The Inferno

by Dante

  4–6. This mysterious signaling almost certainly refers to the defensive maneuvers of the demonic guardians of hell. Perhaps the fires of the defenders of Dis atop this tower are a warning to those farther along the wall—or at least some think so. Thus the two flames set out here would warn against a force of two enemies, and the answering flame would seem to acknowledge that warning. Yet the primary purpose of the two flames would seem to be to summon Phlegyas (see n. to v. 19) to capture and deliver a soul into bondage. (In this second interpretation, the twin flames do not necessarily indicate the number of interlopers.) Such a view encourages some to believe that Minos hurls the wrathful into the Styx, whence they are retrieved and given proper station by Phlegyas, whose business in the muddy river is not to ferry souls across and into Dis, but to place them in the river, as Caretti (Care.1951.2), p. 6, believes. That solution, however, would imply that the signals from the tower would be deployed each time a wrathful soul is sent down, and that seems improbable. A possible way out is offered by the hypothesis that Phlegyas’s function is to round up escaping wrathful souls should they attempt to flee the mud. In such a case, the demons of Dis would assist a fellow demon to wreak pain upon the damned. But then why do the demons signal other demons along the wall? Or are the fires answered by still other demons at Phlegyas’s “boathouse”? The details are sparse enough to make a final resolution next to impossible. [return to English / Italian]

  7–12. Dante’s three questions are not really answered by Virgil, who does not say exactly what the twinned flame signifies, does not say at all what the second means in answer, and similarly ignores the question of agency with respect to the second flame. He does imply that Phlegyas’s skiff is what the custodians of the first flame summoned. [return to English / Italian]

  15. Padoan, in his commentary, points out that Phlegyas’s skiff is not large, like Charon’s, but small, an infernal speedboat, as it were, meant for the pursuit of individuals and not intended for ferrying crowds of souls across a river. [return to English / Italian]

  18. Phlegyas, who is not in the least interested in Virgil, would seem to believe that Dante is a condemned soul who is trying to escape. As Padoan points out in his commentary to this verse, Dante elsewhere several times uses the adjective fello (here translated as “damned”) so as to associate it with wrath (see Inf. XVII.132; XXI.72; Par. IV.15). [return to English / Italian]

  19. “Son of Mars and King of Orchomenos in Boeotia, father of Ixion and Coronis; the latter having been violated by Apollo, by whom she became the mother of Aesculapius, Phlegyas in fury set fire to the temple of Apollo at Delphi, for which sacrilege he was slain by the god and condemned to eternal punishment in the lower world” (T). In the Aeneid (VI.618–620) he is mentioned by the Sibyl as now, in Tartarus, warning against such temerity against the gods. [return to English / Italian]

  20–21. Virgil’s mocking response makes it seem likely that Phlegyas does at times intervene in the capture and punishment of damned souls, if not under what precise conditions he does so. [return to English / Italian]

  22–24. The brief simile establishes the fact that Phlegyas feels he has been tricked into thinking that he had been summoned to do his usual task. As we have seen, exactly what that is remains something of a mystery. Yet why would other demons have chosen to trick him? Or is the reader to infer a divine plan behind his summons? This last detail, like so many in this part of the narrative (vv. 3–24), raises more questions than it answers. [return to English / Italian]

  25–30. For the relation of this moment, so clearly modeled on Aeneas’s stepping into Charon’s skiff in Aeneid VI.413–414, to Dante’s version of that scene at the close of Inferno III, see the note to v. 136 of that canto. [return to English / Italian]

  31–39. This is the first time in the poem that we hear an angry debate between the protagonist and one of the sinners. These are often, as here, couched in a form reminiscent of tenzoni, poems in the low language of streetwise insult, that were a popular pastime of thirteenth-century Italian poets, including Dante. “Pure” tenzoni were usually sonnets. The second participant usually responded to the insults of the first with the same rhyme scheme (and often the identical rhyme words) deployed by the original attacker. Dante’s adaptation of the technique in Inferno reveals its roots in this form. [return to English / Italian]

  32. This is Filippo Argenti. See n. to v. 61, below. [return to English / Italian]

  37. Casagrande (Casa.1978.1), p. 249, cites a passage in Hugh of St. Victor to explain Dante’s curse and Filippo’s weeping: “It is a misery to him who, bitter of mind because he cannot exact revenge upon his superior, must take satisfaction in his own tears.” [return to English / Italian]

  40–45. After Virgil thrusts Filippo Argenti (see n. to v. 61) back into the Styx, fending off his attempted wrathful assault, he congratulates Dante for his harsh words to this sinner (vv. 37–39). His words are reminiscent of those spoken of Christ in Luke 11:27: “Blessed is the womb that bore you.” Sinclair (Sinc.1939.1, p. 119) cites a biblical text as being in concert with the spirit of the protagonist’s righteous indignation here: “Do not I hate them, O Lord, that hate you … I hate them with perfect hatred: I count them my enemies” (Psalms 139:21–22). In his commentary to Inferno XX.28–30 Guido da Pisa put this thought in the following terms: “The suffering of the damned should move no one to compassion, as the Bible attests. And the reason for this is that the time for mercy is here in this world, while in the world to come it is time only for justice.” [return to English / Italian]

  46. Some read Filippo’s pridefulness as being his “real” sin, and not wrath. Wrath is his besetting vice, but many others may come into play in him or in any sinner. The notion that our disposition to sin must be unitary has no base either in medieval ethical treatises or in ordinary human experience. [return to English / Italian]

  61. From the cries of others the reader finally learns the name of this sinner (Dante has known exactly who he is—see v. 39). Filippo Argenti was a Black Guelph from a powerful Florentine family. His real name was Filippo Adimari de’ Cavicciuoli, but he supposedly was known as Filippo Argenti because he had his horse’s hooves shod in silver (argento). A number of early commentators relate that his brother, Boccaccino, got hold of Dante’s possessions when the poet was exiled. If that is true, we have here a pretty clear case of authorial revenge upon a particularly hated enemy. See Francesco Forti, “Filippo Argenti,” ED, vol. 2, 1970, pp. 873–76. [return to English / Italian]

  62. The word bizzarro, explains Boccaccio’s comment to this passage, in Florentine vernacular is used of people who “suddenly and for any reason at all lose their tempers.” See note to Inferno VII.109–114. [return to English / Italian]

  63. Benvenuto da Imola’s commentary to this verse: Filippo gnaws himself “just as a proud man will do, unable to avenge the injury done him by someone more powerful.” [return to English / Italian]

  68. Dis (Dite), for the Romans another name for Pluto, god of the underworld, for Dante is thereby another name for Lucifer or Satan. [return to English / Italian]

  70. The most visible buildings of this city, seen from afar, are mosques (meschite), thus associating them with what was for Dante and his era a most hostile religious and military force, the Mohammedans. [return to English / Italian]

  78. The iron walls of the City of Dis are emblematic of the fact that from here on down all sins punished are the result of the hardened will, not the whims of appetite. Virgil’s Tartarus, into which Aeneas does not penetrate (the Sibyl describes to him its contents) has an iron tower (Aen. VI.554: ferrea turris) that may be remembered here. [return to English / Italian]

  81. Only here and now do we arrive at the place we left in the final verse of the last canto, under a tower of the City of Dis. [return to English / Italian]

  82–85. The first “citizens” of Dis whom we see are the rebel angels who were defeated, along with Satan, by Michael and his angels. For the first time Virg
il will have to deal with adversaries who are not easily swayed. [return to English / Italian]

  94–96. Dante’s addresses to the reader are a noteworthy feature of the poem. Perhaps no other literary text contains as many cases of direct address to its readership. The net effect is to forge a relationship between us and the author that makes us partners in his enterprise. His most usual tactic is to ask us to share in the strong emotions he experienced at any given moment; on other occasions he invites us to interpret things difficult to understand. In all cases we feel drawn into the poem, as though we were witnessing what the poet describes ourselves or being asked to share with him the difficulty of interpreting his materials. See discussions in Gmelin (Gmel.1951.1), Auerbach (Auer.1954.1), and Spitzer (Spit.1955.1). And see the article of Vittorio Russo, “appello al lettore,” ED, vol. 1, 1970, pp. 324–26, for a listing: Inf. VIII.94–96; IX.61–63; XVI.127–132; XX.19–24; XXII.118; XXV.46–48; XXXIV.22–27; Purg. VIII.19–21; IX.70–72; X.106–111; XVII.1–9; XXIX.97–105; XXXI.124–126; XXXIII.136–138; Par. II.1–18; V.109–114; X.7–27; XIII.1–21; XXII.106–111. Thus there are seven in each of the first two cantiche and at least five in Paradiso. However, and as Russo points out, there may be seven in the third cantica as well, since the passage at IX.10–12 may also be included and that at X.7–27 perhaps should be seen as two separate addresses (7–15 and 22–27).

  The addresses are a subgroup of the classical rhetorical figure of apostrophe (direct address), which is amply used by this poet. For discussion see the article “apostrofe” by Francesco Tateo, ED, vol. 1, 1970, pp. 319–21. Another subdivision of apostrophe in addition to addressing one’s reader is found in the invocations of the Comedy. See note to Inferno II.7–9. There are nine of these in the poem. [return to English / Italian]

  97–99. In their commentary Casini/Barbi insist that, on the model of several biblical passages (e.g., the just man who falls seven times, rising again each time, of Prov. 24:16), the “seven times” is to be taken as indeterminate. They go on to list eight times that Virgil has come to Dante’s aid: Inferno I.49, II.130, III.94, V.21, VI.22, VII.8, VIII.19, VIII.41. [return to English / Italian]

  104–105. Virgil’s reassurance of an understandably shaken Dante, given the strength of opposition from the fallen angels, relies on the promise of divine support made to him, apparently, by Beatrice in the scene reported in Inferno II. [return to English / Italian]

  106–111. For the first time since he began his guidance, Virgil feels able to leave Dante to his own devices. The next time that he does so (Inf. XVI.37–39) his pupil will even be allowed to visit a group of sinners unguided. Both these moments, in ascending order, reveal the protagonist’s growing capacity to deal with sin. [return to English / Italian]

  115–117. For the first time in his role as guide, Virgil suffers defeat in an attempt to gain Dante access to the next stage of the journey. Once again the reader understands that the forces of Dis, schooled in guile and strong of will, are far more stubborn adversaries than those encountered before. [return to English / Italian]

  121–126. Virgil joins his frustration to what hopes he can muster in order to encourage Dante. His main evidence for believing that he will be able to continue is drawn from his witness of the harrowing of hell, of which he gave notice in Inferno IV.52–63. J. S. Carroll, in his comment to Inferno III.1–9, looks ahead to these verses and cites the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus, chapters 13–19, in which the hosts of hell attempted to block Christ’s harrowing as source for the attempt of these new rebels to keep Virgil out of their kingdom. [return to English / Italian]

  127. The “deadly writing” over the gate of hell (Inf. III.1–9) is so, in the words of Casini/Barbi on this verse, because it tells the damned where they are headed—into eternal death. Thus the writing itself is very much “alive,” but it speaks of death. [return to English / Italian]

  128–130. The nature of this descending messenger will be discussed in the note to Inferno IX.85. Musa (Musa.1974.1), p. 150, argues that this descent should put us in mind of the descent of the prophesied nova progenies (new race) of Virgil’s fourth Eclogue, v. 7.

  How does Virgil know that such aid is coming? Some argue that he “sees” it in his mind; others that Beatrice had promised exactly such help if ever it were needed when she spoke to Virgil in Limbo (Inf. II). The text offers confirmation of neither notion, if the latter seems the more probable. [return to English / Italian]

  INFERNO IX

  1–3. Dante has gone white with cowardice. Seeing this, Virgil tries to compose his own features. In Canto VIII.121 Virgil was angry, and this fact leads many commentators to believe that the color in his face now is still the red flush of anger. On the other hand, others believe (and over the centuries there are roughly as many of one opinion as of the other) that Virgil’s new color just now is the pallor of frustration and shame. Either reading is possible, but red is probably the better choice, especially since we then have the dramatic contrast between white-cheeked Dante and red-faced Virgil. [return to English / Italian]

  7–9. Virgil’s doubt and ensuing confirmation has caused considerable difficulty. The overall sense of the tercet is, however, probably clear enough: “we must win this fight unless (I did not understand what Beatrice told me)…No, what she said must be true; but I wish the promised help from heaven would get here.” Musa’s remark on the passage bears repeating (Musa.1974.1, p. 73): “because during his lifetime [Virgil] could not believe in the coming of Christ, so now he can not believe in the coming of the angel—in spite of his having learned from Beatrice that the Pilgrim’s journey is willed in Heaven.” In other words, Virgil, condemned to hell for not having had faith, repeats that error even now. [return to English / Italian]

  10–15. A fairly rare example of an interpretive exercise embedded in the poetic text itself, Dante as glossator of Virgil’s words and presenter of his own understanding as he heard them. What he thought, then, was perhaps that Virgil was afraid that they would be left in hell, in which case Dante would perish. [return to English / Italian]

  17. The “first circle” is Limbo, where Virgil and the other virtuous heathens have their eternal resting place, and where, in his own words, “without hope we live in longing” (Inf. IV.42). [return to English / Italian]

  19–27. Erichtho’s conjuration of Virgil may be the single most outrageous example of the utter liberty Dante at times employs in his treatment of classical literature. No such tale exists in any other text before Dante’s, nor anything like it. While many point to the similar statement made by the Sibyl, hoping to reassure Aeneas that she has been shown by Hecate (Proserpina) the places of the underworld (Aen. VI.562–565), no one has come close to finding a source for a Virgilian journey to the depths of hell under the spell of Erichtho. This Thessalian witch appears in a crucial role in Lucan’s Pharsalia, the later poet’s rather nasty version of Virgil’s more benign Sibyl. In a lengthy episode in the sixth book (vv. 507–830) of Lucan’s poem, a book with evident parallels to the descent to the underworld in the Aeneid, replete with Sibyl-like guide in the person of Erichtho, the witch holds center stage. Serving the curiosity of Sextus Pompeius, son of the great Pompey, one of the major republican opponents of Caesar in the civil war, she agrees to foretell the outcome of the war by practicing her necromantic art on the corpse of a recently slain soldier. What the soldier tells is hardly pleasant news, but is hardly complete, either. He does make plain to Sextus that the ghost of his father will come to him in Sicily (VI.812–813) in order to reveal still more (but Lucan committed suicide by Nero’s order before finishing the poem, and the scene was not written). It is out of these materials that Dante has concocted his idiosyncratic tale.

  And what is it that Erichtho wanted? In Lucan’s poem (VI.586–587) we learn that her greatest desire is to be able to mangle the corpses of Julius Caesar (the poem is set before the murder of Caesar—44 B.C.) and of Pompey. Virgil died in 19 B.C. As he says in this narrative, Erichtho
called him (like the young soldier in Lucan’s poem, only recently dead) back into his body shortly after he died and sent him down to the ninth Circle, Judecca. Why? Those who have written on this problem have not developed any hypothesis to account for her motive. Yet Dante surely would have given her one in the myth that he was constructing. Or Virgil is simply making up a tall story in order to give himself authority—a dubious hypothesis embraced by some.

  We know from Lucan that Erichtho had an unfulfilled ambition, to ravage the corpses of Caesar and Pompey. Where are these located in Dante? Caesar is in Limbo; of Pompey we hear little, and nothing about his station in the afterlife. However, it is at least possible that Dante is playing a game with his reader here. As a co-conspirator of Brutus and Cassius, would Pompey not naturally have been punished along with them? That seems possible. Whatever justification we seek for this strange tale of Virgil’s first visit to the realm of the damned, we probably should try to find it in the pages of Lucan. (See Holl.1980.1, pp. 178–80.)