ARACHNE,
ARGUS, AND ST. JOHN.
TRANSGRESSIVE
ART IN DANTE AND OVID
Teodolinda Barolini
In lieu of the traditional portrayal of Dante as an ingenuous and
filial devotee of his classical forerunners, American critics have recently proposed a less benign poet who deliberately revises the work of even
his most beloved precursors. The paradigm that has emerged from this
recent critical interest in Dante's relations with his classical precursors,
not to mention his relations with precursors in general, is a spiral-like
configuration of confiscation and correction, whereby Dante avails
himself of the genius of classical antiquity while at the same time revising it in such a way as to demonstrate its defects and limitations, in a
word, its non-Christianity. Thus, the Commedids classical intertextuality works to make palpable, by contrast to the shadows of Limbo, the
bright — and especially the truthful — new world of the Christian dispensation. While, in the case of Virgil, this paradigm operates both with
respect to the text of the Aeneid and with respect to the Virgilian persona D a n t e constructs for his poem, in the case of Ovid such practices
are almost exclusively textual, directed at the Metamorphoses rather than
at an Ovidian persona who appears only briefly in Limbo. 1 T h e y are
also much more overt; Dante never uses vis-a-vis Virgil the harsh and
strident tone with which in Inferno X X V he silences the poet of the
Metamorphoses, announcing that he has bested him in the art of poetic
transformation:
Taccia di C a d m o e d'Aretusa Ovidio,
che se quello in serpente e quella in fonte
converte poetando, io non lo 'nvidio;
che due nature mai a fronte a fronte
Mediaevalia,
V o l . 13, 1987
non trasmuto si ch'amendue le forme
a cambiar lor matera fosser pronte.
(Inf. X X V . 97-102) 2
Let Ovid be silent regarding C a d m u s and Arethusa,
for — if he in poetizing converts the one into a serpent
and the other into a fountain — I do not envy him, since
he never transmuted two natures front to front so that
both forms were ready to change their substance.
This critique, which implicidy defines pagan metamorphosis as repetitive,
non-regenerative, and dead-ended, and contrasts it to Christian
metamorphosis, conversion in this life and rebirth in the next, handily
exemplifies Dante's treatment of Ovid within the Commedia.3 If in this
essay I distance myself somewhat from this model of a revisionistic or
corrective poet, it is not because I do not believe that it is frequently
the operative paradigm or because I am recanting the readings put forth
in my earlier work. Rather, I am concerned that our insistence on Dante's
corrections of classical antiquity, which began as an attempt to replace
impressionistic critical enthusiasms with a more rigorous assessment of
the poem's intertextuality, now risks binding the text's paradoxes in a
straightjacket of medieval orthodoxy that is every bit as confining and
impoverishingly unilateral. 4 M y view of a dialectical D a n t e has deepened
to the point that I consider it imperative to demonstrate both sides of
the equation: not just the corrections that make D a n t e appear so
orthodox, but also the emulations that make him so radical.
W e must be careful not to settle too complacently into an in malo/in
bono approach, remembering that Dante is a supremely dialectical poet,
w h o always preserves both horns of whatever dilemma he is confronting. With respect to classical antiquity, and especially the poets he defies
theological protocol to celebrate as "la bella scola" in his Limbo, D a n t e
displays a fervor of appreciation that is an integral component of his
prehumanistic forma mentis and of his entire poem, and that cannot simply
be discounted later on, from heaven's privileged perspective, as an
outgrown infernal commodity. L i m b o is indeed a place of shadow in
comparison to the dazzlement of paradise, but we should never
underestimate the significance of the light that Dante assigns to
the "honorable folk" of the noble castle, the special dispensation he
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imagines — having already imagined, against all precedent, that they
belong in L i m b o at all — that their honored names have w o n for them
in heaven. T h e tranquil and undramatic pace of Inferno I V should not
cause us to overlook the melodramatic and theologically willful nature
of the canto's implied poetic choices, its suppression of unbaptized infants (for w h o m , if for anyone, theologians declared their sympathies)
in favor of pagan poets and philosophers. 5 While it is true, as scholars
of the Renaissance never tire of pointing out, that Dante places Aristotle and the others in hell, it is also true, and much more relevant to Dante's
contemporaries, and thus to Dante himself, that he places them in Limbo.
M y point is that, although the poem is replete with "corrections" of Ovid,
one should not therefore leap to the assumption that D a n t e is correcting out of existence the enormous tribute implied by the heterodoxy of
Inferno I V . 6 T h a t tribute exists, and is one horn of an unresolved dialectic that we must handle with care, lest we smooth over the tensions that,
precisely by impairing the stability of the mighty edifice, provide us an
unmatched source of insight into its construction.
A s it happens, Inferno X X V amply illustrates such tensions; its strong
dose of what Auerbach calls Dante's "tensely dramatic relationship to
his o w n work"7 has fostered a recent critical debate focused on Dante's
poetic pride. In 1973 Richard Terdiman framed the issue in terms of
Dante's "problematical virtuosity"; noting that his "extreme pride in his
craftsmanship, which seems to force its way into the poem here in the
Seventh Bolgia, posed a serious moral problem within Dante's system
of belief, and necessarily requires a correction," Terdiman suggests that
such correction comes later in the poem, with Oderisi's critique of artistic pride in Purgatorio X I and with the allegedly non-virtuosic simplicity
of the Paradiso's Beatrician poetry. 8 Although he posits sufficient selfawareness on Dante's part to mandate a correction, his essential argument is that Dante is in the grip of historical forces; in this respect, he
echoes Auerbach, who had argued that Dante's very success in figuring
reality poses a danger to the divine order he wishes to celebrate. 9 Taking issue with Terdiman's assumption that the poetic pride of canto X X V
is "spontaneous and unconscious," Peter Hawkins proposes a fully conscious poet, whose error in the bolgia of the thieves is "both deliberate
and heuristic," part of a plan that includes the juxtaposition of this bolgia
with Ulysses: "In Cantos X X I V - X X V Dante deliberately loosens the
grip on his genius and in his subsequent flight shows the tendency in
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all poets to become a Phaeton, an Icarus, a Ulysses." 1 0 With respect
to subsequent correction, Hawkins turns to Oderisi, to Purgatorio X X I V ' s
demonstration of a non-Ulyssean "willingness to fly 'di retro al dittator,' "
and to the "redeemed poesis" of the Paradiso. It is interesting that, for
all their differences, both critics approvingly cite the lesson Dante learns
from Oderisi; on the terrace of pride, they tell us, the artistic hubris
displayed earlier in the p o e m is deflated. In challenging this view, I will
begin by looking at Dante's Ovid-like handling of the mythological figure
most associated with artistic pride, Arachne.
Arachne is first invoked in the context of a description of Geryon,
who in many ways sets the stage for our discourse; he is a monster derived
from classical mythology whose patently fictional characteristics Dante
first heightens and then uses as the stake on which to gamble the veracity of his poem:
Sempre a quel ver c'ha faccia di menzogna
de l'uom chiuder le labbra fin ch'el puote,
però che sanza colpa fa vergogna;
m a qui tacer noi posso; e per le note
di questa comedìa, lettor, ti giuro,
s'elle non sien di lunga grazia vote,
ch'i' vidi per quell' aere grosso e scuro
venir notando una figura in suso,
maravigliosa ad ogne cor sicuro . . .
{Inf. X V I . 124-32)
T o that truth which has the face of a lie a m a n should
always close his lips as long as he can, since without fault
it brings him shame, but here I cannot be silent; and
by the notes of this comedy, reader, I swear to you —
so may they not be empty of long grace — that I saw
through that dense and dark air a figure come swimming upward, a cause for marvel to even the most secure
of hearts. . . .
In this context, already brimming with artistic self-consciousness, the
poet introduces the Lydian weaver, comparing the designs on Geryon's
flanks to the webs woven by Arachne: "né fuor tai tele per Aragne im-
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poste" ( I n f . X V I I . 18: nor were such webs loomed by Arachne). Here
too — not coincidentally the locus of the poem's self-baptism as a
"comedìa," a term that should be glossed, as I have argued elsewhere,
with the earlier "ver c'ha faccia di menzogna" — Dante establishes a precedent that has important repercussions for our theme of artistic pride and
the episode of Inferno X X V : to wit, the least credible of his representations will be supported by the most unyielding and overt of authorial
interventions. 1 1 T h u s , just as in the Geryon episode Dante weds
"maravigliosa" with "vidi," thereby closing off all escape routes to both
himself and us by going out of his way to insist that he sees something
that he acknowledges is incredible — and thereby, incidentally, creating
a "truth that has the face of a lie" — so, faced with the equally fantastic
sight of the thieves' metamorphoses, the poet opts for a bold frontal attack on the reader's credulity: "Se tu se' or, lettore, a creder lento / ciò
ch'io dirò, n o n sarà maraviglia, / ché io che '1 vidi, a pena il mi consento" ( I n f . X X V . 4 6 - 4 8 : If you are now, reader, slow to believe what I will
say, it is no wonder, since I who saw it hardly consent to it myself).
T h e Geryon episode is fundamental to the Commedia's poetics, which
we might call the poetics of the mira vera — true marvels — using the
expression Dante coins for the miraculous flute, an instrument that produces not sounds but words, in one of his Eclogues.12 This oxymoronic
formulation demonstrates the poet's awareness of his own intransigence
and corresponds precisely to the equally oxymoronic juxtaposition of
"maravigliosa" ("mira") with "io vidi" ("vera"). Far from giving quarter,
backing off when the materia being represented is too maravigliosa to be
credible, D a n t e raises the ante by using such moments to underscore
his poem's veracity, its status as historical scribal record of what he saw.
Thus, in another of the Inferno's moments of greatest maraviglia, as the
narrator sets out to represent the headless Bertran de Born, he reapplies the "Geryon principle," once again challenging the reader to
disbelieve him:
M a io rimasi a riguardar lo stuolo,
e vidi cosa ch'io avrei paura,
sanza più prova, di contarla solo;
se non che conscienza m'assicura,
la buona compagnia che l'uom francheggia
sotta l'asbergo del sentirsi pura.
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Io vidi certo, e ancor par ch'io '1 veggia,
u n busto sanza capo . . . . ( I n f . X X V I I I .
112-19)
But I remained to look over the troop, and I saw a thing
that I would be afraid even to recount without more
proof, except that m y conscience — the good companion
that gives a man courage under the hauberk of feeling
itself pure — reassures me. I certainly saw, and still seem
to see, a trunk without a head . . . .
Dante's strategy is bold, but it is also logical. By underlining what is
apparently least verisimilar in his representation, and by letting us know
that he fully shares our assessment regarding this material's lack of
verisimilitude, which he does by posing as reluctant to represent it lest
we lose confidence in him, the narrator secures our confidence for the
rest of his story. W h y is the plight of the lustful or the gluttonous any
more verisimilar, or any more credible, than the plight of the thieves
or the schismatics? By urging us to identify heightened drama with
decreased verisimilitude and credibility, Dante is subtly encouraging
us to accept his text's basic fictions and assumptions: usurers with purses
around their necks are acceptable, but flying monsters are not. In this
way he becomes the arbiter of our skepticism, allowing it to blossom
forth only in authorially sanctioned m o m e n t s of high drama.
The question of verisimilitude is brought most explicitly to the fore
on purgatory's terrace of pride, where the travelers encounter visual mira
vera, visual analogues to the artistic wonder of the singing flute. As the
flute bypasses its normal role as a purveyor of art to become a purveyor
of reality, bringing Mopsus' words to life, so the marble engravings of
this terrace are not "veri-similar" but the ver — truth — itself: "Morti
li morti e i vivi parean vivi: / non vide mei di m e chi vide il vero" (Purg.
X I I . 6 7 - 6 8 : T h e dead seemed dead and the living alive: he w h o saw the
truth saw n o better than I). By concentrating on the divine authorship
of the engravings, to which the poet alerts us only after the lengthy
ecphrases of Purgatorio X , we have allowed Dante to obscure the crucial
question: why does he choose to posit an art that is the equivalent of
life, deliberately putting himself in the position of having to re-present
God's more than verisimilar art with his own? As I have shown elsewhere,
Dante's ecphrases are skillfully wrought, compounded of narrative devices
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that work to make the engravings affect the reader as real, blurring the
boundary between art and life; 13 these same devices also blur the distinction between God's representation and the representation that represents
it. As the sculpted figures in the engravings are portrayed as real, so
the "reéd" souls of the terrace are portrayed as works of art: their speech
patterns are m a d e to recall those of the sculpted widow, and they are
likened to caryatids, 1 4 whose non-real suffering causes real distress in
the observer. Dante thus sustains rather than lessens our confusion
regarding what is art and what is life; his rendering of the engravings
and their context conspires to suggest the interchangeability of the divine
and h u m a n artists. A n d , indeed, what are Dante's textual goals if not
the achievement of a supreme verisimilitude, an art in which "the dead
seem dead and the living alive"?
D a n t e is not unaware of the dangers inherent in such goals, the
dangers, in fact, of claiming that his subject is "quella materia ond'io
son fatto scriba" {Par. X . 2 7 : that matter of which I a m made the scribe).
His awareness causes him not to desist from what he is doing, but to
invoke the figure of Ulysses, who in m y opinion functions in the Commedia as a lightning rod placed in the poem to attract and defuse the
poet's consciousness of the presumption involved in anointing oneself
scriba Dei. A m o n g the examples of pride, therefore, we find Arachne,
accompanied by the adjective folle, which signals Ulysses and reminds
us that she is his surrogate in the sphere of art: 15
O folle Aragne, sì vedea io te
già mezza ragna, trista in su li stracci
de l'opera che mal per te si fé. (Purg. X I I . 43-45)
O mad Arachne, I saw you already half spider, wretched
on the rags of the work that evilly by you was done.
Although commentators have routinely indicated the Metamorphoses as
the source for this e x e m p l u m , none to my knowledge has noted that
Ovid's account of Arachne and Dante's terrace of pride share an authorial
self-consciousness that is underscored by their common use of ecphrasis
(wherein one form of representation undertakes to represent another),
or that the Ovidian story demonstrates the dangers of h u m a n representation in a way that is extremely suggestive in the context of Purgatorio
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X - X I I . 1 6 Like Daedalus, Arachne is famous for her art ("non ilia loco
nec origine gentis / clara, sed arte fuit" [7-8]: she was famous not for
place of birth or ancestry, but for her art), the art of weaving in which
she will yield pride of place not even to Minerva. 1 7 Like Phaeton, whose
steeds run wild ("ruunt" [2.167, 204]), Arachne, called "temeraria"
("reckless" [32]), rushes to her fate: "in sua fata ruit" (51). Ovid's language
underscores the connection between textile pursuits and textuality: when
Arachne challenges the goddess to a contest, the narrator describes how
the contestants set up their webs ("intendunt . . . telas" [54]), how different colors are woven ("texitur" [62]) onto the loom, and finally how
each embroiders into her fabric an ancient story ("vetus . . . argumentum" [69]). A s G o d inscribes his warnings into stone, so Minerva (for
w h o m Ovid interchanges verbs like "pingit" and "inscribit") attempts to
warn her rival ("aemula" [83]) with embroidered examples ("exemplis"
[83]). But, if the goddess' work is so effective that one of her figures
appears to weep ("lacrimare videtur" [100]), Arachne's is such that not
only does Europa seem to be looking back and calling to her companions on the shore, but an observer would think that the bull and the
sea were real: "verum taurum, freta vera putares" (104).
Arachne, aemula indeed, matches verisimilitude with greater
verisimilitude. Thematically too, Arachne is the goddess' rival, answering Minerva's pictures of stately gods and humbled mortals with pictures of deceitful gods and violated mortals. Minerva's "text" is double:
it shows the gods gathered for an artistic creation of sorts, the n a m i n g
of Athens, and, in the corners, it depicts m e n and w o m e n changed from
their original forms as punishment for their presumption; those who dared
to emulate the gods ("nomina summorum sibi qui tribuere deorum" [89]:
who attributed to themselves the names of the most high gods) have
become a frame to set off the gods' accomplishments. Arachne counters
with an act of creation that is not only as accomplished as Minerva's
— "Non illud Pallas, non illud carpere Livor / possit opus" (129-30:
Not Pallas, not Envy, could criticize that work) — but that sets out to
expose the gods' failings; her Olympians use their powers not to create
a great city, but to adopt other shapes in order to deceive and seduce.
Both embroiderers weave miniature versions of the text that tells their
tale, Ovid's Metamorphoses: Minerva shows the metamorphoses of men,
Arachne the metamorphoses of gods, Ovid the metamorphoses of both. 1 8
In this passage, Ovid — like Dante on the terrace of pride — depicts
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a depicting strangely like his own; like Dante, he seems aware of the
perils of his o w n project.
Also like Dante, Ovid plays with the slippery boundaries of mimesis;
he too offers an example of ultimate verisimilitude, much like that of
the purgatorial engravings, in his story of Pygmalion, whose female
sculpture comes to life, and whose art is so skilled that it conceals itself:
"ars adeo latet arte sua" (10.252). Perhaps not surprisingly, given their
c o m m o n concern with crossing boundaries, Dante follows his eclogue's
singing flute with an allusion to another Ovidian figure w h o confuses
the boundaries between nature and art, the animate and inanimate: 1 9
Midas. 2 0 T h e flute, in its ability to form words, is said to be similar
to the reeds that exposed the shame of Midas' ass's ears b y repeating
the secret that his slave had whispered into a hole in the ground; the
ass's ears, we recall, were visited u p o n Midas by Apollo w h e n the king
assininely judged Pan's playing superior to that of the god. Dante
drastically conflates the two phases of Midas' story — first, his wish for
the golden touch, and the subsequent bathing in the river that removes
it; second, his interference in the contest between Pan and Apollo,
rewarded by the ass's ears that, by contrast, he must learn to live with —
in four dense verses:
Tibia non sentis quod fit virtute canora
numinis et similis natis de murmure cannis,
murmure pandenti turpissima tempora regis
qui iussu Bromii Pactolida tinxit arenam?
(50-53)
D o you not understand that the flute is m a d e songful
by virtue of a god and is similar to the reeds born of
the whisper, the whisper that revealed the most shameful
temples of the king w h o by order of Bromius [Bacchus]
colored the Pactolian sands?
Dante's version of the Ovidian account harbors two acts that could be
exploited as examples of artistic hubris: Midas' transgression of the
boundary between nature and art, recalled by the colored sands that
absorb the golden tincture as it washes out of the king; and the misplaced
critical judgment that leads to his ass's ears and thus to his barber's
revelatory murmur. But, apart from the censure implicit in "turpissima
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tempora," Dante does not evoke Ovid to condemn artistic hubris; rather,
he compares the singing flute, its successful transgression of the boundary between art and life, to the reeds that have been rendered, by virtue of a god — virtute numinis — similarly transgressive. T h e breath of
life that Apollo gives to the reeds foretells that life that is conferred upon
the flute: Ovid's art anticipates Dante's. 2 1
The position that holds the prideful stance of Inferno X X V a selfcorrecting aberration posits a counter-Ovidian typology. In Peter
Hawkins' study of Purgatorio X X X I I , O v i d is viewed as "a counter-type
for the poet of the Commedia," with the result that Dante's use of Ovidian material in deploring his inability to represent himself while falling asleep signals the "narrowly aesthetic and ultimately self-serving
preoccupations" into which D a n t e as poet is still capable of momentarily lapsing and from which he is roused by the Scripturally-attuned voice
that awakens him. 2 2 Comparing his slumber to that of Argus when Mercury's narrative prowess finally conquers all his wakeful eyes, the poet
wishes that he could represent the experience of falling alseep:
S'io potessi ritrar come assonnaro
li occhi spietati udendo di Siringa,
li occhi a cui pur vegghiar costo si caro;
come pintor che con essempro pinga,
disegnerei com'io m'addormentai;
m a qual vuol sia che 1'assonnar ben finga.
(.Purg. X X X I I . 64-69)
If I could depict how the pitiless eyes closed in sleep while
listening about Syrinx — eyes whose wakefulness cost
so dear — then as a painter who paints from his model,
I would draw how I fell asleep; but let someone else be
the one w h o adequately represents the act of falling
asleep.
This passage is followed by a simile in which the pilgrim's awakening
is likened to that of the aposdes Peter, James, and John when they awaken
after the sight of the transfigured Christ. Far from disputing the pointed
transition that Dante has effected from classical to Christian experience,
I would sharpen it by noting his emphasis on Argus' eyes in the anaphoric
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"li occhi spietati . . . li occhi a cui," and by pointing out that on the one
other occasion in which Argus is mentioned in the Commedia his eyes
are also a focal point. Occurring as it does within these same visionary
cantos that end the second canticle, the passage in question is undoubtedly
related to the passage in canto X X X I I ; again, the context is a selfconscious authorial meditation on representation, and again we find a
marked transition from classical to Christian, indeed from Argus to St.
John:
O g n u n o era pennuto di sei ali;
le penne piene d'occhi; e li occhi d'Argo,
se fosser vivi, sarebber cotali.
A descriver lor forme più n o n spargo
rime, lettor; ch'altra spesa mi strigne,
tanto ch'a questa non posso esser largo;
m a leggi Ezechìel, che li dipigne
come li vide da la fredda parte
venir con vento e con nube e con igne;
e quali i troverai ne le sue carte,
tali eran quivi, salvo ch'a le penne
Giovanni è meco e da lui si diparte.
(Purg. X X I X . 94-105)
Each one was feathered with six wings, and the feathers
were full of eyes; the eyes of Argus, if they were alive,
would be like these. In describing their forms I will scatter
no more rhymes, reader, for other spending constrains
me, so much so that I cannot be generous in this one.
But read Ezekiel, who depicts them as he saw them come
from the cold parts with wind and cloud and fire, and
as you find them in his pages, so were they here, except
that in the matter of the wings J o h n is with me and
departs from him.
Twice, then, a transition is enacted from the eyes of Argus to the
eyes of Christian visionaries, with the common denominator on the Christian side of the equation being the author of the Apocalypse, the sighted
text par excellence. T h e issue is emphatically sight — what Argus sees,
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what the pilgrim sees, what Ezekiel sees, what J o h n sees, what Dante
sees, what O v i d sees — and Dante is certainly letting us know that he
sees better than Ovid (but let us not forget that he sees better than Ezekiel
too!). T h e clarity of vision to winch Dante aspires is that of J o h n , who
foresaw the very vicissitudes of the church that are revealed to the pilgrim
in Purgatorio X X X I I ; as a telling periphrasis later in the poem reminds
us, J o h n is "quei che vide tutti i tempi gravi, / pria che morisse, de la
bella sposa / che s'acquistò con la lancia e coi davi" {Par. X X X I I . 127-29:
he w h o saw, before he died, all the grave times of the beautiful bride
who was won with the spear and nails). J o h n is invoked in the Purgatorio's
final cantos with unusual frequency (we should bear in mind that the
"Vangelista," as J o h n is called in a context informed by the same
politicized apocalyptic imagery that imbues Purgatorio X X X I I , and the
author of Revelation are for Dante one and the same): in canto X X I X ,
Dante's identification with J o h n is expressed by way of the formula
"Giovanni è meco," in which the poet tells us that John agrees with him
in the matter of the wings of the "quattro animali" who surround the
chariot; also in canto X X I X we find the Apocalypse personified in a
way that underscores the text's sightedness, by an old m a n who comes
forward "dormendo, con la faccia arguta" (144: sleeping, with a
penetrating gaze); finally, in the simile of canto X X X I I , "Pietro e Giovanni e Iacopo" see their master changed back to his earlier form after seeing his transfigured form in vision. John's triple appearance in the
allegorical procession, as one of the winged animals figuring the gospels,
as one of the minor Epistles ("Poi vidi quattro in umile paruta" [142]:
Then I saw four with humble appearance), and finally, "di retro da tutti,"
as the senex figuring the Apocalypse, need not per se indicate the special
importance D a n t e attaches to him. However, D a n t e also finds a way
to introduce his n a m e , alone a m o n g the four evangelists, and to pair
it with that of the prophet Ezekiel, thus creating a visionary configuration that is reprised and brought home by the sleep-walking senex and
the awakened apostle of the simile. 2 3
Argus' sight leads J u n o to choose him as guardian for Io and thus
to his death at Mercury's hands; therefore, his sight costs him dearly
("li occhi a cui pur vegghiar costò sì caro"), costs him his life. Sight leads
to sleep leads to death. In the case of the apostles, and in the case of
the poet who will shortly be enjoined to transcribe what he sees — "Però,
in pro del mondo che mal vive, / al carro tieni or li occhi, e quel che
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vedi, / ritornato di là, fa che tu scrive" (Purg. X X X I I . 103-5: Therefore,
on behalf of the world that lives badly, fix your eyes on the chariot, and
— when you've returned over there — make sure you write what^ou
see [italics mine]) — sight follows sleep rather than preceding it: sleep
leads to sight leads to life. Visionary sleep occurs regularly in the Commedia — we think of Ugolino, of the dreams of Purgatorio, of St. Dominic's
godmother, who "vide nel sonno il mirabile frutto / ch'uscir dovea di
lui e de le rede" {Par. X I I . 6 5 - 6 6 : saw in sleep the marvellous fruit that
was to c o m e from him and from his heirs); indeed, as far as we can infer from his elliptical comments, visionary sleep underlies the experience
of the Commedia!s author, who is "pien di sonno a quel punto / che la
verace via abbandonai" ( I n f . 1.11-12: full of sleep at that point when
I abandoned the true path), and whose vision draws to an end "perché '1
tempo fugge che t'assonna" (Par. X X X I I . 139: because the time that puts
you to sleep flees). This comment of St. Bernard's is proleptically glossed
by the Apocalypse-««** of Purgatorio X X I X , whose "faccia arguta"
penetrates the unknown while he sleeps; for Dante as for John, the
Vangelista, this kind of sleep does not compromise the truth of a vision,
but rather makes vision possible. The vision afforded the aposdes in their
sleep, the vision afforded the senex in his sleep, the "visione / estatica"
afforded the pilgrim on the terrace of wrath 2 4 — all are analogues to
the vision afforded Dante as author of this poem, analogues to the
Commedia.25
T h e transition from Argus to St. J o h n reminds u s that Dante sees
better than Ovid, but it does not therefore signify that the poet's expressed desire to represent the Ovidian act of falling asleep is wrong.
T o represent the act that Dante denotes with the verb assonnare would
be to represent transition into the state that furnishes the materia of the
poem, and especially the Paradiso, the state that, as Augustine speculates,
may have furnished St. Paul his experience of the third heaven. 2 6 Transition in the Commedia is regularly represented by sleep, a quintessentially liminal condition that participates in both life and death ("Io non
mori' e non rimasi vivo," says the poet in a moment of heightened transition, as he faces Lucifer and prepares to leave hell); the pilgrim's faints
in early hell and his dreams in purgatory are literalizations of sleep as
a metaphor for transition. But the verb assonnare is reserved by Dante
for supreme transition, for the rapt reverence that overcomes him in
the presence of Beatrice, bowing him over "come l'uom ch'assonna"
219
(Par. VII. 15: like the m a n who falls alseep), a phrase that yields the
poem's only use of assonnare besides St. Bernard's " '1 tempo fugge che
t'assonna" and the two uses in our Argus passage of Purgatorio X X X I I :
"S'io potessi ritrar come assonnaro . . . m a qual vuol sia che 1'assonnar
ben finga." T h e somnolence that overcomes the pilgrim at the sound
of Beatrice's name is related to the ecstatic torpor that overcomes him
on the terrace of wrath, where the ability to stumble along "a guisa di
cui vino o sonno piega" (Purg. X V . 123: like o n e w h o m wine or sleep
bends over), 2 7 until he frees himself "si com' o m che dal sonno si slega"
(119: as a m a n w h o unbinds himself from sleep), indicates a waking
sleep, like that of the old man figuring the Apocalypse in the procession. 2 8 If he could depict the assonnare of Argus' eyes, says the poet, then
"disegnerei com'io m'addormentai." What he wishes he could represent
is the transition — the metamorphosis — into the potentially visionary
state — not visionary for Argus, who could only see while awake, but
visionary for those, like the disciples in the simile, w h o can see while
sleeping — that generates the non-false error of the p o e m . 2 9
W e come back, via Dante's metamorphic assonnare, a marvellous
fusion of Ovidian and Johannine elements, to the problem of transgressive
art. The problem is, to put it blundy, the circular scale created b y claiming to be God's scribe. O n e cannot cite Dante's scribal role, his avowed
following behind the dittator, as a sign of his poetic humility; he realizes,
even if we do not — having succumbed to a textual metaphysics that
prevents us from analyzing the conditions that give rise to the illusion
that such a metaphysics is possible — that his is a self-assigned scribal
role, destining his humility to plunge toward pride and his pride to convert to humility in dizzying succession. In other words, he knows that
he wrote the words that assign h i m his prophetic/poetic task; he knows
that he wrote what Beatrice, Cacciaguida, and St. Peter tell him, as
pilgrim, to do. V e r y little attempt has been made to study the strategies
whereby D a n t e works to prevent us from knowing what he knows, the
unremitting and subliminal narrative techniques that make us accept
the poem's claims unquestioningly, answering questions about its poet
with answers that he confected. W e have distinguished between the
pilgrim and the poet, and now we distinguish the poet at one stage of
his journey from the poet at a later stage; indeed, our willingness to
label him at given moments smug or prideful, narcissistic or self-serving,
testifies to our need to develop perspective on a poem that gives us
220
precious little purchase. Distinguishing what Dante says from what Dante
does, however, w e realize that the narrative events (as compared to the
thematic events) of the terrace of pride hardly constitute a correction
of the narrative events of the bolgia of the thieves; instead Purgatorio XII's
acrostic, the inscribing of a visual art of Dante's own into the representation of God's visual art, is an emblem of the paradoxical situation in
which Dante has placed himself, whereby his art becomes an Arachnean act of rivalling emulation. This paradox is inherent in any textuality that sets itself up, without the benefit of a literally biblical pedigree,
as an analogue to St. John's. Moreover, far from diminishing as the
poem proceeds, the problem becomes more acute: the Paradiso, if it is
to exist at all, cannot fail to be transgressive; the poet cannot fail to be
a Ulysses, since only a trapassar del segno will be able to render the experience of trasumanar.30 In this sense, I endorse Auerbach's conclusion
that the Commedia's form imperils its content; but I would add that Dante
knows it. 3 1
N e w York University
NOTES
1.
For Dante's handling of the Aeneid, see Robert Hollander, Il Virgilio dantesco: tragedia
nella Commedia (Firenze, 1983); for Dante's h a n d l i n g of his Virgil-character, see
T e o d o l i n d a Barolini, Dante's Poets: Textuality and Truth in the Comedy (Princeton,
1984), chap. 3. Previous studies in this area were devoted to a fairly straightforw a r d appraisal of the extent of Dante's use of a given a u t h o r (see Dante's Poets,
pp. 188-99, for a survey of Dante's indebtedness to his classical authors and for
relevant bibliography).
2.
T h e text of the Commedia is from the critical edition of Giorgio Petrocchi, La Commedia secondo l'antica vulgata, 4 vols. ( M i l a n o , 1966-1967); translations are m i n e .
3.
See Dante's Poets, pp. 2 2 3 - 2 6 , where I argue that "the superiority of Dante's
m e t a m o r p h o s e s derives from that which they parody; as negative versions of o n e
of the greatest of Christian mysteries, the dual nature of Christ, they resonate
with a p o w e r not available to their classical counterparts" (p. 2 2 4 ) .
4.
S u c h swings are a feature of D a n t e studies: I am r e m i n d e d of p r e v i o u s attempts
to align till of Dante's theology with that of St. T h o m a s .
221
5.
G i o r g i o P a d o a n attests e l o q u e n t l y to Dante's c o n s c i o u s and deliberate
flouting
of theological t h o u g h t on L i m b o in "II L i m b o dantesco," orig. 1969, rpt. Il pio
Enea, l'empio Ulisse ( R a v e n n a , 1977), pp. 103-24.
6.
P a d o a n n o t e s the added difficulty p o s e d by the not entirely virtuous lives o f some
o f the p a g a n s — i n c l u d i n g O v i d — w h o m D a n t e c h o o s e s to celebrate: "anzi tra
quelle addirittura accolte nel nobile castello, erano Lucrezia suicida, C e s a r e di
cui nello stesso Purgatorio si ricordano gli atti contro natura, O v i d i o la cui vita
fu n o t o r i a m e n t e tutt'altro c h e irreprensibile, e così via" (p. 115). In O v i d ' s case,
the p r o b l e m is further aggravated b y the fact that he lived b e y o n d the birth of
Christ (see P a d o a n , p. 106).
7.
Mimesis
( 1 9 4 6 ; rpt. Princeton, 1974), p. 185.
8.
"Problematical Virtuosity: Dante's D e p i c t i o n of the T h i e v e s , " Dante Studies,
91
( 1 9 7 3 ) , 2 7 - 4 5 ; q u o t a t i o n p. 42.
9.
A t the e n d of the "Farinata and Cavalcante" chapter in Mimesis,
A u e r b a c h writes:
"And by virtue of this i m m e d i a t e and a d m i r i n g s y m p a t h y with m a n , the principle, rooted in the d i v i n e order, of the indestructibility of the w h o l e historical and
individual m a n turns against that order, m a k e s it subservient to its o w n purposes,
a n d obscures it. T h e i m a g e of m a n eclipses the i m a g e of G o d . Dante's work made
man's Christian-figural b e i n g a reality, and destroyed it in the very process of
realizing it. T h e t r e m e n d o u s pattern w a s b r o k e n by the o v e r w h e l m i n g p o w e r of
the i m a g e s it had to contain" (p. 2 0 2 ) .
10.
"Virtuosity and V i r t u e : Poetic S e l f - R e f l e c t i o n in the Commedia," Dante Studies, 98
(1980), 1-18; quotations in this sentence from pp. 9, 1, and 11, in the next sentence
from pp. 13, 14.
11.
I argue that comedìa = "ver c'ha faccia di m e n z o g n a " in Dante's Poets, pp. 2 1 3 - 1 4 ,
where I note that I disagree with Franco Ferrucci, who takes the passage as Dante's
indication to us that his p o e m is m e r e l y m e t a p h o r i c a l , m a d e of lies ("Comedìa,"
1971, rpt. "The M e e t i n g with G e r y o n , " in The Poetics of Disguise [Ithaca, 1980],
pp. 6 6 - 1 0 2 ) , and agree instead with R o b e r t H o l l a n d e r , w h o writes that D a n t e
claims for G e r y o n "a literal verity" ("Dante Theologus-Poeta,"
in Dante [ R a v e n n a ,
1976, rpt. in Studies
1980], pp. 3 9 - 8 9 ; q u o t a t i o n p. 76). I strongly disagree,
h o w e v e r , with Hollander's belief that Dante's h a n d l i n g of the G e r y o n e p i s o d e involves an "authorial wink," and, by the same token, with his suggestion that Dante's
"Giovanni è meco" (in the matter of the w i n g s of the beasts w h o represent the
gospels in the procession) indicates that he "was not without a sense of humor"
(p. 77). T h e r e is n o h u m o r , n o Ariostesque irony, in these strategies. T h e y are
the most e x p o s e d w e a p o n s in a massive and u n r e l e n t i n g c a m p a i g n to coerce our
s u s p e n s i o n of disbelief, a c a m p a i g n that the history of the Commedia s reception
s h o w s to have been remarkably successful.
222
12.
In his second eclogue, D a n t e , personified as the a g e d Tityrus, receives the y o u n g
M e l i b e u s , w h o plays h i m M o p s u s ' ( G i o v a n n i del Virgilio's) n e w e c l o g u e o n his
flute. T h e w o n d e r is that, w h e n M e l i b e u s lifts his flute to h i s lips, it sings M o p sus' o p e n i n g verse; describing this miracle of the singing flute, the narrator inserts the phrase "mira loquar, sed vera tamen" ( 4 . 4 0 : I tell of m a r v e l s , but t h e y
are nonetheless true). Q u o t a t i o n s are from the edition of E n z o C e c c h i n i , in D a n t e
Alighieri, Opere minori, t o m o II, vol. 5 of La letteratura italiana: storia e testi ( M i l a n o N a p o l i , 1979). Translations are m i n e .
13.
See "Ricreare la creazione divina: l'arte aracnea della cornice dei superbi," in
Saggi danteschi americani, ed. G i a n Carlo Alessio a n d Robert H o l l a n d e r ( M i l a n o ,
1989).
14.
Although Dante's grotesque figures do not qualify as caryatids in the English sense
of the word, w h i c h includes o n l y the draped female figures of classical antiquity,
Italian uses the word to e n c o m p a s s both classical and m e d i e v a l corbel figures;
I use it here in c o n f o r m i t y with scholarship on Purgatorio
15.
X.
M y v i e w of U l y s s e s as a trapassatoi del segno places m e , generally, in the c a m p
of B r u n o N a r d i ("La tragedia d'Ulisse," Dante e la cultura medievale, 2 n d ed. rev.
[Bari, 1949], pp. 153-65) as compared to that of M a r i o Fubini ("Il peccato d'Ulisse"
and "Il canto X X V I dell'Inferno, " in II peccato d'Ulisse e altri scritti danteschi [ M i l a n o ,
1966], pp. 1 - 7 6 ) . A corollary to m y v i e w , which I hope to d e v e l o p in the study
of the Commedia's transgressive art on w h i c h I a m currently w o r k i n g , is that, if
the pilgrim learns to b e unlike U l y s s e s , the poet b e c o m e s ever m o r e c o n s c i o u s
of b e i n g like h i m . R e g a r d i n g the adjective folle, see U m b e r t o B o s c o , "La 'follia'
di D a n t e , " 1958, rpt. in Dante vicino ( C a l t a n i s e t t a - R o m a , 1966), pp. 55-75. O t h e r
U l y s s e a n surrogates in the Commedia are the "failed flyers" Icarus a n d P h a e t o n .
16.
T h e self-conscious c o m p o n e n t s o f Arachne's tale h a v e been m u c h discussed by
students of O v i d ; see especially Eleanor W i n s o r Leach, "Ekphrasis and the T h e m e
of Artistic Failure in Ovid's Metamorphoses,"
Ramus,
3 ( 1 9 7 4 ) , 102-42, w h o c o m -
m e n t s that ecphrases "offer the artist an opportunity to speak in propria persona
and to m a k e u s aware of the self-consciousness of his art through his attention
to the fictional artistry of s o m e other creator" (p. 104).
17.
Arachne's story is told in Metamorphoses
6 . 1 - 1 4 5 ; as Leach points o u t , it is o n e
of a series of contests b e t w e e n h u m a n artists and g o d s that occur in books 5 and
6. T h e Latin text is from the edition of W . S. A n d e r s o n (Leipzig, 1978). Translations are m i n e .
18.
In response to W . S. Anderson's s u g g e s t i o n that Ovid's o w n art is like Arachne's
a s y m m e t r i c a l and "baroque" tapestry, as c o m p a r e d to Minerva's balanced and
"classicistic" work, Leach c o m m e n t s that "it is not Arachne's tapestry alone, but
223
the t w o scenes in c o m b i n a t i o n that form a mirror o f the Metamorphoses" (p. 117);
for A n d e r s o n , s e e his r e v i e w to B r o o k s O t i s , Ovid as an Epic Poet, American Journal
of Philology,
8 9 ( 1 9 6 8 ) , 9 3 - 1 0 4 . O v i d ' s identification with A r a c h n e is sustained
also b y L e o n a r d Barkan, The Gods Made Flesh ( N e w H a v e n , 1986), pp. 1-4.
19.
Dante's interest in crossing the boundaries b e t w e e n the animate and the inanimate
goes back to Vita Nuova X X V , w h e r e he discusses the propriety of h a v i n g treated
L o v e as a n a n i m a t e b e i n g , "come se fosse corpo" (2), a n d a d d u c e s as justification
the b e h a v i o r of classical poets, w h o "hanno parlato a le cose i n a n i m a t e , sì c o m e
se a v e s s e r o s e n s o e ragione" (8). H e gives a n e x a m p l e from the Aeneid, in which
"parla la cosa c h e non è a n i m a t a a le cose animate" (9), an e x a m p l e f r o m L u c a n ,
in which "parla la cosa animata a la cosa inanimata" (9), an e x a m p l e f r o m H o r a c e ,
in w h i c h "parla l'uomo a la scienzia m e d e s i m a sì c o m e ad altra persona" (9), a n d
a n e x a m p l e f r o m O v i d ( w h i c h , interestingly, corresponds to his o w n case, the
h a n d l i n g of A m o r ) , in w h i c h "paria A m o r e , sì c o m e se fosse p e r s o n a u m a n a " (9).
Q u o t a t i o n s f r o m the Vita Nuova are from t h e edition of D o m e n i c o D e R o b e r t i s
(Milano-Napoli,
1980).
T h e conceit of the s i n g i n g flute also h a s roots in a l o n g s t a n d i n g interest in
crossing the b o u n d a r y b e t w e e n ("inanimate") s o u n d s and ("animate") words: in
the Convivio, D a n t e d e n i e s that the speech o f m a g p i e s a n d parrots constitutes real
s p e e c h , since it is based o n imitation a n d n o t o n reason ( 3 . 7 . 9 ) . H e m a k e s the
s a m e p o i n t in De Vulgari Eloquentia 1 . 2 . 7 , w h e r e he cites as a source for s p e a k i n g
m a g p i e s n o n e o t h e r t h a n Ovid's
20.
S e e Leach's insightful d i s c u s s i o n s of P y g m a l i o n ,
pp.
21.
Metamorphoses.
pp.
123-25,
and
Midas,
130-32.
T h e p a r a d i g m that e m e r g e s from the Eclogues is of particular significance because
these w o r k s b e l o n g to the last years of Dante's life, 1 3 2 0 - 1 3 2 1 , and, in the case
o f the s e c o n d e c l o g u e , perhaps to h i s last m o n t h s (see Cecchini's introduction,
pp. 6 4 8 - 4 9 ) . O n e could see these texts as p r o p o s i n g a final succinct statement
of D a n t e s q u e poetics, in w h i c h w e m o v e f r o m the first eclogue's d e f e n s e of comica
verba ( 2 . 5 2 ) to the second's ultimate gloss o f the p r o v i n c e of s u c h verba: mira vera.
22.
"Transfiguring the T e x t : O v i d , Scripture a n d the D y n a m i c s of Allusion," Stanford Italian Review,
5 ( 1 9 8 5 ) , 115-39; q u o t a t i o n s f r o m pp. 118 a n d 127. For
H a w k i n s , Dante's interest in representing his o w n falling asleep is "a pointless
( o n e m i g h t e v e n say sterile) preoccupation" (p. 126).
23.
In De Genesi ad litteram 12 (his c o m m e n t a r y to 2 C o r i n t h i a n s 1 2 . 2 - 4 , the verses
in w h i c h St. Paul a n n o u n c e s his raptus), A u g u s t i n e offers Peter, J o h n , Ezekiel
and Isaiah as visionary a n a l o g u e s to Paul: "Ac per h o c si p a r a d i s u m P a u l u s ita
vidit, ut apparuit Petro ille discus s u b m i s s u s e coelo (Act. X , 11), ut J o a n n i quidquid in A p o c a l y p s i se vidisse conscripsit ( A p o c . I, 12, etc.), ut Ezechieli c a m p u s
ille c u m ossibus m o r t u o r u m et ilia e o r u m resurrectio ( E z e c h . X X X V I I , 1-10),
224
ut Isaiae s e d e n s D e u s , et in c o n s p e c t u ejus S e r a p h i m , et ara u n d e c a r b o a s s u m p tus Prophetae labia mundavit (Isai. V I , 1-7); manifestum est e u m ignorare potuisse
u t r u m in corpore, an extra c o r p u s ea viderit" ( 1 2 . 2 . 5 ; Patrologia Latina
34.455).
In City of God 2 2 . 2 9 , h e brings together as visionaries P a u l , J o h n , and Elisha.
W h i l e Paul receives less attention than J o h n in the apocalyptic c a n t o s at the e n d
of the Purgatorio, he is a m o r e explicit m o d e l throughout the Commedia, from Inferno 11.32 ("Io n o n Enea, io n o n P a u l o sono") to Paradiso 1 . 7 3 - 7 5 , w h e r e D a n t e appropriates the verses f r o m 2 C o r i n t h i a n s that were of such interest to A u g u s t i n e .
24.
Purgatorio X V . 8 5 - 8 6 ; the i m p o r t a n c e of this p a s s a g e is further u n d e r s c o r e d b y
the fact that estatica is a h a p a x , not just in the Commedia, but in all of Dante's work.
25.
D i s c u s s i o n o f the verb assonnare leads to discussion o f the Commedia as vision; see
the Enciclopedia
Dantesca ( R o m a , 1 9 7 0 - 1 9 7 8 ) , s.v. assonnare, w h i c h refers us to
M i c h e l e Barbi's thoughts o n "perché 1 t e m p o f u g g e che t'assonna": "Non è qui
il l u o g o di trattare la q u e s t i o n e se D a n t e voglia far credere d'essere andato pei
cieli col c o r p o o senza . . . io c r e d o ch'egli voglia far intendere d'esserci stato corp o r a l m e n t e . C e r t o è c h e in tutta la Commedia dà a credere d'aver fatto u n v i a g g i o
reale pei regni ultraterreni, n o n d'aver a v u t o u n a v i s i o n e nel sonno" (Problemi di
critica dantesca, Prima serie [Firenze, 1934], p. 294). T h e fact is that D a n t e gives
us contradictory i n f o r m a t i o n o n this matter; n o r is it impossible that h e could
both insist h e h a d b e e n w h e r e h e says h e w a s and think h e w a s the recipient of
a true a n d prophetic v i s i o n . A s N i c o l ò M i n e o points out: "sia in u n s o g n o che
in u n a v i s i o n e p u ò accadere che il soggetto v e d a se stesso compiere azioni e niente
esclude che possa vedersi c o m p i e n t e a z i o n i in corpo" (Profetismo e apocalittica in
Dante [ C a t a n i a , 1968], p. 196).
26.
T h e s e c o n d chapter of De Genesi ad liiteram 12 treats d r e a m i n g and ecstasy u n d e r
the h e a d i n g "Apostolum potuisse nescire a n extra corpus p a r a d i s u m viderit, si
vidit in ecstasi." W i t h respect to d r e a m s , A u g u s t i n e notes that the soul is a w a k e
while the b o d y sleeps ("quamvis mirabiliter vigilans, a n i m a dormientis" [3]); with
respect to visions, he c l a i m s that the soul is r e m o v e d from the senses of the b o d y ,
m o r e than in sleep but less than in death ( 1 2 . 2 6 . 5 3 ) . Barbi suggestively relates
"perché '1 t e m p o f u g g e che t'assonna" to St. J o h n a n d to A u g u s t i n e o n St. Paul:
"il poeta, rapito ormai nella c o n t e m p l a z i o n e dei più profondi misteri, quasi dormiens vigilaret ( s o n parole di S. Agostino, a proposito del ratto di S. Paolo, e cfr.
Purg. X X I X , 144, o v e l'autore AeNApocalisse
si v i d e 'venir d o r m e n d o c o n la fac-
cia arguta')" (p. 294). (Since neither Barbi nor the ED, which repeats Barbi, gives
a m o r e precise reference for "quasi d o r m i e n s v i g i l a r « , " I will take this opportunity to n o t e that if the reference is to De Genesi ad litteram 1 2 . 5 . 1 4 , "et non quasi
d o r m i e n s evigilaret," the allusion is n o t , as Barbi suggests, to a w a k i n g sleep.)
Dante's sense of the i n t e r c o n n e c t e d n e s s of J o h n and Paul is n e v e r m o r e apparent
than in Paradiso X X V I , w h e r e the pilgrim, blinded as a result of h a v i n g gazed
at J o h n in a n effort to ascertain w h e t h e r he was raised to h e a v e n in the
flesh,
is c o m p a r e d to Paul, b l i n d e d by the vision of G o d o n the road to D a m a s c u s .
225
A l t h o u g h the pilgrim learns that o n l y M a r y and Christ were s o raised, his concern r e m i n d s us again of the crucial verses of 2 C o r i n t h i a n s , and of Dante's
rewriting of t h e m in Paradiso I: "S'i' era sol di m e quel che creasti / n o v e l l a m e n t e ,
a m o r che'l ciel governi, / tu '1 sai, che col tuo l u m e mi levasti" (73-75).
27.
Virgil's association of w a k i n g sleep with piegare, b e n d i n g , is reprised in Paradiso
V I I , w h e r e the s o u n d of Beatrice's n a m e "mi richinava c o m e l'uom ch'assonna."
28.
N a t a l i n o S a p e g n o makes the c o n n e c t i o n b e t w e e n "mi richinava c o m e l'uom
ch'assonna" and the visionary e x p e r i e n c e o f the terrace of wrath, as well as with
the dream-state the pilgrim enters at the e n d of Purgatorio X V I I I : "La similitudine
dell'uomo a s s o n n a t o , che a taluno è parsa i n o p p o r t u n a , p u ò esser m e g l i o intesa,
se la r i a c c o s t i a m o a due luoghi del Purg., X V , 118-23 e X V I I I , 87 e 1 4 4 - 4 5 , nel
primo dei quali la sonnolenza rappresenta l'uomo rapito fuori dei sensi e nel second o prelude a u n a visione profetica; in Par., X X X I I , 139, lo stesso vocabolo assonna
e s p r i m e p r o b a b i l m e n t e u n a c o n d i z i o n e di astrazione e di estasi" {La Divinia
Com-
media, 2 n d ed. [Firenze, 1968]). T h e negative reaction to this reading in the BoscoR e g g i o c o m m e n t a r y (La Divina Commedia [Firenze, 1979]), w h i c h n o t e s "ma qui
si parla di reverenza (v. 13) n o n di r a p i m e n t o estatico," strikes me as typical of
the excessive timidity with which w e h a n d l e Dante's s u g g e s t i o n s regarding what
is clearly a mystical experience; his e m p i r i c i s m p r e v e n t s us f r o m a c k n o w l e d g i n g
his m y s t i c i s m . A n d yet Dante's e m p i r i c i s m is ultimately in the service of his
m y s t i c i s m ; the p r o b l e m is that the poetic strategies with w h i c h he constructs his
empirical scaffolding are s o effective that critics are dissuaded from accepting their
mystical f o u n d a t i o n .
29.
D a n t e refers to his ecstatic visions of Purgatorio X V as "non falsi errori" (117),
a telling phrase that I believe provides an insight into the larger vision constituted
b y the Commedia,
linking it to the v i s i o n a r y paradox of w a k e f u l sleep a n d to the
d e b a t e regarding Paul's m e t h o d of a t t a i n i n g his raptus. A s A u g u s t i n e says of the
A p o s d e , in w o r d s that I suggest s h o u l d i n f o r m our discussion o f D a n t e (especially c o n s i d e r i n g Dante's e x p r e s s a l i g n m e n t of h i m s e l f with the Apostle's uncertainty): "Apostolus certus se vidisse tertium c o e l u m , incertus q u o m o d o viderit" (De
Genesi ad litteram
30.
12.3).
For Dante's a w a r e n e s s of the p r o b l e m s inherent in writing the Paradiso, see m y
"Dante's H e a v e n of the S u n as a M e d i t a t i o n o n Narrative," Lettere Italiane,
40
(1988), 3-36.
31.
I would like to thank Charles M u s c a t i n e for the thoughts on A u e r b a c h and D a n t e
that provided so m u c h of the s t i m u l u s for this essay.
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