Purgatorio (119 page)

49–51.
   Having recognized Dante earlier (vv. 35–36), Bonagiunta now presses him about the nature of his poetry. Is he the poet who drew forth from within himself the new poems that began with the
canzone
“Ladies that have intelligence of love”? This is the first long poem of the three that help give structure to the
Vita nuova
, announcing the beginning of its second stage, in which Dante chooses to give over the style of “complaint,” borrowed from Cavalcanti, in order to turn to the style of praise, with its debt to Guinizzelli. Dante composed this poem around 1289. From this remark, we learn at least one important thing. Whatever the determining features of Dante’s new poetry, it was different—at least according to him, using Bonagiunta as his mouthpiece—from
all
poetry written before it, including Dante’s own. This precision evades many who discuss the problem, who continue to allow poems by Dante and other poets written before
Donne ch’avete
to share its status. It seems clear that Dante’s absolute and precise purpose is to rewrite the history of Italian lyric, including that of his own poems, so that it fits his current program.
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52–54.
   There is perhaps no more debated tercet in this poem than this one, and perhaps none that has more far-reaching implications for our general understanding of Dante’s stance as a poet. Does he refer to Amore as the god of Love? or as the name of the true God in His Third Person, the Holy Spirit? Dantists are deeply (and fiercely) divided by this issue. The bibliography of work devoted to it is immense. Readers who know Italian will want to refer to three papers composed for the Third International Dante Seminar (Florence, 2000) by members of the panel concerning the currently vexed question of Dante’s attitude toward Cavalcanti and its relationship to his view of his own poetic as this is given voice here (see Anto.2001.1, Durl.2001.1, and Leon.2001.1). For the views of this writer, which are at some variance especially from those of the first and third of these, see Holl.1992.2 and Holl.1999.1. In the most recent of these two studies, the case is made for our understanding that Dante indeed presents himself as writing under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, a view that causes understandable distress, but which is fundamental, in one line of thought, to a better comprehension of his purposes.
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55–63.
   Bonagiunta’s response may be paraphrased as follows: “Now I understand the nature of the knot that held back the Notary [Giacomo da Lentini], Guittone [d’Arezzo], and me from the sweet new style that at this very moment I am hearing! Now I clearly understand how your pens [plural] followed strictly after the words of the ‘dictator,’ something that ours did not; and in that lies the entire difference between your [Dante’s] ‘new style’ and ours.” He falls silent, as though, it seems, satisfied with his utterance.

What exactly does Dante mean by the phrase “sweet new style”? This is surely one of the key questions presented in the poem, and not one of the easiest. Further, who else wrote in that “style”? And what is the significance of the fact that Bonagiunta says that he hears it
now
(in listening to Dante here in purgatory? in current Tuscan poems composed on earth? [but how would he
hear
these?])? What follows is a series of hypotheses that sketch out this writer’s views of the major aspects of a difficult question.

(1) The passage, probably written ca. 1311–12, marks the first time that the beguiling phrase “dolce stil novo” had ever been used in the vernacular that we call “Italian.” That it was meant to refer to or to identify an actual “school” of poets that existed before the date of its inscription in Dante’s text may not be assumed (see Bigi [Bigi.1955.1] and Favati [Fava.1975.1]), although it frequently is.

(2) On the other hand, the author’s (or Bonagiunta’s) plural “vostre” should be seen as including not only himself, but also Cino da Pistoia (the one fellow poet who, Dante believed, had understood the theological significance of his Beatrice), if perhaps no one else (see Hollander [Holl.1992.2] and Brugnolo [Brug.1993.2]).

(3) The significance of the poetic stance struck in the phrase should be understood in theological terms. Dante is not presenting himself as a usual love poet, but as one who serves as God’s scribe in recording the result of God’s love for him through the agency of Beatrice. Dante and others had previously written in a “sweet” style; but only he, now, in his
Comedy
, writes in this “sweet new style” that creates a theologized poetry that is like almost no one else’s (see Mazzotta [Mazz.1979.1], pp. 197–210; Bara´nski [Bara.2001.2], pp. 392–94).

(4) The word “style” here has a broader connotation than it usually does in discourse about poetry, indicating not only a way of writing, but a subject for writing, as was apparent when his new style of praise in
Vita nuova
was presented as requiring new “matter” (see Holl.1999.1, pp. 271–72; Aversano [Aver.2001.1], p. 131: the poem is “sweet artistically because it is new poetically”). The “new style” not only sounds different, it
is
different (but see the differing view of Leonardi [Leon.2001.1], p. 334). The very phrasing of the element that sets, in Bonagiunta’s understanding (vv. 58–59), this “style” apart from all others—copying out exactly what was spoken by the “dictator”—points not at all to style, but rather to content.

(5) We should probably also understand that the phrase “dolce stil novo” refers to some of Dante’s earlier poetry (only the
canzone
“Donne ch’avete intelletto d’amore” for certain), some of Cino’s poems (at least and perhaps only the
canzone
upon the death of Beatrice, “Avegna ched el m’aggia più per tempo”), and to Dante’s
Comedy
, thus presenting the author’s claims for a theological grounding of his poem’s inspiration as being joined to certain of his earlier poems that he felt either had, or could be construed as having, the same character. This is the crux of a continuing disagreement with those who argue that the
Comedy
is a poem that goes
beyond
the
stil novo
(e.g., Pertile [Pert.1993. 1]), rather than being a continuation of it. In short, while Dante and others (Guido Cavalcanti perhaps the most capable among them) had previously written in a “sweet” style, Dante alone developed, on the model of Guinizzelli’s lyrics, poems of praise of a theologized lady, Beatrice.
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56.
   In a single line Bonagiunta crosses off the list of illustrious precursors two of the great poetic figures that preceded Dante, Giacomo da Lentini (died ca. 1250) and Guittone d’Arezzo (ca. 1230–94). Giacomo was the first major Italian practitioner of lyric, and is looked upon as the inventor of the sonnet and as the founder of the so-called Sicilian School, the first group of writers of lyric in Italian, taking their models from the writers of lyric in Provençal. Dante is later still harder on Guittone (see
Purg
. XXVI. 124–126 and note), who, as Dante came to poetry in the 1280s, was perhaps the preeminent Tuscan poet.
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64–74.
   The two similes, piled one upon the other, return to a technique not observed in some time: a comparison based on an antique source coupled with a completely “vernacular” and “ordinary” one. See
Inferno
XXIV. 1–15, where ancient and contemporary elements are combined in a single simile, and
Inferno
XXVI. 25–39, where local Tuscan agriculture and Elijah’s ascent to heaven are the contrasting elements in two neighboring similes.

The first of this pair derives, fairly obviously to today’s reader, instructed by the notes in the text, from Lucan (
Phars
. V.711–716), a description of cranes fleeing winter’s cold to winter on the Nile. Nonetheless, for all the certainty in recent commentators that this is a reminiscence of Lucan, it was only with Torraca (1905) that it seems first to have been observed. Lucan’s passage is revisited even more plainly at
Paradiso
XVIII.73–78.
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75.
   Forese’s remark is perhaps the high point in the fraternal affection found in purgatory, as he looks forward to Dante’s death as the necessary precondition for their next meeting in the afterlife.
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76–81.
   Notable is Dante’s calm assurance that he will be saved. This may seem prideful, but is rather the natural result, or so he would have us believe, of his having been chosen for such an experience of the afterworld. God, he would ask us to imagine, would not have selected as His scribe one destined to die in sin.
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82–90.
   Corso Donati, brother of Forese, was, in Dante’s eyes, the Black Guelph who bore “the greatest blame” for Florence’s problems (and for his own) because of his alliance with Pope Boniface VIII, the “beast” who will drag him to hell—as Dante will see before much time passes. In fact, through the magic of post-event prophecy (Corso was killed on 6 October 1308), Forese is able to promise the protagonist this happy vengeance.

Corso had supervised the murderous taking of the city by the Black Guelphs after Charles of Valois had led his French troops into Florence in November 1301. In a political reversal that is not totally unlike Dante’s own, he was condemned to death by the priors for trying to take power into his own hands in a supposed arrangement involving the Tuscan Ghibelline leader Uguccione della Faggiuola, to whose daughter he was married.

While the “beast” in Forese’s account is clearly metaphorical, Corso apparently did die while trying to escape, either in a fall from his horse or by being lanced by one of his captors once he had fallen—or even as he was hanging from a stirrup, dragged along the ground.
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94–99.
   The military simile fits the tone of the death scene of Corso that has just been narrated by his brother. Here, by way of returning to the rigors of his penance, Forese is allowed to assume the role of the cavalryman who goes out to make the first contact of battle. Virgil and Statius, described by a word perhaps never seen before in Italian, “marshals,” are left behind, but are calmly directing the battle, as it were. As for Dante, that retired cavalryman (see note to
Inf.
XXI.95), it is not clear what role he plays, but he is a subordinate to these two marshals, those great poets who led other humans into knowledge and virtue through their works.
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100–102.
   Forese has rounded the terrace and is now beyond the reach of Dante’s sight, just as his prophecy, obscure now in 1300 before the event of Corso’s death, has escaped Dante’s understanding.
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103–105.
   Moving along the terrace with his eyes fixed on Forese, Dante does not at first see the tree that his own movement forward has brought him to. The second tree of this terrace has caused less puzzlement than the first one (
Purg
. XXII.131–135); the succeeding verses (116–117) answer most questions that one might have (see note to vv. 115–117): this tree is an offshoot of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.

Jenni (Jenn.1972.1), pp. 12–13, argues that the sight of the water from above causing the leaves to shine makes the penitent gluttons even hungrier. As was the case with the first tree, this one is also apparently watered from above (see
Purg
. XXII. 137–138).
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106–111.
   This simile possibly reflects a passage from
Convivio
(
Conv
. IV.xii.16) in which Dante speaks of the natural love of human souls for God, their maker, which is easily drawn off course: “Thus we see little children setting their desire first of all on a fruit, and then, growing older, desiring to possess a little bird, and then still later desiring to possess fine clothes, then a horse, and then a woman, and then modest wealth, then greater riches, and then still more” (tr. Lansing). The central elements of this image (a man catching the hungry attention of a child by holding up a fruit) are deployed again in
Purgatorio
XXVII. 45.
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112–114.
   The penitents (as will be the poets) are urged to turn aside, apparently by the same voice from within the tree that will warn off the poets (and since the names of exemplary figures are recited by this voice, we probably correctly assume it speaks to all, triggered by its sense that someone is approaching, that is, not only in response to these special visitors). They are “enlightened” (in the sense that their first opinion, that the fruit of this tree is desirable, is changed) when they realize that this tree is a branch from that beneath which humankind first fell into sin, and thus willingly move away.
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115–117.
   Once again an unseen and unidentified divinely authorized voice speaks from within the foliage of a tree (see
Purg
. XXII.140–154). This is an offshoot of the tree of which Eve (and then Adam, who had also been warned not to [see note to
Purg
. XXII.140–141]) ate the fruit.

Porena (1946) is one of those who unaccountably believe that there must be still other trees upon this terrace. If, indeed, Dante is referring to the two most significant trees in the original garden, the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil (Genesis 2:8), it would seem unlikely that he would have wanted us to imagine there might be others scattered along the terrace. Porena denies that the first speaking tree (
Purg
. XXII.141) is an offshoot of the Tree of Life, but believes that it, too, is derived from the Tree of Knowledge, an opinion that may seem difficult to justify.

Bosco/Reggio raise a question in their commentary: Why was the first tree (
Purg
. XXII.139) approachable, while this one is not? Would it not seem reasonable that the fruit of the Tree of Life should be precisely what purgation is preparing penitents to receive? At the same time, it would also seem reasonable that they should prepare for their reward by ceremonially avoiding the site of humanity’s original sin.
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