Dante’s Inferno, Canto VIII

A friend of mine, Mary Sue, is doing a term paper using Dante’s Canto VIII from his Inferno as part of a larger main point which ties into T.S. Eliot’s great poem, Ash Wednesday. So Mary Sue intrigued me enough to go back and read Canto VIII, which then planted a seed of interest in me that compelled me to think about it for days.  I realize this can happen on any one of Dante’s one hundred cantos from his Commedia.  So let me provide the fruits of my thoughts and perhaps it may help my friend.

When I posted on the entire Divine Comedy back in 2018 to 2019, other than summarizing that canto, I did not find the time to write on it.  (You can find links to all my Dante blog posts above in the Header Bar with the hyperlink, “Dante Links.”)  I had wished I could comment on every canto, but that was impossible at the time.  Perhaps slowly in time as a need arises I can fill in the cantos that I missed.

So in Canto VII, to back up a little, Dante and Virgil are walking through the fifth circle of hell, that of anger and sullenness, down the bank to the river Styx.  At the river there is a bog in which the souls of the fifth circle wade in the mud and filthy water.  Here the wrathful fight and tear at each other in everlasting anger.

Which brings us to Canto VIII.  At the bank Virgil and Dante observe a tower at the other side of the river flashing two lights of fire and further back another flashing light responded in a returning signal.  This causes Dante to ask Virgil for its meaning.

And turning to that sea of wisdom, I asked:

'What does this mean? And that other fire,

what does it answer? And who are they who made it?'

 

And he to me: 'Over the filthy waves

you may already glimpse what is to come,

if the marsh-fumes do not hide it from you.' (7-12)

I am using the wonderful Robert and Jean Hollander (husband and wife team) translation.  As I’ve said before in my Dante posts, this is my preferred translation.

So Dante asks some rather obvious questions, and Virgil doesn’t really answer them, only perhaps to imply he will find out shortly.  What captures my curiosity is the epithet Dante uses for Virgil in verse seven: “the sea of wisdom.”  (The use of an epithet for a proper in name in rhetoric is called antonomasia.)  Here Virgil is associated with wisdom but couched in a metaphor of the sea.  The metaphor is not a function of the translation.  It’s there in the Italian: “al mar di tutto 'l senno.”

Anthony Esolen in his translation annotates that Virgil is punning with mar on Virgil’s last name of “Maro.”  That is possible but I do think it goes beyond that.  Certainly Virgil is associated with wisdom, but “sea” brings in the naval term that runs throughout the Divine Comedy.  In fact we will see a boat speed to them in the very next set of triplets from where I quoted.  In addition to the naval metaphor, I think the “sea of wisdom” is a contrasting epithet to the Ulysses character we will see in Canto XXVI.  There we will hear of Ulysses’ tale of taking his crew on a voyage of exploration that leads to their destruction.  He who had the reputation of wisdom—Ulysses—was unwise in his pride.    

What comes next is the arrival of the bark that will take them across the river, but Dante (the author—I will need to distinguish between Dante the author and Dante the character) frames it in a fascinating simile.

 

Never did a bowstring loose an arrow

that whipped away more swiftly through the air

than, even as I watched, a skiff came skimming

 

straight toward us on the water,

under the guidance of a single helmsman,

crying: 'Now you are caught, damned spirit!'  (13-18)

The boat, racing in, is compared to a flying arrow.  One envisions a speed boat here, and I find that remarkable in itself given there is no such speed boat or any speedy vehicle in Dante’s time.  That’s a remarkable image when you realize that it would be outside of Dante’s experience to envision such speed.  That conceit to archery will appear repeatedly in the Divine Comedy (see Inf XII, XXXI, Pur XXV, XXXI, Par I, VII and elsewhere).  Ships and boats also appear often throughout the Commedia.  They emphasize the pilgrimage as the central objective of our lives, the pilgrimage to God.  Charon’s ferry in Inferno Canto III is one example.  The speed of Phlegyas’ boat in VIII recalls the swift speed of the ship in Purgatorio Canto II that ferries the souls to the Purgatory island.  Even the opening lines of Purgatorio are framed in a ferry conceit: “To run its course through smoother water/the small bark of my wit now hoists its sail,/leaving that cruel sea behind” (Pur I, 1-3).  Both naval and archery imagery are part of the overall web of imagery that underlies the themes of La Commedia.

So Phlegyas thinks he has caught two escaping souls as he comes upon Dante and Virgil, but Virgil sets him straight.

 

Phlegyas, Phlegyas, this time you shout in vain,'

replied my lord. 'You'll not have us any longer

than it takes to cross this bog.'

 

Like one who learns of a deceitful plot

that has been hatched against him and begins to fret,

such was Phlegyas in his stifled wrath. (19-24)

Phlegyas is frustrated in his expecting thrill, but I find the metaphor describing his reaction with deeper resonance.  Phlegyas is in wrath as one who learns of a deceit against him.  Well, Dante and Virgil are leaving the circle of anger and crossing over to the city of Dis, where all the various sins of deceit are placed.  Phlegyas in anger is echoing his surroundings, and his “fretting” foreshadows Dante’s fretting when he and Virgil later in the canto are locked out from entering the gates of Dis once they are ferried across.   

The two get in the boat, encounter the soul of Felippo Argenti in the mire of the river, who tries to grasp Dante but is pushed into the filthy water by Virgil, and subsequently torn and beaten by the other damned in the river.  Dante in fighting off the soul of Argenti, curses him.  Virgil for this praises Dante.

 

Then my master put his arms around my neck,

kissed my face and said: 'Indignant soul,

blessed is she that bore you in her womb! (43-45)

Why does Virgil praise Dante (the character) so here?  Most annotations will explain that Dante (the author) sees it as proper to take satisfaction in the justice done to damned souls—and being in hell the characters know that the soul is truly damned while we on earth can never know for certain.  But I find it fascinating that Virgil quotes Luke 11:27, “Blessed is the womb that bore you” as a woman cries out to Christ in praise.  I haven’t found any good annotation as to why Dante (the author) uses that quote here.  Certainly Dante (the character) is not deserving of the Christ allusion.  The only speculation I could propose—and this is me speculating, I have not found this commentary elsewhere—is that in referencing Mary’s womb, Dante (the author) is alluding to the ark of the covenant, furthering the naval imagery.  Certainly Dante (the character) is in a sort of ark on board Phlegyas’ boat. 

I have mentioned elsewhere how Dante usually structures his cantos in the Divine Comedy in three parts.  He does so here in Canto VII.  The first part (l. 1-27) is the opening scene leading to getting on board Phlegyas’ boat; the second (l. 28-63) is the scene with Filippo Argenti; the third (l. 64-130) is the landing on Dis and being locked out.

The city of Dis is of iron walls, separated by a moat, and heavily guarded by thousands of demons, suggesting an iron and a closed off heart.  It is the contrasting image of the “New Jerusalem,” from the Books of Ezekiel (OT) and Revelation (NT). The towers inside the ramparts appear to Dante (the pilgrim) as “mosques,” which Esolen points out are probably minarets, and glow red from an “eternal fire.”  Where Dante (the author) would have seen mosques and minarets is a mystery to me.  As far as I know his travels were limited to Italy and France. 

Upon being kicked out of the boat by Phlegyas (no one is kind in hell), a small drama ensues.  The angry demons refuse to let a living being into the city.  Virgil signals for Dante to hold back so he can arbitrate the situation, but the demons are immovable.  They will allow Virgil to pass, but they will not yield concerning Dante.

 

Then they reined in their great disdain

enough to say: 'You come -- alone. Let him be gone,

who has so boldly made his way into this kingdom.

 

'Let him retrace his reckless path alone --

let him see if he can, for you shall stay,

you who have led him through this gloomy realm.' (88-93)

This is where Dante frets and momentarily loses hope.  He begs Virgil to not leave him, and Virgil reassures him.

 

But the mentor who had brought me there replied:

'Have no fear. None can prevent our passage,

so great a power granted it to us.

 

'Wait for me here. Comfort your weary spirit

and feed it with good hope.

I will not forsake you in the nether world.' (103-108)

Two important points can be gleaned from Virgil’s response.  First, God has granted Dante’s passage, so the will of God cannot be resisted.  Second, Dante should not lose hope.  Hope is one of the theological virtues, and a virtue requires strengthening, almost like an exercise.  We see Dante (the character) here in these early cantos as spiritually immature.  He has not built up his virtue.

Finally Virgil leaves Dante while he walks over to the demons to mull the issue.  Dante sees them speaking but is out of hearing distance.  Suddenly the demons slam the gates shut against Virgil, who sullenly returns to Dante.  The remainder of the canto is worth quoting in its entirety.

 

He had his eyes upon the ground, his brows

shorn of all confidence. Sighing, he muttered:

'Who dares deny me access to the realm of pain?'

 

To me he said: 'Be not dismayed

at my vexation. In this contest I'll prevail,

whatever they contrive to keep us out.

 

'This insolence of theirs is nothing new:

they showed it once before, at another gate.

It still stands open without lock or bolt.

 

'Over it you saw the deadly writing.

Even now, making his unescorted way

down through the circles, one descends

by whom the city shall be opened.' (118-130)

We see Virgil’s virtue in contrast to Dante.  While he assesses the situation as serious, he does not give up hope.  He has hope in divine intervention.

We see the demons then are just being spiteful.  There is no reason why Dante cannot pass.  Their “insolence” is merely a resistance to the Divine Will.  If the Divine Will did not want Dante to enter, the demons would have lured him in.  Anything to be adversarial to God.

We will see in the next canto how a divinely sent angel arrives and with a touch of a wand, the gates opened up.  The Divine Will cannot be overcome.

What are we to make of Canto VIII?  We see the pilgrimage progress, the development of the naval and archery imagery, the justice of hell, the contrast of wrath with reason, the iron heart of Dis, and the testing of the theological virtue of hope.  Canto VIII is rich, but one can say that about all the cantos.

So how does Canto VIII relate to Eliot’s Ash Wednesday?  Well, the opening stanzas of Eliot’s poem are these:

 

Because I do not hope to turn again

Because I do not hope

Because I do not hope to turn

Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope

I no longer strive to strive towards such things

(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)

Why should I mourn

The vanished power of the usual reign?

 

Because I do not hope to know

The infirm glory of the positive hour

Because I do not think

Because I know I shall not know

The one veritable transitory power

Because I cannot drink

There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again  (1-15)

And further down we get these closing stanzas of the poem’s part 1:

 

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly

But merely vans to beat the air

The air which is now thoroughly small and dry

Smaller and dryer than the will

Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

 

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death

Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.  (34-40)

Wings that are “merely vans to beat the air”—ha!  That’s a reference Inferno’s Canto XXXIV where satan is a winged creature half stuck in ice beating his wings hopelessly in trying to fly.  How did I miss that in the past?  Ash Wednesday is about hope and hopelessness.  I’ve completely misread this poem.  I used to think Eliot was referring to Purgatorio.  The allusion is to Inferno.  Mary Sue is onto something!  I can’t wait to see what she writes.  ;)