The Divine Comedy by Dante

*contains spoilers*

Written by Dante Alighieri during his exile from Florence (to which he sadly never returned) in the middle-level style of traditional medieval rhetorical tradition (the “comedic”, hence its title), ‘The Divine Comedy’ is Dante’s life’s work and his eternal masterpiece. Dante places the events of the epic some thirty years before it was actually written, allowing himself some proper scope for supposed prophesies to be proven right, and he presents this epic text in a relaxed vernacular compared to the epics written up to that point in time. In approaching the writing of the piece this particular way, Dante allows himself the room to speak not just to the people of an Italy going through a time of political and religious turmoil but also to the swathes of people of all nations and denominations of Christianity – via his glorious terza rima;

Between his legs, his guts were hanging out;

His lights appeared, and that disgusting tube

Which makes shit of what goes down our throats.

(‘Inferno’, Canto XXVIII)

The true defining feature of The Divine Comedy’s rhetoric however lies in the story’s arc; whilst the highest form of rhetoric tradition, the “tragic”, concerns a style of story that begins well and ends badly, the comedic begins badly and ends well. Thus, we see Dante lost in the dark forest of life, pursued by a leopard (sexual promiscuity), a lion (pride) and a she-wolf (avarice), though he escapes their clutches and is guided through Hell and Purgatory only to reach the heights of Paradise. As you can also see from the quote above, the terza rima consists of three lines in iambic pentameter, and, in Italian, Dante used the rhyme scheme A-B-A B-C-B C-D-C D-E-D, etc, with a resolving single line at the canto’s end rhyming with the middle line of the final tercet. Of course we don’t see such a rhyme scheme in the English translation, but I must note here that Charles Sisson’s blank verse translation (Oxford World’s Classics edition) manages to accurately reflect the effect of the terza rima, even without the intertwining rhyme scheme to frame the plot and ideas.

This divine epic is made up of three books, ‘Inferno’, ‘Purgatorio’ and ‘Paradiso’, each consisting of thirty-four, thirty-three and thirty-three cantos respectively, and each book deals with the different arenas of the afterlife and their respective forms of punishment or reward – depending on the ways in which people conducted their lives in the corporeal world before. In ‘Inferno’, we see, for example, thieves being rather aptly robbed of their most precious asset, their bodies, as they experience a painful, phoenix-like immolation only for the ashes to reassemble so the torture can repeat itself whilst their thieving eternal hands are bound together by serpents. Hell itself is in ruins after the shocking earthquake that followed Christ’s crucifixion, and Dante, being led by his guide and mentor, Virgil (yes, of ‘The Aeneid’ fame), is forced to seek new routes whilst constantly being hounded and fooled by devils and running into damned contemporaries and enemies.

After the engaging but ultimately bleak and torturous (as well as somewhat tortuous) ‘Inferno’, we have the more contemplative ‘Purgatorio’, which Dante and Virgil manage to reach by climbing up Satan’s hairy legs. There are lighter and sweeter moments here than in ‘Inferno’, obviously. One such example is when the Roman poet Statius highly praises the virtue and skill of Virgil’s works to Dante whilst in complete ignorance of Virgil’s own presence; “Virgil turned to me at these words, / With a look, which in silence, said ‘Be silent’” (Purgatorio, Canto XXI). This all takes place on the precipice of a mountain overlooking an ocean that separates the corporeal world and the afterlife, and on this mountain we see Dante suffer heavy rainfalls and blanketing fogs, as spirits can be seen drudging in upwards spirals around the mountain in search of Paradise. Amongst the fog, Dante elucidates on the political and religious struggle of Medieval (and yet to be patriated) Italy;

Rome, which was the maker of the good world,

Used to have two suns, by which could be seen

Both the road of the world and the road to God.

(Purgatorio, Canto XVI)

Marco of Lombard chastises the people of Florence in particular, relevant of course to Dante, whose people were waging war over the prospect of papal rule or autonomy, which, in essence, is boiled down to those who either favour or detest the notion of a separate church and state – Dante, being of the White Guelfs, favours a Florence free of papal legislative power, but would still appreciate their presence.

Even in Paradise we see, through Dante’s open astonishment, that there are levels of punishment and reward; “Then it was clear to me how everywhere / In heaven is paradise, although the grace / Of the highest good does not fall on all in one way.” (Paradiso, Canto III) The ultimate reward is being given a spot closest to God’s light – though we see some spirits in less comfortable positions, such as Piccarda Donati, who at first dedicated her life to sisterhood but was stolen from her convent for the purposes of an arranged marriage and so is resigned to looking up at God’s light from beneath the surface of a river. As Virgil was himself unaware of God’s light during his own life (and this is supposed to be his own fault, you might reasonably ask, how…) Dante was obligated to leave him at the gate of Paradise and exchange him for another guide: his beloved Beatrice. In Paradise, however, all love is directed towards God, and so we see the previously ardent Beatrice referring to Dante as “frate” (brother), much to Dante’s seeming heartbreak.

We are left with Dante contemplating the notion of love and goodness with Beatrice, and how love and goodness penetrate everything. Dante’s writing is so sublime that even a misanthrope such as I was convinced – if only for a while. Ripe questions are posed and left unanswered, though not at all to the detriment of this Divine Comedy.