Io dico, seguitando, ch'assai prima
che noi fossimo al piè de l'alta torre,
li occhi nostri n'andar suso a la cima
per due fiammette che i vedemmo porre,
e un'altra da lungi render cenno,
tanto ch'a pena il potea l'occhio tòrre.
E io mi volsi al mar di tutto 'l senno;
dissi: “Questo che dice? e che risponde
quell' altro foco? e chi son quei che 'l fenno?”
Ed elli a me: “Su per le sucide onde
già scorgere puoi quello che s'aspetta,
se 'l fummo del pantan nol ti nasconde.”
Corda non pinse mai da sé saetta
che sì corresse via per l'aere snella,
com' io vidi una nave piccioletta
venir per l'acqua verso noi in quella,
sotto 'l governo d'un sol galeoto,
che gridava: “Or se' giunta, anima fella!”
“Flegïàs, Flegïàs, tu gridi a vòto”
disse lo mio segnore, “a questa volta:
più non ci avrai che sol passando il loto.”
Qual è colui che grande inganno ascolta
che li sia fatto, e poi se ne rammarca,
fecesi Flegïàs ne l'ira accolta.
Lo duca mio discese ne la barca,
e poi mi fece intrare appresso lui;
e sol quand' io fui dentro parve carca.
Tosto che 'l duca e io nel legno fui,
segando se ne va l'antica prora
de l'acqua più che non suol con altrui.
Mentre noi corravam la morta gora,
dinanzi mi si fece un pien di fango,
e disse: “Chi se' tu che vieni anzi ora?”
E io a lui: “S'i' vegno, non rimango;
ma tu chi se', che sì se' fatto brutto?”
Rispuose: “Vedi che son un che piango.”
E io a lui: “Con piangere e con lutto,
spirito maladetto, ti rimani;
ch'i' ti conosco, ancor sie lordo tutto.”
Allor distese al legno ambo le mani;
per che 'l maestro accorto lo sospinse,
dicendo: “Via costà con li altri cani!”
Lo collo poi con le braccia mi cinse;
basciommi 'l volto e disse: “Alma sdegnosa,
benedetta colei che 'n te s'incinse!
Quei fu al mondo persona orgogliosa;
bontà non è che sua memoria fregi:
così s'è l'ombra sua qui furïosa.
Quanti si tegnon or là sù gran regi
che qui staranno come porci in brago,
di sé lasciando orribili dispregi!”
E io: “Maestro, molto sarei vago
di vederlo attuffare in questa broda
prima che noi uscissimo del lago.”
Ed elli a me: “Avante che la proda
ti si lasci veder, tu sarai sazio:
di tal disïo convien che tu goda.”
Dopo ciò poco vid' io quello strazio
far di costui a le fangose genti,
che Dio ancor ne lodo e ne ringrazio.
Tutti gridavano: “A Filippo Argenti!”
e 'l fiorentino spirito bizzarro
in sé medesmo si volvea co' denti.
Quivi il lasciammo, che più non ne narro;
ma ne l'orecchie mi percosse un duolo,
per ch'io avante l'occhio intento sbarro.
Lo buon maestro disse: “Omai, figliuolo,
s'appressa la città c'ha nome Dite,
coi gravi cittadin, col grande stuolo.”
E io: “Maestro, già le sue meschite
là entro certe ne la valle cerno,
vermiglie come se di foco uscite
fossero.” Ed ei mi disse: “Il foco etterno
ch'entro l'affoca le dimostra rosse,
come tu vedi in questo basso inferno.”
Noi pur giugnemmo dentro a l'alte fosse
che vallan quella terra sconsolata:
le mura mi parean che ferro fosse.
Non sanza prima far grande aggirata,
venimmo in parte dove il nocchier forte
“Usciteci,” gridò: “qui è l'intrata.”
Io vidi più di mille in su le porte
da ciel piovuti, che stizzosamente
dicean: “Chi è costui che sanza morte
va per lo regno de la morta gente?”
E 'l savio mio maestro fece segno
di voler lor parlar segretamente.
Allor chiusero un poco il gran disdegno
e disser: “Vien tu solo, e quei sen vada
che sì ardito intrò per questo regno.
Sol si ritorni per la folle strada:
pruovi, se sa; ché tu qui rimarrai,
che li ha' iscorta sì buia contrada.”
Pensa, lettor, se io mi sconfortai
nel suon de le parole maladette,
ché non credetti ritornarci mai.
“O caro duca mio, che più di sette
volte m'hai sicurtà renduta e tratto
d'alto periglio che 'ncontra mi stette,
non mi lasciar,” diss' io, “così disfatto;
e se 'l passar più oltre ci è negato,
ritroviam l'orme nostre insieme ratto.”
E quel segnor che lì m'avea menato,
mi disse: “Non temer; ché 'l nostro passo
non ci può tòrre alcun: da tal n'è dato.
Ma qui m'attendi, e lo spirito lasso
conforta e ciba di speranza buona,
ch'i' non ti lascerò nel mondo basso.”
Così sen va, e quivi m'abbandona
lo dolce padre, e io rimagno in forse,
che sì e no nel capo mi tenciona.
Udir non potti quello ch'a lor porse;
ma ei non stette là con essi guari,
che ciascun dentro a pruova si ricorse.
Chiuser le porte que' nostri avversari
nel petto al mio segnor, che fuor rimase
e rivolsesi a me con passi rari.
Li occhi a la terra e le ciglia avea rase
d'ogne baldanza, e dicea ne' sospiri:
“Chi m'ha negate le dolenti case!”
E a me disse: “Tu, perch' io m'adiri,
non sbigottir, ch'io vincerò la prova,
qual ch'a la difension dentro s'aggiri.
Questa lor tracotanza non è nova;
ché già l'usaro a men segreta porta,
la qual sanza serrame ancor si trova.
Sovr' essa vedestù la scritta morta:
e già di qua da lei discende l'erta,
passando per li cerchi sanza scorta,
tal che per lui ne fia la terra aperta.”
I say, continuing, that long before
We to the foot of that high tower had come,
Our eyes went upward to the summit of it,
By reason of two flamelets we saw placed there,
And from afar another answer them,
So far, that hardly could the eye attain it.
And, to the sea of all discernment turned,
I said: "What sayeth this, and what respondeth
That other fire? and who are they that made it?"
And he to me: "Across the turbid waves
What is expected thou canst now discern,
If reek of the morass conceal it not."
Cord never shot an arrow from itself
That sped away athwart the air so swift,
As I beheld a very little boat
Come o'er the water tow'rds us at that moment,
Under the guidance of a single pilot,
Who shouted, "Now art thou arrived, fell soul?"
"Phlegyas, Phlegyas, thou criest out in vain
For this once," said my Lord; "thou shalt not have us
Longer than in the passing of the slough."
As he who listens to some great deceit
That has been done to him, and then resents it,
Such became Phlegyas, in his gathered wrath.
My Guide descended down into the boat,
And then he made me enter after him,
And only when I entered seemed it laden.
Soon as the Guide and I were in the boat,
The antique prow goes on its way, dividing
More of the water than 'tis wont with others.
While we were running through the dead canal,
Uprose in front of me one full of mire,
And said, "Who 'rt thou that comest ere the hour?"
And I to him: "Although I come, I stay not;
But who art thou that hast become so squalid?"
"Thou seest that I am one who weeps," he answered.
And I to him: "With weeping and with wailing,
Thou spirit maledict, do thou remain;
For thee I know, though thou art all defiled."
Then stretched he both his hands unto the boat;
Whereat my wary Master thrust him back,
Saying, "Away there with the other dogs!"
Thereafter with his arms he clasped my neck;
He kissed my face, and said: "Disdainful soul,
Blessed be she who bore thee in her bosom.
That was an arrogant person in the world;
Goodness is none, that decks his memory;
So likewise here his shade is furious.
How many are esteemed great kings up there,
Who here shall be like unto swine in mire,
Leaving behind them horrible dispraises!"
And I: "My Master, much should I be pleased,
If I could see him soused into this broth,
Before we issue forth out of the lake."
And he to me: "Ere unto thee the shore
Reveal itself, thou shalt be satisfied;
Such a desire 'tis meet thou shouldst enjoy."
A little after that, I saw such havoc
Made of him by the people of the mire,
That still I praise and thank my God for it.
They all were shouting, "At Philippo Argenti!"
And that exasperate spirit Florentine
Turned round upon himself with his own teeth.
We left him there, and more of him I tell not;
But on mine ears there smote a lamentation,
Whence forward I intent unbar mine eyes.
And the good Master said: "Even now, my Son,
The city draweth near whose name is Dis,
With the grave citizens, with the great throng."
And I: "Its mosques already, Master, clearly
Within there in the valley I discern
Vermilion, as if issuing from the fire
They were." And he to me: "The fire eternal
That kindles them within makes them look red,
As thou beholdest in this nether Hell."
Then we arrived within the moats profound,
That circumvallate that disconsolate city;
The walls appeared to me to be of iron.
Not without making first a circuit wide,
We came unto a place where loud the pilot
Cried out to us, "Debark, here is the entrance."
More than a thousand at the gates I saw
Out of the Heavens rained down, who angrily
Were saying, "Who is this that without death
Goes through the kingdom of the people dead?"
And my sagacious Master made a sign
Of wishing secretly to speak with them.
A little then they quelled their great disdain,
And said: "Come thou alone, and he begone
Who has so boldly entered these dominions.
Let him return alone by his mad road;
Try, if he can; for thou shalt here remain,
Who hast escorted him through such dark regions."
Think, Reader, if I was discomforted
At utterance of the accursed words;
For never to return here I believed.
"O my dear Guide, who more than seven times
Hast rendered me security, and drawn me
From imminent peril that before me stood,
Do not desert me," said I, "thus undone;
And if the going farther be denied us,
Let us retrace our steps together swiftly."
And that Lord, who had led me thitherward,
Said unto me: "Fear not; because our passage
None can take from us, it by Such is given.
But here await me, and thy weary spirit
Comfort and nourish with a better hope;
For in this nether world I will not leave thee."
So onward goes and there abandons me
My Father sweet, and I remain in doubt,
For No and Yes within my head contend.
I could not hear what he proposed to them;
But with them there he did not linger long,
Ere each within in rivalry ran back.
They closed the portals, those our adversaries,
On my Lord's breast, who had remained without
And turned to me with footsteps far between.
His eyes cast down, his forehead shorn had he
Of all its boldness, and he said, with sighs,
"Who has denied to me the dolesome houses?"
And unto me: "Thou, because I am angry,
Fear not, for I will conquer in the trial,
Whatever for defence within be planned.
This arrogance of theirs is nothing new;
For once they used it at less secret gate,
Which finds itself without a fastening still.
O'er it didst thou behold the dead inscription;
And now this side of it descends the steep,
Passing across the circles without escort,
One by whose means the city shall be opened."
For the first time the poet interrupts the chronological flow of his narrative, interpolating events that occurred before the situation described in the very last verse of the preceding canto (for a briefer but similar interpolation see the first tercet of the thirteenth canto). The first 81 lines of canto VIII relate what occurred between the travelers' first experience of the wrathful sinners in the Styx (Inf. VII.129) and their arrival at the foot of a tower of the walled city of Dis (Inf. VII.130). The self-conscious interruption of the narrative may be enough to account for the self-conscious opening verse: 'To continue, let me say....' However, Boccaccio, in his commentary to this canto, was the first to sponsor the idea that in fact Dante only now, in Lunigiana in 1306, took up again the composition of his poem, begun in Florence before his exile and left behind when he could not return to the city. According to Boccaccio, a friend brought him the text of the first seven cantos, which had lain fallow for some six or seven years. While most do not credit this version of the history of composition of the Comedy, it has some support. See Giovanni Ferretti (I due tempi della composizione della “Divina Commedia” [Bari: Laterza, 1935]) and Giorgio Padoan (Il lungo cammino del “Poema sacro”: studi danteschi [Florence: Olschki, 1993]). The latter's book is devoted to a reassessment of the problem of the compositional history of the entire poem. In his view, Inferno was composed between 1306 and 1315, while most students of the problem argue for a completion of the first cantica around 1310. For the identical phrasing of the mathematician Paolo dell'Abbaco (even if the phrase was probably common enough): 'Io dicho seghuitando,' see Vallone (Percorsi danteschi [Florence: Le Lettere, 1991]), p. 75.
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 further 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 the note to Inf. VIII.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 (“Una Interpretazione dantesca,” in Studi e ricerche di letteratura italiana [Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1951], 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' 'boathouse'? The details are sparse enough to make a final resolution next to impossible.
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.
Padoan, in his commentary to this verse, 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, not crowds of souls to be ferried across a river.
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; Inf. XXI.72; Par. IV.15).
'Phlegyas, 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' (cited from the article “Flegias” in Paget Toynbee, Concise Dante Dictionary [Oxford: Clarendon, 1914 [1898]). In Aeneid VI.618-620 he is mentioned by the Sibyl as now, in Tartarus, warning against such temerity against the gods: ' [...] Phlegyasque miserrimus omnis / admonet et magna testatur voce per umbras: / “discite iustitiam moniti et non temnere divos.”'
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.
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.
For the relation of this moment, so clearly modelled 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 Inferno III.136.
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 street-wise 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. For an overview of the genre see Matteo Pedroni and Antonio Stäuble, eds., Il genere “tenzone” nelle letterature romanze delle origini (Ravenna: Longo, 1999).
This is Filippo Argenti; see the note to Inferno VIII.61.
Gino Casagrande (“Dante e Filippo Argenti: riscontri patristici e note di critica testuale,” Studi Danteschi 51 [1978]), 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.'
After Virgil thrusts Filippo Argenti (see the note to Inf. VIII.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 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). While to most it seems that Virgil's approving words and Dante's righteous anger are entirely appropriate as the protagonist learns to harden himself against feeling either pity or fear when confronted by the damned, a minority has given voice to the doubt that we should read either Virgil as authoritative here or, indeed, Dante as being morally correct in his invective. See, among others, Rocco Montano (Storia della poesia di Dante, vol. I [Naples: Quaderni di Delta, 1962]), pp. 418-21; J. Stephen Russell (“Inferno VIII: Dante's Anger and the Sins of Misreading,” in Literary and Historical Perspectives of the Middle Ages: Proceedings of the 1981 SEMA Meeting, ed. P. W. Cummins and others [Morgantown: West Virginia University Press, 1982], pp. 200-7); and Christopher Kleinhenz (“Inferno VIII,” Dante's “Divine Comedy”, Introductory Readings, I: “Inferno,” ed. T. Wlassics [Charlottesville, Va.: University of Virginia, 1990]), pp. 101-4. Such a view, if accepted, would make the reader's task a nearly impossible one. If we cannot trust the text when both protagonist and guide are in full accord, when can we ever trust it?
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 notions that our disposition to sin must be unitary has no base either in medieval ethical treatises or in ordinary human experience.
From the cries of others the reader finally learns the name of this sinner (Dante has known exactly who he is – see Inf. VIII.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.1970.2), pp. 873-76.
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 also the note to Inferno VII.109-114.
Benvenuto da Imola's commentary to this verse has it that Filippo gnaws himself 'just as a proud man will do, unable to avenge the injury done him by someone more powerful.'
Dis (Dite), for the Romans another name for Pluto, god of the underworld, for Dante is thereby another name for Lucifer or Satan.
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.
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.
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. See Musa's observation (Advent at the Gates [Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1974]), p. 81.
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 Virgil will have to deal with adversaries who are not easily swayed.
This is the first of seven addresses to the reader in the Inferno. Dante's frequent insistence on the presence of a reader is itself noteworthy. 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 (“Die Anrede an den Leser in der Göttlichen Komödie,” Deutsches Dante-Jahrbuch 30 [1951], pp. 130-40); Auerbach (“Dante's Addresses to the Reader,” Romance Philology 7 [1954], pp. 268-78); and Spitzer (“The Addresses to the Reader in the Commedia,” Italica 32 [1955]. pp. 143-66). And see the article of Vittorio Russo, 'appello al lettore' (ED.1970.1), pp.324-26), for a listing: Inf. VIII.94-96; Inf. IX.61-63; Inf. XVI.127-132; Inf. XX.19-24; Inf. XXII.118; Inf. XXV.46-48; Inf. XXXIV.22-27; Purg. VIII.19-21; Purg. IX.70-72; Purg. X.106-111; Purg. XVII.1-9; Purg. XXIX.97-105; Purg. XXXI.124-126; Purg. XXXIII.136-138; Par. II.1-18; Par. V.109-114; Par. X.7-27; Par. XIII.1-21; Par. 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 Par. IX.10-12 may also be included and that at Par. X.7-27 perhaps should be seen as two separate addresses (vv. 7-15 and 22-27).
The addresses are a sub-group 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.1970.1), pp. 319-21. Another subdivision of apostrophe in addition to addressing one's reader is found in the invocations of the Comedy. See the note to Inferno II.7-9. There are nine of these in the poem.
In their commentary to Inferno VIII.97 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 Proverbs 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 (Inf. I.49, Inf. II.130, Inf. III.94, Inf. V.21, Inf. VI.22, Inf. VII.8, Inf. VIII.19, Inf. VIII.41).
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 Inferno II.
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.
Virgil joins his frustration to what hopes he can develop 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.
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.
The nature of this descending messenger will be discussed in the notes to the following canto. Musa (Advent at the Gates [Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1974]), 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 (verse 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 (in Inf. II). The text offers confirmation to neither notion, if the latter seems the more probable.
Commentary text is copyrighted and reproduced by permission.
Please enter a search term.
Io dico, seguitando, ch'assai prima
che noi fossimo al piè de l'alta torre,
li occhi nostri n'andar suso a la cima
per due fiammette che i vedemmo porre,
e un'altra da lungi render cenno,
tanto ch'a pena il potea l'occhio tòrre.
E io mi volsi al mar di tutto 'l senno;
dissi: “Questo che dice? e che risponde
quell' altro foco? e chi son quei che 'l fenno?”
Ed elli a me: “Su per le sucide onde
già scorgere puoi quello che s'aspetta,
se 'l fummo del pantan nol ti nasconde.”
Corda non pinse mai da sé saetta
che sì corresse via per l'aere snella,
com' io vidi una nave piccioletta
venir per l'acqua verso noi in quella,
sotto 'l governo d'un sol galeoto,
che gridava: “Or se' giunta, anima fella!”
“Flegïàs, Flegïàs, tu gridi a vòto”
disse lo mio segnore, “a questa volta:
più non ci avrai che sol passando il loto.”
Qual è colui che grande inganno ascolta
che li sia fatto, e poi se ne rammarca,
fecesi Flegïàs ne l'ira accolta.
Lo duca mio discese ne la barca,
e poi mi fece intrare appresso lui;
e sol quand' io fui dentro parve carca.
Tosto che 'l duca e io nel legno fui,
segando se ne va l'antica prora
de l'acqua più che non suol con altrui.
Mentre noi corravam la morta gora,
dinanzi mi si fece un pien di fango,
e disse: “Chi se' tu che vieni anzi ora?”
E io a lui: “S'i' vegno, non rimango;
ma tu chi se', che sì se' fatto brutto?”
Rispuose: “Vedi che son un che piango.”
E io a lui: “Con piangere e con lutto,
spirito maladetto, ti rimani;
ch'i' ti conosco, ancor sie lordo tutto.”
Allor distese al legno ambo le mani;
per che 'l maestro accorto lo sospinse,
dicendo: “Via costà con li altri cani!”
Lo collo poi con le braccia mi cinse;
basciommi 'l volto e disse: “Alma sdegnosa,
benedetta colei che 'n te s'incinse!
Quei fu al mondo persona orgogliosa;
bontà non è che sua memoria fregi:
così s'è l'ombra sua qui furïosa.
Quanti si tegnon or là sù gran regi
che qui staranno come porci in brago,
di sé lasciando orribili dispregi!”
E io: “Maestro, molto sarei vago
di vederlo attuffare in questa broda
prima che noi uscissimo del lago.”
Ed elli a me: “Avante che la proda
ti si lasci veder, tu sarai sazio:
di tal disïo convien che tu goda.”
Dopo ciò poco vid' io quello strazio
far di costui a le fangose genti,
che Dio ancor ne lodo e ne ringrazio.
Tutti gridavano: “A Filippo Argenti!”
e 'l fiorentino spirito bizzarro
in sé medesmo si volvea co' denti.
Quivi il lasciammo, che più non ne narro;
ma ne l'orecchie mi percosse un duolo,
per ch'io avante l'occhio intento sbarro.
Lo buon maestro disse: “Omai, figliuolo,
s'appressa la città c'ha nome Dite,
coi gravi cittadin, col grande stuolo.”
E io: “Maestro, già le sue meschite
là entro certe ne la valle cerno,
vermiglie come se di foco uscite
fossero.” Ed ei mi disse: “Il foco etterno
ch'entro l'affoca le dimostra rosse,
come tu vedi in questo basso inferno.”
Noi pur giugnemmo dentro a l'alte fosse
che vallan quella terra sconsolata:
le mura mi parean che ferro fosse.
Non sanza prima far grande aggirata,
venimmo in parte dove il nocchier forte
“Usciteci,” gridò: “qui è l'intrata.”
Io vidi più di mille in su le porte
da ciel piovuti, che stizzosamente
dicean: “Chi è costui che sanza morte
va per lo regno de la morta gente?”
E 'l savio mio maestro fece segno
di voler lor parlar segretamente.
Allor chiusero un poco il gran disdegno
e disser: “Vien tu solo, e quei sen vada
che sì ardito intrò per questo regno.
Sol si ritorni per la folle strada:
pruovi, se sa; ché tu qui rimarrai,
che li ha' iscorta sì buia contrada.”
Pensa, lettor, se io mi sconfortai
nel suon de le parole maladette,
ché non credetti ritornarci mai.
“O caro duca mio, che più di sette
volte m'hai sicurtà renduta e tratto
d'alto periglio che 'ncontra mi stette,
non mi lasciar,” diss' io, “così disfatto;
e se 'l passar più oltre ci è negato,
ritroviam l'orme nostre insieme ratto.”
E quel segnor che lì m'avea menato,
mi disse: “Non temer; ché 'l nostro passo
non ci può tòrre alcun: da tal n'è dato.
Ma qui m'attendi, e lo spirito lasso
conforta e ciba di speranza buona,
ch'i' non ti lascerò nel mondo basso.”
Così sen va, e quivi m'abbandona
lo dolce padre, e io rimagno in forse,
che sì e no nel capo mi tenciona.
Udir non potti quello ch'a lor porse;
ma ei non stette là con essi guari,
che ciascun dentro a pruova si ricorse.
Chiuser le porte que' nostri avversari
nel petto al mio segnor, che fuor rimase
e rivolsesi a me con passi rari.
Li occhi a la terra e le ciglia avea rase
d'ogne baldanza, e dicea ne' sospiri:
“Chi m'ha negate le dolenti case!”
E a me disse: “Tu, perch' io m'adiri,
non sbigottir, ch'io vincerò la prova,
qual ch'a la difension dentro s'aggiri.
Questa lor tracotanza non è nova;
ché già l'usaro a men segreta porta,
la qual sanza serrame ancor si trova.
Sovr' essa vedestù la scritta morta:
e già di qua da lei discende l'erta,
passando per li cerchi sanza scorta,
tal che per lui ne fia la terra aperta.”
I say, continuing, that long before
We to the foot of that high tower had come,
Our eyes went upward to the summit of it,
By reason of two flamelets we saw placed there,
And from afar another answer them,
So far, that hardly could the eye attain it.
And, to the sea of all discernment turned,
I said: "What sayeth this, and what respondeth
That other fire? and who are they that made it?"
And he to me: "Across the turbid waves
What is expected thou canst now discern,
If reek of the morass conceal it not."
Cord never shot an arrow from itself
That sped away athwart the air so swift,
As I beheld a very little boat
Come o'er the water tow'rds us at that moment,
Under the guidance of a single pilot,
Who shouted, "Now art thou arrived, fell soul?"
"Phlegyas, Phlegyas, thou criest out in vain
For this once," said my Lord; "thou shalt not have us
Longer than in the passing of the slough."
As he who listens to some great deceit
That has been done to him, and then resents it,
Such became Phlegyas, in his gathered wrath.
My Guide descended down into the boat,
And then he made me enter after him,
And only when I entered seemed it laden.
Soon as the Guide and I were in the boat,
The antique prow goes on its way, dividing
More of the water than 'tis wont with others.
While we were running through the dead canal,
Uprose in front of me one full of mire,
And said, "Who 'rt thou that comest ere the hour?"
And I to him: "Although I come, I stay not;
But who art thou that hast become so squalid?"
"Thou seest that I am one who weeps," he answered.
And I to him: "With weeping and with wailing,
Thou spirit maledict, do thou remain;
For thee I know, though thou art all defiled."
Then stretched he both his hands unto the boat;
Whereat my wary Master thrust him back,
Saying, "Away there with the other dogs!"
Thereafter with his arms he clasped my neck;
He kissed my face, and said: "Disdainful soul,
Blessed be she who bore thee in her bosom.
That was an arrogant person in the world;
Goodness is none, that decks his memory;
So likewise here his shade is furious.
How many are esteemed great kings up there,
Who here shall be like unto swine in mire,
Leaving behind them horrible dispraises!"
And I: "My Master, much should I be pleased,
If I could see him soused into this broth,
Before we issue forth out of the lake."
And he to me: "Ere unto thee the shore
Reveal itself, thou shalt be satisfied;
Such a desire 'tis meet thou shouldst enjoy."
A little after that, I saw such havoc
Made of him by the people of the mire,
That still I praise and thank my God for it.
They all were shouting, "At Philippo Argenti!"
And that exasperate spirit Florentine
Turned round upon himself with his own teeth.
We left him there, and more of him I tell not;
But on mine ears there smote a lamentation,
Whence forward I intent unbar mine eyes.
And the good Master said: "Even now, my Son,
The city draweth near whose name is Dis,
With the grave citizens, with the great throng."
And I: "Its mosques already, Master, clearly
Within there in the valley I discern
Vermilion, as if issuing from the fire
They were." And he to me: "The fire eternal
That kindles them within makes them look red,
As thou beholdest in this nether Hell."
Then we arrived within the moats profound,
That circumvallate that disconsolate city;
The walls appeared to me to be of iron.
Not without making first a circuit wide,
We came unto a place where loud the pilot
Cried out to us, "Debark, here is the entrance."
More than a thousand at the gates I saw
Out of the Heavens rained down, who angrily
Were saying, "Who is this that without death
Goes through the kingdom of the people dead?"
And my sagacious Master made a sign
Of wishing secretly to speak with them.
A little then they quelled their great disdain,
And said: "Come thou alone, and he begone
Who has so boldly entered these dominions.
Let him return alone by his mad road;
Try, if he can; for thou shalt here remain,
Who hast escorted him through such dark regions."
Think, Reader, if I was discomforted
At utterance of the accursed words;
For never to return here I believed.
"O my dear Guide, who more than seven times
Hast rendered me security, and drawn me
From imminent peril that before me stood,
Do not desert me," said I, "thus undone;
And if the going farther be denied us,
Let us retrace our steps together swiftly."
And that Lord, who had led me thitherward,
Said unto me: "Fear not; because our passage
None can take from us, it by Such is given.
But here await me, and thy weary spirit
Comfort and nourish with a better hope;
For in this nether world I will not leave thee."
So onward goes and there abandons me
My Father sweet, and I remain in doubt,
For No and Yes within my head contend.
I could not hear what he proposed to them;
But with them there he did not linger long,
Ere each within in rivalry ran back.
They closed the portals, those our adversaries,
On my Lord's breast, who had remained without
And turned to me with footsteps far between.
His eyes cast down, his forehead shorn had he
Of all its boldness, and he said, with sighs,
"Who has denied to me the dolesome houses?"
And unto me: "Thou, because I am angry,
Fear not, for I will conquer in the trial,
Whatever for defence within be planned.
This arrogance of theirs is nothing new;
For once they used it at less secret gate,
Which finds itself without a fastening still.
O'er it didst thou behold the dead inscription;
And now this side of it descends the steep,
Passing across the circles without escort,
One by whose means the city shall be opened."
For the first time the poet interrupts the chronological flow of his narrative, interpolating events that occurred before the situation described in the very last verse of the preceding canto (for a briefer but similar interpolation see the first tercet of the thirteenth canto). The first 81 lines of canto VIII relate what occurred between the travelers' first experience of the wrathful sinners in the Styx (Inf. VII.129) and their arrival at the foot of a tower of the walled city of Dis (Inf. VII.130). The self-conscious interruption of the narrative may be enough to account for the self-conscious opening verse: 'To continue, let me say....' However, Boccaccio, in his commentary to this canto, was the first to sponsor the idea that in fact Dante only now, in Lunigiana in 1306, took up again the composition of his poem, begun in Florence before his exile and left behind when he could not return to the city. According to Boccaccio, a friend brought him the text of the first seven cantos, which had lain fallow for some six or seven years. While most do not credit this version of the history of composition of the Comedy, it has some support. See Giovanni Ferretti (I due tempi della composizione della “Divina Commedia” [Bari: Laterza, 1935]) and Giorgio Padoan (Il lungo cammino del “Poema sacro”: studi danteschi [Florence: Olschki, 1993]). The latter's book is devoted to a reassessment of the problem of the compositional history of the entire poem. In his view, Inferno was composed between 1306 and 1315, while most students of the problem argue for a completion of the first cantica around 1310. For the identical phrasing of the mathematician Paolo dell'Abbaco (even if the phrase was probably common enough): 'Io dicho seghuitando,' see Vallone (Percorsi danteschi [Florence: Le Lettere, 1991]), p. 75.
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 further 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 the note to Inf. VIII.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 (“Una Interpretazione dantesca,” in Studi e ricerche di letteratura italiana [Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1951], 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' 'boathouse'? The details are sparse enough to make a final resolution next to impossible.
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.
Padoan, in his commentary to this verse, 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, not crowds of souls to be ferried across a river.
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; Inf. XXI.72; Par. IV.15).
'Phlegyas, 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' (cited from the article “Flegias” in Paget Toynbee, Concise Dante Dictionary [Oxford: Clarendon, 1914 [1898]). In Aeneid VI.618-620 he is mentioned by the Sibyl as now, in Tartarus, warning against such temerity against the gods: ' [...] Phlegyasque miserrimus omnis / admonet et magna testatur voce per umbras: / “discite iustitiam moniti et non temnere divos.”'
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.
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.
For the relation of this moment, so clearly modelled 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 Inferno III.136.
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 street-wise 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. For an overview of the genre see Matteo Pedroni and Antonio Stäuble, eds., Il genere “tenzone” nelle letterature romanze delle origini (Ravenna: Longo, 1999).
This is Filippo Argenti; see the note to Inferno VIII.61.
Gino Casagrande (“Dante e Filippo Argenti: riscontri patristici e note di critica testuale,” Studi Danteschi 51 [1978]), 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.'
After Virgil thrusts Filippo Argenti (see the note to Inf. VIII.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 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). While to most it seems that Virgil's approving words and Dante's righteous anger are entirely appropriate as the protagonist learns to harden himself against feeling either pity or fear when confronted by the damned, a minority has given voice to the doubt that we should read either Virgil as authoritative here or, indeed, Dante as being morally correct in his invective. See, among others, Rocco Montano (Storia della poesia di Dante, vol. I [Naples: Quaderni di Delta, 1962]), pp. 418-21; J. Stephen Russell (“Inferno VIII: Dante's Anger and the Sins of Misreading,” in Literary and Historical Perspectives of the Middle Ages: Proceedings of the 1981 SEMA Meeting, ed. P. W. Cummins and others [Morgantown: West Virginia University Press, 1982], pp. 200-7); and Christopher Kleinhenz (“Inferno VIII,” Dante's “Divine Comedy”, Introductory Readings, I: “Inferno,” ed. T. Wlassics [Charlottesville, Va.: University of Virginia, 1990]), pp. 101-4. Such a view, if accepted, would make the reader's task a nearly impossible one. If we cannot trust the text when both protagonist and guide are in full accord, when can we ever trust it?
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 notions that our disposition to sin must be unitary has no base either in medieval ethical treatises or in ordinary human experience.
From the cries of others the reader finally learns the name of this sinner (Dante has known exactly who he is – see Inf. VIII.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.1970.2), pp. 873-76.
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 also the note to Inferno VII.109-114.
Benvenuto da Imola's commentary to this verse has it that Filippo gnaws himself 'just as a proud man will do, unable to avenge the injury done him by someone more powerful.'
Dis (Dite), for the Romans another name for Pluto, god of the underworld, for Dante is thereby another name for Lucifer or Satan.
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.
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.
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. See Musa's observation (Advent at the Gates [Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1974]), p. 81.
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 Virgil will have to deal with adversaries who are not easily swayed.
This is the first of seven addresses to the reader in the Inferno. Dante's frequent insistence on the presence of a reader is itself noteworthy. 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 (“Die Anrede an den Leser in der Göttlichen Komödie,” Deutsches Dante-Jahrbuch 30 [1951], pp. 130-40); Auerbach (“Dante's Addresses to the Reader,” Romance Philology 7 [1954], pp. 268-78); and Spitzer (“The Addresses to the Reader in the Commedia,” Italica 32 [1955]. pp. 143-66). And see the article of Vittorio Russo, 'appello al lettore' (ED.1970.1), pp.324-26), for a listing: Inf. VIII.94-96; Inf. IX.61-63; Inf. XVI.127-132; Inf. XX.19-24; Inf. XXII.118; Inf. XXV.46-48; Inf. XXXIV.22-27; Purg. VIII.19-21; Purg. IX.70-72; Purg. X.106-111; Purg. XVII.1-9; Purg. XXIX.97-105; Purg. XXXI.124-126; Purg. XXXIII.136-138; Par. II.1-18; Par. V.109-114; Par. X.7-27; Par. XIII.1-21; Par. 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 Par. IX.10-12 may also be included and that at Par. X.7-27 perhaps should be seen as two separate addresses (vv. 7-15 and 22-27).
The addresses are a sub-group 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.1970.1), pp. 319-21. Another subdivision of apostrophe in addition to addressing one's reader is found in the invocations of the Comedy. See the note to Inferno II.7-9. There are nine of these in the poem.
In their commentary to Inferno VIII.97 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 Proverbs 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 (Inf. I.49, Inf. II.130, Inf. III.94, Inf. V.21, Inf. VI.22, Inf. VII.8, Inf. VIII.19, Inf. VIII.41).
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 Inferno II.
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.
Virgil joins his frustration to what hopes he can develop 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.
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.
The nature of this descending messenger will be discussed in the notes to the following canto. Musa (Advent at the Gates [Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1974]), 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 (verse 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 (in Inf. II). The text offers confirmation to neither notion, if the latter seems the more probable.
Commentary text is copyrighted and reproduced by permission.
Please enter a search term.
Io dico, seguitando, ch'assai prima
che noi fossimo al piè de l'alta torre,
li occhi nostri n'andar suso a la cima
per due fiammette che i vedemmo porre,
e un'altra da lungi render cenno,
tanto ch'a pena il potea l'occhio tòrre.
E io mi volsi al mar di tutto 'l senno;
dissi: “Questo che dice? e che risponde
quell' altro foco? e chi son quei che 'l fenno?”
Ed elli a me: “Su per le sucide onde
già scorgere puoi quello che s'aspetta,
se 'l fummo del pantan nol ti nasconde.”
Corda non pinse mai da sé saetta
che sì corresse via per l'aere snella,
com' io vidi una nave piccioletta
venir per l'acqua verso noi in quella,
sotto 'l governo d'un sol galeoto,
che gridava: “Or se' giunta, anima fella!”
“Flegïàs, Flegïàs, tu gridi a vòto”
disse lo mio segnore, “a questa volta:
più non ci avrai che sol passando il loto.”
Qual è colui che grande inganno ascolta
che li sia fatto, e poi se ne rammarca,
fecesi Flegïàs ne l'ira accolta.
Lo duca mio discese ne la barca,
e poi mi fece intrare appresso lui;
e sol quand' io fui dentro parve carca.
Tosto che 'l duca e io nel legno fui,
segando se ne va l'antica prora
de l'acqua più che non suol con altrui.
Mentre noi corravam la morta gora,
dinanzi mi si fece un pien di fango,
e disse: “Chi se' tu che vieni anzi ora?”
E io a lui: “S'i' vegno, non rimango;
ma tu chi se', che sì se' fatto brutto?”
Rispuose: “Vedi che son un che piango.”
E io a lui: “Con piangere e con lutto,
spirito maladetto, ti rimani;
ch'i' ti conosco, ancor sie lordo tutto.”
Allor distese al legno ambo le mani;
per che 'l maestro accorto lo sospinse,
dicendo: “Via costà con li altri cani!”
Lo collo poi con le braccia mi cinse;
basciommi 'l volto e disse: “Alma sdegnosa,
benedetta colei che 'n te s'incinse!
Quei fu al mondo persona orgogliosa;
bontà non è che sua memoria fregi:
così s'è l'ombra sua qui furïosa.
Quanti si tegnon or là sù gran regi
che qui staranno come porci in brago,
di sé lasciando orribili dispregi!”
E io: “Maestro, molto sarei vago
di vederlo attuffare in questa broda
prima che noi uscissimo del lago.”
Ed elli a me: “Avante che la proda
ti si lasci veder, tu sarai sazio:
di tal disïo convien che tu goda.”
Dopo ciò poco vid' io quello strazio
far di costui a le fangose genti,
che Dio ancor ne lodo e ne ringrazio.
Tutti gridavano: “A Filippo Argenti!”
e 'l fiorentino spirito bizzarro
in sé medesmo si volvea co' denti.
Quivi il lasciammo, che più non ne narro;
ma ne l'orecchie mi percosse un duolo,
per ch'io avante l'occhio intento sbarro.
Lo buon maestro disse: “Omai, figliuolo,
s'appressa la città c'ha nome Dite,
coi gravi cittadin, col grande stuolo.”
E io: “Maestro, già le sue meschite
là entro certe ne la valle cerno,
vermiglie come se di foco uscite
fossero.” Ed ei mi disse: “Il foco etterno
ch'entro l'affoca le dimostra rosse,
come tu vedi in questo basso inferno.”
Noi pur giugnemmo dentro a l'alte fosse
che vallan quella terra sconsolata:
le mura mi parean che ferro fosse.
Non sanza prima far grande aggirata,
venimmo in parte dove il nocchier forte
“Usciteci,” gridò: “qui è l'intrata.”
Io vidi più di mille in su le porte
da ciel piovuti, che stizzosamente
dicean: “Chi è costui che sanza morte
va per lo regno de la morta gente?”
E 'l savio mio maestro fece segno
di voler lor parlar segretamente.
Allor chiusero un poco il gran disdegno
e disser: “Vien tu solo, e quei sen vada
che sì ardito intrò per questo regno.
Sol si ritorni per la folle strada:
pruovi, se sa; ché tu qui rimarrai,
che li ha' iscorta sì buia contrada.”
Pensa, lettor, se io mi sconfortai
nel suon de le parole maladette,
ché non credetti ritornarci mai.
“O caro duca mio, che più di sette
volte m'hai sicurtà renduta e tratto
d'alto periglio che 'ncontra mi stette,
non mi lasciar,” diss' io, “così disfatto;
e se 'l passar più oltre ci è negato,
ritroviam l'orme nostre insieme ratto.”
E quel segnor che lì m'avea menato,
mi disse: “Non temer; ché 'l nostro passo
non ci può tòrre alcun: da tal n'è dato.
Ma qui m'attendi, e lo spirito lasso
conforta e ciba di speranza buona,
ch'i' non ti lascerò nel mondo basso.”
Così sen va, e quivi m'abbandona
lo dolce padre, e io rimagno in forse,
che sì e no nel capo mi tenciona.
Udir non potti quello ch'a lor porse;
ma ei non stette là con essi guari,
che ciascun dentro a pruova si ricorse.
Chiuser le porte que' nostri avversari
nel petto al mio segnor, che fuor rimase
e rivolsesi a me con passi rari.
Li occhi a la terra e le ciglia avea rase
d'ogne baldanza, e dicea ne' sospiri:
“Chi m'ha negate le dolenti case!”
E a me disse: “Tu, perch' io m'adiri,
non sbigottir, ch'io vincerò la prova,
qual ch'a la difension dentro s'aggiri.
Questa lor tracotanza non è nova;
ché già l'usaro a men segreta porta,
la qual sanza serrame ancor si trova.
Sovr' essa vedestù la scritta morta:
e già di qua da lei discende l'erta,
passando per li cerchi sanza scorta,
tal che per lui ne fia la terra aperta.”
I say, continuing, that long before
We to the foot of that high tower had come,
Our eyes went upward to the summit of it,
By reason of two flamelets we saw placed there,
And from afar another answer them,
So far, that hardly could the eye attain it.
And, to the sea of all discernment turned,
I said: "What sayeth this, and what respondeth
That other fire? and who are they that made it?"
And he to me: "Across the turbid waves
What is expected thou canst now discern,
If reek of the morass conceal it not."
Cord never shot an arrow from itself
That sped away athwart the air so swift,
As I beheld a very little boat
Come o'er the water tow'rds us at that moment,
Under the guidance of a single pilot,
Who shouted, "Now art thou arrived, fell soul?"
"Phlegyas, Phlegyas, thou criest out in vain
For this once," said my Lord; "thou shalt not have us
Longer than in the passing of the slough."
As he who listens to some great deceit
That has been done to him, and then resents it,
Such became Phlegyas, in his gathered wrath.
My Guide descended down into the boat,
And then he made me enter after him,
And only when I entered seemed it laden.
Soon as the Guide and I were in the boat,
The antique prow goes on its way, dividing
More of the water than 'tis wont with others.
While we were running through the dead canal,
Uprose in front of me one full of mire,
And said, "Who 'rt thou that comest ere the hour?"
And I to him: "Although I come, I stay not;
But who art thou that hast become so squalid?"
"Thou seest that I am one who weeps," he answered.
And I to him: "With weeping and with wailing,
Thou spirit maledict, do thou remain;
For thee I know, though thou art all defiled."
Then stretched he both his hands unto the boat;
Whereat my wary Master thrust him back,
Saying, "Away there with the other dogs!"
Thereafter with his arms he clasped my neck;
He kissed my face, and said: "Disdainful soul,
Blessed be she who bore thee in her bosom.
That was an arrogant person in the world;
Goodness is none, that decks his memory;
So likewise here his shade is furious.
How many are esteemed great kings up there,
Who here shall be like unto swine in mire,
Leaving behind them horrible dispraises!"
And I: "My Master, much should I be pleased,
If I could see him soused into this broth,
Before we issue forth out of the lake."
And he to me: "Ere unto thee the shore
Reveal itself, thou shalt be satisfied;
Such a desire 'tis meet thou shouldst enjoy."
A little after that, I saw such havoc
Made of him by the people of the mire,
That still I praise and thank my God for it.
They all were shouting, "At Philippo Argenti!"
And that exasperate spirit Florentine
Turned round upon himself with his own teeth.
We left him there, and more of him I tell not;
But on mine ears there smote a lamentation,
Whence forward I intent unbar mine eyes.
And the good Master said: "Even now, my Son,
The city draweth near whose name is Dis,
With the grave citizens, with the great throng."
And I: "Its mosques already, Master, clearly
Within there in the valley I discern
Vermilion, as if issuing from the fire
They were." And he to me: "The fire eternal
That kindles them within makes them look red,
As thou beholdest in this nether Hell."
Then we arrived within the moats profound,
That circumvallate that disconsolate city;
The walls appeared to me to be of iron.
Not without making first a circuit wide,
We came unto a place where loud the pilot
Cried out to us, "Debark, here is the entrance."
More than a thousand at the gates I saw
Out of the Heavens rained down, who angrily
Were saying, "Who is this that without death
Goes through the kingdom of the people dead?"
And my sagacious Master made a sign
Of wishing secretly to speak with them.
A little then they quelled their great disdain,
And said: "Come thou alone, and he begone
Who has so boldly entered these dominions.
Let him return alone by his mad road;
Try, if he can; for thou shalt here remain,
Who hast escorted him through such dark regions."
Think, Reader, if I was discomforted
At utterance of the accursed words;
For never to return here I believed.
"O my dear Guide, who more than seven times
Hast rendered me security, and drawn me
From imminent peril that before me stood,
Do not desert me," said I, "thus undone;
And if the going farther be denied us,
Let us retrace our steps together swiftly."
And that Lord, who had led me thitherward,
Said unto me: "Fear not; because our passage
None can take from us, it by Such is given.
But here await me, and thy weary spirit
Comfort and nourish with a better hope;
For in this nether world I will not leave thee."
So onward goes and there abandons me
My Father sweet, and I remain in doubt,
For No and Yes within my head contend.
I could not hear what he proposed to them;
But with them there he did not linger long,
Ere each within in rivalry ran back.
They closed the portals, those our adversaries,
On my Lord's breast, who had remained without
And turned to me with footsteps far between.
His eyes cast down, his forehead shorn had he
Of all its boldness, and he said, with sighs,
"Who has denied to me the dolesome houses?"
And unto me: "Thou, because I am angry,
Fear not, for I will conquer in the trial,
Whatever for defence within be planned.
This arrogance of theirs is nothing new;
For once they used it at less secret gate,
Which finds itself without a fastening still.
O'er it didst thou behold the dead inscription;
And now this side of it descends the steep,
Passing across the circles without escort,
One by whose means the city shall be opened."
For the first time the poet interrupts the chronological flow of his narrative, interpolating events that occurred before the situation described in the very last verse of the preceding canto (for a briefer but similar interpolation see the first tercet of the thirteenth canto). The first 81 lines of canto VIII relate what occurred between the travelers' first experience of the wrathful sinners in the Styx (Inf. VII.129) and their arrival at the foot of a tower of the walled city of Dis (Inf. VII.130). The self-conscious interruption of the narrative may be enough to account for the self-conscious opening verse: 'To continue, let me say....' However, Boccaccio, in his commentary to this canto, was the first to sponsor the idea that in fact Dante only now, in Lunigiana in 1306, took up again the composition of his poem, begun in Florence before his exile and left behind when he could not return to the city. According to Boccaccio, a friend brought him the text of the first seven cantos, which had lain fallow for some six or seven years. While most do not credit this version of the history of composition of the Comedy, it has some support. See Giovanni Ferretti (I due tempi della composizione della “Divina Commedia” [Bari: Laterza, 1935]) and Giorgio Padoan (Il lungo cammino del “Poema sacro”: studi danteschi [Florence: Olschki, 1993]). The latter's book is devoted to a reassessment of the problem of the compositional history of the entire poem. In his view, Inferno was composed between 1306 and 1315, while most students of the problem argue for a completion of the first cantica around 1310. For the identical phrasing of the mathematician Paolo dell'Abbaco (even if the phrase was probably common enough): 'Io dicho seghuitando,' see Vallone (Percorsi danteschi [Florence: Le Lettere, 1991]), p. 75.
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 further 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 the note to Inf. VIII.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 (“Una Interpretazione dantesca,” in Studi e ricerche di letteratura italiana [Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1951], 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' 'boathouse'? The details are sparse enough to make a final resolution next to impossible.
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.
Padoan, in his commentary to this verse, 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, not crowds of souls to be ferried across a river.
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; Inf. XXI.72; Par. IV.15).
'Phlegyas, 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' (cited from the article “Flegias” in Paget Toynbee, Concise Dante Dictionary [Oxford: Clarendon, 1914 [1898]). In Aeneid VI.618-620 he is mentioned by the Sibyl as now, in Tartarus, warning against such temerity against the gods: ' [...] Phlegyasque miserrimus omnis / admonet et magna testatur voce per umbras: / “discite iustitiam moniti et non temnere divos.”'
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.
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.
For the relation of this moment, so clearly modelled 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 Inferno III.136.
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 street-wise 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. For an overview of the genre see Matteo Pedroni and Antonio Stäuble, eds., Il genere “tenzone” nelle letterature romanze delle origini (Ravenna: Longo, 1999).
This is Filippo Argenti; see the note to Inferno VIII.61.
Gino Casagrande (“Dante e Filippo Argenti: riscontri patristici e note di critica testuale,” Studi Danteschi 51 [1978]), 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.'
After Virgil thrusts Filippo Argenti (see the note to Inf. VIII.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 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). While to most it seems that Virgil's approving words and Dante's righteous anger are entirely appropriate as the protagonist learns to harden himself against feeling either pity or fear when confronted by the damned, a minority has given voice to the doubt that we should read either Virgil as authoritative here or, indeed, Dante as being morally correct in his invective. See, among others, Rocco Montano (Storia della poesia di Dante, vol. I [Naples: Quaderni di Delta, 1962]), pp. 418-21; J. Stephen Russell (“Inferno VIII: Dante's Anger and the Sins of Misreading,” in Literary and Historical Perspectives of the Middle Ages: Proceedings of the 1981 SEMA Meeting, ed. P. W. Cummins and others [Morgantown: West Virginia University Press, 1982], pp. 200-7); and Christopher Kleinhenz (“Inferno VIII,” Dante's “Divine Comedy”, Introductory Readings, I: “Inferno,” ed. T. Wlassics [Charlottesville, Va.: University of Virginia, 1990]), pp. 101-4. Such a view, if accepted, would make the reader's task a nearly impossible one. If we cannot trust the text when both protagonist and guide are in full accord, when can we ever trust it?
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 notions that our disposition to sin must be unitary has no base either in medieval ethical treatises or in ordinary human experience.
From the cries of others the reader finally learns the name of this sinner (Dante has known exactly who he is – see Inf. VIII.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.1970.2), pp. 873-76.
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 also the note to Inferno VII.109-114.
Benvenuto da Imola's commentary to this verse has it that Filippo gnaws himself 'just as a proud man will do, unable to avenge the injury done him by someone more powerful.'
Dis (Dite), for the Romans another name for Pluto, god of the underworld, for Dante is thereby another name for Lucifer or Satan.
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.
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.
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. See Musa's observation (Advent at the Gates [Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1974]), p. 81.
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 Virgil will have to deal with adversaries who are not easily swayed.
This is the first of seven addresses to the reader in the Inferno. Dante's frequent insistence on the presence of a reader is itself noteworthy. 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 (“Die Anrede an den Leser in der Göttlichen Komödie,” Deutsches Dante-Jahrbuch 30 [1951], pp. 130-40); Auerbach (“Dante's Addresses to the Reader,” Romance Philology 7 [1954], pp. 268-78); and Spitzer (“The Addresses to the Reader in the Commedia,” Italica 32 [1955]. pp. 143-66). And see the article of Vittorio Russo, 'appello al lettore' (ED.1970.1), pp.324-26), for a listing: Inf. VIII.94-96; Inf. IX.61-63; Inf. XVI.127-132; Inf. XX.19-24; Inf. XXII.118; Inf. XXV.46-48; Inf. XXXIV.22-27; Purg. VIII.19-21; Purg. IX.70-72; Purg. X.106-111; Purg. XVII.1-9; Purg. XXIX.97-105; Purg. XXXI.124-126; Purg. XXXIII.136-138; Par. II.1-18; Par. V.109-114; Par. X.7-27; Par. XIII.1-21; Par. 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 Par. IX.10-12 may also be included and that at Par. X.7-27 perhaps should be seen as two separate addresses (vv. 7-15 and 22-27).
The addresses are a sub-group 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.1970.1), pp. 319-21. Another subdivision of apostrophe in addition to addressing one's reader is found in the invocations of the Comedy. See the note to Inferno II.7-9. There are nine of these in the poem.
In their commentary to Inferno VIII.97 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 Proverbs 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 (Inf. I.49, Inf. II.130, Inf. III.94, Inf. V.21, Inf. VI.22, Inf. VII.8, Inf. VIII.19, Inf. VIII.41).
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 Inferno II.
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.
Virgil joins his frustration to what hopes he can develop 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.
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.
The nature of this descending messenger will be discussed in the notes to the following canto. Musa (Advent at the Gates [Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1974]), 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 (verse 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 (in Inf. II). The text offers confirmation to neither notion, if the latter seems the more probable.
Commentary text is copyrighted and reproduced by permission.
Please enter a search term.
Copyright | © 2024 Trustees of Dartmouth College. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
