’s natural dignity by giving him so distorted a voice. [return to English / Italian]
46–51. Virgil’s apology to Pier for encouraging Dante to pluck a piece of him now clearly evokes the text of the Aeneid, thus adding a dimension to the words he had uttered at vv. 20–21. [return to English / Italian]
52–54. Virgil’s invitation to Pier to speak so that Dante may “revive his fame” in the world above has a positive result. As we move down through hell, we will find that some sinners look upon their “interview” with this “reporter” as a wonderful opportunity to attempt to clear their name, while others shun any “publicity” at all. [return to English / Italian]
55–57. The beginning of Pier’s speech is an Italian version of Pier’s noted “chancery style” of Latin oratory turned to document-writing. Pier was known not only for his Latin writings on behalf of Frederick’s exercise of imperial power, but for his vernacular poems, which are similarly florid.
His speech to Dante, in its entirety, forms an Italian version of a classical oration, with its parts measured as follows: (1) capturing of the goodwill of the audience (55–57); (2) narrative of events at issue (58–72); (3) peroration, making the climactic point (73–75); (4) petition, seeking the consent of the audience (76–78). (For a more detailed consideration of the rhetorical construction of the speech see Higgins [Higg.1975.1], pp. 63–64.) [return to English / Italian]
58–61. The speaker identifies himself, if by circumlocution, as Pier della Vigna (or “delle Vigne”): “Petrus de Vinea, minister of the Emperor Frederick II, born at Capua ca. 1190; after studying at Bologna, he received an appointment at the court of Frederick II as notary, and thenceforward he rapidly rose to distinction. He was made judge and protonotary, and for more than twenty years he was the trusted minister and confidant of the Emperor. He was at the height of his power in 1247, but two years later he was accused of treachery, and was thrown into prison and blinded; and soon after he committed suicide (April, 1249)” (T). For the Emperor Frederick II see note to Inferno X.119.
Holding the keys to the emperor’s heart, the “promised land” of any self-seeking courtier, this Peter is a parodic version of St. Peter, who, in the Christian tradition, holds the keys (one for mercy, one for judgment) that unlock or lock the kingdom of heaven. For the original biblical image of the two keys see Isaiah 22:22. [return to English / Italian]
64. This “slut” is commonly recognized as envy, the sin of hoping that one’s happy neighbor will be made unhappy.
Pier is trying to establish his innocence of the charges that he betrayed his lord by stealing from his treasury. We now know that he was in fact guilty of that fault; however, it is far from clear that Dante knew what we know. See Cassell’s gathering of evidence for the case against Pier’s barratry (Cass.1984.1, pp. 38–42). [return to English / Italian]
68. “Augustus,” the emperor par excellence, is Pier’s title for his emperor, Frederick. [return to English / Italian]
70. Pier’s disdegnoso gusto, whether pleasure in self-hatred (see Vazzana [Vazz.1998.1] for this reading) or pleasure in imagining his vengeance upon his enemies (see Higgins [Higg.1975.1], p. 72), is presented as the motive for his suicide. [return to English / Italian]
73–75. How are we to respond to this unquestionably imposing figure? Here is Attilio Momigliano, in his commentary to this passage: “[Pier’s] way of speaking, with its lofty sense of fidelity, with its steady clearsightedness, with its manly rebellion against the injustice of fate, with that indestructible sense of his honor and the desire to redeem it, even in death—all of these dressed in the folds of an austerely embellished eloquence—dwells in our memory like a solemn portrait of a courtier and makes us forget the fault of the suicide, as the words of Francesca, Brunetto, or Ugolino make us forget adultery, sodomy, betrayal. These virtues or passions that redeem, even in hell, a great sin are among the most noble and suggestive inventions of the Comedy.” Such a view of the “great sinners” of the Inferno is attractive, no doubt, in part because it makes Dante a much less “judgmental” poet than in fact he is. However, it is probably better to see that, in the case of Pier (as well as in that of the others mentioned by Momigliano), the sinner speaks of himself in such a way as to condemn himself in his own words, at least if we learn to read him from the ironic angle of vision that the split between the consciousness of the slowly evolving protagonist and that of the knowledgeable poet surely seems to call for.
It was centuries ago that a reader first thought of Judas when he read of Pier. Pietro di Dante, in the second redaction of his commentary to vv. 16–51 of this canto, cites St. Jerome’s comment on Psalm 8: “Judas offended God more greatly by hanging himself than by betraying Him.” Dante’s son, however, never developed the importance of Judas as the quintessential suicide in the controlling image of this canto. In our own time perhaps the first to do so was Giovanni Resta (Rest.1977.1); a fuller expression of this insight was developed by Anthony Cassell (Cass.1984.1, pp. 46–56). While Cassell’s reading mainly involves Pier’s betrayal of Frederick, the perhaps better understanding is to allow Pier his proclaimed fealty to his emperor, but to realize that his very words reveal that, if his temporal allegiances were respected, they had displaced his only truly significant loyalty, that owed to his only meaningful Lord, Jesus Christ (see Loon.1992.1, p. 39). Like Judas, he did betray his Lord, as Stephany has shown, precisely in his loyalty to the emperor, whom he treats, in his eulogy of Frederick, as in his own kingly person being all the Christ one needed. And thus, in imitation of Judas, he will have his body hanging on a tree for eternity. (For two articles about Frederick, Pier, and the court life that they shaped and shared, see Feng.1981.1 and Step.1982.1).
Pier, as many have noted, has important attributes in common with Dante. Both were political figures who ended up losing the goals of their highly energized activity; both were poets. Yet it seems clear that, for all the fellow-feeling that Dante must have felt for the ruined chancellor, he is more interested in the crucial errors he made in directing his political life to the sharing and taking of power and to that alone. For Dante, the political life can only be lived justly under the sign of the true “emperor,” God. [return to English / Italian]
82–84. The protagonist, like many readers, has been won over by Pier’s oratory. As was the case in his meeting with Farinata and Cavalcante in Inferno X, he began in fear, then turned to pity. Neither is an attitude recommended by the moral setting of the poem that contains this currently piteous protagonist. [return to English / Italian]
109–126. This self-contained unit of twenty-seven verses is devoted to a second class of those violent against themselves. These wastrels were “prodigal” in so thoroughly intentional a way that they did not casually toss away their possessions, but willfully destroyed them in a sort of “material suicide.” Once again we note the line that Dante has drawn between the incontinent form of a sin (prodigality, punished in Inferno VII) and its “malicious” vers
ion.
Paget Toynbee describes the two sinners found here as follows: “Lano [Arcolano Maconi], gentleman of Siena, placed by Dante, together with Jacomo da sant’ Andrea, among those who have squandered their substance … Lano is said to have been a member of the ‘Spendthrift Brigade’ of Siena, and to have squandered all his property in riotous living. He took part in an expedition of the Florentines and Sienese against Arezzo in 1288, which ended in the Sienese force falling into an ambush and being cut to pieces by the Aretines under Buonconte da Montefeltro at … Pieve al Toppo. Lano, being ruined and desperate, chose to fight and be killed, rather than run away and make his escape; hence the allusion of Jacomo in the text … Jacomo [and not Dante’s “Jacopo”] della Cappella di sant’ Andrea of Padua, the son of Odorico Fontana da Monselice and Speronella Delesmanini, a very wealthy lady, whose fortune Jacomo inherited, and squandered in the most senseless acts of prodigality. He is supposed to have been put to death by order of Ezzolino da Romano [see Inf. XII.102] in 1239” (T). [return to English / Italian]
130–135. The relatively minor figure we now encounter, a cespuglio (bush) and not the gran pruno (tall thorn-bush—v. 32) that holds the soul of Pier delle Vigne, complains against the unintentional despoiling of his leaves by the exhausted Jacomo, who had huddled up against him in order to escape the pursuing hounds. Various of the early commentators identify him as either Lotto degli Agli or Rocco de’ Mozzi, yet some of these commentators also suggest that Dante left the name “open” because so many Florentines committed suicide by hanging themselves that he wanted to suggest the frequency of the phenomenon in his native city. [return to English / Italian]