INFERNO XVI
INFERNO XVI
1–3. The opening allusion to the noise of falling water is repeated, once the encounter with the three Florentines is complete, at vv. 92–93. [return to English / Italian]
15–18. Everything that we learn about these sinners seconds Virgil’s positive opinion of them. And in Inferno VI.79–82 we read that Dante was particularly interested in meeting Iacopo and Tegghiaio (along with Farinata, Mosca, and the mysterious Arrigo), Florentines who had labored to do good for the city. Again we face a situation in which the sinner seems, apart from his sin, a thoroughly admirable person, and indeed capable of performing good deeds. See also Ciacco in Inferno VI. [return to English / Italian]
19–27. The three sinners who have recognized Dante as Florentine from his clothing continue their lamentation, but now form themselves into a wheeling circle so that they may remain in motion (in accord with their penalty) while also staying in one place, like joggers at a stoplight. Thus while their feet move in one direction, their heads move in an opposite one, so that their glances may stay fixed on Dante.
There is some discussion in the commentaries as to whether Dante refers to classical wresthng, as presented in Latin epics such as Virgil’s and Lucan’s, or to a contemporary version of the sport, or, indeed, to both. [return to English / Italian]
28–42. The first-named of three Florentines is Guido Guerra (a member of the family of the Conti Guidi, one of the most powerful in northern Italy); born ca. 1220, grandson of Guido Guerra IV and Gualdrada de’ Ravignani, he was a notably successful Guelph political leader, leading them back from exile after the battle of Montaperti (1260) to their crushing defeat of the Ghibellines at Benevento (1266) and their restoration to power in the city; he died in 1272. The second is Tegghiaio Aldobrandi, of the noble Adimari family, contemporary and ally of Guido Guerra in the Guelph cause; along with Guido he counseled the Florentines not to engage in the expedition against Siena that ended in the disastrous defeat at Montaperti. The speaker is Iacopo Rusticucci, also a Guelph, but not, like the two he names, of noble rank (at least according to the Anonimo Fiorentino’s commentary to this passage). His house and that of his neighbor, Tegghiaio, were destroyed in the aftermath of Montaperti. In the eyes of most readers, Iacopo blames his unwilling wife for his turning to homosexuality. But now see Chiamenti (Chia.1998.1), who argues that the adjective fiera (bestial) used of her rather suggests her bestial pleasure in having anal intercourse with her husband, a form of sexual practice indeed considered sodomitic. [return to English / Italian]
46–51. Dante’s journey through hell produces no scene in which he is as cordial to a group of sinners as this one (see Holl.1996.1). That his affection is directed toward homosexuals is noteworthy, but does not necessarily involve him in anything more than what a modern reader must consider a remarkable lack of the typical Christian heterosexual scorn for homosexuals. The conversation here, like that with Ciacco, is devoted not to the sin of which these men were guilty, but to their political concerns for Florence, which Dante shares enthusiastically. These men are “good Guelphs,” as Farinata was a “good Ghibelline,” leaders who put true concerns for the city over those of party, as Dante surely believed he himself did. [return to English / Italian]
58–63. Dante identifies himself, out of modesty we presume, as a fellow Florentine, but not by name. His heavenly destination is enough by way of reward to let him wish to remain modestly anonymous. His reference to the good “deeds” (ovra) of these souls joins, in a series of moments with positive things to say about some of Florence’s citizens, with Brunetto’s reference (Inf. XV.60) to Dante’s own political work (opera) on behalf of Florence, and to the passage that initiated these concerns, with specific reference to Guido Guerra and Iacopo Rusticucci (Inf. VI. 79–81), when Dante spoke with Ciacco of the good deeds of some of Florence’s citizens. [return to English / Italian]
64–72. Iacopo’s question offers Dante an opportunity to stage one of his frequent invectives against human depravity, especially of the Florentine sort. Guglielmo Borsiere, only recently arrived at this station, has been telling his fellows that the “good old days” are so no longer (while we have a secure date of death only for Guido Guerra [1272], we imagine that his other two companions also have been in hell for a quarter century or so: Florence is much changed). Guglielmo, of whom we know little, was, as his last name informs us, probably a pursemaker. Courtesy (in the sense of decency toward one’s fellows but more in the wider sense of a whole courtly code of living) and valor (in the sense of showing attention to the worth of things by one’s own conduct) are thus societal values reflected in individual behavior. Find them in Florence today? Dante’s answer will be firmly negative. [return to English / Italian]
73–75. The “new rich,” having moved in from the surrounding countryside, are without any valor and courtesy, and already the civic price is being paid. Dante’s brief but strongly phrased remark is filled with personal—and bitter—experience. We should probably remember the earlier denunciation of the original Fiesolan “barbarian” incursions into pure “Roman” Florence (Inf. XV.61–78). This moment of rhetorical elevation marks the only place that the name of the city about which the canto is so largely concerned is allowed to appear. [return to English / Italian]
76. Dante approximates the gesture of an Old Testament prophet, calling for divine retribution, raising his eyes and voice rather to heaven than, as some commentators propose, to Florence. [return to English / Italian]
82–85. Like Ciacco (Inf. VI.88) and few others in hell, these men have the confidence in the force of the good that they did on earth to want to be remembered above, even though they are condemned to eternal punishment.
This is the only time in hell that several sinners speak harmoniously as one. And what is also notable is their reference to the stars that shine over earth now, the last reference to them until we come to the concluding line of the cantica (Inf. XXXIV.139), when Dante and Virgil see them once again.
Beginning with Daniello (who borrowed the notice from his teacher, Trifon Gabriele [Gabr.1993.1]), commentators have remarked on the similarity of the sentiments expressed in their words “when you shall rejoice in saying ‘I was there’ ” to Aeneas’s words to his storm-tossed men (Aen. I.203): “forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit” (perhaps one day it will be a joy to recall even such events as these). [return to English / Italian]
88–89. When this group hurries off to rejoin their fellows (as did Brunetto his), the poet describes their flight as taking no more time than it takes to say “Amen.” The detail also probably implies, as it were, an illicit prayer for them on Dante’s part, as though the protagonist, in response to their kind words, accepted their prayer for his return to the world, and would like to offer one for them in return. In a sense, the poet’s positive treatment of them in this canto is the fulfillment of that wish. [return to English / Italian]
91–93. The sound of water heard in the opening lines of the canto (1–3) is now, since Dante and Virgil have descended the sloping sand toward the center of hell, much louder. [return to English / Italian]
94–105. Dante, fond of the rivers of Italy as sources for poetic “digressions,” describes the Acquacheta (its name means “quiet water”) as being joined by the Riodestro near its source in the Apennines, and then changing name (to “Montone”) at Forlì, before it flows into the Adriatic Sea just south of Ravenna without pouring first into the Po, the major river of the region. At its source at San Benedetto dell’Alpe, the meaning seems to be (and Petrocchi’s text is much debated here), when the river was not in flood, forming the cascade referred to, it might have consisted in only a thousand rivulets. Phlegethon, descending into Cocytus, is here a waterfall resembling the Acquacheta in flood.
Perhaps mirroring the length of the river it describes, the simile here is the longest yet found in Inferno (the two closest challengers occur at Inf. III.112–120 and Inf. XV.4–12; but the thirteen cantos of Malebolge will at first equal and finally outdo any other area of the poem for length of simile: Inf. XXI.7–18; Inf XXII.1–12; Inf. XXIV.1–18; Inf. XXVIII.7–21; and the “champion,” Inf. XXX. 1–27). [return to English / Italian]
106–108. Dante’s cord is now retrospectively added to the details of the scene in Inferno I (as the full moon will be added to that scene in Inf. XX.127–129). The cord has the function of holding his robes together, but symbolically may also reflect the cincture of one who attempts to “gird his loins” and live right. (For bibliography of various interpretations of the cord’s significance see Mercuri [Merc. 1984.1], pp. 14n.-17n.)
Over the years, some commentators have tried to make the case that the cord is that of a Franciscan garment, and that Dante was a member of the (lay) Third Order of Franciscans. This may be true (most doubt it), but the corda would offer no proof at all, since Dante knew the technical name for the cord that bound the garment of a Franciscan: the capestro (Inf. XXVII.92).
This passage is linked to the question of the identity of the three beasts encountered by Dante in Inferno I (see note to I.32–54). [return to English / Italian]
109–114. Virgil pitches Dante’s coiled-up cord into the abyss apparently as a challenge to a creature somewhere down there. The poet builds suspense for the advent of that creature, whose appearance is delayed until the beginning of the next canto. [return to English / Italian]
115–123. Does Virgil read Dante’s thoughts or is he simply so sensitive to Dante’s way of reacting to events that he can understand what his pupil must be thinking? For a convincing statement in support of the second thesis, with review of the various other passages in Inferno in which Virgil might seem to be claiming for himself the sort of intellective powers that Beatrice will possess (she does read the pilgrim’s mind), see Musa.1977.1. [return to English / Italian]
124–132. Rhetorical energy increases as Dante swears to each of us, his readers, that he actually saw the creature he is about to describe. It is Geryon (only named at Inf. XVII.97, but see note at XVII.1–3), as mythical a monster as one can find and, as Castelvetro complained in his commentary, in Dante’s handling not even resemblant of any of the descriptions of him found in classical literature. In other words, Dante has put the veracity of the entire Comedy (here named for the first of only two times [the second occurs at Inf. XXI.2]) upon the reality of Geryon. Where such as Ferrucci (Ferr.1971.1) use the passage to argue that Dante here obviously admits that his poem is no “historical” record of an “actual” journey, Hollander (Holl.1976.1), pp. 111–12; 132–33, bases his countering argument in his perception that the ground for Dante’s choice of the “allegory of the theologians” for the Comedy lay in his battle with St. Thomas over the literal untruth of poetry; thus, according to him, Dante “claims that his poem is literally true while tacitly admitting that he has made it all up” (p. 133). The difference between these two positions may seem slight, but is major, for one reads the poem differently according as one admits or denies the applicability of theological allegory to its making and to its understanding.
For Dante’s distinctions between tragedy and comedy see the concluding discussion in the note to Inferno XX.106–114. [return to English / Italian]
133–136. The concluding simile asks the reader to imagine a detail that cannot be seen: “something other hidden in the sea”; one might argue that precisely this inability to describe what cannot be seen marks the guarantee of Dante’s “realistic” descriptive narrative. Makers of “mere fictions” operate under no such limit.
For Geryon as palombaro, that is, a man who releases anchors from the objects they attach to and then pulls himself back up to the surface by a cord thrown into the water with him, see Baldelli (Bald.1993.1). [return to English / Italian]
Endnote. The debate concerning homosexuality in these cantos. There has been much recent debate about whether or not the sin punished here is in fact homosexuality. The principal negative findings are those advanced by André Pézard (Peza.1950.1), Richard Kay (Kay.1978.1), and Peter Armour (Armo.1983.1; Armo.1991.1). (Pézard’s solution is that these sinners were guilty of blasphemy in deriding the mother tongue; Kay’s, that they were guilty of denying the political supremacy of the empire; Armour’s, that Brunetto was guilty of a Manichaean heresy. For bibliography of other recent discussions see Contrada [Cont.1995.1].) One of the principal issues facing those who oppose these interesting arguments is that in purgatory homosexuality is regarded a sin of lust and thus of incontinence. If it is punished here, in Violence, it would be in a different category than it occupies there. Had Dante thought of homosexuality as the sin against nature when he composed Inferno, with its basic organization taken from Aristotle and Cicero, and as a sin of lust when he composed the second cantica, organized by the seven capital sins? If he did so, perhaps he should not have. Despite the significant contradiction that results, most students of the problem remain convinced that the sin punished in Cantos XV and XVI is in fact homosexuality, and are supported by the text itself. The sin punished here is surely what is referred to by the name of the city “Soddoma” (Sodom) at Inferno XI.50; in Purgatorio XXVI.40 the penitent homosexuals call out that word in self-identification and penitence (and report that they do so at XXVI.79). If Dante had wanted us to separate the two sins, he made it awfully difficult for us to follow his logic in so doing. (For an attempt to rationalize the discrepancy see Pequigney [Pequ.1991.1], pp. 31–39.)