La sete natural che mai non sazia
se non con l'acqua onde la femminetta
samaritana domandò la grazia,
mi travagliava, e pungeami la fretta
per la 'mpacciata via dietro al mio duca,
e condoleami a la giusta vendetta.
Ed ecco, sì come ne scrive Luca
che Cristo apparve a' due ch'erano in via,
già surto fuor de la sepulcral buca,
ci apparve un'ombra, e dietro a noi venìa,
dal piè guardando la turba che giace;
né ci addemmo di lei, sì parlò pria,
dicendo: “O frati miei, Dio vi dea pace.”
Noi ci volgemmo sùbiti, e Virgilio
rendéli 'l cenno ch'a ciò si conface.
Poi cominciò: “Nel beato concilio
ti ponga in pace la verace corte
che me rilega ne l'etterno essilio.”
“Come!” diss' elli, e parte andavam forte:
“se voi siete ombre che Dio sù non degni,
chi v'ha per la sua scala tanto scorte?”
E 'l dottor mio: “Se tu riguardi a' segni
che questi porta e che l'angel profila,
ben vedrai che coi buon convien ch'e' regni.
Ma perché lei che dì e notte fila
non li avea tratta ancora la conocchia
che Cloto impone a ciascuno e compila,
l'anima sua, ch'è tua e mia serocchia,
venendo sù, non potea venir sola,
però ch'al nostro modo non adocchia.
Ond' io fui tratto fuor de l'ampia gola
d'inferno per mostrarli, e mosterrolli
oltre, quanto 'l potrà menar mia scola.
Ma dimmi, se tu sai, perché tai crolli
diè dianzi 'l monte, e perché tutto ad una
parve gridare infino a' suoi piè molli.”
Sì mi diè, dimandando, per la cruna
del mio disio, che pur con la speranza
si fece la mia sete men digiuna.
Quei cominciò: “Cosa non è che sanza
ordine senta la religione
de la montagna, o che sia fuor d'usanza.
Libero è qui da ogne alterazione:
di quel che 'l ciel da sé in sé riceve
esser ci puote, e non d'altro, cagione.
Per che non pioggia, non grando, non neve,
non rugiada, non brina più sù cade
che la scaletta di tre gradi breve;
nuvole spesse non paion né rade,
né coruscar, né figlia di Taumante,
che di là cangia sovente contrade;
secco vapor non surge piu avante
ch'al sommo d'i tre gradi ch'io parlai,
dov' ha 'l vicario di Pietro le piante.
Trema forse più giù poco o assai;
ma per vento che 'n terra si nasconda,
non so come, qua sù non tremò mai.
Tremaci quando alcuna anima monda
sentesi, sì che surga o che si mova
per salir sù; e tal grido seconda.
De la mondizia sol voler fa prova,
che, tutto libero a mutar convento,
l'alma sorprende, e di voler le giova.
Prima vuol ben, ma non lascia il talento
che divina giustizia contra voglia,
come fu al peccar, pone al tormento.
E io, che son giaciuto a questa doglia
cinquecent' anni e più, pur mo sentii
libera volontà di miglior soglia:
però sentisti il tremoto e li pii
spiriti per lo monte render lode
a quel Segnor, che tosto sù li 'nvii.”
Così ne disse; e però ch'el si gode
tanto del ber quant' è grande la sete,
non saprei dir quant' el mi fece prode.
E 'l savio duca: “Omai veggio la rete
che qui vi 'mpiglia e come si scalappia,
perché ci trema e di che congaudete.
Ora chi fosti, piacciati ch'io sappia,
e perché tanti secoli giaciuto
qui se', ne le parole tue mi cappia.”
“Nel tempo che 'l buon Tito, con l'aiuto
del sommo rege, vendicò le fóra
ond' uscì 'l sangue per Giuda venduto
col nome che più dura e più onora
era io di là,” rispuose quello spirto,
“famoso assai, ma non con fede ancora.
Tanto fu dolce mio vocale spirto,
che, tolosano, a sé mi trasse Roma,
dove mertai le tempie ornar di mirto.
Stazio la gente ancor di là mi noma:
cantai di Tebe, e poi del grande Achille;
ma caddi in via con la seconda soma.
Al mio ardor fuor seme le faville,
che mi scaldar, de la divina fiamma
onde sono allumati più di mille;
de l'Eneïda dico, la qual mamma
fummi, e fummi nutrice, poetando:
sanz' essa non fermai peso di drama.
E per esser vivuto di là quando
visse Virgilio, assentirei un sole
più che non deggio al mio uscir di bando”
Volser Virgilio a me queste parole
con viso che, tacendo, disse “Taci”;
ma non può tutto la virtù che vuole;
ché riso e pianto son tanto seguaci
a la passion di che ciascun si spicca,
che men seguon voler ne' più veraci.
Io pur sorrisi come l'uom ch'ammicca;
per che l'ombra si tacque, e riguardommi
ne li occhi ove 'l sembiante più si ficca;
e “Se tanto labore in bene assommi,”
disse, “perché la tua faccia testeso
un lampeggiar di riso dimostromi?”
Or son io d'una parte e d'altra preso:
l'una mi fa tacer, l'altra scongiura
ch'io dica; ond' io sospiro, e sono inteso
dal mio maestro, e “Non aver paura,”
mi dice, “di parlar; ma parla e digli
quel ch'e' dimanda con cotanta cura.”
Ond' io: “Forse che tu ti maravigli,
antico spirto, del rider ch'io fei;
ma più d'ammirazion vo' che ti pigli.
Questi che guida in alto li occhi miei,
è quel Virgilio dal qual tu togliesti
forte a cantar de li uomini e d'i dèi.
Se cagion altra al mio rider credesti,
lasciala per non vera, ed esser credi
quelle parole che di lui dicesti.”
Già s'inchinava ad abbracciar li piedi
al mio dottor, ma el li disse: “Frate,
non far, ché tu se' ombra e ombra vedi.”
Ed ei surgendo: “Or puoi la quantitate
comprender de l'amor ch'a te mi scalda,
quand' io dismento nostra vanitate,
trattando l'ombre come cosa salda.”
The natural thirst, that ne'er is satisfied
Excepting with the water for whose grace
The woman of Samaria besought,
Put me in travail, and haste goaded me
Along the encumbered path behind my Leader
And I was pitying that righteous vengeance;
And lo! in the same manner as Luke writeth
That Christ appeared to two upon the way
From the sepulchral cave already risen,
A shade appeared to us, and came behind us,
Down gazing on the prostrate multitude,
Nor were we ware of it, until it spake,
Saying, "My brothers, may God give you peace!"
We turned us suddenly, and Virgilius rendered
To him the countersign thereto conforming.
Thereon began he: "In the blessed council,
Thee may the court veracious place in peace,
That me doth banish in eternal exile!"
"How," said he, and the while we went with speed,
"If ye are shades whom God deigns not on high,
Who up his stairs so far has guided you?"
And said my Teacher: "If thou note the marks
Which this one bears, and which the Angel traces
Well shalt thou see he with the good must reign.
But because she who spinneth day and night
For him had not yet drawn the distaff off,
Which Clotho lays for each one and compacts,
His soul, which is thy sister and my own,
In coming upwards could not come alone,
By reason that it sees not in our fashion.
Whence I was drawn from out the ample throat
Of Hell to be his guide, and I shall guide him
As far on as my school has power to lead.
But tell us, if thou knowest, why such a shudder
Erewhile the mountain gave, and why together
All seemed to cry, as far as its moist feet?"
In asking he so hit the very eye
Of my desire, that merely with the hope
My thirst became the less unsatisfied.
"Naught is there," he began, "that without order
May the religion of the mountain feel,
Nor aught that may be foreign to its custom.
Free is it here from every permutation;
What from itself heaven in itself receiveth
Can be of this the cause, and naught beside;
Because that neither rain, nor hail, nor snow,
Nor dew, nor hoar-frost any higher falls
Than the short, little stairway of three steps.
Dense clouds do not appear, nor rarefied,
Nor coruscation, nor the daughter of Thaumas,
That often upon earth her region shifts;
No arid vapour any farther rises
Than to the top of the three steps I spake of,
Whereon the Vicar of Peter has his feet.
Lower down perchance it trembles less or more,
But, for the wind that in the earth is hidden
I know not how, up here it never trembled.
It trembles here, whenever any soul
Feels itself pure, so that it soars, or moves
To mount aloft, and such a cry attends it.
Of purity the will alone gives proof,
Which, being wholly free to change its convent,
Takes by surprise the soul, and helps it fly.
First it wills well; but the desire permits not,
Which divine justice with the self-same will
There was to sin, upon the torment sets.
And I, who have been lying in this pain
Five hundred years and more, but just now felt
A free volition for a better seat.
Therefore thou heardst the earthquake, and the pious
Spirits along the mountain rendering praise
Unto the Lord, that soon he speed them upwards."
So said he to him; and since we enjoy
As much in drinking as the thirst is great,
I could not say how much it did me good.
And the wise Leader: "Now I see the net
That snares you here, and how ye are set free,
Why the earth quakes, and wherefore ye rejoice.
Now who thou wast be pleased that I may know;
And why so many centuries thou hast here
Been lying, let me gather from thy words."
"In days when the good Titus, with the aid
Of the supremest King, avenged the wounds
Whence issued forth the blood by Judas sold,
Under the name that most endures and honours,
Was I on earth," that spirit made reply,
"Greatly renowned, but not with faith as yet.
My vocal spirit was so sweet, that Rome
Me, a Thoulousian, drew unto herself,
Where I deserved to deck my brows with myrtle.
Statius the people name me still on earth;
I sang of Thebes, and then of great Achilles;
But on the way fell with my second burden.
The seeds unto my ardour were the sparks
Of that celestial flame which heated me,
Whereby more than a thousand have been fired;
Of the Aeneid speak I, which to me
A mother was, and was my nurse in song;
Without this weighed I not a drachma's weight.
And to have lived upon the earth what time
Virgilius lived, I would accept one sun
More than I must ere issuing from my ban."
These words towards me made Virgilius turn
With looks that in their silence said, "Be silent!"
But yet the power that wills cannot do all things;
For tears and laughter are such pursuivants
Unto the passion from which each springs forth,
In the most truthful least the will they follow.
I only smiled, as one who gives the wink;
Whereat the shade was silent, and it gazed
Into mine eyes, where most expression dwells;
And, "As thou well mayst consummate a labour
So great," it said, "why did thy face just now
Display to me the lightning of a smile?"
Now am I caught on this side and on that;
One keeps me silent, one to speak conjures me,
Wherefore I sigh, and I am understood.
"Speak," said my Master, "and be not afraid
Of speaking, but speak out, and say to him
What he demands with such solicitude."
Whence I: "Thou peradventure marvellest,
O antique spirit, at the smile I gave;
But I will have more wonder seize upon thee.
This one, who guides on high these eyes of mine,
Is that Virgilius, from whom thou didst learn
To sing aloud of men and of the Gods.
If other cause thou to my smile imputedst,
Abandon it as false, and trust it was
Those words which thou hast spoken concerning him."
Already he was stooping to embrace
My Teacher's feet; but he said to him: "Brother,
Do not; for shade thou art, and shade beholdest."
And he uprising: "Now canst thou the sum
Of love which warms me to thee comprehend,
When this our vanity I disremember,
Treating a shadow as substantial thing."
From at least the time of Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 1-3), commentators dealing with this opening verse have cited the opening (and other passages) of Dante's Convivio (I.i.1): 'As the Philosopher [Aristotle] says in the beginning of the First Philosophy [Metaphysics I.i], all of humankind naturally desires to know.' Bosco/Reggio (comm. to vv. 1-6), however, make an important distinction. Since here the protagonist is presented with a miracle, the moment in which a soul is finally prepared to rise to God, the following reference (vv. 2-3) to the waters of eternal life in the episode in John's gospel 'confirms the notion that the natural desire for knowledge cannot be satisfied except by Revelation, thus going beyond the affirmations found in Convivio (I.i.1; I.i.9; III.xv.4) normally cited by the commentators, which are limited to philosophical knowledge.' It is interesting to note that Pietro di Dante (Pietro1, comm. to vv. 1-3) cites the beginning of Aristotle's Metaphysics to make a highly similar point, separating Aristotelian scientia mundana (knowledge of this world) from experience of divina gratia (divine grace). On the distance between the formulations found in Convivio and those presented here, see also Hollander (Allegory in Dante's “Commedia” [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969]), pp. 68-69.
The obvious reference to the passage in John's gospel (4:5-15) has not escaped many readers. The Samaritan woman who finds Jesus, unprepared for the task of drawing water, at her well, ends up being eager to taste the 'water' that he offers as replacement for that which seems so necessary at noon of a warm day in the desert, for it 'fiet in eo fons aquae salientis in vitam aeternam' ([italics added] shall become in him a fountain of water springing up into life everlasting). In the Vulgate the present participle salientis may refer to the water or indeed to the drinker, rising up into eternal life. It is worth keeping this potential grammatical ambiguity in mind, for that second reading applies precisely to the condition of Statius, who has just now come to that moment in his posthumous existence: he is ready to take on the life of a soul in paradise; he himself is ready to salire (rise up).
Strangely enough, there is dispute among the commentators as to the metaphoric nature of the water offered by Jesus. For the first quarter millennium all who dealt with this question offered the obvious interpretation: divine grace. Then in the nineteenth century, beginning with Portirelli (comm. to vv. 1-6), some interpreters were of the opinion that the water referred either to human knowledge of God or to that knowledge possessed alone by God. Another group, the first of them Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 1-3), thought that it signified 'truth,' although exactly which kind varied, from Porena's (comm. to vv. 1-6) sense that for Dante it meant truth in general to Giacalone's (comm. to vv. 1-6) view that it means the truth found in Revelation alone. Surely the early commentators were correct. The water that the Samaritan woman asks for is that of eternal life, which comes alone from the grace of God.
As some commentators have pointed out, John's word for the Samaritan is mulier (woman), while Dante has used a diminutive (femminetta). Giacalone (comm. to vv. 1-6) thinks of the form more as a 'commiserative' than as a 'diminutive,' i.e., we are to think of this woman's absolute ordinariness as an encouragement to our own need for exactly such satisfaction of our 'thirst.'
Dante has rarely portrayed his protagonist as being beset by so many distractions. He desperately wants to understand the meaning both of the earthquake and of the song accompanying it; he and Virgil are trying to move ahead as quickly as possible, picking their way among the clutter of the penitents; he continues to feel a sense of grief at their punishment, despite its obvious rightness.
Announced with its solemn biblical stylistic flourish (Ed ecco [And lo]), the reminiscence of Luke 24:13-16 (a passage that begins 'Et ecce') reminds the reader of two of Christ's disciples (Dante's first commentators at times incorrectly identify them as James and John; it is clear that one of the two is named Cleopas [24:18], while the other is perhaps his wife [24:29], in which case she may well have been known as Mary [John 19:25]), walking on the road to Emmaus when Christ joined them and walked with them, unrecognized.
Statius's unmistakable resemblance to Christ risen, his figural relation to Jesus, makes him, technically, not a 'figure' of Christ but a 'fulfillment' of Him, which is theologically awkward. Hollander (Allegory in Dante's “Commedia” [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969]), pp. 67-70, argues for the technical reference of the word ombra (shade) here, grounded in the language of the Christian interpretation of Scripture, discovered, indeed, in this very chapter of Luke's gospel (24:27), when Jesus teaches his disciples the figural method of understanding the Old Testament. (See Heilbronn [“The Prophetic Role of Statius in Dante's Purgatory,” Dante Studies 95 [1977], p. 58, for a similar view.)
How, some commentators have asked, perhaps beginning with Manfredi Porena (comm. to vv. 7-13), could Dante and Virgil see that Statius was behind them? They could not. Now, narrating the scene, the poet, knowing that Statius came up from behind, says that he did so. They first became aware of him when he spoke – at which point, as the text says, they turned around. As the risen Christ walked along beside Cleopas and his wife, who did not recognize him, so does the 'resurrected' Statius walk up behind Dante and Virgil, who do not at first know that he is there. In both scenes it is also true that 'the two who were on the way' do not know with whom they converse until much later (see Luke 24:35, when they break bread with their 'new' acquaintance in their home; Purg. XXI.91, when this soul's identity is finally made plain).
Another problem here is caused by the grammatical ambiguity of the phrase 'guardando la turba che giace': who is doing the looking, Statius or Dante and Virgil? Grammatically both are possible. Both proximity and common sense move a reader to the latter possibility: Dante and Virgil, the 'noi' that is closer to the gerund than Statius's 'ombra,' are looking down at the shades, as we know (from Purg. XX.143, where they are also 'guardando'; XXI.6). Statius, having just come from lying prostrate, is more likely to be looking ahead and above, where he is finally allowed to direct himself.
For the present tense of the verb giace, problematic in whatever solution one proposes for the last question, see the note to vv. 22-24.
Statius's first words join him to the tradition of fraternal purgatorial greeting on the part of the penitents we have so far heard addressing Dante: Belacqua (Purg. IV.127); Oderisi (Purg. XI.82); Sapia (Purg. XIII.94); Marco (Purg. XVI.65); Adrian (Purg. XIX.133). See notes to Purg. IV.127 and Purg. XIX.133. For a complete listing of all uses of 'frate' as form of address in the last two cantiche, see the note to Purg. IV.127.
Singleton's dependence on Sinclair's translation of this passage is betrayed by his comment (comm. to vv. 10-13), which has Statius looking at the crowd of penitents at his feet, while the translation has Dante and Virgil doing the looking.
For the source of Statius's greeting, see the words of Christ to his apostles, the second scene of his resurrected life on earth in Luke's gospel (Luke 24:36): 'Pax vobis: ego sum, nolite timere' (Peace unto you: I am, have no fear). In the next verse of Luke the apostles indeed do show fear; and we may remember how fearful Dante was when the earth shook beneath him at the end of the last canto (vv. 128-129; 135). William Stephany (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), pp. 161-62, sees a connection with biblical moments (in the narratives involving Cleopas and the Samaritan woman) in which 'characters are frightened either by Jesus' birth or rebirth.'
The nature of the cenno (sign) made in response by Virgil has long puzzled the commentators. We can say one thing with something like certainty: Virgil's gesture is not a spoken one, since he makes some sort of gesture and then begins to speak (verse 16). Many early and some later commentators have liked the idea that in response Virgil said 'et cum spiritu tuo' (and with your spirit as well), a liturgical reply. Yet it surely seems impossible that Dante would have first presented Virgil as speaking and then immediately afterwards as beginning to speak. And so it is clearly preferable to understand that Virgil made some sort of physical gesture. Perhaps the most sensible gloss remains that of Benvenuto (comm. to vv. 14-18): 'with similar reverence [Virgil] lowered his head to him.' Previously Dante has clearly distinguished among parole, mani, and cenni (words, [actions of] hands, and signs) at Purgatorio I.50; and he will distinguish between dir and cenno (speech and sign) at Purgatorio XXVII.139. In fact, in the fifteen uses of the word cenno in the poem, this would be the only one in which it referred to speech, as Steiner (comm. to verse 15) points out, adding that Virgil, as a pagan inhabitant of Limbo, is never permitted either to pronounce sacred phrases or to perform actions pertaining to Christian ritual (e.g., genuflexion). The word cenno appears frequently in the poem (Inf. III.117, Inf. IV.98, Inf. VIII.5, Inf. XVI.116, Inf. XXI.138, Inf. XXII.8, Purg. I.50, Purg. VI.141, Purg. XII.129, Purg. XIX.86, here, Purg. XXII.27, Purg. XXVII.139; Par. XV.71, Par. XXII.101).
For the ingenious but perhaps not eventually acceptable notion that Virgil's cenno 'may very well be an embrace, a gesture analogous to the liturgical Kiss of Peace' see Heilbronn (“The Prophetic Role of Statius in Dante's Purgatory,” Dante Studies 95 [1977]), pp. 58-65. Had Virgil been a Christian, Dante might very well have chosen to make Heilbronn right. However, see James Albrecht (“'Il cenno ch'a ciò si conface' [Purgatorio 21.15],” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [February 2002]), who argues that Virgil's gesture is the sign of the cross, offered without the accompanying response to the hopeful wish 'Dominus det nobis suam pacem' (May God grant us His peace) found in breviaries and in the liturgy of the hours: 'Et vitam eternam' (And eternal life); in Albrecht's view it is what Virgil did not say that is focal to the scene. (For clear examples of facial gestures as cenni in this very canto, see verse 104, Virgil's look that calls for silence and verse 109, Dante's smile that is a hint.)
Virgil's wish for Statius is touching, in part because it has been accomplished, since Statius is already substantially one of the blessed, only awaiting a change in his accidental state, which will be accomplished in less than a day. While the poem does not show him there, its givens make it plain that, had Dante chosen to do so, Statius could have been observed seated in the rose in Paradiso XXXII; he is there by the time Dante ascends into the heavens at the beginning of the next cantica, or so we may assume.
Virgil's insistence on his own eternal home is a moving reminder of his tragic situation in this comic poem. Statius's salvation comes closer than anyone else's in showing how near Virgil himself came to eternal blessedness, as the next canto will make clear. And, once we learn (Purg. XXII.67-73) that it was Virgil who was responsible, by means of his fourth Eclogue, for the conversion of Statius, we consider these lines with a still more troubled heart. For remarks in a similar vein see Stephany (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), p. 158n.
For Statius's miscomprehension of Dante's condition, see the note to the next tercet. The physical reason for it is that, because the travelers are out of the sun's rays on the far side of the mountain, Dante's body casts no revealing shadow, and Statius takes Virgil's confession of his own plight to apply to both of these 'shades.'
For parte used here and in Inferno XXIX.16 as an adverb, a Florentine provincialism, meaning 'meanwhile,' see Moore (Contributions to the Textual Criticism of the “Divina Commedia” [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1889]), pp. 398-99, citing Benvenuto as previously making the same point in both instances.
Virgil's remarks suggest to Statius that the (remaining three) P's on Dante's forehead indicate a special status, namely that he is bound for Glory – just as is Statius. But did Statius have these marks incised on his forehead? Had he, they would now all be erased but for this last, which would probably disappear, along with Dante's, before the beginning of the next canto (see Purg. XXII.3, where we learn the angel has wiped Dante's fifth P from his brow). He would have spent, we will be able to compute from information gleaned from verse 68 and from Purgatorio XXII.92-93, as many as 300 years in ante-purgatory and/or on some or all of the first three terraces, since it is 1204 years since his death in the year 96 and he has had to remain over 400 years on the fourth terrace and over 500 on this one. Thus, had he borne signs on his forehead, these would originally have been as many as five and as few as two. However, there is no reason to believe that he, or any other penitent not here in the flesh, has had his brow incised with P's. (See the note to Purg. IX.112.) For other reasons to believe that only Dante is incised, see Hollander (“The Letters on Dante's Brow [Purg. 9.112 and 21.22-24],” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [January 2002]); for an opposing view see Nicola Fosca (“Beatitudini e processo di purgazione,” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [February 2002]). And for an attempt to deal with the problem raised by the present tense of the verb profila as indicating that the warder habitually inscribes the P's on sinners, see, again, Hollander's note in the EBDSA, where he argues, following a suggestion offered by Chimenz (comm. to vv. 22-24), that this present has the significance of a past and that we should understand that only Dante is to be understood as having had his forehead incised.
The circumlocution describes Lachesis, the second of the three Fates of classical mythology. 'At the birth of every mortal, Clotho, the spinning fate, was supposed to wind upon the distaff of Lachesis, the alotting fate, a certain amount of yarn; the duration of the life of the individual being the length of time occupied in spinning the thread, which, when complete, was severed by Atropos, the inevitable fate' (Toynbee, “Lachesìs” [Concise Dante Dictionary]). For Atropos, see Inferno XXXIII.126. This is Virgil's long-winded way of saying that Dante was still in the body when he was summoned to guide him through the afterworld. For Dante's likely dependence upon Statius for the names of the three Fates, see Ettore Paratore, “Stazio” (ED.1976.5), pp. 422b-423a.
What exactly Virgil means by his scola (teaching of Dante) has been a matter of some debate, featuring predictable allegorizations, e.g., Virgil as reason, Statius as moral philosophy, Beatrice as theology. None of these has the merit of being immediately (or eventually?) convincing. The last time we have heard the word was at Inferno IV.94, where the poet referred to the group of poets (la bella scola) headed by Homer, and perhaps, 'reading Dante by Dante,' we should keep this simplest explanation in clear view. Virgil, informed by all that a pagan poet can know, will guide Dante as best he can. Once we reach the question of the nature of the human soul, in Canto XXV, he will give way to Statius, who, as a Christian, understands things about the nature of the human soul's relationship to divinity of which Virgil is simply ignorant. There is no reason to believe, one might add, that Beatrice could not have instructed Dante about this question, or that Statius could not have told him anything that Beatrice will reveal in Paradiso. All saved Christians, in this poem, are capable of knowing all things in God. The rewards of Heaven are not only affective, but intellectual.
We should also be aware of Beatrice's use of the same word, scola, in Purgatorio XXXIII.85 to denigrate Dante's own nearly disastrous adventures in what she seems to consider his overbold philosophizing.
At last Virgil asks Statius the two questions that have so vexed Dante; for a third time the importance of the salvation of Statius is underlined. See notes to Purgatorio XX.145-151 and to vv. 4-6 of this canto.
Statius first establishes the meteorology of the mountain. There is no 'weather' encountered above the upper limit of ante-purgatory, but below that limit there is. Up here the only celestial force having any effect is the direct influence of the heavens.
Thaumas's daughter is Iris, for classical poets the personification of the rainbow, appearing variously above the earth and not in one fixed place.
The wind hidden inside the earth (verse 56, first referred to as 'dry vapor' in verse 52) refers to what Dante, in keeping with one medieval view (see Inf. III.130-136), believed to be the cause of earthquakes. Statius's point is that there are no natural earthquakes on the upper reaches of the mountain, but that there are 'supernatural' ones. This one, accompanying the completion of Statius's penance and marking his liberation from sin, may remind us of the earthquake that greeted Dante's 'supernatural' descent into the underworld at the conclusion of Inferno III, itself perhaps also meant to remind the reader of the earthquake at the Crucifixion (referred to at some length by Virgil in Inf. XII.31-45). These three earthquakes, all caused by Christ-centered spiritual events, would clearly seem to be related.
The self-judging quality of the penitents is here made plain. We saw the same phenomenon among the damned in the confessions that they offered to Minos (see the note to Inf. V.8). Words for 'will' and 'willing' occur five times in nine lines (61-69), the densest block of volere and volontà found in the poem. In Paradiso III the examples of Piccarda and Costanza will afford the opportunity to study the divergence between the absolute will, always striving toward the good, and the conditional (i.e., 'conditioned') will, which, when guided by desires for lesser goods, chooses unwisely. Here Dante plays the changes on that basic understanding of the will's role. In purgatory the conditional will does not elect the lesser good, but instead desires to repent its former movement in that direction. This is a 'rule' of purgatory that has no precedent in Christian lore, since Dante's purgatory is so much his own invention; nonetheless, it makes intuitive sense. It is thus that the poet suggests that his reader understand why a penitent, while naturally desiring to cease the act of penance, simultaneously feels a still stronger and countering desire to complete it, as is made clear here.
For a soul to 'change its convent,' in this context, means for it to move from purgatory to paradise.
A sharp distinction between (talento) desire and will (voglia) in verse 61 is drawn by Moore (Contributions to the Textual Criticism of the “Divina Commedia” [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1889]), pp. 401-4, demonstrating that the early commentators saw clearly that desire represents the conditional will (as it did in Inf. V.39, where the desire of the lustful is described as running counter to reason), while the will referred to here is the absolute will, which always seeks the good alone.
His use of the first person here is the first instance of an autobiographical bent on the speaker's part, but his self-identification still awaits. He only now formally concludes his response to Dante's insistent and paired questions, first alluded to in the last canto (XX.145-151); in a gesture typical of purgatorial brotherhood, his next thought is for his fellow penitents (cf. Virgil's similar wish at vv. 16-18). (For Statius's various sins and the time spent purging them on the mountain, see notes to vv. 22-24 and to Purg. XXII.92-93.)
After telling us three times how eagerly he wanted to know more about these strange signs on the mountain (see the note to vv. 34-39), the poet now once again underlines their importance. The singular importance of the salvation of Statius is insisted on in such a way as to let us understand that what matters is not only the importance of the finishing of purgation for any soul, but Statius's astounding role in Dante's poem, which will gradually become more clear as the two cantos devoted to him continue to unfold their mysteries.
Those who know it may remember an old joke with a similar rhythm. An elderly man traveling on a train in a sleeping car awakens in the middle of the night and then awakens some of his fellow unseen sleepers as he cries out, 'Oh, am I thirsty; oh, am I thirsty!' Finally, a disgruntled fellow traveler arises, gets a cup of water from the drinking fountain at the end of the car, and passes it in to the man in his curtained berth. Shortly after the good Samaritan has returned to his own berth and is nodding back off to sleep, he is brought back to waking when the old man begins to cry out, 'Oh, was I thirsty; oh, was I thirsty!'
Tommaseo (comm. to these verses) rightly suggests that congaudere (rejoice) is a biblical word; further precision was offered by Campi, citing I Corinthians 12:26: 'sive gloriatur unum membrum, congaudent omnia membra' (if a single member glories, then all members rejoice along with it). St. Paul is developing the analogy between parts of the human body and the individual members of the mystical body of Christ, the Church.
Virgil's specific question at last elicits a sort of vita poetae from his interlocutor. See the note to Inferno I.67-87 for the similar vita Virgilii found there.
Publius Papinius Statius (45-96) was born in Naples and not in Toulouse, birthplace of a different Statius, a rhetorician; Dante's error was a common one (perhaps deriving from the glosses by Lactantius [ca. 300] to the poems of Statius) and he helped propagate it, since he is probably responsible for the mistaken birthplace found both in Boccaccio and in Chaucer; for the former, see Amorosa visione V.34 and, for the latter, Hous of Fame III.1460. For the suggestion (which the commentator himself eventually questions) that Statius was actually from Telesa (or Telesia), a city (later destroyed) in the vicinity of Naples, and thus would have been correctly described as being 'telesano,' a form easily corrupted into 'tolosano,' see Lombardi (comm. to verse 89). Statius's Thebaid, an epic in twelve books, composed in the years between between 80 and 92, was the source of a good deal of Dante's sense of what for us is the 'Oedipus story,' in Statius treated as the civil war between the forces loyal to one or the other of Oedipus's royal sons.
Dante's reference to Statius's laureation is problematic. Since it seems clear, despite an occasional argument to the contrary, that Dante did not know Statius's collection of his 'fugitive' poems, the Silvae (see the note to verse 90), he could not have read (in Silvae III.v.28-31) that, while the emperor (Domitian) had crowned Statius with gold at an 'arts festival' at Alba, he had not done so at Rome, i.e., Statius did not get the laurel for his epic. And thus it remains possible but seems unlikely that he ever received the laurel; however, his dedication of the Thebaid to Domitian, coupled with the opening lines of the Achilleid (I.9-11), where he asks Apollo for laureation and intimates that he had been previously coronated, might have made Dante think he had been. This second epic, which he did not finish, getting only as far as into the second book, was the source of most of what Dante, Homerless, knew about Achilles.
Born ca. A.D. 45, Statius was thus about twenty-five when Titus, son of the emperor Vespasian, destroyed in A.D. 70 the second temple in Jerusalem as part of his attack upon the Jews, an event to which Dante will advert in Paradiso VI.92 (for Dante's sense of the 'just retribution' involved in this event, see the note to that passage). Titus succeeded Vespasian as emperor (79-81).
The 'name' to which the speaker refers is that of poet. The surprising, even shocking, culmination of his statement of his debt to Virgil in the next canto (verse 73: 'through you I was a poet, through you a Christian') is adumbrated here, where Statius owns himself (at the age at which Dante suffered the loss of Beatrice, twenty-five) to have achieved fame as a poet but not yet faith in Christ.
Dante had already referred to Statius as 'lo dolce poeta' (the sweet poet) at Convivio IV.xxv.6, as Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 88-90) pointed out. Pietro di Dante (Pietrro1, comm. to vv. 82-90) was the first to suggest that the source for the phrase lay in Juvenal's Satires (VII.82-87). For strong support of this notion, see Alessandro Ronconi (“L'incontro di Stazio e Virgilio,” Cultura e scuola 13-14 [1965]), pp. 568-69; see also Vincenzo Tandoi (“Il ricordo di Stazio 'dolce poeta' nella Sat. VII di Giovenale,” Maia 21 [1969], pp. 103-22). Ettore Paratore, “Giovenale” (ED.1971.3), pp. 197-202, offers probably the most balanced and useful introduction to the problem of Dante's knowledge of Juvenal.
There has been much confusion over the meaning of Statius's reference to being crowned with myrtle leaves. The myrtle tree was sacred to Venus (see, e.g., Aen. V.72). And, indeed, Statius himself, in his Silvae (IV.vii.10-11), asks to be crowned as a lyric poet (and not as a writer of epic) with myrtle leaves. However, as nearly all admit, or even insist, Dante could not have been acquainted with the Silvae, a manuscript of which was only discovered in the fifteenth century by Poggio Bracciolini in France, copied and brought back into Italy, where Poliziano would take much pleasure and instruction from it. Then what does Dante mean us to understand by Statius's insistence that he was crowned with myrtle? As Daniello (comm. to vv. 88-90) notes, Virgil speaks of both laurel and myrtle (Egl. II.54): 'You, too, o laurels (lauri), I will pluck, and you, neighboring myrtle (myrte)'; Daniello believes that Statius is associated with myrtle because he was a poet of love. Disagreeing with him, Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 88-90) thinks that the phrase, for Dante, meant that the myrtle wreath was secondary to the laurel, an opinion followed by Porena and developed by Mattalia (both commenting upon this verse); Mattalia argues that, while Dante himself makes Statius one of the poete regolati (i.e., the classical Latin poets worthy of emulation [Dve II.vi.7]), it is Statius who speaks now, and he wants to show his awareness of his dependence upon Virgil, of his role as secondary poet following in the wake of a master. See verses two lines from the ending of the Thebaid (XII.816-817), which explicitly make a highly similar claim: 'do not attempt to rival the divine Aeneid, but follow at a distance, always worshiping its footsteps.' Moore (Studies in Dante, First Series: Scripture and Classical Authors in Dante [Oxford: Clarendon, 1969 (1896)]), p. 243, was perhaps the first to suggest that this passage was being cited here in vv. 94-97. For its possible earlier relevance, see the note to Inferno XXIII.145-148.
Statius's 'second burden' was his unfinished Achilleid.
For the relationship of Statius's text to these lines, see the concluding remarks in the note to verse 90. The image of the Aeneid as being the divine torch that has set aflame many another poem, including this one, similarly 'divine,' if surely in different ways, will be explored as this scene unfolds.
The appearance of the word mamma here is stunning, for we find it, a spectacular instantiation of the low vernacular (see the last item in the note to Inf. XXXII.1-9, the passage in which it has had its only previous appearance), used in the same verse with the word that may have represented for Dante the height of classical eloquence, Eneïda, the title of the greatest classical poem, here in its only use in the Comedy.
The passage applies to Statius, but increasingly students of this passage have been convinced that Statius's fictive biography serves as a sort of stand-in for Dante's genuine one, that is, in Statius's words here about his dependence on Virgil we are also reading Dante's confession of his own debt to the Roman poet. For this view see, among others, Ettore Paratore (Tradizione e struttura in Dante [Florence: Sansoni, 1968]), pp. 72-73; Padoan (“Il Canto XXI del Purgatorio,” in Nuove letture dantesche, vol. IV [Florence: Le Monnier, 1970]), p. 354; Hollander (“Babytalk in Dante's Commedia,” in his Studies in Dante [Ravenna: Longo, 1980]), pp. 123-24, 205n.; Stephany (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), p. 151; Picone (“Purgatorio XXII,” in Dante's “Divine Comedy,” Introductory Readings II: “Purgatorio,” ed. Tibor Wlassics [Lectura Dantis (virginiana), 12, supplement, Charlottesville: University of Virginia, 1993]), p. 330. In the next canto the extent of that debt will assume staggering proportions.
In a reversal of our usual expectation, the high style of classical tragic writing is portrayed as serving as mother and nurse, giving suck to the infant vernacular, triumphantly low. This is a far cry from the program of Dante's De vulgari eloquentia, which sought to champion the lofty, tragic vernacular poetry of Italy, with Dante's own canzoni (odes) as the crowning example. In the earlier work the Italian initiate was urged to learn how to write in the high style by imitating the classical poets; now we find that the lofty bards of antiquity become 'mothers' of a quite different sort of poetry, the low, or comic, style of this theological epic. For a discussion of the word mamma in Dante see Hollander (“Babytalk in Dante's Commedia,” in Studies in Dante [Ravenna: Longo, 1980]), pp. 120-29. And for a quite different treatment of the image of being suckled at the breast see Gary Cestaro (“The Primal Scene of Suckling in Dante's De vulgari eloquentia,” Dante Studies 109 [1991], pp. 119-47).
A dram is the equivalent of one-eighth of an ounce.
While some have understood that Statius's gesture offers a single day of lingering (first, the Anonimus Lombardus [comm. to these verses]) and others a solar cycle of twenty-eight years (first, Jacopo della Lana [comm. to verse 101]), most, after the Ottimo (comm. to vv. 94-102), believe that he means one more year. We might be tempted to reflect that, if he had met Virgil after he had converted, he might have returned a favor and converted Virgil to Christianity (one can imagine their conversation about the real meaning of the fourth Eclogue). The context here, involving only his poetic debt to Virgil, probably should put that thought from us.
The first of these two adjacent and charming passages to return to earlier moments in the canto adverts to the discussion of the absolute and conditional wills in vv. 61-69. Here we see that Dante's absolute will is conquered by his emotions. In the second, Dante's smile is probably to be understood as exactly such a sign as Virgil gave to arriving Statius at vv. 14-15.
One does not want to read in too moralizing a light this extraordinary little scene. There is no serious consequence if Dante gives away Virgil's little secret, or if Statius becomes over-enthusiastic once it is known. The three poets share a moment of common freedom from the constraints of their missions. It is typical of this great and securely serious theological poet that he can indulge himself and his readers in moments of such moving happiness. This is perhaps as close to experiencing Christian fellowship as Virgil ever comes.
The protagonist's understanding of Statius's debt to Virgil is obviously not yet fully developed. In his formulation it was from the greater poet that Statius learned 'to sing of men and of the gods,' an adequate description of the work of a pagan writer of epic. We will learn in the next canto that, behind the façade of pagan trappings, Statius was in fact a secret Christian. See the note to Purgatorio XXII.67-73.
For the view that Statius is behaving passionally when it were better not to, see Denise Heilbronn (“'Io pur sorrisi': Dante's Lesson on the Passions [Purg. XXI, 94-136],” Dante Studies 96 [1978], pp. 67-74). Stephany's rejoinder (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), pp. 142-43, is less than convincing. He finds it odd that Statius, having finished his purgation, should return to so much lower a level of response. In his view, Virgil is imitating Christ when he asks Mary Magdalen not to touch Him ('noli me tangere' – John 20:17). Stephany's discussion of that passage and its relationship to the two other major biblical resonances in this canto, those of the Samaritan woman and of the disciples on the road to Emmaus encountering the resurrected Jesus, as all being narratives that concern conversion, is close to Dante's text and telling. However, the tone of the episode clearly responds far more to Heilbronn's sense, if perhaps less sternly than she might have us believe. The scene is amusing and utterly human; Statius has for a moment re-entered his previous life, as even other saints might do, in the presence of Virgil. And even the protagonist, caught between the differing desires of the two classical poets, is apparently momentarily exempt from moral pressures. How might the saved Stephany respond, completing his purgation, finding himself in the presence of Dante? The poet's view of the completion of purgation, reflected in the protagonist's own 'free time' as he enters Eden, is not completely dissimilar to what we found in ante-purgatory, where the pressure on the souls is also less acute.
With regard to the supposed 'failed embrace' between Statius and Virgil, Hollander has argued (“Purgatorio II: Cato's Rebuke and Dante's scoglio,” Italica 52 [1975]), p.359, that Dante's failed attempt to embrace Casella (Purg. II.76-81), pointing to a physical impossibility, is countered in the successful exchange of embraces between Sordello and Virgil, both shades (Purg. VII.2, 15). In both of those scenes there is a desire to embrace that is either frustrated or accomplished. Here Statius desires to embrace Virgil but, once advised against doing so by the author of the Aeneid, wills not to. Since we know from Sordello's and Virgil's shared embraces that in fact shades are capable of embracing, we may not properly say, as most who deal with the scene do, that Virgil and Statius, 'being shades, cannot embrace,' or that they 'are not capable of embracing' (Giovanni Cecchetti [“The Statius Episode: Observations on Dante's Conception of Poetry,” Lectura Dantis (virginiana) 7 (1990)], p. 107). They are perfectly capable of embracing; Virgil convinces Statius that it is not a fitting gesture in this higher realm. For another view of the supposedly problematic program of embraces see Nicolae Iliescu (“Gli episodi degli abbracci nelle strutture del Purgatorio,” Yearbook of Italian Studies 1 [1971], pp. 53-63). And see the note to Purgatorio XIX.134-135 for the probable biblical source of a similar scene: Pope Adrian's refusal to accept Dante's obeisance. In the end Statius won't embrace Virgil because up here souls don't behave 'that way,' just as Virgil did not want to have his identity revealed for a similar reason. In support of this reading, see Wei Wei Yeo (“Embodiment in the Commedia: Dante's Exilic and Poetic Self-Consciousness,” Dante Studies 121 [2003 {2006}]), p. 78, also suggesting that “rather than arguing physical impossibility, the text implies the acknowledgment of inappropriateness as the reason...” Her citation is of George Economou (“Saying Spirit in Terms of Matter: The Epic Embrace in Medieval Poetic Imagination,” Lectura Dantis [virginiana] 11 [Fall 1992]), p. 76.
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La sete natural che mai non sazia
se non con l'acqua onde la femminetta
samaritana domandò la grazia,
mi travagliava, e pungeami la fretta
per la 'mpacciata via dietro al mio duca,
e condoleami a la giusta vendetta.
Ed ecco, sì come ne scrive Luca
che Cristo apparve a' due ch'erano in via,
già surto fuor de la sepulcral buca,
ci apparve un'ombra, e dietro a noi venìa,
dal piè guardando la turba che giace;
né ci addemmo di lei, sì parlò pria,
dicendo: “O frati miei, Dio vi dea pace.”
Noi ci volgemmo sùbiti, e Virgilio
rendéli 'l cenno ch'a ciò si conface.
Poi cominciò: “Nel beato concilio
ti ponga in pace la verace corte
che me rilega ne l'etterno essilio.”
“Come!” diss' elli, e parte andavam forte:
“se voi siete ombre che Dio sù non degni,
chi v'ha per la sua scala tanto scorte?”
E 'l dottor mio: “Se tu riguardi a' segni
che questi porta e che l'angel profila,
ben vedrai che coi buon convien ch'e' regni.
Ma perché lei che dì e notte fila
non li avea tratta ancora la conocchia
che Cloto impone a ciascuno e compila,
l'anima sua, ch'è tua e mia serocchia,
venendo sù, non potea venir sola,
però ch'al nostro modo non adocchia.
Ond' io fui tratto fuor de l'ampia gola
d'inferno per mostrarli, e mosterrolli
oltre, quanto 'l potrà menar mia scola.
Ma dimmi, se tu sai, perché tai crolli
diè dianzi 'l monte, e perché tutto ad una
parve gridare infino a' suoi piè molli.”
Sì mi diè, dimandando, per la cruna
del mio disio, che pur con la speranza
si fece la mia sete men digiuna.
Quei cominciò: “Cosa non è che sanza
ordine senta la religione
de la montagna, o che sia fuor d'usanza.
Libero è qui da ogne alterazione:
di quel che 'l ciel da sé in sé riceve
esser ci puote, e non d'altro, cagione.
Per che non pioggia, non grando, non neve,
non rugiada, non brina più sù cade
che la scaletta di tre gradi breve;
nuvole spesse non paion né rade,
né coruscar, né figlia di Taumante,
che di là cangia sovente contrade;
secco vapor non surge piu avante
ch'al sommo d'i tre gradi ch'io parlai,
dov' ha 'l vicario di Pietro le piante.
Trema forse più giù poco o assai;
ma per vento che 'n terra si nasconda,
non so come, qua sù non tremò mai.
Tremaci quando alcuna anima monda
sentesi, sì che surga o che si mova
per salir sù; e tal grido seconda.
De la mondizia sol voler fa prova,
che, tutto libero a mutar convento,
l'alma sorprende, e di voler le giova.
Prima vuol ben, ma non lascia il talento
che divina giustizia contra voglia,
come fu al peccar, pone al tormento.
E io, che son giaciuto a questa doglia
cinquecent' anni e più, pur mo sentii
libera volontà di miglior soglia:
però sentisti il tremoto e li pii
spiriti per lo monte render lode
a quel Segnor, che tosto sù li 'nvii.”
Così ne disse; e però ch'el si gode
tanto del ber quant' è grande la sete,
non saprei dir quant' el mi fece prode.
E 'l savio duca: “Omai veggio la rete
che qui vi 'mpiglia e come si scalappia,
perché ci trema e di che congaudete.
Ora chi fosti, piacciati ch'io sappia,
e perché tanti secoli giaciuto
qui se', ne le parole tue mi cappia.”
“Nel tempo che 'l buon Tito, con l'aiuto
del sommo rege, vendicò le fóra
ond' uscì 'l sangue per Giuda venduto
col nome che più dura e più onora
era io di là,” rispuose quello spirto,
“famoso assai, ma non con fede ancora.
Tanto fu dolce mio vocale spirto,
che, tolosano, a sé mi trasse Roma,
dove mertai le tempie ornar di mirto.
Stazio la gente ancor di là mi noma:
cantai di Tebe, e poi del grande Achille;
ma caddi in via con la seconda soma.
Al mio ardor fuor seme le faville,
che mi scaldar, de la divina fiamma
onde sono allumati più di mille;
de l'Eneïda dico, la qual mamma
fummi, e fummi nutrice, poetando:
sanz' essa non fermai peso di drama.
E per esser vivuto di là quando
visse Virgilio, assentirei un sole
più che non deggio al mio uscir di bando”
Volser Virgilio a me queste parole
con viso che, tacendo, disse “Taci”;
ma non può tutto la virtù che vuole;
ché riso e pianto son tanto seguaci
a la passion di che ciascun si spicca,
che men seguon voler ne' più veraci.
Io pur sorrisi come l'uom ch'ammicca;
per che l'ombra si tacque, e riguardommi
ne li occhi ove 'l sembiante più si ficca;
e “Se tanto labore in bene assommi,”
disse, “perché la tua faccia testeso
un lampeggiar di riso dimostromi?”
Or son io d'una parte e d'altra preso:
l'una mi fa tacer, l'altra scongiura
ch'io dica; ond' io sospiro, e sono inteso
dal mio maestro, e “Non aver paura,”
mi dice, “di parlar; ma parla e digli
quel ch'e' dimanda con cotanta cura.”
Ond' io: “Forse che tu ti maravigli,
antico spirto, del rider ch'io fei;
ma più d'ammirazion vo' che ti pigli.
Questi che guida in alto li occhi miei,
è quel Virgilio dal qual tu togliesti
forte a cantar de li uomini e d'i dèi.
Se cagion altra al mio rider credesti,
lasciala per non vera, ed esser credi
quelle parole che di lui dicesti.”
Già s'inchinava ad abbracciar li piedi
al mio dottor, ma el li disse: “Frate,
non far, ché tu se' ombra e ombra vedi.”
Ed ei surgendo: “Or puoi la quantitate
comprender de l'amor ch'a te mi scalda,
quand' io dismento nostra vanitate,
trattando l'ombre come cosa salda.”
The natural thirst, that ne'er is satisfied
Excepting with the water for whose grace
The woman of Samaria besought,
Put me in travail, and haste goaded me
Along the encumbered path behind my Leader
And I was pitying that righteous vengeance;
And lo! in the same manner as Luke writeth
That Christ appeared to two upon the way
From the sepulchral cave already risen,
A shade appeared to us, and came behind us,
Down gazing on the prostrate multitude,
Nor were we ware of it, until it spake,
Saying, "My brothers, may God give you peace!"
We turned us suddenly, and Virgilius rendered
To him the countersign thereto conforming.
Thereon began he: "In the blessed council,
Thee may the court veracious place in peace,
That me doth banish in eternal exile!"
"How," said he, and the while we went with speed,
"If ye are shades whom God deigns not on high,
Who up his stairs so far has guided you?"
And said my Teacher: "If thou note the marks
Which this one bears, and which the Angel traces
Well shalt thou see he with the good must reign.
But because she who spinneth day and night
For him had not yet drawn the distaff off,
Which Clotho lays for each one and compacts,
His soul, which is thy sister and my own,
In coming upwards could not come alone,
By reason that it sees not in our fashion.
Whence I was drawn from out the ample throat
Of Hell to be his guide, and I shall guide him
As far on as my school has power to lead.
But tell us, if thou knowest, why such a shudder
Erewhile the mountain gave, and why together
All seemed to cry, as far as its moist feet?"
In asking he so hit the very eye
Of my desire, that merely with the hope
My thirst became the less unsatisfied.
"Naught is there," he began, "that without order
May the religion of the mountain feel,
Nor aught that may be foreign to its custom.
Free is it here from every permutation;
What from itself heaven in itself receiveth
Can be of this the cause, and naught beside;
Because that neither rain, nor hail, nor snow,
Nor dew, nor hoar-frost any higher falls
Than the short, little stairway of three steps.
Dense clouds do not appear, nor rarefied,
Nor coruscation, nor the daughter of Thaumas,
That often upon earth her region shifts;
No arid vapour any farther rises
Than to the top of the three steps I spake of,
Whereon the Vicar of Peter has his feet.
Lower down perchance it trembles less or more,
But, for the wind that in the earth is hidden
I know not how, up here it never trembled.
It trembles here, whenever any soul
Feels itself pure, so that it soars, or moves
To mount aloft, and such a cry attends it.
Of purity the will alone gives proof,
Which, being wholly free to change its convent,
Takes by surprise the soul, and helps it fly.
First it wills well; but the desire permits not,
Which divine justice with the self-same will
There was to sin, upon the torment sets.
And I, who have been lying in this pain
Five hundred years and more, but just now felt
A free volition for a better seat.
Therefore thou heardst the earthquake, and the pious
Spirits along the mountain rendering praise
Unto the Lord, that soon he speed them upwards."
So said he to him; and since we enjoy
As much in drinking as the thirst is great,
I could not say how much it did me good.
And the wise Leader: "Now I see the net
That snares you here, and how ye are set free,
Why the earth quakes, and wherefore ye rejoice.
Now who thou wast be pleased that I may know;
And why so many centuries thou hast here
Been lying, let me gather from thy words."
"In days when the good Titus, with the aid
Of the supremest King, avenged the wounds
Whence issued forth the blood by Judas sold,
Under the name that most endures and honours,
Was I on earth," that spirit made reply,
"Greatly renowned, but not with faith as yet.
My vocal spirit was so sweet, that Rome
Me, a Thoulousian, drew unto herself,
Where I deserved to deck my brows with myrtle.
Statius the people name me still on earth;
I sang of Thebes, and then of great Achilles;
But on the way fell with my second burden.
The seeds unto my ardour were the sparks
Of that celestial flame which heated me,
Whereby more than a thousand have been fired;
Of the Aeneid speak I, which to me
A mother was, and was my nurse in song;
Without this weighed I not a drachma's weight.
And to have lived upon the earth what time
Virgilius lived, I would accept one sun
More than I must ere issuing from my ban."
These words towards me made Virgilius turn
With looks that in their silence said, "Be silent!"
But yet the power that wills cannot do all things;
For tears and laughter are such pursuivants
Unto the passion from which each springs forth,
In the most truthful least the will they follow.
I only smiled, as one who gives the wink;
Whereat the shade was silent, and it gazed
Into mine eyes, where most expression dwells;
And, "As thou well mayst consummate a labour
So great," it said, "why did thy face just now
Display to me the lightning of a smile?"
Now am I caught on this side and on that;
One keeps me silent, one to speak conjures me,
Wherefore I sigh, and I am understood.
"Speak," said my Master, "and be not afraid
Of speaking, but speak out, and say to him
What he demands with such solicitude."
Whence I: "Thou peradventure marvellest,
O antique spirit, at the smile I gave;
But I will have more wonder seize upon thee.
This one, who guides on high these eyes of mine,
Is that Virgilius, from whom thou didst learn
To sing aloud of men and of the Gods.
If other cause thou to my smile imputedst,
Abandon it as false, and trust it was
Those words which thou hast spoken concerning him."
Already he was stooping to embrace
My Teacher's feet; but he said to him: "Brother,
Do not; for shade thou art, and shade beholdest."
And he uprising: "Now canst thou the sum
Of love which warms me to thee comprehend,
When this our vanity I disremember,
Treating a shadow as substantial thing."
From at least the time of Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 1-3), commentators dealing with this opening verse have cited the opening (and other passages) of Dante's Convivio (I.i.1): 'As the Philosopher [Aristotle] says in the beginning of the First Philosophy [Metaphysics I.i], all of humankind naturally desires to know.' Bosco/Reggio (comm. to vv. 1-6), however, make an important distinction. Since here the protagonist is presented with a miracle, the moment in which a soul is finally prepared to rise to God, the following reference (vv. 2-3) to the waters of eternal life in the episode in John's gospel 'confirms the notion that the natural desire for knowledge cannot be satisfied except by Revelation, thus going beyond the affirmations found in Convivio (I.i.1; I.i.9; III.xv.4) normally cited by the commentators, which are limited to philosophical knowledge.' It is interesting to note that Pietro di Dante (Pietro1, comm. to vv. 1-3) cites the beginning of Aristotle's Metaphysics to make a highly similar point, separating Aristotelian scientia mundana (knowledge of this world) from experience of divina gratia (divine grace). On the distance between the formulations found in Convivio and those presented here, see also Hollander (Allegory in Dante's “Commedia” [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969]), pp. 68-69.
The obvious reference to the passage in John's gospel (4:5-15) has not escaped many readers. The Samaritan woman who finds Jesus, unprepared for the task of drawing water, at her well, ends up being eager to taste the 'water' that he offers as replacement for that which seems so necessary at noon of a warm day in the desert, for it 'fiet in eo fons aquae salientis in vitam aeternam' ([italics added] shall become in him a fountain of water springing up into life everlasting). In the Vulgate the present participle salientis may refer to the water or indeed to the drinker, rising up into eternal life. It is worth keeping this potential grammatical ambiguity in mind, for that second reading applies precisely to the condition of Statius, who has just now come to that moment in his posthumous existence: he is ready to take on the life of a soul in paradise; he himself is ready to salire (rise up).
Strangely enough, there is dispute among the commentators as to the metaphoric nature of the water offered by Jesus. For the first quarter millennium all who dealt with this question offered the obvious interpretation: divine grace. Then in the nineteenth century, beginning with Portirelli (comm. to vv. 1-6), some interpreters were of the opinion that the water referred either to human knowledge of God or to that knowledge possessed alone by God. Another group, the first of them Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 1-3), thought that it signified 'truth,' although exactly which kind varied, from Porena's (comm. to vv. 1-6) sense that for Dante it meant truth in general to Giacalone's (comm. to vv. 1-6) view that it means the truth found in Revelation alone. Surely the early commentators were correct. The water that the Samaritan woman asks for is that of eternal life, which comes alone from the grace of God.
As some commentators have pointed out, John's word for the Samaritan is mulier (woman), while Dante has used a diminutive (femminetta). Giacalone (comm. to vv. 1-6) thinks of the form more as a 'commiserative' than as a 'diminutive,' i.e., we are to think of this woman's absolute ordinariness as an encouragement to our own need for exactly such satisfaction of our 'thirst.'
Dante has rarely portrayed his protagonist as being beset by so many distractions. He desperately wants to understand the meaning both of the earthquake and of the song accompanying it; he and Virgil are trying to move ahead as quickly as possible, picking their way among the clutter of the penitents; he continues to feel a sense of grief at their punishment, despite its obvious rightness.
Announced with its solemn biblical stylistic flourish (Ed ecco [And lo]), the reminiscence of Luke 24:13-16 (a passage that begins 'Et ecce') reminds the reader of two of Christ's disciples (Dante's first commentators at times incorrectly identify them as James and John; it is clear that one of the two is named Cleopas [24:18], while the other is perhaps his wife [24:29], in which case she may well have been known as Mary [John 19:25]), walking on the road to Emmaus when Christ joined them and walked with them, unrecognized.
Statius's unmistakable resemblance to Christ risen, his figural relation to Jesus, makes him, technically, not a 'figure' of Christ but a 'fulfillment' of Him, which is theologically awkward. Hollander (Allegory in Dante's “Commedia” [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969]), pp. 67-70, argues for the technical reference of the word ombra (shade) here, grounded in the language of the Christian interpretation of Scripture, discovered, indeed, in this very chapter of Luke's gospel (24:27), when Jesus teaches his disciples the figural method of understanding the Old Testament. (See Heilbronn [“The Prophetic Role of Statius in Dante's Purgatory,” Dante Studies 95 [1977], p. 58, for a similar view.)
How, some commentators have asked, perhaps beginning with Manfredi Porena (comm. to vv. 7-13), could Dante and Virgil see that Statius was behind them? They could not. Now, narrating the scene, the poet, knowing that Statius came up from behind, says that he did so. They first became aware of him when he spoke – at which point, as the text says, they turned around. As the risen Christ walked along beside Cleopas and his wife, who did not recognize him, so does the 'resurrected' Statius walk up behind Dante and Virgil, who do not at first know that he is there. In both scenes it is also true that 'the two who were on the way' do not know with whom they converse until much later (see Luke 24:35, when they break bread with their 'new' acquaintance in their home; Purg. XXI.91, when this soul's identity is finally made plain).
Another problem here is caused by the grammatical ambiguity of the phrase 'guardando la turba che giace': who is doing the looking, Statius or Dante and Virgil? Grammatically both are possible. Both proximity and common sense move a reader to the latter possibility: Dante and Virgil, the 'noi' that is closer to the gerund than Statius's 'ombra,' are looking down at the shades, as we know (from Purg. XX.143, where they are also 'guardando'; XXI.6). Statius, having just come from lying prostrate, is more likely to be looking ahead and above, where he is finally allowed to direct himself.
For the present tense of the verb giace, problematic in whatever solution one proposes for the last question, see the note to vv. 22-24.
Statius's first words join him to the tradition of fraternal purgatorial greeting on the part of the penitents we have so far heard addressing Dante: Belacqua (Purg. IV.127); Oderisi (Purg. XI.82); Sapia (Purg. XIII.94); Marco (Purg. XVI.65); Adrian (Purg. XIX.133). See notes to Purg. IV.127 and Purg. XIX.133. For a complete listing of all uses of 'frate' as form of address in the last two cantiche, see the note to Purg. IV.127.
Singleton's dependence on Sinclair's translation of this passage is betrayed by his comment (comm. to vv. 10-13), which has Statius looking at the crowd of penitents at his feet, while the translation has Dante and Virgil doing the looking.
For the source of Statius's greeting, see the words of Christ to his apostles, the second scene of his resurrected life on earth in Luke's gospel (Luke 24:36): 'Pax vobis: ego sum, nolite timere' (Peace unto you: I am, have no fear). In the next verse of Luke the apostles indeed do show fear; and we may remember how fearful Dante was when the earth shook beneath him at the end of the last canto (vv. 128-129; 135). William Stephany (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), pp. 161-62, sees a connection with biblical moments (in the narratives involving Cleopas and the Samaritan woman) in which 'characters are frightened either by Jesus' birth or rebirth.'
The nature of the cenno (sign) made in response by Virgil has long puzzled the commentators. We can say one thing with something like certainty: Virgil's gesture is not a spoken one, since he makes some sort of gesture and then begins to speak (verse 16). Many early and some later commentators have liked the idea that in response Virgil said 'et cum spiritu tuo' (and with your spirit as well), a liturgical reply. Yet it surely seems impossible that Dante would have first presented Virgil as speaking and then immediately afterwards as beginning to speak. And so it is clearly preferable to understand that Virgil made some sort of physical gesture. Perhaps the most sensible gloss remains that of Benvenuto (comm. to vv. 14-18): 'with similar reverence [Virgil] lowered his head to him.' Previously Dante has clearly distinguished among parole, mani, and cenni (words, [actions of] hands, and signs) at Purgatorio I.50; and he will distinguish between dir and cenno (speech and sign) at Purgatorio XXVII.139. In fact, in the fifteen uses of the word cenno in the poem, this would be the only one in which it referred to speech, as Steiner (comm. to verse 15) points out, adding that Virgil, as a pagan inhabitant of Limbo, is never permitted either to pronounce sacred phrases or to perform actions pertaining to Christian ritual (e.g., genuflexion). The word cenno appears frequently in the poem (Inf. III.117, Inf. IV.98, Inf. VIII.5, Inf. XVI.116, Inf. XXI.138, Inf. XXII.8, Purg. I.50, Purg. VI.141, Purg. XII.129, Purg. XIX.86, here, Purg. XXII.27, Purg. XXVII.139; Par. XV.71, Par. XXII.101).
For the ingenious but perhaps not eventually acceptable notion that Virgil's cenno 'may very well be an embrace, a gesture analogous to the liturgical Kiss of Peace' see Heilbronn (“The Prophetic Role of Statius in Dante's Purgatory,” Dante Studies 95 [1977]), pp. 58-65. Had Virgil been a Christian, Dante might very well have chosen to make Heilbronn right. However, see James Albrecht (“'Il cenno ch'a ciò si conface' [Purgatorio 21.15],” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [February 2002]), who argues that Virgil's gesture is the sign of the cross, offered without the accompanying response to the hopeful wish 'Dominus det nobis suam pacem' (May God grant us His peace) found in breviaries and in the liturgy of the hours: 'Et vitam eternam' (And eternal life); in Albrecht's view it is what Virgil did not say that is focal to the scene. (For clear examples of facial gestures as cenni in this very canto, see verse 104, Virgil's look that calls for silence and verse 109, Dante's smile that is a hint.)
Virgil's wish for Statius is touching, in part because it has been accomplished, since Statius is already substantially one of the blessed, only awaiting a change in his accidental state, which will be accomplished in less than a day. While the poem does not show him there, its givens make it plain that, had Dante chosen to do so, Statius could have been observed seated in the rose in Paradiso XXXII; he is there by the time Dante ascends into the heavens at the beginning of the next cantica, or so we may assume.
Virgil's insistence on his own eternal home is a moving reminder of his tragic situation in this comic poem. Statius's salvation comes closer than anyone else's in showing how near Virgil himself came to eternal blessedness, as the next canto will make clear. And, once we learn (Purg. XXII.67-73) that it was Virgil who was responsible, by means of his fourth Eclogue, for the conversion of Statius, we consider these lines with a still more troubled heart. For remarks in a similar vein see Stephany (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), p. 158n.
For Statius's miscomprehension of Dante's condition, see the note to the next tercet. The physical reason for it is that, because the travelers are out of the sun's rays on the far side of the mountain, Dante's body casts no revealing shadow, and Statius takes Virgil's confession of his own plight to apply to both of these 'shades.'
For parte used here and in Inferno XXIX.16 as an adverb, a Florentine provincialism, meaning 'meanwhile,' see Moore (Contributions to the Textual Criticism of the “Divina Commedia” [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1889]), pp. 398-99, citing Benvenuto as previously making the same point in both instances.
Virgil's remarks suggest to Statius that the (remaining three) P's on Dante's forehead indicate a special status, namely that he is bound for Glory – just as is Statius. But did Statius have these marks incised on his forehead? Had he, they would now all be erased but for this last, which would probably disappear, along with Dante's, before the beginning of the next canto (see Purg. XXII.3, where we learn the angel has wiped Dante's fifth P from his brow). He would have spent, we will be able to compute from information gleaned from verse 68 and from Purgatorio XXII.92-93, as many as 300 years in ante-purgatory and/or on some or all of the first three terraces, since it is 1204 years since his death in the year 96 and he has had to remain over 400 years on the fourth terrace and over 500 on this one. Thus, had he borne signs on his forehead, these would originally have been as many as five and as few as two. However, there is no reason to believe that he, or any other penitent not here in the flesh, has had his brow incised with P's. (See the note to Purg. IX.112.) For other reasons to believe that only Dante is incised, see Hollander (“The Letters on Dante's Brow [Purg. 9.112 and 21.22-24],” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [January 2002]); for an opposing view see Nicola Fosca (“Beatitudini e processo di purgazione,” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [February 2002]). And for an attempt to deal with the problem raised by the present tense of the verb profila as indicating that the warder habitually inscribes the P's on sinners, see, again, Hollander's note in the EBDSA, where he argues, following a suggestion offered by Chimenz (comm. to vv. 22-24), that this present has the significance of a past and that we should understand that only Dante is to be understood as having had his forehead incised.
The circumlocution describes Lachesis, the second of the three Fates of classical mythology. 'At the birth of every mortal, Clotho, the spinning fate, was supposed to wind upon the distaff of Lachesis, the alotting fate, a certain amount of yarn; the duration of the life of the individual being the length of time occupied in spinning the thread, which, when complete, was severed by Atropos, the inevitable fate' (Toynbee, “Lachesìs” [Concise Dante Dictionary]). For Atropos, see Inferno XXXIII.126. This is Virgil's long-winded way of saying that Dante was still in the body when he was summoned to guide him through the afterworld. For Dante's likely dependence upon Statius for the names of the three Fates, see Ettore Paratore, “Stazio” (ED.1976.5), pp. 422b-423a.
What exactly Virgil means by his scola (teaching of Dante) has been a matter of some debate, featuring predictable allegorizations, e.g., Virgil as reason, Statius as moral philosophy, Beatrice as theology. None of these has the merit of being immediately (or eventually?) convincing. The last time we have heard the word was at Inferno IV.94, where the poet referred to the group of poets (la bella scola) headed by Homer, and perhaps, 'reading Dante by Dante,' we should keep this simplest explanation in clear view. Virgil, informed by all that a pagan poet can know, will guide Dante as best he can. Once we reach the question of the nature of the human soul, in Canto XXV, he will give way to Statius, who, as a Christian, understands things about the nature of the human soul's relationship to divinity of which Virgil is simply ignorant. There is no reason to believe, one might add, that Beatrice could not have instructed Dante about this question, or that Statius could not have told him anything that Beatrice will reveal in Paradiso. All saved Christians, in this poem, are capable of knowing all things in God. The rewards of Heaven are not only affective, but intellectual.
We should also be aware of Beatrice's use of the same word, scola, in Purgatorio XXXIII.85 to denigrate Dante's own nearly disastrous adventures in what she seems to consider his overbold philosophizing.
At last Virgil asks Statius the two questions that have so vexed Dante; for a third time the importance of the salvation of Statius is underlined. See notes to Purgatorio XX.145-151 and to vv. 4-6 of this canto.
Statius first establishes the meteorology of the mountain. There is no 'weather' encountered above the upper limit of ante-purgatory, but below that limit there is. Up here the only celestial force having any effect is the direct influence of the heavens.
Thaumas's daughter is Iris, for classical poets the personification of the rainbow, appearing variously above the earth and not in one fixed place.
The wind hidden inside the earth (verse 56, first referred to as 'dry vapor' in verse 52) refers to what Dante, in keeping with one medieval view (see Inf. III.130-136), believed to be the cause of earthquakes. Statius's point is that there are no natural earthquakes on the upper reaches of the mountain, but that there are 'supernatural' ones. This one, accompanying the completion of Statius's penance and marking his liberation from sin, may remind us of the earthquake that greeted Dante's 'supernatural' descent into the underworld at the conclusion of Inferno III, itself perhaps also meant to remind the reader of the earthquake at the Crucifixion (referred to at some length by Virgil in Inf. XII.31-45). These three earthquakes, all caused by Christ-centered spiritual events, would clearly seem to be related.
The self-judging quality of the penitents is here made plain. We saw the same phenomenon among the damned in the confessions that they offered to Minos (see the note to Inf. V.8). Words for 'will' and 'willing' occur five times in nine lines (61-69), the densest block of volere and volontà found in the poem. In Paradiso III the examples of Piccarda and Costanza will afford the opportunity to study the divergence between the absolute will, always striving toward the good, and the conditional (i.e., 'conditioned') will, which, when guided by desires for lesser goods, chooses unwisely. Here Dante plays the changes on that basic understanding of the will's role. In purgatory the conditional will does not elect the lesser good, but instead desires to repent its former movement in that direction. This is a 'rule' of purgatory that has no precedent in Christian lore, since Dante's purgatory is so much his own invention; nonetheless, it makes intuitive sense. It is thus that the poet suggests that his reader understand why a penitent, while naturally desiring to cease the act of penance, simultaneously feels a still stronger and countering desire to complete it, as is made clear here.
For a soul to 'change its convent,' in this context, means for it to move from purgatory to paradise.
A sharp distinction between (talento) desire and will (voglia) in verse 61 is drawn by Moore (Contributions to the Textual Criticism of the “Divina Commedia” [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1889]), pp. 401-4, demonstrating that the early commentators saw clearly that desire represents the conditional will (as it did in Inf. V.39, where the desire of the lustful is described as running counter to reason), while the will referred to here is the absolute will, which always seeks the good alone.
His use of the first person here is the first instance of an autobiographical bent on the speaker's part, but his self-identification still awaits. He only now formally concludes his response to Dante's insistent and paired questions, first alluded to in the last canto (XX.145-151); in a gesture typical of purgatorial brotherhood, his next thought is for his fellow penitents (cf. Virgil's similar wish at vv. 16-18). (For Statius's various sins and the time spent purging them on the mountain, see notes to vv. 22-24 and to Purg. XXII.92-93.)
After telling us three times how eagerly he wanted to know more about these strange signs on the mountain (see the note to vv. 34-39), the poet now once again underlines their importance. The singular importance of the salvation of Statius is insisted on in such a way as to let us understand that what matters is not only the importance of the finishing of purgation for any soul, but Statius's astounding role in Dante's poem, which will gradually become more clear as the two cantos devoted to him continue to unfold their mysteries.
Those who know it may remember an old joke with a similar rhythm. An elderly man traveling on a train in a sleeping car awakens in the middle of the night and then awakens some of his fellow unseen sleepers as he cries out, 'Oh, am I thirsty; oh, am I thirsty!' Finally, a disgruntled fellow traveler arises, gets a cup of water from the drinking fountain at the end of the car, and passes it in to the man in his curtained berth. Shortly after the good Samaritan has returned to his own berth and is nodding back off to sleep, he is brought back to waking when the old man begins to cry out, 'Oh, was I thirsty; oh, was I thirsty!'
Tommaseo (comm. to these verses) rightly suggests that congaudere (rejoice) is a biblical word; further precision was offered by Campi, citing I Corinthians 12:26: 'sive gloriatur unum membrum, congaudent omnia membra' (if a single member glories, then all members rejoice along with it). St. Paul is developing the analogy between parts of the human body and the individual members of the mystical body of Christ, the Church.
Virgil's specific question at last elicits a sort of vita poetae from his interlocutor. See the note to Inferno I.67-87 for the similar vita Virgilii found there.
Publius Papinius Statius (45-96) was born in Naples and not in Toulouse, birthplace of a different Statius, a rhetorician; Dante's error was a common one (perhaps deriving from the glosses by Lactantius [ca. 300] to the poems of Statius) and he helped propagate it, since he is probably responsible for the mistaken birthplace found both in Boccaccio and in Chaucer; for the former, see Amorosa visione V.34 and, for the latter, Hous of Fame III.1460. For the suggestion (which the commentator himself eventually questions) that Statius was actually from Telesa (or Telesia), a city (later destroyed) in the vicinity of Naples, and thus would have been correctly described as being 'telesano,' a form easily corrupted into 'tolosano,' see Lombardi (comm. to verse 89). Statius's Thebaid, an epic in twelve books, composed in the years between between 80 and 92, was the source of a good deal of Dante's sense of what for us is the 'Oedipus story,' in Statius treated as the civil war between the forces loyal to one or the other of Oedipus's royal sons.
Dante's reference to Statius's laureation is problematic. Since it seems clear, despite an occasional argument to the contrary, that Dante did not know Statius's collection of his 'fugitive' poems, the Silvae (see the note to verse 90), he could not have read (in Silvae III.v.28-31) that, while the emperor (Domitian) had crowned Statius with gold at an 'arts festival' at Alba, he had not done so at Rome, i.e., Statius did not get the laurel for his epic. And thus it remains possible but seems unlikely that he ever received the laurel; however, his dedication of the Thebaid to Domitian, coupled with the opening lines of the Achilleid (I.9-11), where he asks Apollo for laureation and intimates that he had been previously coronated, might have made Dante think he had been. This second epic, which he did not finish, getting only as far as into the second book, was the source of most of what Dante, Homerless, knew about Achilles.
Born ca. A.D. 45, Statius was thus about twenty-five when Titus, son of the emperor Vespasian, destroyed in A.D. 70 the second temple in Jerusalem as part of his attack upon the Jews, an event to which Dante will advert in Paradiso VI.92 (for Dante's sense of the 'just retribution' involved in this event, see the note to that passage). Titus succeeded Vespasian as emperor (79-81).
The 'name' to which the speaker refers is that of poet. The surprising, even shocking, culmination of his statement of his debt to Virgil in the next canto (verse 73: 'through you I was a poet, through you a Christian') is adumbrated here, where Statius owns himself (at the age at which Dante suffered the loss of Beatrice, twenty-five) to have achieved fame as a poet but not yet faith in Christ.
Dante had already referred to Statius as 'lo dolce poeta' (the sweet poet) at Convivio IV.xxv.6, as Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 88-90) pointed out. Pietro di Dante (Pietrro1, comm. to vv. 82-90) was the first to suggest that the source for the phrase lay in Juvenal's Satires (VII.82-87). For strong support of this notion, see Alessandro Ronconi (“L'incontro di Stazio e Virgilio,” Cultura e scuola 13-14 [1965]), pp. 568-69; see also Vincenzo Tandoi (“Il ricordo di Stazio 'dolce poeta' nella Sat. VII di Giovenale,” Maia 21 [1969], pp. 103-22). Ettore Paratore, “Giovenale” (ED.1971.3), pp. 197-202, offers probably the most balanced and useful introduction to the problem of Dante's knowledge of Juvenal.
There has been much confusion over the meaning of Statius's reference to being crowned with myrtle leaves. The myrtle tree was sacred to Venus (see, e.g., Aen. V.72). And, indeed, Statius himself, in his Silvae (IV.vii.10-11), asks to be crowned as a lyric poet (and not as a writer of epic) with myrtle leaves. However, as nearly all admit, or even insist, Dante could not have been acquainted with the Silvae, a manuscript of which was only discovered in the fifteenth century by Poggio Bracciolini in France, copied and brought back into Italy, where Poliziano would take much pleasure and instruction from it. Then what does Dante mean us to understand by Statius's insistence that he was crowned with myrtle? As Daniello (comm. to vv. 88-90) notes, Virgil speaks of both laurel and myrtle (Egl. II.54): 'You, too, o laurels (lauri), I will pluck, and you, neighboring myrtle (myrte)'; Daniello believes that Statius is associated with myrtle because he was a poet of love. Disagreeing with him, Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 88-90) thinks that the phrase, for Dante, meant that the myrtle wreath was secondary to the laurel, an opinion followed by Porena and developed by Mattalia (both commenting upon this verse); Mattalia argues that, while Dante himself makes Statius one of the poete regolati (i.e., the classical Latin poets worthy of emulation [Dve II.vi.7]), it is Statius who speaks now, and he wants to show his awareness of his dependence upon Virgil, of his role as secondary poet following in the wake of a master. See verses two lines from the ending of the Thebaid (XII.816-817), which explicitly make a highly similar claim: 'do not attempt to rival the divine Aeneid, but follow at a distance, always worshiping its footsteps.' Moore (Studies in Dante, First Series: Scripture and Classical Authors in Dante [Oxford: Clarendon, 1969 (1896)]), p. 243, was perhaps the first to suggest that this passage was being cited here in vv. 94-97. For its possible earlier relevance, see the note to Inferno XXIII.145-148.
Statius's 'second burden' was his unfinished Achilleid.
For the relationship of Statius's text to these lines, see the concluding remarks in the note to verse 90. The image of the Aeneid as being the divine torch that has set aflame many another poem, including this one, similarly 'divine,' if surely in different ways, will be explored as this scene unfolds.
The appearance of the word mamma here is stunning, for we find it, a spectacular instantiation of the low vernacular (see the last item in the note to Inf. XXXII.1-9, the passage in which it has had its only previous appearance), used in the same verse with the word that may have represented for Dante the height of classical eloquence, Eneïda, the title of the greatest classical poem, here in its only use in the Comedy.
The passage applies to Statius, but increasingly students of this passage have been convinced that Statius's fictive biography serves as a sort of stand-in for Dante's genuine one, that is, in Statius's words here about his dependence on Virgil we are also reading Dante's confession of his own debt to the Roman poet. For this view see, among others, Ettore Paratore (Tradizione e struttura in Dante [Florence: Sansoni, 1968]), pp. 72-73; Padoan (“Il Canto XXI del Purgatorio,” in Nuove letture dantesche, vol. IV [Florence: Le Monnier, 1970]), p. 354; Hollander (“Babytalk in Dante's Commedia,” in his Studies in Dante [Ravenna: Longo, 1980]), pp. 123-24, 205n.; Stephany (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), p. 151; Picone (“Purgatorio XXII,” in Dante's “Divine Comedy,” Introductory Readings II: “Purgatorio,” ed. Tibor Wlassics [Lectura Dantis (virginiana), 12, supplement, Charlottesville: University of Virginia, 1993]), p. 330. In the next canto the extent of that debt will assume staggering proportions.
In a reversal of our usual expectation, the high style of classical tragic writing is portrayed as serving as mother and nurse, giving suck to the infant vernacular, triumphantly low. This is a far cry from the program of Dante's De vulgari eloquentia, which sought to champion the lofty, tragic vernacular poetry of Italy, with Dante's own canzoni (odes) as the crowning example. In the earlier work the Italian initiate was urged to learn how to write in the high style by imitating the classical poets; now we find that the lofty bards of antiquity become 'mothers' of a quite different sort of poetry, the low, or comic, style of this theological epic. For a discussion of the word mamma in Dante see Hollander (“Babytalk in Dante's Commedia,” in Studies in Dante [Ravenna: Longo, 1980]), pp. 120-29. And for a quite different treatment of the image of being suckled at the breast see Gary Cestaro (“The Primal Scene of Suckling in Dante's De vulgari eloquentia,” Dante Studies 109 [1991], pp. 119-47).
A dram is the equivalent of one-eighth of an ounce.
While some have understood that Statius's gesture offers a single day of lingering (first, the Anonimus Lombardus [comm. to these verses]) and others a solar cycle of twenty-eight years (first, Jacopo della Lana [comm. to verse 101]), most, after the Ottimo (comm. to vv. 94-102), believe that he means one more year. We might be tempted to reflect that, if he had met Virgil after he had converted, he might have returned a favor and converted Virgil to Christianity (one can imagine their conversation about the real meaning of the fourth Eclogue). The context here, involving only his poetic debt to Virgil, probably should put that thought from us.
The first of these two adjacent and charming passages to return to earlier moments in the canto adverts to the discussion of the absolute and conditional wills in vv. 61-69. Here we see that Dante's absolute will is conquered by his emotions. In the second, Dante's smile is probably to be understood as exactly such a sign as Virgil gave to arriving Statius at vv. 14-15.
One does not want to read in too moralizing a light this extraordinary little scene. There is no serious consequence if Dante gives away Virgil's little secret, or if Statius becomes over-enthusiastic once it is known. The three poets share a moment of common freedom from the constraints of their missions. It is typical of this great and securely serious theological poet that he can indulge himself and his readers in moments of such moving happiness. This is perhaps as close to experiencing Christian fellowship as Virgil ever comes.
The protagonist's understanding of Statius's debt to Virgil is obviously not yet fully developed. In his formulation it was from the greater poet that Statius learned 'to sing of men and of the gods,' an adequate description of the work of a pagan writer of epic. We will learn in the next canto that, behind the façade of pagan trappings, Statius was in fact a secret Christian. See the note to Purgatorio XXII.67-73.
For the view that Statius is behaving passionally when it were better not to, see Denise Heilbronn (“'Io pur sorrisi': Dante's Lesson on the Passions [Purg. XXI, 94-136],” Dante Studies 96 [1978], pp. 67-74). Stephany's rejoinder (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), pp. 142-43, is less than convincing. He finds it odd that Statius, having finished his purgation, should return to so much lower a level of response. In his view, Virgil is imitating Christ when he asks Mary Magdalen not to touch Him ('noli me tangere' – John 20:17). Stephany's discussion of that passage and its relationship to the two other major biblical resonances in this canto, those of the Samaritan woman and of the disciples on the road to Emmaus encountering the resurrected Jesus, as all being narratives that concern conversion, is close to Dante's text and telling. However, the tone of the episode clearly responds far more to Heilbronn's sense, if perhaps less sternly than she might have us believe. The scene is amusing and utterly human; Statius has for a moment re-entered his previous life, as even other saints might do, in the presence of Virgil. And even the protagonist, caught between the differing desires of the two classical poets, is apparently momentarily exempt from moral pressures. How might the saved Stephany respond, completing his purgation, finding himself in the presence of Dante? The poet's view of the completion of purgation, reflected in the protagonist's own 'free time' as he enters Eden, is not completely dissimilar to what we found in ante-purgatory, where the pressure on the souls is also less acute.
With regard to the supposed 'failed embrace' between Statius and Virgil, Hollander has argued (“Purgatorio II: Cato's Rebuke and Dante's scoglio,” Italica 52 [1975]), p.359, that Dante's failed attempt to embrace Casella (Purg. II.76-81), pointing to a physical impossibility, is countered in the successful exchange of embraces between Sordello and Virgil, both shades (Purg. VII.2, 15). In both of those scenes there is a desire to embrace that is either frustrated or accomplished. Here Statius desires to embrace Virgil but, once advised against doing so by the author of the Aeneid, wills not to. Since we know from Sordello's and Virgil's shared embraces that in fact shades are capable of embracing, we may not properly say, as most who deal with the scene do, that Virgil and Statius, 'being shades, cannot embrace,' or that they 'are not capable of embracing' (Giovanni Cecchetti [“The Statius Episode: Observations on Dante's Conception of Poetry,” Lectura Dantis (virginiana) 7 (1990)], p. 107). They are perfectly capable of embracing; Virgil convinces Statius that it is not a fitting gesture in this higher realm. For another view of the supposedly problematic program of embraces see Nicolae Iliescu (“Gli episodi degli abbracci nelle strutture del Purgatorio,” Yearbook of Italian Studies 1 [1971], pp. 53-63). And see the note to Purgatorio XIX.134-135 for the probable biblical source of a similar scene: Pope Adrian's refusal to accept Dante's obeisance. In the end Statius won't embrace Virgil because up here souls don't behave 'that way,' just as Virgil did not want to have his identity revealed for a similar reason. In support of this reading, see Wei Wei Yeo (“Embodiment in the Commedia: Dante's Exilic and Poetic Self-Consciousness,” Dante Studies 121 [2003 {2006}]), p. 78, also suggesting that “rather than arguing physical impossibility, the text implies the acknowledgment of inappropriateness as the reason...” Her citation is of George Economou (“Saying Spirit in Terms of Matter: The Epic Embrace in Medieval Poetic Imagination,” Lectura Dantis [virginiana] 11 [Fall 1992]), p. 76.
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La sete natural che mai non sazia
se non con l'acqua onde la femminetta
samaritana domandò la grazia,
mi travagliava, e pungeami la fretta
per la 'mpacciata via dietro al mio duca,
e condoleami a la giusta vendetta.
Ed ecco, sì come ne scrive Luca
che Cristo apparve a' due ch'erano in via,
già surto fuor de la sepulcral buca,
ci apparve un'ombra, e dietro a noi venìa,
dal piè guardando la turba che giace;
né ci addemmo di lei, sì parlò pria,
dicendo: “O frati miei, Dio vi dea pace.”
Noi ci volgemmo sùbiti, e Virgilio
rendéli 'l cenno ch'a ciò si conface.
Poi cominciò: “Nel beato concilio
ti ponga in pace la verace corte
che me rilega ne l'etterno essilio.”
“Come!” diss' elli, e parte andavam forte:
“se voi siete ombre che Dio sù non degni,
chi v'ha per la sua scala tanto scorte?”
E 'l dottor mio: “Se tu riguardi a' segni
che questi porta e che l'angel profila,
ben vedrai che coi buon convien ch'e' regni.
Ma perché lei che dì e notte fila
non li avea tratta ancora la conocchia
che Cloto impone a ciascuno e compila,
l'anima sua, ch'è tua e mia serocchia,
venendo sù, non potea venir sola,
però ch'al nostro modo non adocchia.
Ond' io fui tratto fuor de l'ampia gola
d'inferno per mostrarli, e mosterrolli
oltre, quanto 'l potrà menar mia scola.
Ma dimmi, se tu sai, perché tai crolli
diè dianzi 'l monte, e perché tutto ad una
parve gridare infino a' suoi piè molli.”
Sì mi diè, dimandando, per la cruna
del mio disio, che pur con la speranza
si fece la mia sete men digiuna.
Quei cominciò: “Cosa non è che sanza
ordine senta la religione
de la montagna, o che sia fuor d'usanza.
Libero è qui da ogne alterazione:
di quel che 'l ciel da sé in sé riceve
esser ci puote, e non d'altro, cagione.
Per che non pioggia, non grando, non neve,
non rugiada, non brina più sù cade
che la scaletta di tre gradi breve;
nuvole spesse non paion né rade,
né coruscar, né figlia di Taumante,
che di là cangia sovente contrade;
secco vapor non surge piu avante
ch'al sommo d'i tre gradi ch'io parlai,
dov' ha 'l vicario di Pietro le piante.
Trema forse più giù poco o assai;
ma per vento che 'n terra si nasconda,
non so come, qua sù non tremò mai.
Tremaci quando alcuna anima monda
sentesi, sì che surga o che si mova
per salir sù; e tal grido seconda.
De la mondizia sol voler fa prova,
che, tutto libero a mutar convento,
l'alma sorprende, e di voler le giova.
Prima vuol ben, ma non lascia il talento
che divina giustizia contra voglia,
come fu al peccar, pone al tormento.
E io, che son giaciuto a questa doglia
cinquecent' anni e più, pur mo sentii
libera volontà di miglior soglia:
però sentisti il tremoto e li pii
spiriti per lo monte render lode
a quel Segnor, che tosto sù li 'nvii.”
Così ne disse; e però ch'el si gode
tanto del ber quant' è grande la sete,
non saprei dir quant' el mi fece prode.
E 'l savio duca: “Omai veggio la rete
che qui vi 'mpiglia e come si scalappia,
perché ci trema e di che congaudete.
Ora chi fosti, piacciati ch'io sappia,
e perché tanti secoli giaciuto
qui se', ne le parole tue mi cappia.”
“Nel tempo che 'l buon Tito, con l'aiuto
del sommo rege, vendicò le fóra
ond' uscì 'l sangue per Giuda venduto
col nome che più dura e più onora
era io di là,” rispuose quello spirto,
“famoso assai, ma non con fede ancora.
Tanto fu dolce mio vocale spirto,
che, tolosano, a sé mi trasse Roma,
dove mertai le tempie ornar di mirto.
Stazio la gente ancor di là mi noma:
cantai di Tebe, e poi del grande Achille;
ma caddi in via con la seconda soma.
Al mio ardor fuor seme le faville,
che mi scaldar, de la divina fiamma
onde sono allumati più di mille;
de l'Eneïda dico, la qual mamma
fummi, e fummi nutrice, poetando:
sanz' essa non fermai peso di drama.
E per esser vivuto di là quando
visse Virgilio, assentirei un sole
più che non deggio al mio uscir di bando”
Volser Virgilio a me queste parole
con viso che, tacendo, disse “Taci”;
ma non può tutto la virtù che vuole;
ché riso e pianto son tanto seguaci
a la passion di che ciascun si spicca,
che men seguon voler ne' più veraci.
Io pur sorrisi come l'uom ch'ammicca;
per che l'ombra si tacque, e riguardommi
ne li occhi ove 'l sembiante più si ficca;
e “Se tanto labore in bene assommi,”
disse, “perché la tua faccia testeso
un lampeggiar di riso dimostromi?”
Or son io d'una parte e d'altra preso:
l'una mi fa tacer, l'altra scongiura
ch'io dica; ond' io sospiro, e sono inteso
dal mio maestro, e “Non aver paura,”
mi dice, “di parlar; ma parla e digli
quel ch'e' dimanda con cotanta cura.”
Ond' io: “Forse che tu ti maravigli,
antico spirto, del rider ch'io fei;
ma più d'ammirazion vo' che ti pigli.
Questi che guida in alto li occhi miei,
è quel Virgilio dal qual tu togliesti
forte a cantar de li uomini e d'i dèi.
Se cagion altra al mio rider credesti,
lasciala per non vera, ed esser credi
quelle parole che di lui dicesti.”
Già s'inchinava ad abbracciar li piedi
al mio dottor, ma el li disse: “Frate,
non far, ché tu se' ombra e ombra vedi.”
Ed ei surgendo: “Or puoi la quantitate
comprender de l'amor ch'a te mi scalda,
quand' io dismento nostra vanitate,
trattando l'ombre come cosa salda.”
The natural thirst, that ne'er is satisfied
Excepting with the water for whose grace
The woman of Samaria besought,
Put me in travail, and haste goaded me
Along the encumbered path behind my Leader
And I was pitying that righteous vengeance;
And lo! in the same manner as Luke writeth
That Christ appeared to two upon the way
From the sepulchral cave already risen,
A shade appeared to us, and came behind us,
Down gazing on the prostrate multitude,
Nor were we ware of it, until it spake,
Saying, "My brothers, may God give you peace!"
We turned us suddenly, and Virgilius rendered
To him the countersign thereto conforming.
Thereon began he: "In the blessed council,
Thee may the court veracious place in peace,
That me doth banish in eternal exile!"
"How," said he, and the while we went with speed,
"If ye are shades whom God deigns not on high,
Who up his stairs so far has guided you?"
And said my Teacher: "If thou note the marks
Which this one bears, and which the Angel traces
Well shalt thou see he with the good must reign.
But because she who spinneth day and night
For him had not yet drawn the distaff off,
Which Clotho lays for each one and compacts,
His soul, which is thy sister and my own,
In coming upwards could not come alone,
By reason that it sees not in our fashion.
Whence I was drawn from out the ample throat
Of Hell to be his guide, and I shall guide him
As far on as my school has power to lead.
But tell us, if thou knowest, why such a shudder
Erewhile the mountain gave, and why together
All seemed to cry, as far as its moist feet?"
In asking he so hit the very eye
Of my desire, that merely with the hope
My thirst became the less unsatisfied.
"Naught is there," he began, "that without order
May the religion of the mountain feel,
Nor aught that may be foreign to its custom.
Free is it here from every permutation;
What from itself heaven in itself receiveth
Can be of this the cause, and naught beside;
Because that neither rain, nor hail, nor snow,
Nor dew, nor hoar-frost any higher falls
Than the short, little stairway of three steps.
Dense clouds do not appear, nor rarefied,
Nor coruscation, nor the daughter of Thaumas,
That often upon earth her region shifts;
No arid vapour any farther rises
Than to the top of the three steps I spake of,
Whereon the Vicar of Peter has his feet.
Lower down perchance it trembles less or more,
But, for the wind that in the earth is hidden
I know not how, up here it never trembled.
It trembles here, whenever any soul
Feels itself pure, so that it soars, or moves
To mount aloft, and such a cry attends it.
Of purity the will alone gives proof,
Which, being wholly free to change its convent,
Takes by surprise the soul, and helps it fly.
First it wills well; but the desire permits not,
Which divine justice with the self-same will
There was to sin, upon the torment sets.
And I, who have been lying in this pain
Five hundred years and more, but just now felt
A free volition for a better seat.
Therefore thou heardst the earthquake, and the pious
Spirits along the mountain rendering praise
Unto the Lord, that soon he speed them upwards."
So said he to him; and since we enjoy
As much in drinking as the thirst is great,
I could not say how much it did me good.
And the wise Leader: "Now I see the net
That snares you here, and how ye are set free,
Why the earth quakes, and wherefore ye rejoice.
Now who thou wast be pleased that I may know;
And why so many centuries thou hast here
Been lying, let me gather from thy words."
"In days when the good Titus, with the aid
Of the supremest King, avenged the wounds
Whence issued forth the blood by Judas sold,
Under the name that most endures and honours,
Was I on earth," that spirit made reply,
"Greatly renowned, but not with faith as yet.
My vocal spirit was so sweet, that Rome
Me, a Thoulousian, drew unto herself,
Where I deserved to deck my brows with myrtle.
Statius the people name me still on earth;
I sang of Thebes, and then of great Achilles;
But on the way fell with my second burden.
The seeds unto my ardour were the sparks
Of that celestial flame which heated me,
Whereby more than a thousand have been fired;
Of the Aeneid speak I, which to me
A mother was, and was my nurse in song;
Without this weighed I not a drachma's weight.
And to have lived upon the earth what time
Virgilius lived, I would accept one sun
More than I must ere issuing from my ban."
These words towards me made Virgilius turn
With looks that in their silence said, "Be silent!"
But yet the power that wills cannot do all things;
For tears and laughter are such pursuivants
Unto the passion from which each springs forth,
In the most truthful least the will they follow.
I only smiled, as one who gives the wink;
Whereat the shade was silent, and it gazed
Into mine eyes, where most expression dwells;
And, "As thou well mayst consummate a labour
So great," it said, "why did thy face just now
Display to me the lightning of a smile?"
Now am I caught on this side and on that;
One keeps me silent, one to speak conjures me,
Wherefore I sigh, and I am understood.
"Speak," said my Master, "and be not afraid
Of speaking, but speak out, and say to him
What he demands with such solicitude."
Whence I: "Thou peradventure marvellest,
O antique spirit, at the smile I gave;
But I will have more wonder seize upon thee.
This one, who guides on high these eyes of mine,
Is that Virgilius, from whom thou didst learn
To sing aloud of men and of the Gods.
If other cause thou to my smile imputedst,
Abandon it as false, and trust it was
Those words which thou hast spoken concerning him."
Already he was stooping to embrace
My Teacher's feet; but he said to him: "Brother,
Do not; for shade thou art, and shade beholdest."
And he uprising: "Now canst thou the sum
Of love which warms me to thee comprehend,
When this our vanity I disremember,
Treating a shadow as substantial thing."
From at least the time of Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 1-3), commentators dealing with this opening verse have cited the opening (and other passages) of Dante's Convivio (I.i.1): 'As the Philosopher [Aristotle] says in the beginning of the First Philosophy [Metaphysics I.i], all of humankind naturally desires to know.' Bosco/Reggio (comm. to vv. 1-6), however, make an important distinction. Since here the protagonist is presented with a miracle, the moment in which a soul is finally prepared to rise to God, the following reference (vv. 2-3) to the waters of eternal life in the episode in John's gospel 'confirms the notion that the natural desire for knowledge cannot be satisfied except by Revelation, thus going beyond the affirmations found in Convivio (I.i.1; I.i.9; III.xv.4) normally cited by the commentators, which are limited to philosophical knowledge.' It is interesting to note that Pietro di Dante (Pietro1, comm. to vv. 1-3) cites the beginning of Aristotle's Metaphysics to make a highly similar point, separating Aristotelian scientia mundana (knowledge of this world) from experience of divina gratia (divine grace). On the distance between the formulations found in Convivio and those presented here, see also Hollander (Allegory in Dante's “Commedia” [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969]), pp. 68-69.
The obvious reference to the passage in John's gospel (4:5-15) has not escaped many readers. The Samaritan woman who finds Jesus, unprepared for the task of drawing water, at her well, ends up being eager to taste the 'water' that he offers as replacement for that which seems so necessary at noon of a warm day in the desert, for it 'fiet in eo fons aquae salientis in vitam aeternam' ([italics added] shall become in him a fountain of water springing up into life everlasting). In the Vulgate the present participle salientis may refer to the water or indeed to the drinker, rising up into eternal life. It is worth keeping this potential grammatical ambiguity in mind, for that second reading applies precisely to the condition of Statius, who has just now come to that moment in his posthumous existence: he is ready to take on the life of a soul in paradise; he himself is ready to salire (rise up).
Strangely enough, there is dispute among the commentators as to the metaphoric nature of the water offered by Jesus. For the first quarter millennium all who dealt with this question offered the obvious interpretation: divine grace. Then in the nineteenth century, beginning with Portirelli (comm. to vv. 1-6), some interpreters were of the opinion that the water referred either to human knowledge of God or to that knowledge possessed alone by God. Another group, the first of them Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 1-3), thought that it signified 'truth,' although exactly which kind varied, from Porena's (comm. to vv. 1-6) sense that for Dante it meant truth in general to Giacalone's (comm. to vv. 1-6) view that it means the truth found in Revelation alone. Surely the early commentators were correct. The water that the Samaritan woman asks for is that of eternal life, which comes alone from the grace of God.
As some commentators have pointed out, John's word for the Samaritan is mulier (woman), while Dante has used a diminutive (femminetta). Giacalone (comm. to vv. 1-6) thinks of the form more as a 'commiserative' than as a 'diminutive,' i.e., we are to think of this woman's absolute ordinariness as an encouragement to our own need for exactly such satisfaction of our 'thirst.'
Dante has rarely portrayed his protagonist as being beset by so many distractions. He desperately wants to understand the meaning both of the earthquake and of the song accompanying it; he and Virgil are trying to move ahead as quickly as possible, picking their way among the clutter of the penitents; he continues to feel a sense of grief at their punishment, despite its obvious rightness.
Announced with its solemn biblical stylistic flourish (Ed ecco [And lo]), the reminiscence of Luke 24:13-16 (a passage that begins 'Et ecce') reminds the reader of two of Christ's disciples (Dante's first commentators at times incorrectly identify them as James and John; it is clear that one of the two is named Cleopas [24:18], while the other is perhaps his wife [24:29], in which case she may well have been known as Mary [John 19:25]), walking on the road to Emmaus when Christ joined them and walked with them, unrecognized.
Statius's unmistakable resemblance to Christ risen, his figural relation to Jesus, makes him, technically, not a 'figure' of Christ but a 'fulfillment' of Him, which is theologically awkward. Hollander (Allegory in Dante's “Commedia” [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1969]), pp. 67-70, argues for the technical reference of the word ombra (shade) here, grounded in the language of the Christian interpretation of Scripture, discovered, indeed, in this very chapter of Luke's gospel (24:27), when Jesus teaches his disciples the figural method of understanding the Old Testament. (See Heilbronn [“The Prophetic Role of Statius in Dante's Purgatory,” Dante Studies 95 [1977], p. 58, for a similar view.)
How, some commentators have asked, perhaps beginning with Manfredi Porena (comm. to vv. 7-13), could Dante and Virgil see that Statius was behind them? They could not. Now, narrating the scene, the poet, knowing that Statius came up from behind, says that he did so. They first became aware of him when he spoke – at which point, as the text says, they turned around. As the risen Christ walked along beside Cleopas and his wife, who did not recognize him, so does the 'resurrected' Statius walk up behind Dante and Virgil, who do not at first know that he is there. In both scenes it is also true that 'the two who were on the way' do not know with whom they converse until much later (see Luke 24:35, when they break bread with their 'new' acquaintance in their home; Purg. XXI.91, when this soul's identity is finally made plain).
Another problem here is caused by the grammatical ambiguity of the phrase 'guardando la turba che giace': who is doing the looking, Statius or Dante and Virgil? Grammatically both are possible. Both proximity and common sense move a reader to the latter possibility: Dante and Virgil, the 'noi' that is closer to the gerund than Statius's 'ombra,' are looking down at the shades, as we know (from Purg. XX.143, where they are also 'guardando'; XXI.6). Statius, having just come from lying prostrate, is more likely to be looking ahead and above, where he is finally allowed to direct himself.
For the present tense of the verb giace, problematic in whatever solution one proposes for the last question, see the note to vv. 22-24.
Statius's first words join him to the tradition of fraternal purgatorial greeting on the part of the penitents we have so far heard addressing Dante: Belacqua (Purg. IV.127); Oderisi (Purg. XI.82); Sapia (Purg. XIII.94); Marco (Purg. XVI.65); Adrian (Purg. XIX.133). See notes to Purg. IV.127 and Purg. XIX.133. For a complete listing of all uses of 'frate' as form of address in the last two cantiche, see the note to Purg. IV.127.
Singleton's dependence on Sinclair's translation of this passage is betrayed by his comment (comm. to vv. 10-13), which has Statius looking at the crowd of penitents at his feet, while the translation has Dante and Virgil doing the looking.
For the source of Statius's greeting, see the words of Christ to his apostles, the second scene of his resurrected life on earth in Luke's gospel (Luke 24:36): 'Pax vobis: ego sum, nolite timere' (Peace unto you: I am, have no fear). In the next verse of Luke the apostles indeed do show fear; and we may remember how fearful Dante was when the earth shook beneath him at the end of the last canto (vv. 128-129; 135). William Stephany (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), pp. 161-62, sees a connection with biblical moments (in the narratives involving Cleopas and the Samaritan woman) in which 'characters are frightened either by Jesus' birth or rebirth.'
The nature of the cenno (sign) made in response by Virgil has long puzzled the commentators. We can say one thing with something like certainty: Virgil's gesture is not a spoken one, since he makes some sort of gesture and then begins to speak (verse 16). Many early and some later commentators have liked the idea that in response Virgil said 'et cum spiritu tuo' (and with your spirit as well), a liturgical reply. Yet it surely seems impossible that Dante would have first presented Virgil as speaking and then immediately afterwards as beginning to speak. And so it is clearly preferable to understand that Virgil made some sort of physical gesture. Perhaps the most sensible gloss remains that of Benvenuto (comm. to vv. 14-18): 'with similar reverence [Virgil] lowered his head to him.' Previously Dante has clearly distinguished among parole, mani, and cenni (words, [actions of] hands, and signs) at Purgatorio I.50; and he will distinguish between dir and cenno (speech and sign) at Purgatorio XXVII.139. In fact, in the fifteen uses of the word cenno in the poem, this would be the only one in which it referred to speech, as Steiner (comm. to verse 15) points out, adding that Virgil, as a pagan inhabitant of Limbo, is never permitted either to pronounce sacred phrases or to perform actions pertaining to Christian ritual (e.g., genuflexion). The word cenno appears frequently in the poem (Inf. III.117, Inf. IV.98, Inf. VIII.5, Inf. XVI.116, Inf. XXI.138, Inf. XXII.8, Purg. I.50, Purg. VI.141, Purg. XII.129, Purg. XIX.86, here, Purg. XXII.27, Purg. XXVII.139; Par. XV.71, Par. XXII.101).
For the ingenious but perhaps not eventually acceptable notion that Virgil's cenno 'may very well be an embrace, a gesture analogous to the liturgical Kiss of Peace' see Heilbronn (“The Prophetic Role of Statius in Dante's Purgatory,” Dante Studies 95 [1977]), pp. 58-65. Had Virgil been a Christian, Dante might very well have chosen to make Heilbronn right. However, see James Albrecht (“'Il cenno ch'a ciò si conface' [Purgatorio 21.15],” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [February 2002]), who argues that Virgil's gesture is the sign of the cross, offered without the accompanying response to the hopeful wish 'Dominus det nobis suam pacem' (May God grant us His peace) found in breviaries and in the liturgy of the hours: 'Et vitam eternam' (And eternal life); in Albrecht's view it is what Virgil did not say that is focal to the scene. (For clear examples of facial gestures as cenni in this very canto, see verse 104, Virgil's look that calls for silence and verse 109, Dante's smile that is a hint.)
Virgil's wish for Statius is touching, in part because it has been accomplished, since Statius is already substantially one of the blessed, only awaiting a change in his accidental state, which will be accomplished in less than a day. While the poem does not show him there, its givens make it plain that, had Dante chosen to do so, Statius could have been observed seated in the rose in Paradiso XXXII; he is there by the time Dante ascends into the heavens at the beginning of the next cantica, or so we may assume.
Virgil's insistence on his own eternal home is a moving reminder of his tragic situation in this comic poem. Statius's salvation comes closer than anyone else's in showing how near Virgil himself came to eternal blessedness, as the next canto will make clear. And, once we learn (Purg. XXII.67-73) that it was Virgil who was responsible, by means of his fourth Eclogue, for the conversion of Statius, we consider these lines with a still more troubled heart. For remarks in a similar vein see Stephany (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), p. 158n.
For Statius's miscomprehension of Dante's condition, see the note to the next tercet. The physical reason for it is that, because the travelers are out of the sun's rays on the far side of the mountain, Dante's body casts no revealing shadow, and Statius takes Virgil's confession of his own plight to apply to both of these 'shades.'
For parte used here and in Inferno XXIX.16 as an adverb, a Florentine provincialism, meaning 'meanwhile,' see Moore (Contributions to the Textual Criticism of the “Divina Commedia” [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1889]), pp. 398-99, citing Benvenuto as previously making the same point in both instances.
Virgil's remarks suggest to Statius that the (remaining three) P's on Dante's forehead indicate a special status, namely that he is bound for Glory – just as is Statius. But did Statius have these marks incised on his forehead? Had he, they would now all be erased but for this last, which would probably disappear, along with Dante's, before the beginning of the next canto (see Purg. XXII.3, where we learn the angel has wiped Dante's fifth P from his brow). He would have spent, we will be able to compute from information gleaned from verse 68 and from Purgatorio XXII.92-93, as many as 300 years in ante-purgatory and/or on some or all of the first three terraces, since it is 1204 years since his death in the year 96 and he has had to remain over 400 years on the fourth terrace and over 500 on this one. Thus, had he borne signs on his forehead, these would originally have been as many as five and as few as two. However, there is no reason to believe that he, or any other penitent not here in the flesh, has had his brow incised with P's. (See the note to Purg. IX.112.) For other reasons to believe that only Dante is incised, see Hollander (“The Letters on Dante's Brow [Purg. 9.112 and 21.22-24],” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [January 2002]); for an opposing view see Nicola Fosca (“Beatitudini e processo di purgazione,” Electronic Bulletin of the Dante Society of America [February 2002]). And for an attempt to deal with the problem raised by the present tense of the verb profila as indicating that the warder habitually inscribes the P's on sinners, see, again, Hollander's note in the EBDSA, where he argues, following a suggestion offered by Chimenz (comm. to vv. 22-24), that this present has the significance of a past and that we should understand that only Dante is to be understood as having had his forehead incised.
The circumlocution describes Lachesis, the second of the three Fates of classical mythology. 'At the birth of every mortal, Clotho, the spinning fate, was supposed to wind upon the distaff of Lachesis, the alotting fate, a certain amount of yarn; the duration of the life of the individual being the length of time occupied in spinning the thread, which, when complete, was severed by Atropos, the inevitable fate' (Toynbee, “Lachesìs” [Concise Dante Dictionary]). For Atropos, see Inferno XXXIII.126. This is Virgil's long-winded way of saying that Dante was still in the body when he was summoned to guide him through the afterworld. For Dante's likely dependence upon Statius for the names of the three Fates, see Ettore Paratore, “Stazio” (ED.1976.5), pp. 422b-423a.
What exactly Virgil means by his scola (teaching of Dante) has been a matter of some debate, featuring predictable allegorizations, e.g., Virgil as reason, Statius as moral philosophy, Beatrice as theology. None of these has the merit of being immediately (or eventually?) convincing. The last time we have heard the word was at Inferno IV.94, where the poet referred to the group of poets (la bella scola) headed by Homer, and perhaps, 'reading Dante by Dante,' we should keep this simplest explanation in clear view. Virgil, informed by all that a pagan poet can know, will guide Dante as best he can. Once we reach the question of the nature of the human soul, in Canto XXV, he will give way to Statius, who, as a Christian, understands things about the nature of the human soul's relationship to divinity of which Virgil is simply ignorant. There is no reason to believe, one might add, that Beatrice could not have instructed Dante about this question, or that Statius could not have told him anything that Beatrice will reveal in Paradiso. All saved Christians, in this poem, are capable of knowing all things in God. The rewards of Heaven are not only affective, but intellectual.
We should also be aware of Beatrice's use of the same word, scola, in Purgatorio XXXIII.85 to denigrate Dante's own nearly disastrous adventures in what she seems to consider his overbold philosophizing.
At last Virgil asks Statius the two questions that have so vexed Dante; for a third time the importance of the salvation of Statius is underlined. See notes to Purgatorio XX.145-151 and to vv. 4-6 of this canto.
Statius first establishes the meteorology of the mountain. There is no 'weather' encountered above the upper limit of ante-purgatory, but below that limit there is. Up here the only celestial force having any effect is the direct influence of the heavens.
Thaumas's daughter is Iris, for classical poets the personification of the rainbow, appearing variously above the earth and not in one fixed place.
The wind hidden inside the earth (verse 56, first referred to as 'dry vapor' in verse 52) refers to what Dante, in keeping with one medieval view (see Inf. III.130-136), believed to be the cause of earthquakes. Statius's point is that there are no natural earthquakes on the upper reaches of the mountain, but that there are 'supernatural' ones. This one, accompanying the completion of Statius's penance and marking his liberation from sin, may remind us of the earthquake that greeted Dante's 'supernatural' descent into the underworld at the conclusion of Inferno III, itself perhaps also meant to remind the reader of the earthquake at the Crucifixion (referred to at some length by Virgil in Inf. XII.31-45). These three earthquakes, all caused by Christ-centered spiritual events, would clearly seem to be related.
The self-judging quality of the penitents is here made plain. We saw the same phenomenon among the damned in the confessions that they offered to Minos (see the note to Inf. V.8). Words for 'will' and 'willing' occur five times in nine lines (61-69), the densest block of volere and volontà found in the poem. In Paradiso III the examples of Piccarda and Costanza will afford the opportunity to study the divergence between the absolute will, always striving toward the good, and the conditional (i.e., 'conditioned') will, which, when guided by desires for lesser goods, chooses unwisely. Here Dante plays the changes on that basic understanding of the will's role. In purgatory the conditional will does not elect the lesser good, but instead desires to repent its former movement in that direction. This is a 'rule' of purgatory that has no precedent in Christian lore, since Dante's purgatory is so much his own invention; nonetheless, it makes intuitive sense. It is thus that the poet suggests that his reader understand why a penitent, while naturally desiring to cease the act of penance, simultaneously feels a still stronger and countering desire to complete it, as is made clear here.
For a soul to 'change its convent,' in this context, means for it to move from purgatory to paradise.
A sharp distinction between (talento) desire and will (voglia) in verse 61 is drawn by Moore (Contributions to the Textual Criticism of the “Divina Commedia” [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1889]), pp. 401-4, demonstrating that the early commentators saw clearly that desire represents the conditional will (as it did in Inf. V.39, where the desire of the lustful is described as running counter to reason), while the will referred to here is the absolute will, which always seeks the good alone.
His use of the first person here is the first instance of an autobiographical bent on the speaker's part, but his self-identification still awaits. He only now formally concludes his response to Dante's insistent and paired questions, first alluded to in the last canto (XX.145-151); in a gesture typical of purgatorial brotherhood, his next thought is for his fellow penitents (cf. Virgil's similar wish at vv. 16-18). (For Statius's various sins and the time spent purging them on the mountain, see notes to vv. 22-24 and to Purg. XXII.92-93.)
After telling us three times how eagerly he wanted to know more about these strange signs on the mountain (see the note to vv. 34-39), the poet now once again underlines their importance. The singular importance of the salvation of Statius is insisted on in such a way as to let us understand that what matters is not only the importance of the finishing of purgation for any soul, but Statius's astounding role in Dante's poem, which will gradually become more clear as the two cantos devoted to him continue to unfold their mysteries.
Those who know it may remember an old joke with a similar rhythm. An elderly man traveling on a train in a sleeping car awakens in the middle of the night and then awakens some of his fellow unseen sleepers as he cries out, 'Oh, am I thirsty; oh, am I thirsty!' Finally, a disgruntled fellow traveler arises, gets a cup of water from the drinking fountain at the end of the car, and passes it in to the man in his curtained berth. Shortly after the good Samaritan has returned to his own berth and is nodding back off to sleep, he is brought back to waking when the old man begins to cry out, 'Oh, was I thirsty; oh, was I thirsty!'
Tommaseo (comm. to these verses) rightly suggests that congaudere (rejoice) is a biblical word; further precision was offered by Campi, citing I Corinthians 12:26: 'sive gloriatur unum membrum, congaudent omnia membra' (if a single member glories, then all members rejoice along with it). St. Paul is developing the analogy between parts of the human body and the individual members of the mystical body of Christ, the Church.
Virgil's specific question at last elicits a sort of vita poetae from his interlocutor. See the note to Inferno I.67-87 for the similar vita Virgilii found there.
Publius Papinius Statius (45-96) was born in Naples and not in Toulouse, birthplace of a different Statius, a rhetorician; Dante's error was a common one (perhaps deriving from the glosses by Lactantius [ca. 300] to the poems of Statius) and he helped propagate it, since he is probably responsible for the mistaken birthplace found both in Boccaccio and in Chaucer; for the former, see Amorosa visione V.34 and, for the latter, Hous of Fame III.1460. For the suggestion (which the commentator himself eventually questions) that Statius was actually from Telesa (or Telesia), a city (later destroyed) in the vicinity of Naples, and thus would have been correctly described as being 'telesano,' a form easily corrupted into 'tolosano,' see Lombardi (comm. to verse 89). Statius's Thebaid, an epic in twelve books, composed in the years between between 80 and 92, was the source of a good deal of Dante's sense of what for us is the 'Oedipus story,' in Statius treated as the civil war between the forces loyal to one or the other of Oedipus's royal sons.
Dante's reference to Statius's laureation is problematic. Since it seems clear, despite an occasional argument to the contrary, that Dante did not know Statius's collection of his 'fugitive' poems, the Silvae (see the note to verse 90), he could not have read (in Silvae III.v.28-31) that, while the emperor (Domitian) had crowned Statius with gold at an 'arts festival' at Alba, he had not done so at Rome, i.e., Statius did not get the laurel for his epic. And thus it remains possible but seems unlikely that he ever received the laurel; however, his dedication of the Thebaid to Domitian, coupled with the opening lines of the Achilleid (I.9-11), where he asks Apollo for laureation and intimates that he had been previously coronated, might have made Dante think he had been. This second epic, which he did not finish, getting only as far as into the second book, was the source of most of what Dante, Homerless, knew about Achilles.
Born ca. A.D. 45, Statius was thus about twenty-five when Titus, son of the emperor Vespasian, destroyed in A.D. 70 the second temple in Jerusalem as part of his attack upon the Jews, an event to which Dante will advert in Paradiso VI.92 (for Dante's sense of the 'just retribution' involved in this event, see the note to that passage). Titus succeeded Vespasian as emperor (79-81).
The 'name' to which the speaker refers is that of poet. The surprising, even shocking, culmination of his statement of his debt to Virgil in the next canto (verse 73: 'through you I was a poet, through you a Christian') is adumbrated here, where Statius owns himself (at the age at which Dante suffered the loss of Beatrice, twenty-five) to have achieved fame as a poet but not yet faith in Christ.
Dante had already referred to Statius as 'lo dolce poeta' (the sweet poet) at Convivio IV.xxv.6, as Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 88-90) pointed out. Pietro di Dante (Pietrro1, comm. to vv. 82-90) was the first to suggest that the source for the phrase lay in Juvenal's Satires (VII.82-87). For strong support of this notion, see Alessandro Ronconi (“L'incontro di Stazio e Virgilio,” Cultura e scuola 13-14 [1965]), pp. 568-69; see also Vincenzo Tandoi (“Il ricordo di Stazio 'dolce poeta' nella Sat. VII di Giovenale,” Maia 21 [1969], pp. 103-22). Ettore Paratore, “Giovenale” (ED.1971.3), pp. 197-202, offers probably the most balanced and useful introduction to the problem of Dante's knowledge of Juvenal.
There has been much confusion over the meaning of Statius's reference to being crowned with myrtle leaves. The myrtle tree was sacred to Venus (see, e.g., Aen. V.72). And, indeed, Statius himself, in his Silvae (IV.vii.10-11), asks to be crowned as a lyric poet (and not as a writer of epic) with myrtle leaves. However, as nearly all admit, or even insist, Dante could not have been acquainted with the Silvae, a manuscript of which was only discovered in the fifteenth century by Poggio Bracciolini in France, copied and brought back into Italy, where Poliziano would take much pleasure and instruction from it. Then what does Dante mean us to understand by Statius's insistence that he was crowned with myrtle? As Daniello (comm. to vv. 88-90) notes, Virgil speaks of both laurel and myrtle (Egl. II.54): 'You, too, o laurels (lauri), I will pluck, and you, neighboring myrtle (myrte)'; Daniello believes that Statius is associated with myrtle because he was a poet of love. Disagreeing with him, Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 88-90) thinks that the phrase, for Dante, meant that the myrtle wreath was secondary to the laurel, an opinion followed by Porena and developed by Mattalia (both commenting upon this verse); Mattalia argues that, while Dante himself makes Statius one of the poete regolati (i.e., the classical Latin poets worthy of emulation [Dve II.vi.7]), it is Statius who speaks now, and he wants to show his awareness of his dependence upon Virgil, of his role as secondary poet following in the wake of a master. See verses two lines from the ending of the Thebaid (XII.816-817), which explicitly make a highly similar claim: 'do not attempt to rival the divine Aeneid, but follow at a distance, always worshiping its footsteps.' Moore (Studies in Dante, First Series: Scripture and Classical Authors in Dante [Oxford: Clarendon, 1969 (1896)]), p. 243, was perhaps the first to suggest that this passage was being cited here in vv. 94-97. For its possible earlier relevance, see the note to Inferno XXIII.145-148.
Statius's 'second burden' was his unfinished Achilleid.
For the relationship of Statius's text to these lines, see the concluding remarks in the note to verse 90. The image of the Aeneid as being the divine torch that has set aflame many another poem, including this one, similarly 'divine,' if surely in different ways, will be explored as this scene unfolds.
The appearance of the word mamma here is stunning, for we find it, a spectacular instantiation of the low vernacular (see the last item in the note to Inf. XXXII.1-9, the passage in which it has had its only previous appearance), used in the same verse with the word that may have represented for Dante the height of classical eloquence, Eneïda, the title of the greatest classical poem, here in its only use in the Comedy.
The passage applies to Statius, but increasingly students of this passage have been convinced that Statius's fictive biography serves as a sort of stand-in for Dante's genuine one, that is, in Statius's words here about his dependence on Virgil we are also reading Dante's confession of his own debt to the Roman poet. For this view see, among others, Ettore Paratore (Tradizione e struttura in Dante [Florence: Sansoni, 1968]), pp. 72-73; Padoan (“Il Canto XXI del Purgatorio,” in Nuove letture dantesche, vol. IV [Florence: Le Monnier, 1970]), p. 354; Hollander (“Babytalk in Dante's Commedia,” in his Studies in Dante [Ravenna: Longo, 1980]), pp. 123-24, 205n.; Stephany (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), p. 151; Picone (“Purgatorio XXII,” in Dante's “Divine Comedy,” Introductory Readings II: “Purgatorio,” ed. Tibor Wlassics [Lectura Dantis (virginiana), 12, supplement, Charlottesville: University of Virginia, 1993]), p. 330. In the next canto the extent of that debt will assume staggering proportions.
In a reversal of our usual expectation, the high style of classical tragic writing is portrayed as serving as mother and nurse, giving suck to the infant vernacular, triumphantly low. This is a far cry from the program of Dante's De vulgari eloquentia, which sought to champion the lofty, tragic vernacular poetry of Italy, with Dante's own canzoni (odes) as the crowning example. In the earlier work the Italian initiate was urged to learn how to write in the high style by imitating the classical poets; now we find that the lofty bards of antiquity become 'mothers' of a quite different sort of poetry, the low, or comic, style of this theological epic. For a discussion of the word mamma in Dante see Hollander (“Babytalk in Dante's Commedia,” in Studies in Dante [Ravenna: Longo, 1980]), pp. 120-29. And for a quite different treatment of the image of being suckled at the breast see Gary Cestaro (“The Primal Scene of Suckling in Dante's De vulgari eloquentia,” Dante Studies 109 [1991], pp. 119-47).
A dram is the equivalent of one-eighth of an ounce.
While some have understood that Statius's gesture offers a single day of lingering (first, the Anonimus Lombardus [comm. to these verses]) and others a solar cycle of twenty-eight years (first, Jacopo della Lana [comm. to verse 101]), most, after the Ottimo (comm. to vv. 94-102), believe that he means one more year. We might be tempted to reflect that, if he had met Virgil after he had converted, he might have returned a favor and converted Virgil to Christianity (one can imagine their conversation about the real meaning of the fourth Eclogue). The context here, involving only his poetic debt to Virgil, probably should put that thought from us.
The first of these two adjacent and charming passages to return to earlier moments in the canto adverts to the discussion of the absolute and conditional wills in vv. 61-69. Here we see that Dante's absolute will is conquered by his emotions. In the second, Dante's smile is probably to be understood as exactly such a sign as Virgil gave to arriving Statius at vv. 14-15.
One does not want to read in too moralizing a light this extraordinary little scene. There is no serious consequence if Dante gives away Virgil's little secret, or if Statius becomes over-enthusiastic once it is known. The three poets share a moment of common freedom from the constraints of their missions. It is typical of this great and securely serious theological poet that he can indulge himself and his readers in moments of such moving happiness. This is perhaps as close to experiencing Christian fellowship as Virgil ever comes.
The protagonist's understanding of Statius's debt to Virgil is obviously not yet fully developed. In his formulation it was from the greater poet that Statius learned 'to sing of men and of the gods,' an adequate description of the work of a pagan writer of epic. We will learn in the next canto that, behind the façade of pagan trappings, Statius was in fact a secret Christian. See the note to Purgatorio XXII.67-73.
For the view that Statius is behaving passionally when it were better not to, see Denise Heilbronn (“'Io pur sorrisi': Dante's Lesson on the Passions [Purg. XXI, 94-136],” Dante Studies 96 [1978], pp. 67-74). Stephany's rejoinder (“Biblical Allusions to Conversion in Purgatorio XXI,” Stanford Italian Review 3 [1983]), pp. 142-43, is less than convincing. He finds it odd that Statius, having finished his purgation, should return to so much lower a level of response. In his view, Virgil is imitating Christ when he asks Mary Magdalen not to touch Him ('noli me tangere' – John 20:17). Stephany's discussion of that passage and its relationship to the two other major biblical resonances in this canto, those of the Samaritan woman and of the disciples on the road to Emmaus encountering the resurrected Jesus, as all being narratives that concern conversion, is close to Dante's text and telling. However, the tone of the episode clearly responds far more to Heilbronn's sense, if perhaps less sternly than she might have us believe. The scene is amusing and utterly human; Statius has for a moment re-entered his previous life, as even other saints might do, in the presence of Virgil. And even the protagonist, caught between the differing desires of the two classical poets, is apparently momentarily exempt from moral pressures. How might the saved Stephany respond, completing his purgation, finding himself in the presence of Dante? The poet's view of the completion of purgation, reflected in the protagonist's own 'free time' as he enters Eden, is not completely dissimilar to what we found in ante-purgatory, where the pressure on the souls is also less acute.
With regard to the supposed 'failed embrace' between Statius and Virgil, Hollander has argued (“Purgatorio II: Cato's Rebuke and Dante's scoglio,” Italica 52 [1975]), p.359, that Dante's failed attempt to embrace Casella (Purg. II.76-81), pointing to a physical impossibility, is countered in the successful exchange of embraces between Sordello and Virgil, both shades (Purg. VII.2, 15). In both of those scenes there is a desire to embrace that is either frustrated or accomplished. Here Statius desires to embrace Virgil but, once advised against doing so by the author of the Aeneid, wills not to. Since we know from Sordello's and Virgil's shared embraces that in fact shades are capable of embracing, we may not properly say, as most who deal with the scene do, that Virgil and Statius, 'being shades, cannot embrace,' or that they 'are not capable of embracing' (Giovanni Cecchetti [“The Statius Episode: Observations on Dante's Conception of Poetry,” Lectura Dantis (virginiana) 7 (1990)], p. 107). They are perfectly capable of embracing; Virgil convinces Statius that it is not a fitting gesture in this higher realm. For another view of the supposedly problematic program of embraces see Nicolae Iliescu (“Gli episodi degli abbracci nelle strutture del Purgatorio,” Yearbook of Italian Studies 1 [1971], pp. 53-63). And see the note to Purgatorio XIX.134-135 for the probable biblical source of a similar scene: Pope Adrian's refusal to accept Dante's obeisance. In the end Statius won't embrace Virgil because up here souls don't behave 'that way,' just as Virgil did not want to have his identity revealed for a similar reason. In support of this reading, see Wei Wei Yeo (“Embodiment in the Commedia: Dante's Exilic and Poetic Self-Consciousness,” Dante Studies 121 [2003 {2006}]), p. 78, also suggesting that “rather than arguing physical impossibility, the text implies the acknowledgment of inappropriateness as the reason...” Her citation is of George Economou (“Saying Spirit in Terms of Matter: The Epic Embrace in Medieval Poetic Imagination,” Lectura Dantis [virginiana] 11 [Fall 1992]), p. 76.
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