Word and Image in Alfonso D'aragona's Manuscript Edition of the Divina Commedia

Word and Image in Alfonso d’Aragona’s Manuscript Edition of the Divina Commedia

Marcogildo Lettieri

A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Department of Italian Studies University of Toronto

Word and Image in Alfonso d’Aragona’s Manuscript Edition of the Divina Commedia

Marco Lettieri

Doctor of Philosophy

Department of Italian Studies University of Toronto

2019

Abstract

The purpose of this thesis is to examine the manuscript edition of the Divine Comedy prepared for Alfonso D'Aragona, known as Yates Thompson MS 36 and preserved in the British

Library. This is one of the most famous illuminated manuscript of the Divine Comedy, with over

100 miniature illustrations of great artistic merit. Most of the scholarship available on the manuscript is of a historical nature, concerning as it does the authorship of the illustrations and the historical background of the production of the manuscript itself. Valuable as this scholarship is, it does not explain how the images and verbal text interact in both the aesthetic experience of the reader and the interpretation of the poem to which they lead when they work in unison. My task will be to consider the manuscript from a hermeneutical perspective based on the idea of visibile parlare. My analysis of the manuscript will be simultaneously grounded in the dominant theories of manuscript illumination of the late Middle Ages and in the phenomenology of the reading process for texts consisting of script and images related by reciprocal conditioning.

Building on the historical research done so far, my thesis will discuss the visibile parlare of the manuscript in the contexts of the paleographic legacy of the fourteenth and early-fifteenth century scribes and rubricators of each canticle of the Divine Comedy, considered in the light of

Husserl's and Dufrenne's phenomenology of the aesthetic experience and in relation to Jacques

Maritain's and Umberto Eco's theories of art and scholasticism. The aesthetic and philosophical interpretation of each canticle will then be evaluated against the background of the interpretive process and textual exegesis of the early commentators of the Divine Comedy.

iii

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank my committee members because without them this thesis would not have been possible. In particular, I would like to thank my thesis supervisor, Professor Domenico

Pietropaolo, for having suggested this area of research and assisting with the methodological and critical basis of this study, and for having closely assisted with every step and procedure while providing constant and abundant comments and suggestions; Professor Salvatore Bancheri, Chair of the Department of Italian Studies, for his observations and recommendations at our biannual committee meetings and at many other times throughout the process; Professor Eloisa Morra for her insightful ideas and numerous contributions which have allowed this project to come to fruition.

A sincere thank you also goes to the Department of Italian Studies at the University of

Toronto, professors and administrative staff alike, for their continued support throughout the entire duration of the program.

The images were taken from the British Library online MS viewer and are included by permission of the British Library. http://www.bl.uk/manuscripts/Viewer.aspx?ref=yates_thompson_ms_36_fs001a

Table of Contents

Contents

Table of Contents...... v

Preface...... 1

Physical Description of Manuscript...... 5

Chapter 1...... 9

1.1 Visibile Parlare...... 9

1.2 Art and Scholasticism and Il Problema Estetico di San Tommaso d'Aquino...... 21

Chapter 2: Inferno...... 42

2.1 Canto I: The Three Beasts...... 44

2.2 Canto V: Minos and the Colour Red...... 50

2.3 Canto VIII: Dante and Virgil, Intimacy and Companionship...... 63

2.4 Canto XIII: Suicide and the Renaissance...... 69

2.5 Canto XXXII: Ugolino: The Voyeuristic Experience...... 81

Chapter 3: Purgatorio ...... 87

3.1 Canto II: The Letter 'P'...... 89

3.2 Canto X: The Nonvisual of the Visibile Parlare...... 94

3.3 Canto XVIII: Acedia and the Renaissance...... 102

3.4 Canto XXII: Dante Rises Above Virgil...... 111

Chapter 4: Paradiso...... 130

4.1 Canto VI: Politics and the Roman Exmpire...... 132

4.2 Canto X: The Gazes of Dante and Beatrice...... 138

4.3 Canto XVII: Dante's Exile and his Poetry...... 153

4.4 Canto XXVII: A Living Man Reaches New Heights...... 163

4.5 Canto XXXIII: Where is Saint Bernard?...... 170

Conclusion...... 180

Bibliography...... 190

vi 1

Preface

The majority of studies undertaken on illuminated manuscripts of Dante’s Divine

Comedy have been of a historical nature, with emphasis on the authorship of the illustrations and the historical background of the creation of the manuscript. Although very relevant, these studies do not explain how the images and words interact in the aesthetic experience of the reader and in the analysis of the poem. This thesis will investigate whether the images and verbal text could provide a more rigorous and comprehensive evaluation of the Divine Comedy versus words alone, such as a critical edition with a commentary. This analysis will be grounded in the dominant theories of manuscript illumination of the late Middle Ages and in the phenomenology of the aesthetic experience considered in relation to Jacques Maritain’s and Umberto Eco’s theories of art and scholasticism.

Before embarking on this exploration, it will be necessary to first provide a physical description of the manuscript analysed in this thesis, namely MS Yates Thompson 36.

Information about its script and material will be provided to reveal its place in the manuscript tradition of the fifteenth century in Italy. The manuscript was illuminated by two artists: Priamo della Quercia and Giovanni di Paolo. Della Quercia was responsible for the miniatures in the

Inferno and the Purgatorio, while di Paolo illuminated the Paradiso. Throughout this thesis, the styles and criticisms of both artists will be explored. This exploration will examine the choices of colours, shapes and scenes put forth by the artists. Furthermore, I will seek to answer whether an

illuminator can be as worthy a critic as literary commentators of the Divine Comedy. As

Domenico Pietropaolo suggests, Dante's text was created with the intention to be illuminated:

"The wayfarer, who had conceived the Vita Nuova on the structural image of the copyist, who was perhaps himself an amateur artist, and who so admired the skill of Oderisi da Gubbio as an illuminator of manuscripts, quite naturally reserved his first appreciation for the text as an observable phenomenon" (Pietropaolo, 203). Although many commentaries and critical editions of the Divine Comedy will be quoted throughout the thesis, Charles Singleton interpretation, particularly his development of Auerbach’s figural reading of the poem, will play a crucial role in my approach to Dante and his place in Western literature. That being said, all citations of the poem will be from Giorgio Petrocchi’s edition La Commedia secondo l'antica vulgata.

In the fourth section of the first chapter, after providing a physical description of the manuscript and outlining the historical principles regarding illuminated manuscripts, the hermeneutical premises of Jacques Maritain’s Art and Scholasticism and Eco’s Il Problema

Estetico in San Tommaso d'Aquino will be presented and developed. Utilizing these premises, this thesis will explore the validity of the claim that simple manuscripts without illuminations only contribute to an initial experience of intelligibility, void of an aesthetic experience. I will seek to answer this question: does an illuminated manuscript, the combination of words and images, provide a greater and more profound understanding of the original text? To answer this query, specific miniatures from the three canticles will be analyzed, through the main perspective of the theoretical premises of Eco and Maritain. The following three chapters will focus on analyzing the images and will be divided according to the three canticles of the Divine Comedy.

As there are over one hundred miniatures, it will not be possible to undertake an analysis of every miniature in this thesis. Therefore, I will present a rationale for which images I select from

each canticle. Since Dante outlines four divisions in the Inferno, I will choose one image from each division: the ante-inferno and the areas devoted to Dante’s three main types of sin, incontinence, violence, and malice or fraud. Regarding the Purgatorio, I will select images based upon the cantos that have generated abdundant and famous critical discussion. This is a very significant choice since the aim of this thesis is to decide whether the images provide criticism that enriches that of the literary commentators. "Illustrare vuole dire commentare visivamente i prodotti di altri sistemi di segni," says Eco (Eco 1985, 10) in an essay that Eloisa Morra rightly considers at the basis of the visual studies of medieval Italian literature that have appeared in recent years (Morra, 138). That being said, I will not limit this thesis to only the miniatures found within the manuscript, but I will also examine the decorations throughout the manuscript. More specifically, the first letter of the second canto of the Purgatorio, which is the elaborately decorated letter ‘P’ and contains within itself the image of a ship, will be inspected and interpreted as it relates to the text. The miniature of canto X will be analyzed next due to its deep colours of blue and red and its complex story-telling nature which ultimately fulfill Aquinas’ statement that beauty is: id quod visum placet. And, more importantly, this is the canto that conveys the story of the visibile parlare, a concept that is central to this thesis. After this canto on pride and overambition, it would only seem fitting to analyze its mirror canto, canto XVIII of acedia. It will be interesting to reflect on the miniature of acedia by a miniaturist who dedicated his entire life to art, much like Oderisi. The analysis on the Purgatorio will close with canto

XXII, a scene that reflects Dante’s alteration in emotional state. His heaviness and fear are no longer consuming him, and there is an obvious purging of Dante’s previous emotions that had plagued him throughout the entire Inferno and the first cantos of the Purgatorio. It is revealed

that in this twenty-second canto Dante is getting closer to the Earthly Paradise, and it would of utmost importance to reflect on the miniature provided by della Quercia.

For the Paradiso, I will begin by analyzing the miniature of Canto VI, which involves a dedication to the emperor Justinian and resembles Dante’s political life. I will demonstrate the importance of this miniature as it completes a pattern set out in the entire Commedia. From there, it will be necessary to analyze canto X, since it is the third of six addresses to the reader, and then canto XVII because it is center of the canticle and this is always position of importance for

Dante. The miniature of canto XXVII will be next since this is where Dante recounts the appearance of St. Peter and where he demonstrates his continued dislike of the church and its authority. And finally, I will conclude by investigating the miniature in canto XXXIII where

Dante sees God. This is will prove to be one of the most significant and challenging cantos of the entire Commedia also for the visual commentator, for it is here that Dante finally realizes his objective, which is, after all, the objective of a supreme vision. The overall analysis of the miniatures will seek to differentiate the written commentators of the Comedy, who strictly aim to inform readers and analyze the text, from the visual commentators, who seek to evoke a strong emotion along with a rigorous examination of the text.

Physical Description of the Manuscript Yates Thompson 36

The illuminated manuscript of the Divina Commedia MS Yates Thompson 36 is found in the British Library, the national library of the United Kingdom located in London. The manuscript was commissioned by Alfonso D’Aragona, also known as Alfonso V of Aragon, not to be confused with Alfonso II of Naples who was also named Alfonso of Aragon, but who, however, was born in 1448 and died in 1494. Alfonso V, the patron in question concerning manuscript Yates Thompson 36, was the King of Aragon, of Valencia, Majorca, Sardinia and

Corsica, Sicily, Count of Barcelona, and King of Naples. It was during his reign as King of

Naples, between 1442 and 1458, that he commissioned MS Yates Thompson 36. He was known as a patron of the arts by virtue of his founding of the Academy of Naples under Giovanni

Pontano. The two artists employed by Alfonso D’Aragona were Priamo della Quercia between

1442 and 1450 for the Inferno and Purgatorio, and Giovanni di Paolo in 1450 for the Paradiso.

At first, the illuminations were attributed to Lorenzo Vecchietta by Pope Hennessy: “Indeed, we may go further and identify the hand responsible for the miniatures with a known artist is the person of Lorenzo Vecchietta” (Hennessy, 17). However, a few decades later, the illustrations of the first two cantiche were identified by Millard Meiss as the work of "Priamo della Quercia on the basis of comparisons with a documented fresco in the Spediale” (Alexander, 50). Therefore, I will use the most recent discovery of Millard Meiss and attribute the miniatures from Inferno and

Purgatorio to Priamo della Quercia. This decision is in further correspondence with modern

publications that generally refer to Priamo as the illuminator: for example, in 2017, Christoph

Lehner identified the author of the illustrations as Priamo della Quercia (Lehner, Xi); in 2009,

Putnam and Ziolkowski discuss the illuminations of “Virgil without a hat, as he was painted by

Priamo della Quercia in a mid-fifteenth-century manuscript” (Ziolkowski and Putnam, 449); and, finally, The Dante Encyclopedia, edited by Richard Lansing in 2010, explicitly identifies Priamo della Quercia as the illuminator for the Inferno and Purgatorio (Lansing, 499).

The script used by the scribe is the Gothic script, a font typical of Western Europe between the twelfth century and the seventeenth century. It is important to note the possibility that the Carolingian script was used since it was also a common font of the late Middle Ages; however, upon examination of the circular formation of letter s, it becomes obvious that this is indeed Gothic script. Randall Rosenfeld explains: “It is well known that Carolingian script used straight s in all positions, whilst Gothic script soon began to replace it with round s at the end of words” (Haines and Rosenfeld, 62). To find words in Italian that end in s seems like an impossible task, especially since Dante wrote in the volgare. However, I was immediately drawn to canto XXX of the Purgatorio, where Dante writes the most in Latin of the entire Commedia.

Below is an expert from the manuscript that includes the Latin words: fenis, venis, and plenis.

The letter s in each of these words is evidence of the Gothic script, the classic “round s at the end of words”.

The material of the manuscript is parchment, also known as vellum. It is unknown from which animal it is derived, since it was commonly made from “sheep, pig, goat, or calf-skins soaked in lime, burnished to diminish irregularities in the surface and then dried on a wooden stretcher” (Van Cleave, 4). It is important to note that during the production of this manuscript,

“in the second half of the fifteenth century, as paper became cheaper and more widely available, the use of parchment declined” (Van Cleave, 4). This is especially significant, as this manuscript was produced in the heart of the second half of the fifteenth century. From this fact, since paper was relinquished in place of parchment, it can be deduced that this is a manuscript of great importance. This conclusion is not only based on the fact that parchment was used instead of paper, but also takes into account the size and structure of the manuscript. It has quite an imposing presence at 36.5cm by 25.8cm with a foliation of 190 plus 3 unfoliated modern paper flyleaves. Furthermore, the most recent binding on the manuscript is a tooled brown leather binding with gilt edges attributed to the period of the seventeenth century. Inside the manuscript, there are precisely 110 large miniatures in the lower margin in colour and gold, as well as 3 large

historiated initials that form partial foliate borders in colour and gold at the beginning of the

Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso.

As mentioned at the beginning of this section, this manuscript was initially commissioned by Alfonso V. In 1538, it was then donated to the convent of San Miguel in Valencia by

Fernando de Aragòn, Duke of Calabria. We know this from the inscription in the manuscript at f.190v by a brother of the monastery of San Miguel de los Reyes in 1613, which reads: Ex commissione dominorum Inquisitorum Valentie vidi et expurgavi secundum expurgatorium novum Madriti 1612. et subscripsi die. 14. Septembris 1613. ego frater Antonius Oller. From here, it came into the possession of the Spanish noble and politician, Señor Luis Mayans, who then sold it to Henry Yates Thompson, collector of illuminated manuscripts and newspaper proprietor, in May 1901. This is written on the inside upper cover. It was then bestowed to the

British Museum in 1941 by Mrs. Yates Thompson after the death of Henry Yates.

Chapter 1

Visible Parlare

In this first chapter, I will begin with a historical outline concerning illuminated manuscripts. In this historical explication, I will highlight the aspects that are more specific to my theme of the visibile parlare. Canto X of the Purgatorio is where Dante makes direct reference to visibile parlare. I will use this canto as my guide in emphasizing the relevant historical characteristics of illuminated manuscripts. It will also be necessary to provide a brief general profile of the miniaturist; I will seek to clarify the miniaturist’s method and purpose.

Canto XI of the Purgatorio and Oderisi’s lesson on humility will prove useful in the description of a miniaturist.

Subsequently, I will transition into dissecting the theoretical premises that surround the notion of visibile parlare. Beginning with Maritain’s Art and Scholasticism, I will outline the metaphysical analysis of art and beauty, as well as the features and objectives of an artist.

Thereafter, Umberto Eco’s Il Problema Estetico in San Tommaso d'Aquino will be explained in relation to Maritain’s ideas. Before revealing how Eco significantly challenges Maritain's premises and notably offers a different interpretation of the same issues, I will begin by demonstrating Umberto Eco’s support of Maritain’s view of transcendental beauty. Maritain and

Eco will serve as the two pillars in comprehending the notion of visibile parlare in Dante’s

Divine Comedy, of course with secondary references made to the theoretical premises of

Rensselaer Lee’s Ut Pictura Poesis: The Humanistic Theory of Painting and the thomistic school of philosophy.

Once the theoretical premises have been completely outlined, there will be a discussion on how the above-mentioned theories will assist with the understanding of the manuscript tradition. It will also lead me to answer several pertinent questions, such as: What does one learn from a manuscript composed of words and images? Will more information from a manuscript be revealed that is made up of words and images as opposed to a manuscript of only words? Is it possible to infer as much information from images as from the words in an illuminated manuscript? These queries will ultimately lead to the exploration of how the images and verbal text interact in the aesthetic experience of the reader in Alfonso D’Aragona’s manuscript edition of the Divine Comedy. More specifically, I will explore the notion of visibile parlare and how it emerges from Alfonso D’Aragona’s manuscript edition of the Divine Comedy and his period. I will provide concrete examples from this particular illuminated manuscript that call for this reception of the visibile parlare.

Although this thesis concerns an illuminated manuscript of the late middle ages, it will be helpful to trace its evolution from prior generations. This will allow us to fully grasp the aesthetic experience of the reader and how it has evolved throughout the ages. To communicate a thought or immortalize an idea, prehistoric humans composed paintings on cave walls approximately forty thousand years ago. The ancient Egyptians progressed into using papyrus and limestone to write words and draw hieroglyphs. The miniaturists purposefully and voluntarily added images, different colours and decorations. Consequently, the official origins of

11 the medieval illuminated manuscripts may be attributed to the ancient Romans. It is explained that “the allusions in their [classical authors) writings to the employment of red and black ink are frequent. Martial, in his first epistle, points out the bookseller’s shop opposite the Julian Forum, in which his works may be obtained ‘smoothed with pumice-stone and decorated with purple’”

(Tymms and Wyatt, 3). Although quite premature in comparison to the illuminations of the middle Ages, this is one of the first indications of writers seriously contemplating the physical presentation of their works. It is quite evident that the visibile parlare was a notion already being deliberated and pondered. The illuminators of manuscripts were in competition with each other to produce the most aesthetically pleasing work of art. This competition was born out of a sense of religion devotion and individual pride as a prestigious artist. John Henry Midddleton, the famous nineteenth century archaeologist, accurately outlined the allure of the medieval illuminator:

No illuminator working mainly for a money reward could possibly rival the marvelous productions of the earlier monastic scribes, who, laboring for the glory of God, and the credit to be won for themselves and for their monasteries, could devote years of patient toil to the illumination of one book, free from all sense of hurry, and finding in their work the chief joy and relaxation of their lives (Middleton, 141).

Although Middleton praised this pursuit for glory and applauded the excessive devotion of the artist, Dante noted its dangers in canto XI of the Purgatorio.

As Dante enters the First Terrace of purgatory (the Prideful), he stumbles upon Oderisi, a thirteenth century artist and manuscript illuminator, and calls out to him:

“oh!”diss’io lui, “non se’ tu Oderisi, / l’onor d’Agobbio e

l’onor di quell’arte / ch’alluminar chiamata è in Parisi?”

(vv 79-81).

Dante repeats ‘onor’ twice, bringing the reader’s attention to the glory of the artist.

Without hesitation, Oderisi responds proudly:

“Frate,” diss’elli, “più ridon le carte

che pennelleggia Franco Bolognese;

l’onore è tutto or suo, e mio in parte.

Ben non sare’ io stato si cortese

mentre ch’io vissi, per lo gran disio

de l’eccellenza ove mio core intese (vv 82-87).

Oderisi embodies the characteristics of the medieval miniaturists: he paints for glory and to surpass the reputation of his contemporaries. In his book, A New Life of Dante, Stephen Bemrose accurately states:

His [Oderisi’s] dialogue with Dante (who knew him personally, it would seem) gives us a glimpse into the highly competitive world of manuscript illumination. A distinguished exponent of that art, he is now, in Purgatory, able to admit that his work is surpassed by that of his rival Franco Bolognese. On earth he would not have been so courteous, because of his powerful wish to excel (Bemrose, 146). Does this powerful wish to excel demonstrate the juxtaposition of the competitive world of manuscript illumination and the necessary communicative structure of the ancient Egyptians?

Were the miniaturists solely concerned with glory and reputation, as Hemrose presupposes?

While it remains true that the ancient Egyptians wrote in symbols almost innately (as demonstrated by Plotinus above) and the medieval scribes consciously illuminated manuscripts for the sake of aestheticism, I would like to propose the notion that the causatum of the two are not so distinct. By coalescing the two distinct time periods, we can come to understand more fully the history of illuminated manuscripts and the direct lineage it shares with artists throughout the ages.

The explanation to the above-mentioned proposal resides within Purgatorio X where

Dante mentions the notion of the visibile parlare: Colui che mai non vide cosa nova / produsse esto visibile parlare, / novello a noi perchè qui non si trova (vv 94-96). Dante expresses the significance of the visibile and, thus, elevates visual arts to the level of poetry. This perception can help us realize that illuminated manuscripts achieved a very similar effect on communication and language as the hieroglyphs of the ancient Egyptians. In essence, Dante was attempting to demonstrate the importance of images and their ability to communicate as effectively as speech.

William Franke provides an accurate sketch of the visibile parlare: “We must understand this phrase to mean not only that dialogue is rendered in visible form, which would be just another affirmation of their perfection as imitative art. More importantly, ‘visibile parlare’ indicates that the image is used as a kind of speech, that it exists not just in reified form as an object, but as a language” (Franke, 173). This notion can be directly applied to the objectives of the miniaturist in the Middle Ages. Instead of simply imitating nature, the artist is reproducing the ideals, which his intelligence reveals to him. The artist surpasses the appearance of things and becomes a creator, much like God. The image produced by an artist (or in our case, the miniaturist), Franke

14 continues, is “not what it is in its visible appearance, but what it signifies within the relations established by history and interpretation constitutes the vital reality of these visual images, what they really say, and to this extent they are language” (Franke, 173). For this reason, religious authority of the early Greek Church frowned upon artistic representation of the scriptures. They feared that an image of biblical passages was powerful enough to challenge the written or spoken word. The artist would, thus, be assuming the role of a prophet or an apostle and recreating the scriptures based upon his own interpretation. As a result, the creativity of the artist was suppressed and “the exposition of faith, through art took a more tangible form” (Tymms and

Vyatt, 11). While the Ancient Romans, as mentioned previously, were more concerned with the gilded and ornamented decorations of the manuscript, the diffusion of Christianity throughout

Europe fueled an artistic desire to recreate biblical scriptures in the form of miniatures. Indeed, as just outlined, the early Greek Church was not so enthusiastic about this growing movement, and Byzantine art was highly discouraged from taking part. Nevertheless, “iconoclasm was the reaction to this abuse” (Tymms and Vyatt, 11). And even prior to this dissention, Illumination of

Christian texts had already been firmly established by Celtic tradition. Tymms and Vyatt write:

“There is abundant evidence to prove that in the sixth and seventh centuries the art of ornamenting manuscripts of the Sacred Scriptures, and especially of the Gospels, had attained a perfection in Ireland almost marvelous” Tymms and Vyatt, 12). From Ireland, this artistic movement eventually progressed across to northeastern Britain. Thus, what followed is generally referred to as the school of Anglo-Saxon illumination. Elizbieta Temple’s book, Anglo-Saxon

Manuscripts, 900-1066, provides a detailed account of the Anglo-Saxon illuminated manuscripts. She refers to the miniatures as “remarkable for the richness of its imagery, due on

15 the one hand to the successive influences of Carolingian art with its Mediterranean heritage and, on the other, to the striking ability of English artists not only to assimilate but, above all, to transform those influences into their own pictorial idiom” (Temple, 24). It is important to note that the influences, which Temple refers to, are of the Augustinian school of illuminators from the seventh century. It is this style of illumination that ultimately influenced the manuscripts of

Italy in the Middle Ages and, thus, is of concern to the content of this thesis, as I will be examining an Italian manuscript of the fifteenth century.

Before arriving at the manuscript of Alfonso D’Aragona, Yates Thompson MS 36 of the fifteenth century (1444-c 1450), it is important to trace the progression of illuminated manuscripts from the early Middle Ages to the early Renaissance. This period of about a thousand years in Italy went through a form of decadence and degradation, as Robert G. Calkins explains: “While ecclesiastical architecture developed through this Earl Gothic stage, however, the arts of painting and sculpture lagged behind and did not evolve […]” (Calkins, 135). After the art and literature of the classics reached an almost unattainable apex, this decline was quite obviously inevitable. To understand this more clearly, it will be useful to implement the dialectics of Hegel, which is “the recognition of the movement between these fixed determinations which ‘supersede themselves, and pass into their opposites’” (Fraser, 25). This is precisely what transpired with respect to art in Italy after the classics. There was an opposite and antithetical movement because, as Middleton writes, “no art can for long remain stationary; there must be either advance or decay, and when the habit of copying older forms has once become the established rule an artistic degradation soon becomes inevitable” (Middleton, 183). This decay can be placed at around the fifth or sixth century; in contrast, while this was occurring, as

16 outlined in the previous paragraph, “the illuminator’s art in more northern countries was growing in to the most vigorous development of power and decorative beauty” (Middleton, 183).

Middleton is not alone with this claim; while Tymms and Vyatt give credit to Italy for having produced a large number of manuscripts throughout the fifth and sixth centuries, they also criticize the quality and quantity of the illuminations:

Italy no doubt fed the earliest monastic libraries of Western Europe with the quantities of text of ancient authors we know them to have contained; but we may fairly assume those texts to have been but rarely illustrated, since the original styles of illumination produced in those countries to which the classic volumes traveled, would unquestionably have betrayed an antique influence more strongly that they did, had the means of deriving that influence been brought copiously within their reach (Tymms and Vyatt, 7).

While Ireland, Great Britain and France (as demonstrated above) were already producing manuscripts with marvelous illuminations, Italy was lagging behind. Yes, it is possible that this degradation can be attributed to Hegel’s dialectics and the antithetical response to the great success of the classics; however, I would like to further propose a theory grounded in the notion of visibile parlare and in the culture of the byzantine empire, as outlined previously in this historical examination. Crucial to my perspective is a comment by Antonio Rossini, who writes that "the text fulfills itself artistically in the fruition process, attaining synesthetic life in the reader's consciousness and drawing sense from the reader's experience as reader" (Rossini, 130).

Building on this premise, I consider that visibile parlare, with its emphasis on the illocutionary power of visual images, produces a reading experience in which visual language surpasses or parallels the written and spoken word. Of course, I also take into account that, in Eastern

Christianity in the Byzantine Empire, there was fear of iconography and devotion to images. At the fall of the Roman Empire, “Old Rome ceased to be a political and administrative center.

Byzantium took its place” (Benz, 176). The laws and opinions of Byzantium would also take the place of Old Rome and, consequently, would affect the outcome of Italian art. Italians were no longer able to possess images that reflected any notion of Christianity and it became official in the eighth and ninth centuries when “Emperor Leo announced a major religious reform, generally knows as Iconoclasm: sacred images must be removed from all churches in the empire” (Hallenbeck, 22). As a result, it could only be imagined in what way illuminated manuscripts would have been received by Emperor Leo and Byzantium, especially since scribes were becoming increasingly interested in the copying of bibles. Italian miniaturists were undoubtedly feeling restricted by these sanctions imposed by Emperor Leo and, consequently, their art would only become more stagnant. Middleton cites an example of degraded Italian art as late as the twelfth century: a manuscript in the Vatican library (Vat. 4922) of a poem by a monk of Canossa named Donizzo. This manuscript does contain a few miniature illustrations; however,

“they are of the lowest type, utterly feeble in the drawing of the human form and quite without any feeling for the folds of drapery” (Middleton, 184). Italy would not remain in this decadent period for much longer. The art in Italy, and, more specifically, the illuminated manuscripts, began to experience a rebirth.

The Italians, who had an extensive tradition of worshipping images and icons, became more and more enraged with the laws of iconoclasm imposed by Emperor Leo. These laws

“exacerbated anti-Byzantine feeling there, strengthened local autonomist sentiments, and encouraged former imperial subjects to view the pope as Italy’s leader” (Hallenbeck, 22). It

18 became the Pope’s duty to employ miniaturists and to facilitate the reawakening of art in Italy.

The first mention of this decree is by Pope Boniface VIII at the time of the great Jubilee of 1300.

Pope Boniface VIII was responsible for having employed the great Oderisi already mentioned in this chapter. Bologna became an immense producer of manuscripts due to its location in one of the most important and oldest Universities of Europe. In Florence, many manuscripts were being produced under the school of Giotto between 1300 and 1340. During this time, illuminators from

Italy were also finding employment in France. While it is true that Italy had experienced a period of decadence throughout the Middle Ages, “by the middle of the fourteenth century, however, the illuminator’s art in Italy, and especially in Florence, had reached a very high degree of excellence” (Middleton, 186). While one could only expect another period of degradation to ensue as outlined by Hegel’s Dialectics, as was the case after the classics had attained that level of distinction, the art in Italy only continued to rise. And, by the fifteenth century, the manuscript art of central and northern Italy “rose to a pitch of beauty and perfection which left it quite without rival in any country in the world” (Middleton, 190). As Byzantium loosened its grip on

Italy, the Vatican took its place and facilitated the production of ecclesiastical manuscripts. The artist was no longer constrained by the laws of iconoclasm and, thus, through patience, skill and dedication, produced some of the most beautiful manuscripts. One early example of the ecclesiastical manuscripts is the Pontifical of the early fifteenth century now found in the library of the Fitzwilliam museum1 at the University of Cambridge. This manuscript is dated as 1433 and is considered “one of the most beautiful manuscripts in the world” (Middleton, 191). The

1 This museum contains the largest collection of medieval manuscripts outside the Vatican. It encompasses manuscripts spanning from the ninth century to the fifteenth century in Europe.

19 manuscript includes spectacular miniatures and numerous historiated initials, which represent episcopal acts of Consecration or Benediction. Other examples of religious illuminated manuscripts in the Fitzwilliam collection include: “no. 461, a Franciscan Missal from southern

Italy, has a bold full-page miniature of the Crucifixion; no. 467, a Florentine Pontifical of after

1485 is also richly illuminated” (Binski and Zutshi, xvii). Although the majority of the manuscripts during this time were ecclesiastical, there were a few illuminated manuscripts with secular texts, such as the works of Dante, Boccaccio and Petrarca. One of the most significant illuminated manuscripts of this century is the Divine Comedy of Alfonso D’Aragona, dated around 1444 (Yates Thompson MS 36). This manuscript contains decorations and historiated initials, as well as almost four hundred miniatures depicting Dante’s voyage through the Inferno,

Purgatorio, and Paradiso. There is a miniature for almost every corresponding canto that ultimately captures the events within the poem. The images are incredibly precise and detailed; an example of this intricacy is the miniature of Canto XIX of the inferno which depicts “Dante and Virgil entering the area devoted to simoniacs and magicians, while Dante speaks to the upside-down figure of Pope Nicholas III, with a figure of the True Church in the centre, as a lady dressed in blue with a gold star on her breast, and a seven-headed monster before her

(presumably the false church)” (Yates Thompson). The images found in this illuminated manuscript lead us to inquire more seriously about the aesthetic experience of the viewer and the process by which beauty is perceived.2 Likewise, to understand the artwork fully and completely,

2 For more information regarding Dante's influence on the visual paradigm, especially of the modern world, see Iannucci's Dante, Cinema, and Television: "moreover, it is the this same quality that has allowed the Comedy to become the perennial inspiration of myriad artists who have reworked the text, and both the popular and avant-garde levels, in almost every artistic form, from medieval paintings and miniatures down to contemporary drama and visual arts" (Iannucci, 4).

20 one must investigate the role of the artist and his relationship to the work of art. And finally, this illuminated manuscript allows the reader to explore how the words and images interact and, furthermore, to contemplate more seriously Dante’s reference to the visibile parlare. For this exploration, the philosophies of Maritain, Eco and Lee will serve as our guides.

Art and Scholasticism and Il Problema Estetico di San Tommaso

d'Aquino

In Art and Scholasticism, Maritain offers a metaphysical analysis of art and beauty. His analysis of art focuses on the practical habit or virtue of the artist. The artist is a workman and a producer who, to fulfill his necessary duties, must be subjected to hard labour. This hard labour is grounded in the foundation of the artist’s ideals and intelligence. Although it is not the artist’s aim to copy nature, he must use what he sees or feels with his five senses as the inspiration for his work of art. The artist is not God and does not have the ability nor the means to create something from nothing: “And no doubt the artist perceives this form in the created world, whether exterior or interior: he does not discover it complete in the sole contemplation of his creative spirit, for he is not, like God, the cause of things” (Maritain, 89). To put it simply, the artist produces a painting or a poem based upon his initial interaction with the external world.

After this preliminary interaction takes place, he internalizes and contemplates the aesthetic experience.3 It is now his duty to produce a work of art that his intelligence and morals reveal to him. I would like to stress the terms duty and morals and intelligence because for Maritain they

3 This notion is echoed by Domenico Pietropaolo; however, he outlines this experience from the point of view of the audience and not the producer: "Like all other forms of perception, reading involves two different modes of experience: one in which there is a direct contact with the text and one in which the reader, through self-reflection, objectifies for his minds his own act of perception so that it becomes itself an object of consciousness" (Pietropaolo, 199-200).

22 are what clearly define the attributes of the ideal artist. For Maritain, morality is such a significant notion that he dedicates the entire chapter, chapter IX, to Art and morality: “But for the man working, the work-to-be-made enter – itself – into the line of morality, and on this ground it is only a means” (Maritain, 73). This is where Maritain reaches the apex of his religious thesis that the painter or poet must work for something greater than just the work of art itself; for Maritain, this is God.

Although Maritain’s Art and Scholasticism is laden with religious references and ideals that aim towards selfless art (there is even a chapter on Christian Art, Chapter VIII), Maritain does not sacrifice the secular notion of the passionate and self-absorbed artist. It is no doubt that to be a skillful producer worthy of fruitful creations, one must love his art unconditionally and obsessively. Maritain, in his chapter on the Rule of Art, concludes “that in the painter, poet, and musician, the virtue of art, which resides in the intellect, must not only overflow into the sense faculties and the imagination, but it requires also that the whole appetitive power of the artist, his passions and will, tend straightly to the end of his art” (Maritain, 50). Thus, the artist cannot exclusively be a selfless laborer; if he were to be, his art would risk succumbing to mediocrity.

Would Oderisi from Purgatorio XI, as mentioned above, be the epitome of an ideal painter, in light of Maritain’s philosophical argument? At first glance, it would seem that Oderisi is the perfect example of a “Maritainian” artist: he is a proud laborer and he is utterly obsessed with his work. However, upon further speculation, it becomes obvious that he is more obsessed with his status and fame than he is with the work he produced. Oderisi is, after all, carrying stones in

Purgatorio alongside other fellow men guilty of the sin of pride. For Maritain, one should not be concerned with fame and material wealth, but should instead seek to produce work in accordance

23 with one’s deepest passions. It is at this point that the artist uncovers a conflict within himself between his “Art and Prudence, his virtue as Maker and his virtue as man” (Maritain, 18). Since he is also human, he must be able to provide for his family, but without sacrificing the virtue of his art for material gains. He has a unique position and “will not apply to him the same rules as it will to the farmer or the merchant, and will not ask of a Rembrandt or a Lèon Bloy that make works that pay, so as to ensure the material comforts of their family” (Maritain, 18). While it is true that the artist should not cherish fame and wealth as Oderisi did, how is he expected to survive, provide for his family, and live among other fellow humans? Although Maritain does not provide a satisfactory response in Art and Scholasticism, he seems to find a solution in a later work entitled The Responsibility of the Artist. Thomas Merton demonstrates that “Maritain stresses the artist’s responsibility to his own gift, to his subjectivity, to his creativity, which demands his complete, dedicated loyalty as artist. But he also shows that as a member of society the artist has other loyalties and obligation which cannot be ‘sacrificed’ on the altar of his art”

(Merton, 366). The ideal artist lives in harmony with society and, as a result, must be able to fuse his Art with his Prudence. He has a very significant task and “may choose not to use his art, or he may use it badly, just as the grammarian, if he wishes, may commit a barbarism, and yet the virtue of art in him is not for all that any the less perfect” (Maritain, 19). Maritain’s comparison to a grammarian is extremely significant to our discussion of Dante’s visibile parlare. As we have already seen in the historical outline of illuminated manuscripts, the image is as powerful and influential as the written or spoken word. Dante tells us with his discussion on the visibile parlare in Purgatorio X that the images are a type of language capable of communicating significant ideas. Maritain takes this a step further and argues that the artist

24 possesses a moral responsibility with the diffusion of his art. Maritain was no stranger to Dante and regards him as a model artist for two reasons. First, he refers to him in his book, Creative

Intuition in Art and Poetry, as the ideal artist who creates art that “does not copy God’s creation, it continues it” (Maritain, 60). More specifically, Dante’s sense of virtue is truly in line with

Maritain’s view of art and morality. He uses poetry as a means to further God’s creation and to instill a sense of honour in his readers. Furthermore, throughout his life, Dante was able to balance precisely Art and Prudence, as he was also seriously committed to a life of politics.

Second, for Maritain, Dante was a model poet because he was passionate and obsessed with his works; this passion was born from the wounds he received after his first encounter with Beatrice:

“Dante knows his wound and believes in it; and cherishes it” (Maritain, 371). In sum, the artist must be selfish and passionate about his work, like Oderisi and like a wounded Dante; however, he must strive to be more like Dante, and less like Oderisi, and balance Art and Prudence. To possess such “Maritainian” attributes would render the artist capable of being the creator of the visibile parlare.

Were the miniaturists in Italy throughout the fifteenth century fine examples of

Maritain’s ideal artists? Before attempting to provide a response to this query, it is important to outline Maritain’s analysis of beauty in his work, Art and Scholasticism. Thus far, throughout this thesis, there has been no emphasis placed upon the audience of a work of art, or more specifically, of an illuminated manuscript. This notion of the audience accurately conforms to the theme of visibile parlare because it is the experience of the viewer that completes the work of art and allows it to exist. In The Phenomenlogoy of Aesthetic Experience, Dufrenne explains:

“Nothing enjoys an existence which would free it from the obligation to be present to a

25 consciousness” (Dufrenne, lXV). More specifically, the work of art can only exist if it is being consciously perceived. It is in this conscious perception where the discussion and the experience of beauty can take place. Maritain dedicates the entire fifth chapter to Art and Beauty and uses

St. Thomas Aquinas as a starting point: “id quod visum placet” (Maritain, 27). For something to be considered beautiful, it must be observed and enjoyed by the viewer. And, enjoying and observing the object, one gives it life and brings it into existence. Maritain explains: “The beautiful is what gives delight – not just any delight, but delight in knowing; not the delight peculiar to the act of knowing, but a delight which superabounds and overflows from act because of the object known” (Maritain, 27). Maritain proceeds to outline the three classical components of the perception of beauty: integrity or perfection, proportion or harmony, and clarity or radiance. The third feature, according to John Trapani, “is the most significant since all beauty requires some type of splendor (Trapani, 123). This splendor is what causes the pleasure within the viewer; however, “the real splendor is the splendor of intelligibility” (Trapani, 124). This occurs when the viewer or audience recognizes integrity, proportion and clarity in a work of art.

The viewer has the onus of intelligibility to the same degree as the creator or artist and, as a result, becomes engaged in an intelligible activity that involves “the flashing of intelligence on a matter intelligibly arranged” (Maritain, 29). This “flashing of intelligence” demonstrates the responsibility that the viewer has, and it elevates his/her position within the aesthetic experience.

Thus, when the viewer has recognized the beauty of a work of art, he/she has become one with the artist and has awoken the beauty of the object. Maritain explains: “The intelligence delights in the beautiful because in the beautiful it finds itself again and recognizes itself, and makes contact with its own light (Maritain, 29). At around the same time as Maritain, Georges Poulet

26 proposed a similar thesis in his article, The Phenomenology of Reading. As Poulet holds a book in his hands and contemplates it, he observes:

I am aware of a rational being, of a consciousness; the consciousness of another, no different from the one I automatically assume in every human being I encounter, except that in this case the consciousness is open to me, welcomes me, lets me look deep inside itself, and even allows me, with unheard-of license, to think what it thinks and feel what it feels (Poulet, 54).

While Poulet is describing the phenomenological experience he is having with a book, it is a similar experience that the viewer has, for Maritain, when he superimposes his “flashing of intelligence” on a work of art. The viewer brings the work of art into existence by recognizing its beauty just as the reader renders a book alive when it is opened and the words are read: “Books are object. On a table, on bookshelves, in store windows, they wait for someone to come and deliver them from their materiality, from their immobility” (Poulet, 54). Both experiences need some form of intelligibility: a reader needs to have a sort of linguistic training, while the viewer of a work of art needs to be able to identify the beauty within the object.

Umberto Eco, in his Aesthetics of Thomas Aquinas, uncovers the philosophical dilemma in Maritain’s view of beauty and intelligibility. As demonstrated above, let us recall that

Maritain utilizes Aquinas’s philosophy to demonstrate that beauty is dependent on intelligibility and, furthermore, contributes to the betterment of the intellect:

If beauty delights the intellect, it is because it is essentially a certain excellence or perfection in the proportion of things to the intellect. Hence the three conditions Saint Thomas assigned to beauty: integrity, because the intellect is pleased in fullness of being; proportion, because the intellect is pleased in order and unity;

finally, and above all, radiance and clarity, because the intellect is pleased in light and intelligibility (Maritain, 28).

While Maritain claims numerous times throughout his work to be referencing the ideas of Saint

Thomas, “his use of Thomas’s language is not exact, as Umberto Eco has pointed out, and his elaboration of these definitions goes far beyond Thomas himself” (Hudson, 239). More specifically, Umberto Eco observes:

To accept Maritain’s theory, in which beauty is a ‘lighting of the mind on a matter intelligently arranged’, would entail a denial of sensible intuition. Equally, it would entail a denial of intellectual abstractive knowledge. It is simply not possible to find a place for an intellectual intuition of particulars, in which the senses play no part. Aquinas did not allow for intuition of this kind (Eco, 63).

Before proceeding with Eco’s critique of Maritain, it is important to understand what he means by sensible intuition. Although Umberto Eco does not quote Kant directly, he adopted the notion of sensibile intuition from Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. Kant uses these precise terms in the preface of the second edition (Kant, xxxiii) to explain how we come to know an object through intuition and the senses. This is, after all, Kant’s main objective in the Critique of Pure Reason to argue in favour of the senses over the intelligence of the mind, as he explains in the introduction: “still less let the reader here except a critique of books and systems of pure reason; our present object is exclusively a critique of the faculty of pure reason itself” (Kant, 16). Thus, while Maritain exploits Thomas Aquinas in his argument that intelligibility allows one to experience the beauty of an object, Eco counters this claim by stating that Aquinas did not mention this and that Maritain’s argument seriously excludes the experience of the senses. Since

28 the identification of beauty and the aesthetic experience do not coincide only with intelligibility, what are the conditions of understanding beauty for Eco?

Before attempting to answer this query, it would be pertinent to trace Eco’s line of thought beginning with the first chapter, “Aesthetics in Medieval Culture”. In this chapter, Eco outlines the history of aesthetics in medieval culture. While the medievalists did not use the word aesthetics as a discipline and were not aware of the philosophy of aesthetics, Eco argues that they, nonetheless, studied aesthetic theories specific to beauty: “But if, instead, aesthetics refers to a whole range of issues connected with beauty – its definition, its function, the ways of creating and enjoying it – then the medievals did have aesthetic theories” (Eco, 2). Eco immediately introduces the notion of beauty in this chapter by explaining how Aquinas perceived it not only abstractly, but also practically in nature (3). However, it is in the second, third, fourth and seventh chapters that Eco directly addresses the nature of beauty and the notion of Aquinas’ visio. Eco begins with Aquinas’s renowned maxim visa placet: “for those things are called beautiful which please us when they are seen” (Eco, 56). Eco is in agreement with

Maritain on this philosophy; however, Eco amends Maritain’s view and demonstrates that, for

Aquinas, the intellectual and sensual were combined (Eco, 52). The aesthetic experience was achieved after the experience of intelligibility and after a cessation of a laboriously intellectual effort. Eco explains that this occurred “at the end of the second operation of the intellect-that is in the judgment” (Eco, 196). In Maritain’s Art and Scholasticism, there is only one reference made to the senses: a viewer comes to know a work of art first through the senses and, as a result, this ultimately leads to an experience of beauty through the intellect (Maritain, 28). Thus, the aesthetic experience and the experience of beauty occur at the moment of the greatest

29 intellectual effort. For Eco (and according to the Thomistic system), the act of intelligibility occurs first and, as a result, the aesthetic experience occurs after when the mind is silenced and the intellectual effort has ceased. Thus, it is fair to say that for Eco (and for Aquinas) the enjoyment of beauty and of art can only occur as a sense-experience and not part of cognition.

Aquinas referred to this experience as disinterested: “Aquinas was always conscious of the possibility of a pleasure which was pure and disinterested. He identified it with the pleasure produced by the apprehension of beauty in objects” (Eco, 17). A few chapters later, Eco references the term again to demonstrate how the pleasure of beauty is born from cognition and exists only with the termination of cognition: “A further point arises in connection with another passage in the Summa, where our pleasures or delectation in beauty is described as something totally disinterested. For it arises not out of a mode of possession, but out of an act of cognition”

(Eco, 57). In sum, Eco and Maritain agree with the involvement of the intellect in the process of an aesthetic experience; however, Eco is more concerned with demonstrating the moment of disinterested pleasure where all efforts and intelligibility yield to an overwhelming sensual experience. It is important to note that this sensual experience can occur without a laborious intellectual effort; however, this “quick and easy submission to the allure of harmony in shape and color can produce a pleasure that is aesthetic in embryo. But genuine, complete aesthetic pleasure comes when we grasp the reasons for the harmony […]” (Eco, 198).

While Maritain dedicated the first few chapters of his work to the practicality of art and the role of the artist, Eco did not discuss these issues until the final chapters. The fifth and sixth chapters are focused on the application of art and the responsibility of the artist. Eco begins with

Aquinas’s definition of art as “recta ratio factibilium” (Eco, 164). He explains the significance of

30 having the right judgment about how things are made, a “perfect knowledge of the rules of manufacture” (Eco, 164). This notion began with Aristotle and became one of the two elements in defining art: the two features of art for the medieval thinkers were cognitive and productive.

The cognitive component examined whether the craftsman would create a work of art from the imagination or from an experience involving the senses. Aquinas maintained that artistic production was not ‘creation’ because the artist could not “bring forms into existence ex nihilo, since the forms which he produces are dependent upon a preexisting, concrete, and organic reality” (Eco, 179). However, as according to Aquinas’s theory of phantasia, the inspiration did not have to be received by the senses and could be evoked by the imagination through a cognitive power. Nonetheless, God is responsible for this inspiration and, consequently, the resulting product was an extension of nature. Due to this notion, the craftsman must bear a sort of moral responsibility pertaining to his product (similar to the morality expressed by Maritain).

Eco explains that for the ancients and for Aristotle, this was not necessarily the case: “Its aim was a goodness of the work (bonum operis). The important thing for the craftsman was that he should make a good sword, for example, and it was not his concern whether it was used for good or evil purposes” (Eco 164). Even the origin of the term art, from the Greek arête, meaning excellence, furthers this argument. For Aquinas, and for the medievalists, it was quite different; as Maritain explained as well, the craftsman had a moral responsibility to be concerned about how his product would be used or perceived by society, and whether it was accurately furthering creation in nature or destroying it. As demonstrated above in the analysis of Maritain’s work, the artist must be concerned with meeting Aquinas’s three criteria: proportion, integrity and clarity. Eco supports this inference: “The act of aesthetic vision is an act which I apprehend a

31 formal reality. The apprehension causes pleasure, and the formal reality possesses clarity, integrity, and proportion” (Eco, 190). Within each of these criteria exists the responsibility of the artist, both adhering to moral guidelines and outlining perceptions of beauty. However, Eco recommends the reader to not become a superficial researcher of Aquinas; there is more to his theory of art than the goal of morality. Eco cautions scholars of Aquinas not to fall victim to this utilitarian view of the Thomistic system: “If he is taken in a strict theoretical sense, Aquinas’s treatment of this mater might seem very utilitarian, very concerned with didactic values and very little with the artistic” (Eco, 131). Before proceeding, to fully grasp this statement, it is important to understand where Eco borrowed the term utilitarian: “As between his own happiness and that of others, utilitarianism requires him to be as strictly impartial as a disinterested and benevolent spectator” (Mill, 24). We must be careful to not misinterpret Aquinas’s theory of art as a strict and disinterested notion that aims to produce art for the sake of the greater good. Although John

Stuart Mill was not the first to coin this term, he is one of the pioneers of codifying this concept in the manner it is used by Eco. Thus by avoiding this misinterpretation, we come to accept

Aquinas as also experiencing pleasure in art, more specifically with regards to music. In the chapter on the application of art, Eco tells us that Aquinas was most concerned with the scholarship of music and the effect it had on the mind and body. The enjoyment of music was very important for Aquinas and “not only is it not sinful, but it is one of those prerogatives which make human beings superior” (Eco, 134).

In the final chapter, Eco feels as if he has sufficiently outlined Aquinas’s aesthetic theory and proceeds to outline the analytical contradictions in the Thomistic system. By adhering to

Aquinas’s theory outlined above, one is constrained to accept the fact that “natural forms are

32 beautiful in the eyes of God, but deductive necessity dictates that they must be closed off to human eyes” (Eco, 205). Although Aquinas does not wish to make this claim, his system forces one to come to this specific conclusion. Eco further demonstrates the contradiction in the theory of aesthetic pleasure caused by artificial forms. As Eco pointed out in with regards to natural forms, aesthetic pleasure caused by artificial forms is also possible in theory but impossible practically. This is largely due to the fact that artificial forms are lacking in perfection compared to natural forms created by God. Eco explains:

Aesthetic pleasure caused by natural forms is possible in theory, but, in virtue of the same theory, it is impossible in practice. Aesthetic pleasure caused by artificial forms is impossible in theory, but, in virtue of the same theory, it is the only such pleasure that the theory regards a practical possibility (Eco, 205).

As a result, this logical deduction according to the Thomistic system also demonstrates how it contradicts the system. However, this contradiction is not completely of a negative nature; there is some good that came from this philosophical dilemma. Eco explains that the post-Thomistic aesthetics outlined this contradiction and “out of the break there arose a new conception of art and beauty (Eco, 205). This allowed for a further development of the theory of aesthetics and a greater interest in the topic. Without the theoretical flaws of Aquinas, it is possible that there would have been no interest in developing new conceptions of art and beauty. At first, as

Bondanella tells us, Eco believed that this contradiction would require a complete rejection of

Aquinas’s philosophical system; however, in the second preface, “Eco had come to realize that

‘every system has a contradiction within itself’” (Bondanella, 13). And it is within this contradiction that the interest for new conceptions is born.

While Maritain and Eco concern themselves with the aesthetics of pleasure, we must turn to an essay entitled, Ut Pictura Poesis, by Rensselaer Lee, to understand how the renewal and revival of an ancient hypothesis form the foundation of this thesis. Furthermore, it is in the notion of ut pictura poesis (“as is painting so is poetry”) that we come to understand more accurately and more completely Dante’s visibile parlare. In his essay, Lee explains that Horace was the first to introduce this term in his Ars Poetica. On lines 361-365, Horace writes: “Haec amat obscurum, volet haec sub luce videri, lucidis argutum quae non formidat acumen; Haec placuit semel, haec deciens repetita placebit4” (Lee, 13). Horace demonstrates that poetry and painting are linked; one should approach the interpretation and experience of a poem in the same manner that one approaches the viewing of a work of art. Some paintings can be enjoyed up- close, while others require that the spectator be at a greater distance; one should take the same approach with poetry. The notion of pleasure is also the same with poetry as it is with art; one can read a poem over and over and constantly be consumed with pleasure, while some poems can only be read and enjoyed once and then be set aside. Even before Horace, Plutarch had introduced the notion that readers could “see” the moments they were reading. This directly correlates to Dante’s notion of the visibile parlare. Words and images are not separate entities; they work in harmony and are dependent upon each other. Lee outlines that while Plato rejected art as a fake representation of reality, Aristotle aimed to glorify art as part of human nature and a means to understanding reality. The great thinkers of the Renaissance utilized Aristotle’s view as

4 A poem is like a painting. This one will appeal to you more than another if you stand closer to it, this other one if you stand further away. This one requires darkness; this other one needs to be seen in full light, for it can stand the critic’s scathing eye. Some only please once, while others, examined over and over again, continue to please (Lee, 13).

34 a point of departure and quarreled over whether poetry or art was the more valuable medium. Da

Vinci argued that the visual arts were more esteemed because the sense of sight was more superior to that of hearing. Jean-Baptiste Dubos later echoed Da Vinci’s view and maintained that to experience or create art is the most natural because one does not need any former training; reading a poem is not natural because a sort of training is required. Later on, Gotthold Ephraim

Lessing argued that all agents of artistic creation and experience should remain separate or risk succumbing to a perilous existence: “Since painting is innately static, its attempts to portray sequence are necessarily experimental and, for Lessing, dangerous. Any conjunction between the arts, any ut pictura poesis then, must be undertaken (if at all) with a great deal of caution”

(Burwick, 319).

For the next part of this thesis, I will outline the specific aspects that will be taken from the theories of Maritain, Eco and Lee. I will explain how the theories will be applied to the notion of visibile parlare and the manuscript tradition. As mentioned above, Maritain deals extensively with the role of the artist in the opening passages of Art and Scholasticism.

According to Maritain’s theories, the ideal artist possesses a balance between creativity and his prudence (his duty to society). The poet writes poetry or the artist creates a work of art as a means to further God’s creation and to inspire divinity in its audience. Maritain elevates the role of the artist to that of a prophet, capable of revealing truths and recounting events. It is clear that for Maritain the artist enjoys a serious capacity of responsibility. This theory is significant to the tradition of illuminated manuscripts because it helps understand the significant role that

35 illuminators had throughout history. Thomas Kren accurately observes: “The artists of the Bible were epic storytellers, and the witty scene of Absalom with his father’s concubines on one side of the leaf and his tragic death as he gets caught in a tree and pulled from his horse on the other illustrate its range” (Kren, xii). The storytelling ability of artists possesses an immense capacity to alter truths and dictate dogma. With a simple sketch, an illuminator of the bible could influence religious beliefs and modify divinely inspired scriptures. As a result, the artist must tread cautiously and honestly or risk being subjected to the laws of iconoclasm imposed by

Byzantium. Likewise, Maritain would agree that the artist of an illuminated manuscript pertaining to the Divine Comedy must work in harmony with the words of Dante. The words and images must work together in a magnificent display of artistic expression. Since the illuminator himself becomes an “epic storyteller”, he possesses the responsibility of telling the story accurately and of furthering the scope of the poet. According to Maritain’s theory, the artist must also be certain that the objective he is supporting is inspiring divinity in its audience and expanding upon the work of God.

I will also be harmonizing Maritain’s view of beauty with the visibile parlare and the manuscript tradition. Let us recall that Maritain dedicates his entire fifth chapter to the notion of beauty and utilizes St. Thomas as the foundation for his argument: “id quod visum placet”. A work of art is considered beautiful in relation to the experience of pleasure that is enjoyed by the viewer. The experience of the viewer is as significant as the experience of the artist; by enjoying a work of art, the viewer breathes life into an inanimate object. As mentioned above, this observation is similar to Poulet’s theory that books are dead objects (much like pet animals in a store window) until someone picks them up and reads them. By using Aquinas’s philosophy,

Maritain stresses the relationship that the viewer has with a work of art. Robert E. Wood accurately observes that, for St. Thomas, the “characterization does stress the appetitive response, the felt relation to the subject” (Wood, 107). Since the viewer experiences a “felt relation to the subject”, his/her role is as significant, if not more, as the artist’s responsibility in the manifestation of beauty. The artist can make a work of art, but it will be void of beauty unless there is an “appetitive response”. As a result, it would accurately follow that artists produce art to evoke a sense of pleasure in its audience. Since beauty pleases when it is seen, it is important to note the objective of the artists in the illuminated manuscript tradition. As mentioned in the historical outline of the introduction, illuminated manuscripts began with gilded and ornamented decorations. These extravagant decorations validate the objective of artists to evoke an “appetitive response” in its viewers. As mentioned above, with regards to excessive pride of Oderisi in Canto XI of the Purgatorio, artists were in constant pursuit for fame and glory; without a response from its audience and without the recognition of beauty by its viewers, the work of artists would become empty and disinterested. Maritain also expressed the necessity for moderate pride and temperate vanity with one’s work; however, these feelings were to be balanced with prudence and responsibility. To produce a good work of art, artists had to keep in mind the significant role of its audience. This notion is significant to this study of the visibile parlare and the tradition of illuminated manuscripts because it elevates the art produced by illuminators; whether it is simply gilded and ornamented decorations, or more complex miniatures of biblical passages or specific events in the Divine Comedy, artists of illuminated manuscripts were directly reaching out to its audiences to evoke some sort of response and to communicate various types of truths. The response pertains to the aesthetic experience of the

37 spectator; without the response of pleasure, the beauty in the work of art would remain lifeless

(as according to the Thomistic system). Furthermore, since “only those sense faculties which are most cognitive experience the beautiful, viz. sight and hearing to the extent that they serve reason” (Elders, 141), images and poetry (two types of artistic expression that communicate with sight and hearing) play a vital role in experiencing beauty. The word and the image are very powerful in communicating truths via the senses of sight and hearing; as a result, illuminated manuscripts, which combine words and images, are powerful and influential sources of information and aesthetic experiences. The poet and the artist are like prophets capable of furthering the teachings of spiritual leaders or of altering truths to form a new philosophy or doctrine. Thus, the power of the poet or the artist can be used towards either furthering the notion of morality or establishing dangerous concepts. Maritain argues in support of the former objective to explain the attributes of the ideal artist. With regards to the manuscript tradition, this places a lot of importance on the illuminators and gives them an immense responsibility to create art that promotes the ideals of the primary source and to create images that produce a sense of aesthetic pleasure in the viewer.

Umberto Eco expands on Maritain’s analysis of Aquinas’s philosophy and identifies when the exact moment of aesthetic pleasure occurs: the enjoyment of beauty and art occurs as a sense-experience and not part of cognition. For Eco, the sensual experience occurs at the moment of disinterested pleasure where all efforts and intelligibility seize. As a result, it is fair to say that the act of intelligibility occurs first when the viewer initially stumbles upon a work of art; then the aesthetic experience occurs when the mind has been silenced. By identifying the precise moment of the aesthetic experience, Eco demonstrates the significance of the transition

38 from simple manuscripts to illuminated manuscripts. The simple manuscripts without illuminations only contribute to the initial experience of intelligibility, void of the aesthetic experience. Furthermore, due to the restrictions imposed upon art by the Byzantine Empire (as mentioned above in the historical outline of illuminated manuscripts), the aesthetic experience in

Italy before the renaissance was almost nonexistent. The surge of illuminated manuscripts after the fall of the Byzantine Empire in Italy allowed for the aesthetic experience to occur independently of the intelligible and cognitive experience that one achieved from the words alone. As Dante demonstrates with his canto on the visibile parlare, images are powerful enough to communicate truths as much, if not more, as words. Furthermore, images extend to all facets of society and are not limited to the educated and elite few; a single image can cross cultural and linguistic barriers, while words must be translated, understood and reinterpreted. Miles Patterson supports my claim and explains that “although language differences across cultures can make direct verbal or written communication difficult, no translation is needed for most visual images”

(Patterson, 18). By writing in the volgare, Dante’s objective was to influence as many people as possible, especially those without a formal training in Latin. Boccaccio outlines two reasons for which Dante wrote in the volgare; the first is of significance to this thesis:

Delle quali la prima è per fare utilità più commune a’ suoi cittadini e agli altri Italiani: conoscendo che, se metricamente in latino, come gli altri poeti passati, avesse scritto, solamente a’ letterati avrebbe fatto utile, scrivendo in volgare fece opera mai più non fatta, e non tolse il non potere essere inteso da’ letterati, e mostrando la bellezza del nostro idioma e la sua eccellente arte in quello, e diletto e intendimento di sè diede agl’idioti, abandonati per addietro da ciascheduno (Boccaccio, 486-487).

An illuminated manuscript of the Divine Comedy would further Dante’s objective by reaching out to those illiterate individuals; as a result, the content of his poem can be enjoyed and understood by those with no linguistic training. Although a few elite individuals will argue in favour of poetry and linguist training, such as Charlemagne who “was particularly concerned to promote correct usage in speech and writing, and wanted schools to be established in monasteries and episcopal seats throughout his realm, for the purpose of teaching the basic skills of literacy, grammar, the study of literature, the rudiments of music and computus”

(McKitterick, 219), and others will argue in favour of images, such as the Byzantine patriarch,

Nicephorus, who “thought pictures were superior to words, because sight is more persuasive and convincing than hearing” (McKitterick, 299), it is important to recall the theories outlined by

Rensselaer Lee in his essay, Ut Pictura Poesis. Lee expands on Horace and elevates the visual arts to the level of poetry. Instead of arguing for one over the other, for the word over the image or vice versa, the ultimate work of art would combine poetry and images in a harmonious display of creative expression. This technique is not only limited to works of art belonging to our ancestors; one of the most recent illuminated manuscripts is Saint John’s Bible of 2011, which ultimately serves the same purpose as Alfonso D’Aragona’s illuminated manuscript of Dante’s

Divine Comedy five hundred years before. Michael Patella suggests that “by working with both word and image, the Saint John’s Bible utilizes two human senses – hearing and sight” (Patella, xiv). He continues: “Word and image have a symbiotic relationship with each informing the other, and together they give rise to Sacred Scripture’s polyvalence” (Patella, xiv). This same argument of polyvalence can be applied to the illuminated manuscript of Alfonso D’Aragona.

The poetry of Dante in the illuminated manuscript is not only limited to the sense of hearing; the

40 sense of sight is ignited and the reader is immersed into an aesthetic experience. Although

Dante’s original copy of the Divine Comedy has no proven illuminations, it is clear that Dante was illuminating the reader on the significance of the sense of sight. Apart from the above- mentioned Purgatorio X of the visibile parlare, Dante provides an overflow of sight-related references in Purgatorio XXIX before transitioning into Paradiso. On lines 55-57, Dante turns to see that Virgil’s eyes are just astonished as his: “ed esso mi rispuose con vista carca di stupor non meno”. At line 58, Dante looks at the extraordinary things moving towards him:

Indi rendei l'aspetto a l'alte cose

che si movieno incontr' a noi sì tardi,

che foran vinte da novelle spose.

Then the woman scolds Dante for only seeing the lights and no what comes after them:

La donna mi sgridò: Perché pur ardi

sì ne l'affetto de le vive luci,

e ciò che vien di retro a lor non guardi?" (lines 61-63).

Dante sees the people following those candles on line 64: “Genti vid’io allor, come a lor duci,”.

He also notices the reflections in the water, lines 67-70,

L'acqua imprendëa dal sinistro fianco

e rendea me la mia sinistra costa,

s'io riguardava in lei, come specchio anco.

Dante also adjusts position so that he can see even better: “per veder meglio ai passi diedi sosta”

(vv 72). Dante was no stranger to the sense of sight and, as a result, he most certainly envisioned

41 the Divine Comedy as an illuminated manuscript: “quell’arte che alluminare è chiamate in

Parisi” (Purg. XI, 80)

Chapter 2

Inferno

In the conclusion of the previous chapter, I offered specific verses and cantos from

Dante’s Divine Comedy in an attempt to further my claims of the theoretical premises. Now that the theoretical premises and pertinent historical themes have been accurately outlined and defined, I will be closely examining individual images from Alfonso D’Aragona’s Illuminated

Manuscript. These images will serve as a visual commentary to Dante’s text and they will be compared and contrasted with the textual commentators of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries.

The lens through which I will be structuring my own personal interpretation of the Divine

Comedy is that of Charles Singleton. The reason for this choice is that Singleton argues in favour of figural interpretation of the Comedy, utilizing the philosophy of Auerbach. Charles Singleton, as stated by Jasper Hede, “does not refer to Auerbach, but it seems clear that he might have got the idea from Auerbach’s essay “Figura”, which appeared in 1938 in an Italian version” (Hede,

160). Auerbach’s notion of figura demonstrates, and adopted by Singleton, demonstrates the historical realism of the figural conception of Dante. As pertaining to this thesis, the analysis of illuminations of the Commedia contributes to the examination of historical realism in Dante.

This will be demonstrated in each canticle.

This chapter will focus primarily on images from the Inferno with passing references made to the other cantos only when necessary. It is important to note that this illuminated manuscript is one of the few that entirely illustrates all three canticles of the Divine Comedy

“with 112 framed miniatures in lower margins of the page” (Carey, 92). That being said, only the

43 images with significant aesthetic and philosophical merit will be examined. The criteria for choosing the specific images consist of the following: extensive commentary available for the passage, the amount of the detail in the image, and the historical and literary significance that the canto possesses. For the Inferno, I have divided this section into four parts: the ante-inferno and

Dante’s three main types of sin, incontinence, violence, and malice or fraud. I use these divisions to adhere to the main structure outlined by Dante. The canto I have chosen for the ante-inferno is canto I with the three beasts. For the section of incontinence, I have chosen to analyze the entrance to the second circle of hell with Minos in canto V and the lustful; and canto VIII (fifth circle of hell), the wrathful. For the section of violence, I will analyze canto XIII (seventh circle of hell), the sin of violence against oneself. And, finally, for the section of malice or fraud, I will examine canto XXXII (ninth circle of hell) the traitors to their kin. With each of these images, in addition to the visual commentary that they provide, I will be exploring the aesthetic experience of the reader and how that aesthetic experience differs from reading the words of the Comedy without any accompanying miniatures. Of course, the theoretical premises of Maritain and Eco outlined in the previous chapter will serve as my guide.

2.1

Canto I: The Three Beasts

Without conceding to a redundant summation of an already famous canto, I will briefly mention that in this first canto and the first few lines of the Inferno Dante finds himself in a dark and foreign territory. Charles Singleton, in his commentary on the Divine Comedy, mentions that the use of the word ‘nostra’ “is not to be overlooked. This is ‘our’ life’s journey, and we are necessarily involved in it. Thus, in its first adjective, the poem is open to the possibility of allegory” (Singleton, 3). In the illuminated Manuscript of Alfonso D’Aragona, the visual commentator, Priamo della Quercia, possesses a similar view to that of Singleton by depicting

Dante fully clothed from head to toe with only a slight glimpse of his undeveloped and rudimentary facial features.

With his entire body covered, Dante could be either one of us hiding beneath those pale blue garments. On the contrary, Virgil’s head and face are fully exposed with quite distinct facial

45 features. In the realm of visual arts, it is quite common to depict a character as fully clothed to create a sense of uncertainty and to provoke a feeling of imaginative freedom. Patricia Crown explains that the drawing or sculpting of a naked individual reveals his/her true identity; however, when “it is artfully clothed and decorated, the mind ‘at every turn resumes its imaginary pursuits concerning it’” (Crown, 90). It is interesting to note that Boccaccio, in his commentary of the Divine Comedy, does not mention the allegorical significance of the use of

“noi”. Instead, Boccaccio focuses on the word “mezzo” in both allegorical and literal senses. In the literal sense, Boccaccio explains a specific mode in comprehending this term: “L’uno modo è quello che nella esposizione litterale dicemmo, cioè puntale, il quale mezzo è dirittamente quel punto che igualmente è distante a due estremità” (Boccaccio, 67). In the miniature provided above by della Quercia, Dante is depicted in the center of the frame in between the dark forest and the mountains of purgatory. Della Quercia provides a literal commentary of Dante much like that of Boccaccio. Dante is in the middle of his life between two extremes: the past of sin depicted by a dark forest and the future of redemption depicted by the mountain of purgatory. In an allegorical sense, Boccaccio explains: “[…] per lo mezzo puntale, per ciò che, come di sopra mostrammo, egli era di età di trentacinque anni, ch’è il mezzo puntale della vita nostra […]”

(Boccaccio, 86). While Boccaccio gives Dante the age of thirty-five, Della Quercia similarly paints Dante as a young middle-aged man with no facial hair and supple pale skin, as opposed to

Virgil’s graying hair and dark wrinkled skin. It is fair to say that Dante, in comparison to Virgil, is depicted in an almost feminine way. This was very common during this time period as

“Renaissance artists frequently depicted young men in an effete, even feminine way” (Stemp,

88).

In examining the miniature of della Quercia more closely, it is important to note that both

Dante and Virgil appear to be clearly depicted with no hint of darkness. Dante tells us that he finds himself in a dark forest; however, the miniature above shows lucidly visible shapes, contours and faces. Benvenuto da Imola, in his commentary on the Divine Comedy, points out that Dante “dicit oscura propter ignorantiam et peccatum, quae obcaecant, et obscurant, et tenebras petunt, quia qui male agit, odit lucem” (Benevenutus, 25). As a result, Dante’s use of the term “oscura” is generally examined through a metaphorical lens instead of literally. It is no surprise then that della Quercia chose to provide a visual commentary of the popular metaphor, while also remaining true to the literal words of the Comedy. As already outlined, the illumination above is not a total and accurate depiction of oscurità. While the sky is painted with a dark blue, all the figures and colours are brightly visibile. Thus, della Quercia balances a visual and literal representation of darkness (the dark blue colour of the sky and the darkness in the woods behind Dante) with an internal and metaphorical interpretation of oscurità (the external bodies of Dante and Virgil are lightly coloured with no hint of darkness, suggesting the darkness must be within them). Wallace Fowlie observes that:

the wood, the hill, and the beasts appear to be outside of Dante, thanks to the

poet’s art, but we begin to realize that they are also within him, that they depict

familiar fantasies we can easily recognize, fantasies created in the subconscious

when one is ‘out of joint’ with the world, when, like Dante and Hamlet, one is

exiled, and relives, in some minor way which may yet be stupendous in a single

life, the drama of man’s fall from God’s grace (Fowlie, 18).

It is important to mention, as Fowlie points out, that the three beasts are also found within Dante, just like the oscurità. And even though darkness surrounds Dante, the three beasts are clearly visible in della Quercia’s painting. Thirty-three verses pass before Dante is confronted by the three notorious beasts: the leopard, the lion, and the she-wolf. In della Quercia’s visual commentary, it is impossible to grasp the metaphorical meaning of the three beasts by just looking at the images; however, it is a significant point of analysis for the literary commentators as it is much easier to convey with words. Boccaccio writes: “cioè per la Lonza il vizio della lussuria e per lo leone il vizio della superbia e per la lupa il vizio dell’avarizia” (Boccaccio, 93).

As with the literary commentators, della Quercia remains true to Dante’s ordering of the animals.

He paints the three distinct stages in which Dante was attacked by the three beasts, beginning with the lonza, then the leone, and finally the lupa. It is interesting to note that, in the miniature, the lupa is the only beast able to tackle Dante to the ground. This visual commentary reveals to the viewer that the she-wolf is the most dangerous, fearful and challenging of all the three beasts.

In support of this claim, we may quote Singleton who explains that “of the three, the she-wolf proves to be the most troublesome; this fact in itself suggests rather clearly, even without ulterior confirmation that the beast’s name in allegory is cupiditas” (Alighieri and Singleton, 10). An even more recent critic of the twenty-first century, Cristina Mazzoni, also makes this observation: “Dante’s she-wolf may echo Virgil’s, but her feeding purpose reverses the intent and effect of her ancient predecessor. So, of Virgil, Dante implores help not in speaking accurately of the she-wolf but rather in fighting the most frightening among the three beasts

[…]” (Mazzoni, 124-125). This is where Virgil first appears as Dante’s guide, helps him to his

48 feet as the three beasts scurry off. The miniature above clearly depicts this event as the final stage; the image reveals Virgil’s character standing with Dante without the three beasts.

With this miniature, della Quercia accurately adheres to the ideal attributes of an artist as outlined by Maritain. Let us recall that, for Maritain, the artist is not God and does not have the ability nor the means to create something from nothing: “And no doubt the artist perceives this form in the created world, whether exterior or interior: he does not discover it complete in the sole contemplation of his creative spirit, for he is not, like God, the cause of things”

(Maritain, 89). Della Quercia evidently utilizes Dante’s poetry as a means of inspiration and employs his power of criticism to interpret the words of Dante. Likewise, Dante’s poetry cannot come from nothing; he is not the unmoved mover. Art and poetry are similar in that they rely heavily on inspiration: “Thus to Dante, the writing of Inferno and the Purgatorio, the two canticles in which he is accompanied by Virgil, the character symbolizing the lumen naturale, the highest that man can achieve under the guidance of reason and the four cardinal virtues, is inspired by the Muses” (Anderson, 324). Thus, there appears to be a hierarchy of inspiration wherein Dante receives his inspiration from the muses, the illuminators from Dante, and us as the readers from both the words and the images. Our role is just as significant as we flash a moment of intelligibility on the work of art, allowing the true significance to be ultimately realized. Theodore Prescott supports our role as readers and expands on Maritain’s view that

radiance or clarity is knowable best when the mind is simultaneously relaxed and alert. By guiding our intellect to a contemplative state we set a ‘tripwire of anticipation’ in our intellect to apprehend the integrity, harmony, and radiance that await our discovery in a work of art – or, conversely, that are found to be absent (Prescott, lxxxvi).

When there happens to be an absence of intelligibility or pleasure in a work of art, a miscommunication between the artist and the viewer ensues; as a result, the hierarchy of inspiration collapses. This only further proves the significant relationship that exists between the artist and the viewer. However, is it always the case that something cannot come from nothing?

If this notion is proven false, does the hierarchy of inspiration crumble instantaneously? This notion will be further discussed when we reach the Paradiso and where Dante possibly becomes the uninspired Maker.

2.2

Canto V: Minos and the Colour Red

In the fifth canto, there are three difference miniatures depicting various stages of Dante’s experience in this second circle of hell. Before entering the realm of the lustful, Dante and Virgil are confronted by Minos, the famous mythological creature, which Dante adapts from Virgil and to whom Dante entrusts the role of judicator of sins. The character of Minos was of great interest to della Quercia, and his miniature is a significant focal point of this canticle. It is important to note that this is the first of the miniatures that depicts ultimate and complete darkness. The backdrop is of a black colour and Dante’s face is significantly darker and obscured as opposed to the colours in the first miniature discussed above. This brings attention to the fact that Dante and

Virgil have passed completely into the underworld and are now on the threshold of the inferno.

The aesthetic experience that the reader has with this miniature is one of fear, gloom, and hopelessness, but also a sense of focus and preparedness. While the first circle of hell is officially Limbo (the circle where Virgil is found) as per Dante’s design, it is obvious that della

Quercia considers the second circle as the real entrance to the Inferno. He depicts Dante and

Virgil entering a door-like structure and confronting Minos. While Dante explains that they have descended out of the first circle, the literary critics seem to agree with the miniature’s suggestion:

“Perhaps Limbo is best regarded as ‘marginal,’ as the name itself (“hem,” “border”) implies. The presence of Minos as judge of sins ‘at the entrance’ (vs. 5) clearly marks the beginning of Hell proper, where actual sin is punished” (Singleton, 74). Interestingly, the miniature above brings attention to the motif of a border with the door-like structure and the dark, bold frame surrounding the entire miniature. Up until this point, the borders of the miniatures were lightly coloured, almost blending in with the background. It is no surprise then that modern critics describe limbo as “set apart from the rest of Hell by its tranquil, pleasant atmosphere” (Raffa,

25). After examining the borders, the viewer is instantly transported into the centre of the frame where Minos sits atop a golden throne above the souls like a King above his serfs. While della

Quercia depicts Minos as an elite, legal or royal figure, Dante avoids using the term ‘judge’ or

‘king’ and instead “more simply singles him out as ‘quel conoscitor di peccati’ (Boccaccio, 182).

In his commentary on the Divine Comedy, Boccaccio also downplays the role of Minos by referring to him as a simple examiner of sins: “essaminatore delle colpe de' peccatori” (Landino,

278). Boccaccio’s interpretation does not create a direct association with the Inferno, but only with the sins of the Inferno. On the contrary, Singleton mirrors the miniature above and identifies

Minos as the “the judge of hell” (Singleton, 74). One may be tempted to argue that this is a

52 distinction created between earlier commentaries and more modern ones; however, like

Singleton, Cristoforo Landino’s commentary of 1481 attributes a significant and more powerful quality to Minos as “quello giudice, el quale nessun può fuggire” (Landino, 445). Landino stresses that all souls must pass through Minos and cannot escape his frightening and authoritative grasp. Like Boccaccio, Alan E. Bernstein, a modern critic of Dante, strips Minos of his power by bringing attention to the existence of a jury alongside the judicator: “Put another way, is it correct to conclude that places are assigned in this are to those whose lives and crimes

Minos, with the help of his jury (chosen by lot), has reviewed and accepted?” (Bernstein, 66).

The presence of a jury indeed limits the commanding presence of any judicator. Examining more closely the miniature of Minos above, there does appear to be a jury situated underneath Minos; however, notwithstanding the natural wear and tear on the image through time, the characters seem to be faintly depicted, lacking clear facial features. They are not positioned in the centre of the image and, without a close inspection, are almost completely missed, as they seem to be gradually falling off the side of the miniature. Furthermore, the members of the jury appear to be even skinnier than the other souls with ribs protruding from either side of their delicate frames; this visual metaphor insinuates that they are starved from words, lacking the nutrition of any form of opinion. The ultimate judge is Minos who possesses the power to interpret the sins and sort the souls accordingly. It is also important to note the height at which della Quercia places

Dante and Minos in relation to Virgil and the other souls. It is imperative to recall that Dante is not a soul that has faced final damnation; he is simply a human in the middle of his life’s journey lost in a dark wood. He still possesses the gift of life; the souls in hell have been stripped of that privilege. By placing Minos subtly higher than Dante, della Quercia further identifies him as a

53 powerful, authoritative and significant figure within the realm of the Inferno, so dominant that his mythological horns rise a few centimeters above Dante forcing the only living soul to peer slightly upwards towards his beast-like figure alongside the suffering lifeless souls.

Although in the past few miniatures, Virgil was already donning a red robe-like garment, it is in this fifth canto that we are drawn to mention the significance of this colour. While this is the canto of the lustful and while the two miniatures that follow the one of Minos are heavily decorated with the colour red, we will avoid any obvious presuppositions and monotonous interpretations of this passionate symbol of love. Instead, I would like to propose that we focus on visual representations in the Renaissance of two specific twin physicians: Cosmas and

Damian: “The twin brothers Cosmas and Damian, skilled in the art of medicine, were featured especially in fifteenth-century Florentine painting because they were patrons of the ‘Medici family in Renaissance Florence’. Their role was to protect against the plague and sickness in general[…] They usually wear the long, dark red gown of the Renaissance physician” (Earls,

194). An example of this depiction can be found in the painting entitled: “A verger's dream:

Saints Cosmas and Damian performing a miraculous cure by transplantation of a leg” of 1495

(Wellcome Library Catalogue).

A verger's dream: Saints Cosmas and Damian performing a miraculous cure by transplantation of a leg (Wellcome Library no. 46009i)

This is loosely based on true facts and, “as famous paintings depict, the black leg was successfully transplanted on this white individual due to miraculous healing powers of the sainted twins” (Hewitt, Lee, Gordon, 39). It is important to note that a mention of this painting and the digression from the illumination of the manuscript is to emphasize how Virgil is also depicted as wearing a red robe in the miniature by della Quercia only forty years prior to this image of the twin physicians. It would be fair to say that Virgil is a sort of physician, like

Cosmas and Damian, protecting Dante from the illnesses and plagues of the Inferno. He is not only Dante’s protector and guide, but he is also a healer and a surgeon; Dante’s journey through the Inferno is a sort of purging and cleansing and transformation (just as the surgeon transforms

55 the body) before he is able to see Beatrice in Paradiso. Furthermore, just as Dante revives Virgil and uses him as his protector years after his death, the story of the image above explains “that the sainted brothers had performed this procedure posthumously, since they were beheaded early in the third century AD, as Christian Martyrs” (Hewitt, Lee, Gordon, 39). The overflowing of the colour red in the following miniatures of the fifth canto will be interpreted in a vastly different way than Virgil’s red robe. While Virgil’s red was a sign of protector, healer and transformer, the red of the lustful is violent, evil and chaotic. It is obvious that the miniaturist aimed to create this distinction and juxtaposition of the two different hues of red; we see in the second miniature that Virgil’s red robe and the sea of red in the backdrop are completely different shades. In fact, the distinction is so prominent that Virgil’s robe is almost made to look somewhat pink.

As the colour of Virgil’s robe was discussed above, I would like to now examine the second, darker hue of the following miniatures.

In the first miniature, the colour red is almost blinding as it fills the entire image and stains the frame that surrounds the miniature. As Millard Meiss observes: "The great delight of the miniatures is their colour" (Meiss, 408). The souls floating above seem to be drowning in a sea of red, while Dante and Virgil are untouched by the violent, chaotic colour, almost as if they are able to split the sea into two by some divine intervention. This undoubtedly brings to mind the story of Moses in the Old Testament where he “led the children of Israel to safety when the Red

Sea parted for them, then closed on the pursuing Egyptian armies” (Wick, 20). This scene is from Exodus 14, verses 15-18:

Then the Lord said to Moses, “Why are you crying out to me? Tell the Israelites to

move on. 16 Raise your staff and stretch out your hand over the sea to divide the

water so that the Israelites can go through the sea on dry ground. 17 I will harden

the hearts of the Egyptians so that they will go in after them. And I will gain glory

through Pharaoh and all his army, through his chariots and his horsemen. 18 The

Egyptians will know that I am the Lord when I gain glory through Pharaoh, his

chariots and his horsemen.

In fact, in the second miniature above, a sea of deep red is visible in the background and Virgil has his arm lifted as if he is Moses splitting the red sea to make way for Dante’s liberation as

Moses made way for the exodus of the Israelites. While della Quercia provides this visual commentary based upon the exodus of the Old Testament in this fifth canto, the literary commentators write about it in the second canto of Purgatorio with the singing of Psalm 113, In exitu Israel de Aegypto. Singleton writes: “the song is appropriate to the time of the journey, since this is Easter Sunday morning, and Exodus signifies, of course, Passover and Easter”

(Singleton, 31). The entirety of the Commedia can be seen as a metaphor of the exodus of the

Old Testament, as “presumably all souls as they reach this shore would sing this psalm, a hymn of thanksgiving for liberation from ‘Egypt’ and the bondage (of sin), as the closing verses of the psalm make clear” (Singleton, 31). Dante must travel from the Inferno to the Purgatorio and finally into the Paradiso liberating himself from sin, just as the “spiriti uscendo del peccato, et della servitù di quello, per venire al purgatorio, et indi a terra di promissione, cioè al paradiso, optimamente potevono cantare tal psalmo” (Landino, 322). In the letter to Cangrande della

Scala5, there is proof that Dante’s obsession with the exodus out of Egypt forms the foundation of his entire poem:

When Israel went out of Egypt, the house of Jacob from a people of strange language; Judah was his sanctuary and Israel his dominion. For if we consider the letter alone, the departure of the children of Israel from Egypt in the time of Moses is signified; if the allegory, our redemption accomplished in Christ is

5 It is important to note that there is uncertainty about the authorship of the letter to Cangrande della Scala. On the controversy, see Hollander (1993), Azzetta (2003), and Casadei (2013).

signified; if the moral meaning, the conversion of the soul from the sorrow and misery of sin to a state of grace is signified; in the anagogical, the departure of the sanctified soul from the slavery of this corruption to the liberty of everlasting glory is signified” (Alighieri, Latham, Carpenter, 193).

Thus, della Quercia demonstrates in these red-centered miniatures that Dante and Virgil have begun their journey into the underworld, the journey that will ultimately lead to a liberation from sin. Virgil will be Dante’s Moses and will split the red sea for Dante so as to allow his journey to continue unimpeded. The circles of hell, the sins, the evil, and the souls of the damned represent the Egyptians as Dante moves further and further away from the dark wood of the slavery of sin.

This is Dante’s exodus.

While the artists of this manuscript attempt to provide visual interpretations of Dante in a more physical realm using images, colours and shapes, it is important to note what Maritain refers to as an aesthetic experience. The written commentators of the Comedy strictly aim to inform

59 readers and analyze the text. Instead, the visual commentators, such as Priamo della Quercia, seek to also bring pleasure or discomfort to the viewer; in essence, they seek to evoke a strong emotion whether negative or positive. In the previous illuminations cited above, the viewer is inundated with bright colours and, at times, violent images. While the violent images may force some viewers to turn away in disgust, the bright colours draw us back in again because “colour adds more control to visual dynamics, it also makes it more complex, because not only are there more variables and more relationships to consider, a colour by itself can demand attention”

(Shaver, 103). The artists of this manuscript strategically use colour to bring attention to significant moments or characters. The following miniature from the eighth canto depicts the wrathful souls in the fifth circle of hell. In contrast to the miniatures cited above, the colours are deeper, brighter and, generally, more prominent. Virgil’s robe is a deep red that significantly stands out among the other colours, drawing attention to his form and position within the frame.

The colour red is “routinely used to provoke attention” because “it triggers a primal response”

(Shaver, 103). Without delving much deeper into the primal significance of the colour red (i.e. blood), it is more necessary to meditate upon the primal significance of this canto and why the artist wants us to engage in a primal aesthetic experience. It is important to note that in this circle dwell the wrathful, the souls, who in life were quick to anger; who, without warning or contemplation, would act out with rage, independent of human reason. These souls embodied the primal and animalistic instinct that failed to be tamed by their minds; they stepped outside their level of the great chain of being and descended towards beasts. This is why they reside within the depths of the Inferno, attempting to climb upon the boat alongside Dante and Virgil as if to

60 ascend the great chain of being which they had so long ago abandoned in flesh. The viewer observes the souls struggling and, as a result, empathizes with that feeling.

While della Quercia depicts the damned in their most primal form, unclothed, naked and with obvious signs of starvation, we grow uncomfortable and begin to possess an insatiable appetite to know more about the souls that attract us to the center of the frame. It is true that the red of Virgil’s robe is the first to attract our attention; however, we cannot help but be also drawn to the hideousness and intensity of the naked bodies. Our attention is dependent upon two opposing triggers: the desire to view nudity and the impossibility to turn away from weirdness, disgust and violence. Although they are opposing triggers, one of pleasure and one of pain, they share one common attribute: voyeurism. This theme of voyeurism is also what separates an illuminated manuscript from a manuscript composed of only words. Not only does an illuminated manuscript deepen and possibly alter our understanding of the text, but it also accommodates and awakens our desire to view images of people in their purest form unimpeded by deceit and theatrics. And this desire is satisfied by Priamo della Quercia’s paintings of nude bodies. It is true that viewing nude bodies is primarily an aesthetic experience that aims to please, as Maritain would put it, and as Paola Tinagli writes: “all the knowledge and all the artistic skills the painter possesses are used, and this is a constant aspect of Renaissance art, to produce images which can move the viewer. In the case of representations of the nude, they will often knowingly move the viewers to lust” (Tinagli, 111). However, pleasure and lust are not the only objectives. It is also true that we are drawn to the fact that we are no longer looking at a fabricated character in a fictional tale. Whether it is on stage during a theatrical performance or on paper made up of two-dimensional lines and colours and shapes, nudity has the capacity to

61 break down the fourth wall and allow the viewer to be directly connected to the character who is no longer concealed by a costume. As a result, the viewer obtains power over the nude subject who cannot reciprocate the voyeuristic gaze. This contributes to the suffering and powerless experience of the souls in the Inferno with, not only our voyeuristic gaze, but also that of Dante’s and Virgil’s who are fully clothed from head to toe in the illuminations. Regina Schwartz describes the voyeuristic gaze of the serpent upon Eve in Milton’s Paradise Lost as “destructive”

(Finucci, 154). She continues: “Perhaps voyeurism is so thoroughly implicated in the Fall because Milton understands the Temptation as the temptation of voyeurism – that is, the temptation to polarize power” (Finucci, 155). Similarly, in the Inferno, we are contributing to the destructiveness of the souls with our imposing power over them. This power allows the viewer, seated behind the physical pages of the manuscript, and Dante, the pilgrim, to see the souls in their purest forms. This is Virgil’s duty: to reveal each soul to Dante. And this is the objective of

Dante’s pilgrimage: to understand sin and to know each soul completely and fully.

In Canto VIII, Dante’s voyeuristic gaze upon the naked souls is so powerful and revealing that he himself begins to grow wrathful, angry and impatient. In responding to the soul,

Dante exclaims: “E io a lui: ‘Con piangere e con lutto, / spirito maladetto, ti rimani; / ch’i’ ti conosco, ancor sie lordo tutto’” (lines 37-39). This tone of speaking is unusual for Dante; his voyeuristic power over the damned, naked soul becomes quite evident. Charles Singleton points out: “The language grows more violent and reaches a climax with Virgil’s ‘Away there, with the other dogs!’” (Singleton, 126) In the miniature, Priamo della Quercia illustrates the side profile of Dante, seated in a stiff posture, with his lips pursed together and his head bent forward. We have not seen Dante in this position in previous cantos. The other miniatures depicted accurately

Dante’s fear and sympathy for the soul with a slouched posture. But here, Dante is obviously infuriated, impatient, and is attempting to restrain himself from a violent outburst of some sort.

He is not doubt taking on the attributes of these souls, as he also did in the fainting scene of the fifth canto.

2.3

Canto VIII: Dante and Virgil, Intimacy and Companionship

While the images and the written comments seem to be in agreement with regards to the impatience and frustration of Dante, the image in this case goes beyond the written commentary.

This is the first time in the illuminations that Virgil breaks the barrier between human and soul, between the living and the dead; in the boat, Virgil puts his hand on Dante’s back as if to calm him down. Dante also mentions this touch in the Commedia on line 43 of the eighth canto; however, he only passes over this scene quickly and abruptly. In fact, there is very little written

64 about this moment by the modern literary commentators. For example, Singleton only points out the variation of “basciommi” as “baciommi”, but does not explain the kiss or the touch.

Furthermore, in Robert Hollander’s commentary on the Divine Comedy, he does not mention the kiss but only “Virgil’s approving words”. Instead, della Quercia, in this illumination, places

Virgil’s kiss and touch at the center of the frame.

It is important to point out that it is not unnatural for Virgil to be able to touch Dante as

“Dante’s legendary guide oscillates between a being dispossessed of corporeal form and the opposite – an individual able to engage Dante physically” (Fraser, 110). Also, this eighth canto is not the first time in the Comedia for Virgil to touch Dante. In Canto III, lines 19-20 state: “E poi che la sua mano a la mia puose”. However, the question is: Why does della Quercia choose to wait to represent the touch of Virgil in the eighth canto? To answer this query, we must, once again, turn to Maritain as our guide. Let us recall that Maritain’s argument focuses around the artist, images and the aesthetic experience. It is about the visual artist becoming a poet, reinterpreting a text and transforming words into images: “The basic significance of modern art lies in this advance, and in the effort to discover and penetrate and set free the active mystery of poetic knowledge and poetic intuition (Maritain, 195).

Della Quercia satisfies Maritain’s description of modern art; he not only paints what he reads, but he penetrates Dante’s words and stands alongside him as poet, critic and storyteller.

Della Quercia is not content at providing only accompanying criticism, as Singleton and

Hollander do; his aim is to produce poetry and create an aesthetic experience. For Maritain, this freedom of the artist is quite significant; he explains this in a work entitled An Essay on

Christian Philosophy. In an analysis of this specific work, Deal Wyatt Hudson observes: “His

[Maritain] conversion to Catholicism and his discovery of Aquinas had freed Maritain from the artificial constraints placed upon the intellect by the Cartesian idea of mathematical certitude.

The ‘Christian’ philosopher need not blind himself to the ‘objective data’ that informs his faith’”

(Hudson, 240). The images in this illuminated manuscript adhere precisely to this principle; they are not merely repetitions of Dante’s words and they are not blind to the ‘objective data’ of the

Commedia.

Continuing along this great chain, from poet to artist, we now move to the experience of the viewer. As mentioned in the first chapter, Maritain dedicated most of Art and Scholasticism to the aesthetic experience of the viewer. This aesthetic experience is the third and final part of the chain from poet to artist and then to viewer; this thesis represents that final part. Maritain writes: “intellectual knowledge is at first a beginning of insight, still unformulated, a kind of many-eyed cloud which is born from the impact of the light of the Illuminating Intellect on the world of images, and which is but a humble and trembling inchoation” (Maritain, 73). J.W.

Hanke explains in the book, Maritain’s Ontology of the Work of Art, that “it is from this world of activity that new ideas, scientific hypotheses, and solutions suddenly emerge” (Hanke, 78). The idea of centering upon della Quercia’s depiction of Virgil’s touch and kiss and by flashing a sort of intelligence upon this illumination, there is a spark of a ‘scientific discovery’ about the significance and importance of this event in the Comedia.

While just reading Dante’s words, one may skim over them quickly and without much pause; the method of the terzina provokes this skimming over as the words flow easily from one to the other. However, the image produces a pause, and there is a sudden illumination of meaning. The wrathful are a group of souls with whom Dante finally refuses to empathize. It is

66 obvious that he has matured from the fainting scene in the fifth canto with Paolo and Francesca.

Here, in the eighth canto, he rejects the souls wholeheartedly and looks upon them with disgust.

This is why Virgil hugs and kisses Dante, in an act of approval and pride for the lost pilgrim who seems to finally be moving away from sin. Although it may seem that Dante is simply another wrathful soul as he becomes angry and mean towards the damned in the fifth circle, it is important to note that his is a different type of anger. Belliotti explains: “Virgil interprets the pilgrim’s hardness as evidence that he is righteously angry at the sin of wrath that Argenti exemplifies” (Belliotti, 115). Thus, Dante is not angry in a wrathful, impatient and uncontrolled sense; he is, instead, experiencing “righteous anger – which is always distinguished from sinful wrath by Aristotle and Aquinas […]” (Belliotti, 115). This is a significant turning point in the

Commedia and in Dante’s character; della Quercia centers his painting upon this turning point and makes it impossible for the viewer to not pause and reflect.

Moving left from the center of the frame and moving away from the most significant part of this miniature, we come to the opposite representation as above. While above della Quercia brings attention to the center of the frame and to the intimacy between Dante and Virgil, there is now an opposite effect of obscurity, seclusion and coldness, paired with unfriendliness and aloofness. A dark and obscure figure becomes evident in the boat seated alongside Dante and

Virgil. At first glance, and even at a second glance, the dark beast-like figure goes unnoticed.

The black colour of its figure blends with the dark gray shadows of the distant mountains.

Immediately, within only the first few terzine of this canto, we are told by Virgil that this creature is Phlegyas: “Flegïàs, Flegïàs, tu gridi a vòto / disse lo mio segnore, a questa volta: / più non ci avrai che sol passando il loto." While for Dante this is obviously a very significant

67 moment in the eighth canto, for della Quercia it may seem at first to be unimportant and almost irrelevant to the entire episode of Dante and Virgil. This can be the first impression due to the almost invisibility of the creature sitting in the boat. One must ask whether della Quercia actually believes this to be an insignificant aspect of the canto or whether he is trying to reveal more? At a closer glance, it becomes clear that Della Quercia’s depiction of Phlegyas as blending into the background of the miniature is neither an accident nor a commentary on the insignificance of his character. Instead, it is the artist’s method at revealing the mythological story of Phlegyas and his interpretation on the reason why Dante decided to use this character in this specific canto. As a reader of the Divine Comedy, it is suspicious as to why Dante would use Phlegyas as a guide. As

Michael Papio explains, that “Apollo, upset that Phlegyas had burned his temple, struck him down with lightning, had his soul sent to Hell, and condemned him to a punishment in which he lay forever beneath an enormous rock that seemed ready at any moment to fall upon him in order he remain always fearful” (Papio, 388). On account of this mythological account, poets before

Dante placed Phlegyas in Hell in order to actualize his punishment. Virgil, for example, writes about this in the sixth book of the I: “Phlegyasque miserrimus omnes / Admonet, et magna testator voce per umbras: / ‘Discite justitiam moniti, et non temnere divos’” (Virgil, 376: Book

VI, lines 618-620). Phlegyas experiences the torments of his punishment and gives a warning to others to not spite the gods, as he did by burning Apollo’s temple. And furthermore, as Singleton tells us, Statius describes Phlegyas’ eternal punishment in his Thebaid: “ultrix tibi torva Megaera

/ ieiunum Phlegyan subter cava saxa iacentem / aeterno premit accubitu dapibusque profanis/ instimulat, sed mixta famem fastidia vincunt (Statius, 91: Book 1, lines 712-715). Statius accurately depicts the gruesome punishment of Phlegyas and his role as a terrible sinner.

However, here in the fifth canto of the Divine Comedy, Dante gives the role as boatman and guardian to Phlegyas. As Singleton explains, “he [Phlegyas] does not himself undergo punishment” (Dante Lab at Dartmouth College, Singleton). Dante’s departure from his predecessors is very significant; this renders Dante a magnificent poet with leadership qualities that place him above any other poet before his time. As Singleton points out, Dante gives

Phlegyas an important role: “the phrase ‘sol passando il loto’ points to an exceptional assignment for him [Phlegyas], and he is obliged to suppress his rage over this” (Singleton, 124). Thus, not only is he assigned the role as boatman and guardian, he is also forced to suppress his anger, a quality that made him burn Apollo’s temple. Due to Dante’s serious attempt in distinguishing himself from his predecessors, it is fair to say that the artist of this miniature wished to preserve this objective and to realize it in a visual form. Della Quercia resonates with the literary critics and depicts Phlegyas blending into the background, as if he is almost disappearing. This is an accurate depiction of Phlegyas suppressing his rage, not being allowed to fully reveal his entire state of being and, as a result, he slowly disappears into the backdrop of the miniature.

2.4

Canto XIII: Suicide and the Renaissance

From the first section of the Inferno, we now move into the second section, the one of violence. The miniature I will be examining is found in canto XIII, the seventh circle of hell, the sin of violence against oneself. The souls depicted in the above miniature are guilty of the sin of suicide. Just like the other miniatures of this manuscript, the story moves from left to right within the frame. It is important to note that the movement from left to right is an exact representation

70 of reading words on a page. Thus, it is fair to say that the miniatures in this manuscript are as important as the words of the poem or even words of critical editions. As we read this miniature, we come to realize how distinct it is from the poem itself. This is the first time in the illuminated manuscript that the artist decides to depart from the text. In the poem itself, as Dante and Virgil descend deeper into the underworld, the imagery becomes more gruesome, violent and horrifying. We are given a glimpse of this immediately within the first few lines:

Non fronda verde, ma di color fosco;

non rami schietti, ma nodosi e 'nvolti;

non pomi v'eran, ma stecchi con tòsco.

Non han sì aspri sterpi né sì folti

quelle fiere selvagge che 'n odio hanno

tra Cecina e Corneto i luoghi cólti” (vv 4-9).

In these lines, Dante evokes feelings of confusion, misdirection, violence and fear.

Singleton tells us:

A pathless wood was especially horrible to the medieval mind. As Boccaccio comments: “Per questo si può comprendere il bosco dovere essere stato salvatico e per conseguente orribile.” (“From this we can understand that the wood must have been wild, and therefore horrible.”) Later (vss. 97-99) we learn that the “plants” take root wherever chance casts them; hence there is no discernible order here, and this too makes the wood more repulsive. Turning to Boccaccio’s critical edition, we see further explanations on the horror of this canto, even more than Singleton alluded to. Boccaccio comments on the colour of the woods: “Non

71 fronda verde, ma di color fosco, cioè nero, era in questo bosco; e questa è l'altra cosa per la quale vuole l'autore si comprenda questo bosco essere spaventevole, cioè dal color delle frondi, il quale il dimostra oscuro e tenebroso” (Boccaccio, 325). There is no doubt that Dante and Virgil have descended into a circle of violence, hopelessness and disorientation. However, the artist of the miniature does not follow the words of the poet or the words of critics. In this canto, we are provided with a contrasting image: the disorder among the trees is not prominent or obvious, the forest does not appear very dense, blood is almost nonexistent compared to the miniatures above, and the souls appear to be in a less violent and unhealthy state. More specifically, it is possible to see the mountains in the backdrop among the trees; if, indeed, this forest were to be dense and overcrowded and chaotic, it would be fair to say that shapes would be indiscernible and it would be impossible to see through the trees. The question thus remains: why does the artist detach himself from the original words of the poet? To answer this query, it is important to recall that

Dante writes this epic poem in the heart of the middle ages, while della Quercia draws during the

Renaissance, on the threshold of religious reform and freedom. While in previous sections of this manuscript we saw the artist obey the poet and his words, as a servant would his master, we now see the artist become his own creator. As Maritain points out, this is an inevitable trait of an artist: “Unhappy the artist with a divided heart!” (Maritain, 70). The artist’s aim is happiness, and this harmony can only be achieved when the artist’s creations are in line with his/her own moral beliefs or judgments. It would logically follow then that della Quercia would paint with the morality of the Renaissance as his foundation. Although he would attempt to remain true to the beliefs of the middle ages, he cannot help but be chained to the reality of his/her present world. Thus, while there is freedom from ideas of the past, there is also imprisonment to notions

72 of one’s current realm. An artist cannot create something from nothing; there must be a starting point, and this starting point is found in nature. Maritain argues this philosophy using the system of Thomistic realism: “veritas sequitur esse rerum” (Maritain and Raissa Maritain, 21). The idea that truth must follow from something demonstrates that della Quercia’s less significant depiction of suicide is not his own invention but that of his times. Curtis Brown Watson points out:

Eisinger’s Das Problem des Selbst-mordes in der Literatur der Englischen Renaissance is in a exhaustive, painstaking study of the growing tolerance of suicide in the literature of the Renaissance. The Christian taboo was strong against it, but as the 16th century progresses Christianity has less and less of a hold, and increasing approval is demonstrated, at least for the literary expression of it (Watson, 118).

In the Middle Ages, during the period of Dante’s Divine Comedy, attempted suicide was a serious crime and subject to execution; many lawyers would argue in favour of its severe punishment. Cino da Pistoia was one such person who supported the gravity of this crime; he would quote the “roman texts tending towards its severe punishment” (Murray, 223). Alexander

Murrary, in his book, Suicide in the Middle Ages, explains:

Starting with the ‘desperado’ clause in Digest 48, 21, Cino completed his dossier with the laws concerning runaway slaves, soldier, and unsuccessful would-be rapers of nuns, not pausing to ask what criteria might distinguish their cases from that of the attempted suicide as such. The result follows inevitably. Attempted suicide should be punished severely, ‘according to some, by death’ (Murray, 223).

While there is no documented evidence that people who attempted suicide in the Middle Ages were actually put to death, the attitude surrounding the act of suicide during this time was quite obvious with the codification of the law. In the late Middle Ages, on the threshold of the early

Renaissance, the attitudes surrounding suicide were beginning to change. William Connell and

Giles Constable explain: “The record of actual cases of attempted suicide show that the culprits were usually let off with an admonition or fine or were condemned to a variety of punishments, all fall short of execution” (Connell and Constable, 42). They cite an example of a poor man who stabbed himself in the neck in 1379 and he was only “fined two hundred lire and imprisoned, apparently for a short time, when he was unable to pay” (Connell and Constable, 42). These opposing viewpoints of suicide are in accordance with Dante’s punishments outlined in the

Divine Comedy and with della Quercia’s lighthearted depiction of Dante’s poetry.6 While Dante was writing during a period that promised execution for an act of attempted suicide, della

Quercia was instead becoming acclimated to a culture that had become more tolerant of suicide.

The Renaissance was a period that aimed to revive the classics of the ancient world; it is no surprise then that they would turn to the stoics, such as Cicero, to moralize about the act of suicide. As Curtis Watson points out, “Suicide was much more popular during the Roman period than it had ever been in Greece, particularly among the Roman Stoics who took Cato for this model” (Watson, 118). After this statement, he proceeds to reference Eisinger’s Das Problem des Selbst-mordes in der Literatur der Englishen Renaissance in which he discusses the growing tolerance of suicide in the literature of the Renaissance.

Having outlined the differences between Dante’s and della Quercia’s opposing views, it becomes clear why each artist decides to depict suicide in his respective way. While Dante

6 For more on the lighthearted depiction of Dante's poetry, see Millard Meiss' article, The Yates Thompson Dante and Priamo della Quercia: "The Inferno provides ample occasion for an agitated emotional life, but the figures in the Yates Thompson manuscript are remarkable for just the opposite. For the most part they inhabit their ice or fiery domains with a most unexpected blandness. Apart from some exceptions that will be discussed later, they are incorrigibly relaxed by nature"(Meiss, 404).

74 describes the surroundings of the forest, the reader gets a sense of chaos and confusion: che da neun sentiero era segnato (Inf.13:3). However, this is not accurately depicted in della Quercia’s miniature cited above. The forest is not that dense as the mountains behind the trees are clearly visible, and the trees seem to be depicted in a linear order. While three-dimensional spatial awareness in fifteenth century Renaissance art is still quite premature, the artist does not lack three-dimensional perspective completely. It is precisely during this time that artists were beginning to experiment with perspective, as Margaret King explains: “Beginning about 1400, a new generation resume his [Giotto’s] interrupted legacy of innovation. Thenceforth, in little more than a century, Italian artists crafted a distinctively Renaissance style centered on the human form displayed in three-dimensional space” (King, 102). As a result, it could have been equally possible to depict a chaotic forest with trees that were placed outside the order of a linear plane. Furthermore, the souls themselves seem to be healthier and more robust than in the other miniatures. One must simply place this miniature side by side an earlier drawing in this manuscript, and the differences in the shapes of the souls become quite evident. The souls in this present miniature also stand with a more confident posture, as opposed to the souls of the eighth canto who are falling off the side of the boat and hidden within the dark waters of the river.

Furthermore, the souls in the miniature of this canto are placed at the center of the frame alongside Dante and Virgil. The artist does not dispose of them at the fringes of the miniature, but elevates them to the level of a living soul and his guide.

At this point, while considering the placement of characters within the frame, we are drawn to the top of the miniature where there appear to be flying souls equipped with wings.

Dante tells us that they are brute arpie (line 10), and Singleton further explains: “The Harpies

75 were loathsome monsters in the shape of birds, with clawed hands and the faces of women”

(Singleton, 206). Again, in line with the argument of suicide, the “loathsome monsters” are actually depicted by della Quercia as being similar to angels. They are not “heavy birds with the

faces of women and clawed hands, the demonic monsters who preside over this canto”, as Robert

Hollander explains in his critical edition of the Divine Comedy (Hollander, 250). Or they are not even as Boccaccio explains in his critical edition: “queste Arpie Ale hanno late e colli e visi umani, Piè con artigli e pennuto il gran ventre; Fanno lamenti in su gli alberi strani, di quel bosco, li quali chiama strani, per ciò che son d'altra forma che i nostri dimestichi, come di sopra

è dimostrato” (Boccaccio, 327). At this point, I would like to provide a cropped image of this miniature so as to emphasize the visual aspects of the Harpies. The way it is presented to us in the full miniature above shows that the Harpies are almost blending into the frame: both are of a golden color and could easily be mistaken for the other. At first glance, it is fair to say that the

Harpies go almost unnoticed. That is why I will provide the following altered image:

I have removed the frame that is of the same colour as the Harpies so as to avoid any confusion and, furthermore, I have cropped out the characters at the center of the frame so as to draw attention to top of the miniature. It now becomes obvious, as we can focus completely on the Harpies, that they are neither demonic monsters nor obvious women with clawed hands.

There is no distinctive feature that would render them women; in fact, they have prominent jaw

76 lines (a male attribute) and short hair (yet another male characteristic during this time). More specifically, the Florentine humanist and historian, Matteo Palmieri echoed this Renaissance view as he “disdained long hair and curls on men, saying that they were ‘not required for the well-born’” (Currie, 121). Furthermore, it would be fair to say that the faces are painted in the same fashion that della Quercia depicted Dante.

Both have strong jaw lines, dark circles around the eyes, and humble and emotionless expressions. The Harpies do not instill fear in the viewer, as they should, as Dante’s words evoke fear in the reader. The experience of this illuminated manuscript, at this point, is one of confusion: the words and images fail to interact accurately. The artist assumes the precise role that Maritain outlines for his ideal artist: the flashing of intelligence on a work of art that is originally influenced by nature or some other origin. Della Quercia begins with Dante’s words, just as a sculptor would begin with a human or an object in nature. However, he interprets his words, just as an artist interprets nature or a writer creates a critical edition of an epic poem.

Thus, while Singleton provides a critical edition of Dante’s Divine Comedy, it is fair to say that della Quercia’s miniatures are visual critical editions of the same epic poem. Both artists utilize different tools: one uses words and the other uses images, and both provide distinct interpretations of the same poem. While at times, the interpretations of the critics parallel that of della Quercia, other times the artist significantly departs from the written critics and the text

77 itself. It is interesting to note, that the written critics generally prefer to remain loyal to a text, while, based on the experience of this illuminated manuscript, it would seem that visual critics prefer to employ individual artistic freedom. To understand this distinction, we turn once again to Maritain’s Art and Scholasticism, where he explains: “Of all the paths along with contemporary art is engaged, one is directed towards the purity of creative intelligence. It is along this path that the promise of salvation lies […]” (Maritain, 119). The artist, whether producing a work inspired by the creations of nature or from the creations of a poet, assumes the responsibility of creative inventor. Words, on the other hand, function quite differently. I.A.

Richards explains:

The verbal apparatus come between us and the things with which we are really dealing. Words which are useful, indeed invaluable, as handy stop-gaps and makeshifts in conversation, but which need elaborate expansions before they can be used with precision, are treated as simply as people’s proper names” (Richards, 17).

It is, thus, more difficult to portray in words that which one wishes to depict with images. The artist possesses the freedom of lines, colors and dimension, while the writer is chained to the diction and phonetics of his language. It is necessary, however, to consider the opposing argument that words and images are equal when portraying a type of reality or philosophy. In fact, Baigrie argues that it is not always the case that “picture necessarily say more than words, but that they are powerful components of arguments, just like words” (Baigrie, 210). While

Baigrie writes on the use of art to represent science, it is no different when one considers the use of art to represent literary criticism. For the sake of my argument, it does not matter whether words or images are more successful in portraying truths; it is the fact that combining words and

78 images strengthens the philosophical argument more than relying on only one tool. A written literary criticism of Dante’s Divine Comedy is limited to the paradigm of words. Images without the use of words can lead to a misguided interpretation that stems from within the depths of imagination. However, combining words and images elevates the critical analysis to a more complex and creative dimension. Batty and Cain provide an explicit description that will finally put this dispute to rest: “Images can say more than words, but it is often the connections between the two that create stronger resonance. In advertising, key words are used alongside images to reinforce something important about the product or service” (Batty and Cain, 12). While this argument is more current to our world of technology and media, it may be equally applied to the world of literature and art, for as Marshal McLuhan argues, the oral, literate and electric are all connected:

Not only does the visual, specialist, and fragmented Westerner have now to live in closest daily association with all the ancient oral cultures of the earth, but his own electric technology now begins to translate the visual or eye man back into the tribal and oral pattern with its seamless web of kinship and interdependence (McLuhan, 175). The form of media has progressed from oral to literate to electronic, but the truths and objectives remain the same. When the worlds of the senses combine, such as in the case of this illuminated manuscript, interdependence develops that accurately portrays ideas, truths, and philosophies.

Thus, it is fair to say, that this illuminated manuscript is more successful in critiquing and outlining Dante’s words in a creative fashion than just the literary criticism. However, it is also true that, while most of the miniatures are in line with the literary critics and Dante’s poetry, there are some miniatures that introduce the creativity and imagination of the visual artist, such

79 as the miniature previously cited. This allows for the reader to not only experience a critical edition of the text (such as the experience one has when reading Singleton), but also to be confronted with a creative work of art.

I will now proceed to the miniature found in canto 32; here, the content of the canto is fully comprehended by a harmonizing of the word and image. Before delving into the miniature itself, I would like to draw attention to the first nine lines that open this canto:

S'ïo avessi le rime aspre e chiocce / come si converrebbe al tristo buco / sovra 'l qual pontan tutte l'altre rocce, / io premerei di mio concetto il suco / più pienamente; ma perch' io non l'abbo / non sanza tema a dicer mi conduco; / ché non è impresa da pigliare a gabbo / discriver fondo a tutto l'universo / né da lingua che chiami mamma o babbo (Dante, vv 1-9).

For the sake of this thesis, this is possibly one of the most significant parts of the Divine Comedy

(along with the visibile parlare of Canto X of the Purgatorio). This is the first instance in which

Dante alludes to the notion of the visibile parlare. It is important to recall that the visibile parlare (which is outlined in the first chapter) is where Dante elevates visual arts to the level of poetry. Dante was no doubt a poet and an authoritative proponent of words and language, as seen in his treatise on language, De Vulgari Eloquentia. In this unfinished work, Dante sets out to become the master of words, the inventor of language, as Steven Botterill explains in his introduction to the De Vulgari Eloquentia, “language does not yet exist – unless Dante himself is to create and define it. And that is what De Vulgari Eloquentia sets out to do” (Botterill, xxiii).

Dante’s entire life was dedicated to poetry, his own (as outlined in the Vita Nova) and that of his predecessors (as outlined in the De Vulgari Eloquentia), and to the diffusion of the vernacular; however, it is important to note that he understood the significance of art and the role that art

80 assumed when words would not suffice, as he explains in the lines cited above from Canto 32. In this section, Dante specifically invites the image to assist him in describing what he is experiencing; the word is not enough. The image possesses colour, shape, form and dimension; and, furthermore, as Robin Varnum explains, “while images resemble the objects they represent, words represent objects only by virtue or convention. They are arbitrary symbols that are useful only insofar as their signification is commonly understood” (Varnum, xi). As a result, the image is capable of rising above the word and providing an illuminating experience available not only to the educated and literate individuals but also to the entire masses. Dante, with the above-cited lines, understands the necessity of the image and of art; however, he was not like Michelangelo, nor like Leonardo Da Vinci, who were both artists and poets, both versed in the art of poetry and in the art of images. Thus, as he calls for an artist to assist him, the question arises: why here?

Why in this canto is an artist beckoned to help the vulnerable and frightened poet?

2.5

Canto XXXII: Ugolino: The Voyeuristic Experience

In response to the previously mentioned queries, in this Canto XXXII, Dante and Virgil have arrived at a section of the Inferno so frightening, so haunting, so violent, so fierce and furious that words will not suffice. Della Quercia answers Dante’s call, surpasses his words, and produces the most violent and terrifying image of this canticle seen thus far. As mentioned above, della Quercia’s depiction of suicide was passive and unaggressive, unlike Dante’s unforgiving description in the Inferno. Instead, here we have an alignment of beliefs and thoughts; one’s betrayal of their own children was frowned upon equally in both the Middle

Ages and the Renaissance. While the reception of suicide differed greatly between the two eras, the notion of betrayal, especially towards family, was equally opposed. In the next canto, canto

33, Dante recounts the story of Ugolino and his betrayal to his children7. Before embarking on the analysis of the image and text, I would like to express how horrifying this canto is by demonstrating Boccoccacio’s inability to continue his lectures past canto 17 of the Inferno. As

Ruud explains, “He [Boccaccio] gave some 55 public lectures but eventually succumbed to his illness and had to abandon the lecture series after canto 17 of the Inferno” (Ruud, 17). In fact, looking closely at Boccaccio’s lectures, one realizes that he abandoned his analysis specifically at the 17th line of the 17th Canto of the Inferno. This is exactly the halfway mark of this canticle.

It is true that he was significantly ill before agreeing to undertake these lectures; however, I would also like to propose the notion that he was deeply affected by what was to come that he could not possibly continue. In fact, della Quercia’s paintings also become more violent and frightening as the canticle transitions into the lower circles of hell. The following is a miniature from canto 18, where della Quercia depicts the punishment of the Simonists. In contrast to the other miniatures before this one, here we have significantly more blood that surrounds the upside-down souls. Furthermore, there a new beast that is more frightening and violent than the previous ones. This is the first time that della Quercia depicts a beast’s close interaction with the souls. In fact, the upside-down soul furthest to the right is in direct contact with the beast. And finally, the miniature concludes with Virgil holding Dante because he is so frightened and emotionally affected that he cannot possibly continue onward. The miniature mirror’s

Boccaccio’s illness, his inability to proceed with his lecture and his fear of what Dante encounters after Canto 17, line 17 of the Inferno. And, finally, we arrive at canto 33 where, as

7 It is important to note that while this miniature appears in canto 32, it tells the story of both cantos 32 and 33. The miniature in canto 33 only depicts the second story in canto 33 of Fra Alberigo.

83 mentioned above, Dante encounters the soul of Ugolino. In this miniature, Dante pulls on the head of one of the souls to interact with him and to hear his story.

Ugolino was a man who was imprisoned with his children and, to survive, he ate his children as per their requests. All of this was done in vain, as Ugolino ended up dying in prison nonetheless.

The punishments of Ugolino and the other souls found in this Canto are gruesome and horrific; they feed on each other’s heads eternally without end. The image that della Quercia provides mirrors precisely Dante’s frightening and appalling account of Ugolino. On the bottom corner of the frame, a soul feeding upon the head of another soul is quite evident and uncensored. The soul’s mouth is clearly wide-open and in direct contact with the other soul’s head. Furthermore, there is blood surrounding the bite, and there is also blood on the mouth of the soul above these two souls as if to depict that he too had just finished feeding on someone’s head. It is no doubt that Dante’s contrapassi follow the idea of the law of retaliation. Heather Coffey explains this law of retaliation: “The term ‘contrapasso’ translated from the Latin contrapassum and the Greek tò antipeponthòn derives from a term used in Aristotle’s Nichomachean Ethics, understood to indicate an appropriate retribution, akin to the Latin expression lex talionis (Cesare and Shalem,

36). Thus, just as Ugolino fed on the bodies of his children, now he will be fed on as well for eternity. Della Quercia depicts a further lineage of the contrapasso, where Dante pulls on the head of the soul, as if to almost eat it. And, furthermore, our voyeuristic gaze on this miniature continues the lineage of the contrapasso, while we feed on the image of Dante.

The image is not only horrifying because of the gruesomeness, as mentioned above, but also because of the fact that the faces are more clearly visible than in the previous miniatures. In renaissance art, the depiction of a nude male was generally a subtle illustration. Patricia Emison describes Antonio da Trento’s woodcut as a “male nude in a landscape juxtaposed with a massive tree trunk which he faces, turning his back to the female presence and to the viewer as he does so” (Emison, 78). In fact, it was a more common practice during the early renaissance to recreate male nudes in a sculpture form. Franca Falletti explains about the David that “he is the first large public statue since antiquity to be completely nude, and his stance is that of a classical hero at rest: full weight on one leg, while the other is free to counterbalance the position of the arm, all elements leading the attentive observer to comparisons with ancient art” (Falletti, 13).

As a result, the nude male souls found in della Quercia’s 1450 miniatures are quite remarkable and also quite personal. Unlike Dante, who is fully clothed and, as mentioned above, could be either one of us, these souls are bare and full exposed with difference styles of hair and facial hair and different and varying body types. One could identify precisely the identity of each soul, if directly acquainted with them at the time. As a result, della Quercia provides a realistic representation of the Inferno: this is not a dream nor a fantasy, this is reality. To understand a viewer’s relationship with his/her reality, it is important to embrace the notion of constructivism,

85 more specifically Heinz von Foerster’s philosophy of constructivism. Von Foerster explains reality in such a way that demonstrates how much more horrifying it can be than a dream or an imagination. In her explication of von Foerester’s constructivism, Lynn Segal explains:

“Constructivists argue that to understand world we must begin by understanding ourselves, i.e., the observers […] If we are to understand perception, the observer must be able to account for himself, for his own ability to perceive” (Segal, 3). Consequently, the viewer’s direct relation to della Quercia’s miniature and to the direct reality that della Quercia depicts is an intimate experience available only to the viewer and that results in a horrific experience. And what is this horrific experience? It is the story of Ugolino, outlined above, and the depiction of souls feeding on each other. Throughout the ages, this horrific experience has remained equally shocking: the idea of a parent betraying and murdering their children. While the notion of suicide differed between the middle Ages and the Renaissance, the idea of murdering one’s child remained the same. We can refer to this act as a sort of abortion. And, as Nicholas Terpstra states, “Abortion meant far more than just birth control in the Renaissance” (Terpstra, 87). And, if authors did write about the act of abortion, “narrators more often put unmarried girls than married women in their tales involving abortion because most couples spent their efforts trying to have children not avoiding them” (Terpstra, 87). Thus, for della Quercia, and other artists of the Renaissance, murdering and eating one’s children would have been a horrific act not worthy of redemption or forgiveness.

In this chapter, I have analyzed the miniatures found in canto 1, canto 5, canto 8, canto 13 and canto 32. Using the theoretical premises of Maritain and Eco, I have demonstrated how the critical reception of the images is just as significant as the literary criticism. The artist of the

86 miniatures from the Inferno, Priamo della Quercia, imposed his unique criticism on the Dante’s verses, at times truthfully and realistically, and other times diverting from Dante’s philosophy.

Chapter 3

Purgatorio

As Dante leaves the Inferno, he finds himself alongside Virgil entering Purgatorio, calling out to the Muses to accompany his words and his song. He compares himself to a ship that has finally come upon a calm sea after enduring a night of heavy storms and rough waters.

For this reason, he needs the assistance of Calliope to help him proceed with his poem. In the manuscript, there is an illumination of the metaphor of a ship located at the top left corner of the page. It is found within the illumination of the first letter of this canto and canticle, which is the letter ‘P’. Most illuminations thus far were positioned at the bottom of the page and separate from the text. This image is almost unnoticed as it is significantly smaller than the others noted hitherto, and it is overwhelmed by the surrounding decorations of red, blue and gold leaves. It is possible to argue that the decorations serve to bring more attention to the image, thus denoting the significance of the ship metaphor. However, examining more closely the miniature, it becomes obvious that the sky and surrounding decorations are of the exact same golden hue.

This blending of similar shades and colours makes it possible to completely neglect the specific images found in the miniature and to simply dismiss the image as belonging to the decorations. Heinrich Wölfflin explains: “One must, of course, in this case, take up one’s stand at some distance, yet it is certainly not intended that only the long-range view, which fuses the

88 colours, should be the right one. It is more than a mere pleasure for the initiate if we perceive the juxtaposition of the strokes of colour” (Wölfflin, 52). It is within this viewing of the juxtaposition of colours that one grasps the meaning of an image. The viewer may impose his/her intelligence on the image and a sense of pleasure is achieved simply by being able to observe the contours, lines, and shapes. As mentioned in the outlining of the theoretical premises of this thesis, Maritain was significantly cognisant of this fact: “The beautiful is what gives delight – not just any delight, but delight in knowing; not the delight peculiar to the act of knowing, but a delight which superabounds and overflows from act because of the object known” (Maritain, 27). This “delight of knowing” was evident in the miniatures of the Inferno cited in the previous chapter; however, with this first miniature in the first canto of the

Purgatorio, it is difficult to entirely grasp the complete image. The colours of the image blend with the decorations and, furthermore, the size of the miniature is relatively smaller than the others. It is also important to note that the garments of Virgil and Dante (the red of Virgil and the blue of Dante) fuse with the ornaments surrounding the letter “P”.

3.1

Canto II: The Letter 'P'

It is obvious that the image of the ship found within the letter “P” refers to the beginning terzina of the Purgatorio: “Per corer miglio acque alza le vele / omai la navicella del mio ingegno / che lascia dietro a sè mar sì crudele;” (Dante, Purgatorio I, vv 1-3). What is not obvious is why the artist, Priamo della Quercia, decided to create a smaller miniature that becomes consumed by the surrounding decorations and colours. An artist, in attempting to depict accurately the contents of a poem, would most likely create an image that renders obvious the meaning of the verses. It may be argued that not every artist would desire to do so; however, it is

90 apparent from the analysis of the Inferno of the previous chapter, that the artist in question for this thesis (Priamo della Quercia), desired to accurately depict the words of Dante. This interpretation is echoed by Heather Webb: “If we look, for example, at a manuscript such as

Yates Thompson 36 in the British Library, with its illuminated initials and illustrations by

Priamo della Quercia between 1442 and 1450, we may see that, through use of colour, the reader’s eye would habitually be particularly drawn to verticalities in ways that modern editions cannot always capture” (Webb, 103). These “verticalities” that Priamo della Quercia was able to truly capture recount the story of each specific canto.

As demonstrated in the previous chapter, Priamo della Quercia’s images of the various cantos of the Inferno are precise, detailed and accurately representative of the text. Thus, the question arises, why does Priamo della Quercia create a small miniature lost within the initial of this first letter of the first canto of the second canticle? If he wished to depict accurately the words of Dante, why not create an independent miniature (such as the ones found previously in the Inferno) that adheres to the verticality of the poem? As mentioned above, this specific miniature is lost and hidden within the letter “P”; furthermore, it does not possess verticality (a term coined by Webb) wherein the image is stagnant and unmoving.

At first glance, this seems like a poor decision by the artist; this is the first line of the first canto where Dante presents a relatively significant metaphor. The ship metaphor refers to the

Inferno as a vast ocean and likens Dante’s voyage to the journey of Ulysses. Yuri M. Lotman demonstrates accurately the metaphor of Dante’s Ulysses and Dante’s voyage:

Only Dante and Ulysses are voluntary or forced exiles, driven by passion, crossing the boundaries which separate one area of the cosmos from another. Second, both of them cover the same route in the same direction as they make their way to

Purgatory, Dante through Hell and through the caves formed by Lucifer’s body when he fell, Ulysses over the sea past Spain, Gibraltar, Morocco (Lotman, 183).

It is no doubt that this metaphor for Dante is quite significant as it is recurring throughout the entire Commedia. However, the artist’s decision not to create an independent miniature in the first canto of the Purgatorio demonstrates his opinion of its insignificance. Della Quercia does not want to make this the central point of the page nor of the canticle. After much speculation, it becomes obvious that the ship metaphor is significantly more present within the second canto of the Paradiso. While in the first canto of the Purgatorio Dante dedicates only three lines to the metaphor of a ship, in the second canto of the Paradiso his metaphor extends to fifteen lines. He opens the canto with O voi che siete in piccioletta barca and finishes the metaphor at the fifth terzina of this canto: metter potete ben per l'alto sale / vostro navigio, servando mio solco / dinanzi a l'acqua che ritorna equale (vv 13-15). He begins the canto by using the term barca and ends with vostro navigio. Robert Hollander, in his of the Divina Comedia, explains the opening lines of the first canto of the Purgatorio: “Dante’s ship, for now, is a small one, but cf. Par. II.1-

3, where it is implicitly a much larger vessel), raising its sails over better ('smoother') 'water' than it traversed in hell” (Hollander, 14). In fact, Giovanni di Paolo, the artist of the Paradiso, of

Alfonso D’Aragona’s manuscript, depicts the boat in an independent miniature, as opposed to the hermetic image of Priamo della Quercia hidden within the opening lines of the Purgatorio.

See image below from Paradiso.

A more in depth of analysis of this image from the Paradiso will be provided in the fourth chapter of this thesis. However, for the sake of this argument, it is pertinent to quote Singleton from the second canto of the Paradiso: “But now the reader is launched with such a Lady

Wisdom as Beatrice represents, now Dante rises with her, rises ‘beyond the human’, and enters upon an ocean which is too deep even for many of those who were able to follow Virgil’s guidance” (Singleton, 38) In the Paradiso, Dante passes from one ocean to another more complex one; this voyage into a new ocean, the Paradiso, is a more serious ascension and a more significant transfiguration. The boat is a noteworthy objective correlative that represents a sort of transformation in this canticle. While it is true that the metaphor of a boat and the ocean can be traced back to the Inferno and the Purgatorio, it is not until the Paradiso that it is completely apprehended and fulfilled. In his book, Peter Dronke explains: “This sea-imagery is transformed in one of the most trilling moments of the fourth canto of Paradiso to tell us something further: it can evoke not only the proceeding and return of all creation, and the daring quest of the human spirit to reach its divine harbor[…]” (Dronke, 22). The Paradiso extends the metaphor into a

“quest for the highest poetry, on the high sea, in his ship, to face the perils of waters never sailed by man […] (Dronke, 22). As a result, while della Quercia does indeed provide the reader with

93 an image of a boat, it is not as significant nor as discernible as the image provided by Giovanni di Paolo in the Paradiso. In fact, Robert M. Durling, in his notes on the second canto of the

Paradiso, identifies the difference between the term ship and boat: “But the passage clearly suggests that the poet’s ship is by far the largest, leaving a wake in which smaller vessels can comfortably sail” (Durling, 54).

3.2

Canto X: The Nonvisual of the Visible Parlare

After analyzing the decorated letter of the second canto of the Purgatorio, it is necessary to proceed with the analysis of independent miniatures found throughout this canticle. The reader’s eye is immediately drawn to the miniature of canto ten of the Purgatorio; its deep colours of blue and red and its complex story-telling nature fulfill Aquinas’ statement mentioned in the previous chapter: id quod visum placet. This miniature is significantly brighter, deeper and more intricate than the ones discovered in the Inferno. As Meiss notes: "The radiance of

Priamo's miniatures increases in the illustration for Purgatorio, inspired of course by the poem and facilitated by a greater freedom of boldness and style" (Meiss, 408). Observing this miniature is not only an experience of beauty, but it is also an intellectual participation that ultimately produces an experience of illumination and enlightenment. The entire canto is captured within this one single image reading from left to right and from top to bottom.

This miniature recounts the tenth canto of the Purgatorio where Dante and Virgil cross the threshold into the first terrace where the prideful reside. Before crossing the threshold, Dante explains that this is a complex and arduous task: “Noi salavam per una pietra fessa / che si moveva e d'una e d'altra parte / sì come l'onda che fugge e s'appressa” (vv 7-9). This difficult back and forth movement is clearly depicted by della Quercia; the miniature above illustrates three different figures of Dante, before the entrance into the Purgatorio, all of which represent the poet without strength, exhausted, and close to the ground. While at the entrance of the

Inferno Dante is thrown to the ground by fear of the beasts, here instead he is almost defeated due to the difficulty of arriving at the entrance of the Purgatorio. Furthermore, the entrance proper to the Purgatorio is almost too narrow pass, as Singleton explains: “The account of this climb through the very narrow passageway (ending so significantly in the rhyme word ‘cruna’) stresses the fact that beyond the Portal itself this narrow way marks a kind of entrance to

Purgatory proper and, unlike the gate of Hell, which is very wide is ‘denied to none’, the gate here is narrow” (Singleton, 199). This narrowing of the passageway is also depicted by della

Quercia: in his miniature, all sides of the threshold are visible. This complete visibility within a single miniature demonstrates the extent of the narrowness. It was common practice for

Renaissance artists to depict narrowness by a visibility on both sides: “Roberti places his figures in a stagelike space in front of green or red curtains, with a narrow sliver of landscape visible on each side, a setting suggestive of the tableaux vivants […]” (Bayer, 311). A wider passageway would extend to the edge of the frame and generally only one side would be visible. The visibility of both sides of the passageway into the Purgatorio is a precise indicator of its narrowness. Furthermore, the angel standing sideways contributes to the representation of the narrow pathway. While it is true that during the Renaissance, figures would be painted from a sideways angle “so that what was not there in the body might appear not there in the picture, showing just that side which could be seen without the defect” (Baxandall, 14), in this circumstance the figure would not have any imperfections because it is the representation of an angel. During the Renaissance, “infinite repertoire of precious garments clothed the figures of the angels, fully expressing the ideal of Renaissance beauty” (Buranelli, 24). Having been a

Renaissance artist, it is no doubt that della Quercia adhered to this principle and, as a result, the sideways depiction is due to the representation of a narrow spatial principle. While the entrance to the Inferno was wide, welcoming and receiving to all souls, the entrance to the Purgatorio is limited and exclusive to those souls who were “engaged in a process of moral change, […] constantly reflecting on their past lives in the context of the present moment, and in preparation of their future blessedness” (DeLorenzo, 90).

Before examining the contrapasso of this canto and the depiction in the miniature of the naked souls carrying stones on their backs (which becomes the secondary focal point of the

97 above miniature after the entrance into Purgatory), it is important to discuss first what is missing from the image. In relation to this thesis, canto X of the Purgatorio is the most important canto in the entire Commedia. Standing opposite of the embankment, Dante notices decorations of carvings into the white marble: “esser di marmo candido e addorno d’intagli sì, che non pur

Policleto, ma la natura lì avrebbe scorno” (vv 31-33). These carvings are created by God and,

Dante argues, that no human artist could ever replicate or reach the magnanimity of God’s creations. Singleton explains in his commentary:

Nature looks up to the eternal idea of God in practicing her art, and the human artist looks to Nature in practicing his (thus human art is as grandchild to God, as stated in Inf. XI, 105). Now these carvings are God’s art, fashioned directly by Him. It follows, therefore, that both of His imitators (Nature directly and a human artist indirectly) would be quite put to scorn here, since they would be greatly surpassed by such a Master (Singleton, 202).

Dante provides a critique of visual arts (sculptures and paintings) and demonstrates the limits of the skilled artist. However, the question arises, what of a poet who paints with words? Dante, at this point, wishes to demonstrate that his words are equals to the art of God, as Teodolinda

Barolini explains: “The verbal tableaux of Purgatorio X, Dante’s emphasis on the confusion of his senses, and the fast-paced dialogue between Trajan and the poor widow – all are attempts to re-create the engravings’ visibile parlare in words, to find a way to project his art, like God’s into the fourth dimension” (Barolini, 275). It is no surprise then that Dante chooses to make this statement in the canto where the prideful are being punished. Dante attempts to raise his poetry above all other poets and artists and to reach the height of God. However, “Maritain saw that the pride of the artist could lead him astray” (Makaryk, 418). More specifically, Maritain believes

98 that the artist could never achieve the likes of God because the artist possesses the limitation of deriving inspiration from an already created world. Maritain explains: “And no doubt the artist perceives this form in the created world, whether exterior or interior: he does not discover it complete in the sole contemplation of his creative spirit, for he is not, like God, the cause of things” (Maritain, 89). Many centuries prior to Maritain, Dante had already conceived of these limitations of the sculptor and visual artist. Singleton continues with his analysis of the visibile parlare at the thirty-third line of the tenth Canto: “Nature looks up to the eternal ideas of God in practicing her art, and the human artist looks to Nature in practicing his (thus human art is as grandchild to God, as stated in Inf. XI, 105)” (Alighieri and Singleton, 202). Dante renders it clear that the carvings on the white marble were created by God and cannot be imitated nor replicated by a human artist. However, it is at this point that Dante commits the same sin as the souls in this canto, as “the result is an enhancement of his own art, which dares to imitate the divine mimesis” (Barolini, 275). By demonstrating the limits of visual arts, Dante argues that the person “who writes a poem to which heaven and earth contribute, and who by way of being only a scribe becomes the greatest of poets” (Barolini, 275). In essence, Dante believes that words can demonstrate what images cannot; words can surpass the limits that art imposes. In his article entitled Aristotele e Dante, Franco Lo Piparo explains that the ability to communicate words are what separate us from the animals: “Per esprimere ciò che è utile e ciò che è nocivo e di conseguenza ciò che è giusto e ciò che è ingiusto, ciò che è bene e ciò che è male, è invece necessaria una phonè articolata in grammata” (Fortuna, 88). The words used by a poet are more powerful in communicating an idea than the images used by an artist. At first it was unclear the meaning of the visibile parlare from canto X because there were two possible interpretations: 1)

99 an image reveals more than words are able; or 2) words provide a more powerful voice than images. In support of the first interpretation, Christine O’Connell Baur points out: “Thus, God really is the maker of the visibile parlare, not only in the sense that He created the historical events depicted in the reliefs, but also because He is the ontological condition of the possibility of a humble hermeneutic stance” (Baur, 127). The images on the white marble walls are created by God and are more powerful than poetry. Since Dante is utilizing the philosophy of Aristotle, there exists also the second interpretation which some consider to be the most valid. In her book,

Karla Taylor supports the second interpretation: “In describing the reliefs with his own kind of visibile parlare, writing, Dante circumvents the mediacy of ordinary human creativity and instead imitates God directly with the material most conformed to God’s own principle of creation, the Word” (Taylor, 24). I would like to propose that the right understanding of the visibile parlare is a third interpretation, which aims to unify the two interpretations outlined above, and which forms the basis of my entire thesis: a consensus of words and images. This

“consensus” can only be found within the pages of an illuminated manuscript: the words of a poet, which mingle with the lines, colors and contours of an artist.

As a result, what must be addressed are the missing tableaux on the white marble walls in della Quercia’s miniature. Why does della Quercia choose to omit the most significant aspect of this canto and, more specifically, the most noteworthy viewpoint of the entire Comedia concerning the arts? Patricia Lee Rubin, explains: “The canto has received much attention, in part because ‘art is at issue’ and a work of art is put within a work of art” (Rubin, 341). This notion that a “work of art is put within a work of art” explains why della Quercia chose to omit the tableaux from the white marble walls that Dante observes. For Dante, the mention of visual

100 arts is significant to advance his objective: the visibile parlare. His objective is to provide reliefs that “operate as images within the poem, giving verisimilitude to Dante’s experience and his response to examples of humility” (Rubin, 340). The idea of “verisimilitude” can only be realized when the notion of images is found within the context of words; if della Quercia provided the carvings on the white marble walls, the philosophical and aesthetical significance of the visibile parlare would not be noteworthy. The carvings would blend with the rest of the miniature and their function would ultimately become lost. By eliminating the function and significance of the carvings, della Quercia would risk undermining St. Thomas Aquinas’ notion of id quod visum placet (as mentioned in the second chapter of this thesis) or, as mentioned by

Rubin, “Augustine’s concept of delectatio, the love for things that give pleasure, which requires judgment to make the choice between false and true” (Rubin, 340). Rubin refers to Dante’s ideology (an ideology that was common to his predecessors) that it is possible to judge the quality of a work of art utilizing the notion of pleasure. Dante advances his ideology with the carvings on the white marble walls and with his reaction to those carvings. Thus, while for Dante it is a powerful concept to provide a work of art within a work of art, or more specifically, visual arts within the art of words, for della Quercia the carvings on the wall would serve no greater purpose than any other image found within the illuminated manuscript. Della Quercia forgoes the carvings on the white marble walls and provides a blank backdrop with no hint of Dante’s words. At first, there is the possibility that della Quercia bows to the greatness of Dante and raises the art of poetry. James Miller demonstrates this possibility by posing the questions with reference to the verses 34-93 in Purgatorio X: “How can a mortal sculptor compete with the demiurge able to carve vaporous trails of incense in marble, trails that seem to pain the air,

101 incense that seems to perfume it?” (Miller, 492). After all, with reference to the visibile parlare,

“Dante seems to be suggesting that the poem itself is an invention, a new thing that aspires to be more than simply an instrument used to imitate or describe what the pilgrim really saw” (Baur,

153). Baur continues: “The poet has invented a method of presenting his ‘matter’ such that it seems to speak to the reader (like visibile parlare) in the same way that the fictive bas-reliefs address the pilgrim” (Baur, 155). It is possible, thus, that della Quercia recognizes Dante’s attempt and aims to preserve this endeavour by surrendering his art and bowing before the greatness of Dante. However, by closer inspection, there is also the possibility that he omits the carvings on the wall to bring attention to the greatness of his own art. While reference to the carvings on the wall are a tool for Dante to surpass the efforts of the visual artist or sculptor, the omission of these carvings in della Quercia’s miniature could be a tool for the artist to disregard

Dante’s notion that no mortal artist could compete with the likes of the Divine or the poet. It is no surprise then that the canto to follow (canto XI) references Oderisi da Gubbio and centers upon the excessive pride of the artist. Della Quercia does not provide any miniatures for canto

XI.

102

3.3

Canto XVIII: Acedia and the Renaissance

This brings us to the next miniature, which depicts the slothful of canto XVIII, and

Dante’s dream about the siren in canto XIX.

The left side of the miniature depicts the second half of canto XVIII where Dante meets two souls guilty of the sin of sloth. The right side of the miniature, where Dante is seen crouching down, illustrates his encounter with the horrid siren of canto XIX. The slothful are souls who were lazy in mortal life and are here sentenced to a penance which involves hurriedness and constant rush. The viewer’s gaze is immediately drawn to the center of the frame where there are

103 two souls speaking to Virgil. Della Quercia depicts the two souls in the above miniature with an obvious inclination towards rapid movement: their legs are open as if in a stance of walking quickly, and they are leaning forward with arms erect and with faces pressed forward to further suggest an aggressive effort to counterattack slothfulness. Virgil also appears to have his right arm forward as if to tame the two souls and to suggest that they rest.

It is important to note that the modern idea of slothfulness does not do justice to the ancient word, acedia, which, “in contrast, originally denoted a far from amiable neglect of and distraction from one’s spiritual duties and therefore, ultimately, a culpable lack of love of God with potentially disastrous consequences” (Rushworth, 19). The modern connotation of sloth is characterized by Evelyn Waugh as “one of the most amiable of weaknesses since most of the world’s troubles seem to come from people who are too busy” (Wilson et al, 56). As a result, for

Dante, sloth is too weak of a term, and it is the sin of acedia that the souls of this canto have committed. While sloth generally refers to a relaxed state of mind and a lazy demeanor and an overall experience of inaction, acedia is more specifically defined “as a wrong kind of loving”

(Williams, 20). This distinction is significant with regards to the above miniature because, while for Dante acedia was a serious moral affliction that represented the lack of reason on behalf the individual, for Renaissance thinkers and artists, acedia became more of a mental health disorder that was not dependent upon the free will of the tormented and aggrieved. Brann explains in his book that “Petrarca went on to identify his scourge with an affliction listed in the traditional capital vice scheme, itself forged within a monastic setting, as acedia” (Brann, 53). Petrarca represents the interpretation of acedia that was common during the Italian Renaissance: an affliction and an illness. Brann continues:

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Petrarca’s secularized restatement of the old monastic vice as accidia, by absorbing aspect of tristitia in keeping with the Thomistic amalgamation of the two states, reflects the greater profundity and complexity with which it had come to be endowed with the passage of time, paralleling, it would seem, a comparable profundity and complexity residing in melancholy as spelled out by the medical literature (Brann, 54).

That being said, Della Quercia, an artist of the renaissance, mirrors Petrarca’s interpretation of acedia. Since the time period of the renaissance does not acknowledge acedia to be a significant sin, della Quercia illustrates one of the souls speaking to Dante with a beard.8

The beard is like an article of clothing, especially for Italians. The Italian language offers a glimpse into this notion by using the verb portare (to bring or to wear) with the noun barba

(beard). The verb portare is generally used when expressing the state of wearing articles of clothing. In his book, Douglas Biow explains: “For one can speak in Italian of ‘wearing a certain style of beard’ (‘portare un certo tipo di barba’) […] this implies something exterior to the face that is actively applied to it” (Biow, 205). As a result, by depicting a soul with a beard, della

Quercia provides clothes for the soul. Biow continues: “Francesco Vinta, the Medici agent in

Milan, even used the verb mettere (‘to put’) to refer to the growth of the beard on Cosimo I’s face, as if the beard were a cosmetic, something added – as if it were conceived even as a sort of prosthetic device” (Biow, 205). By providing clothing in the form of a beard for the soul, della

Quercia inadvertently or advertently delivers commentary in support of Petrarca’s interpretation of acedia. More specifically, for artists and philosophers during the Renaissance, acedia was not something based upon freewill but more upon the misfortune of fortuna. Acedia was not

8 For more on della Quercia's depiction of beards, see Meiss: "He composes hair and beards of a multitude of small white dots" (Meiss, 408).

105 something one could avoid with reason or morality; it was an infliction and an illness. However, for Dante, it was a serious sin and, thus, a product of one’s freewill. It is no surprise that Dante engages in a serious philosophical discussion of freewill and determinism in the middle of this canto. Dante writes: Color che ragionando andaro al fondo, / s’accorser d’esta innata liberate; / però moralità lasciaro al mondo” (canto XVIII, vv. 67-69). In reference to this terzina,

Singleton explains that Dante adopts the notions of “Ancient philosophers, such as Plato and

Aristotle, who ‘went to the root’ of the matter and left us the science of morality, or ethics”

(Alighieri and Singleton, 437). However, it is specifically in the Convivio that addresses the notion of freewill:

Sono anche operazioni che la nostra [ragione] considera ne l’atto de la volontade, sì come offendere e giovare, sì come star fermo e fuggire a la battaglia, sì come stare casto e lussuriare, e queste del tutto soggiacciono a la nostra volontade; e però semo detti da loro buoni e rei, perch’elle sono proprie nostre del tutto, perchè, quanto la nostra volontade ottenere puote, tanto le nostre operazioni si stendono (Alighieri and Chiappelli, 242, IV, ix, 7).

Thus, for Dante, it is quite clear that acedia is based upon freewill and the ability to choose the moral path not contaminated by lust and laziness. Della Quercia, by painting the soul guilty of acedia clothed with a beard, is upholding the beliefs of his time period wherein acedia could not be avoided by freewill and was simply an unavoidable illness inflicted by the likes of fortuna.

From the left side of the miniature, we now move to the right side that depicts Dante’s encounter with the siren in canto XIX. Della Quercia depicts both of Dante’s encounters: the first with the wretched siren and the second with the saintly woman. Dante writes: “mi venne in sogno una

106 femmina balba, / ne li occhi guercia, e sovra i piè distorta, / con le man monche, e di colore scialba” (Inf. XIX: 7-9). Dante’s description of the siren is quite explicit and evokes feelings of disgust.

As readers, we are immediately disgusted by the shapes of her feet and hands and the appearance of her eyes; reading Dante’s words, we can literally smell the stench from her belly:

“L’altra prendea, e dinanzi l’apria / fendendo i drappi, e mostravami ‘l ventre; / quel mi svegliò col puzzo che n’uscia” (canto XIX, vv. 31-33). Della Quercia’s portrayal of the ugly siren is very distinct from that of Dante’s. The siren’s hands and feet do not appear to be distorted, and there is no portrayal of Dante’s description of the disgusting belly. In fact, the image of the siren in della Quercia’s miniature is not very distinct from that of the saintly woman, except that the latter is clothed and the former is not. While it is true that this could simply be della Quercia’s attempt at depicting Dante’s error in judgment in imagining the siren as beautiful, it is also possible that della Quercia is a product of the Renaissance and its portrayal of ugliness in art.

Patrizia Bettella in her book, The ugly woman: transgressive aesthetic models in Italian poetry from the Middle Ages to the Baroque, reveals: “With the onset of Renaissance secularism, the male poetic imagination is less obsessed with indecency, immorality, or the disturbing old woman” (Bettella, 81). In explaining female ugliness in the Renaissance and demonstrating its change from the medieval period, Bettella continues: “Ugly women are no longer vituperated for their disgusting old body and lust, nor attacked for the power of their eyes or speech, but praised

[…]” (Bettella, 81).

Since there is praise for older and more disgusting bodies during the Renaissance, it is no surprised that della Quercia depicts the siren contrary to Dante’s description of her. Della

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Quercia’s reading of Dante is quite different from an interpretation of the Middle Ages. More importantly, the artist’s elucidation of the siren is quite distinct from all written critics of the

Divine Comedy from the Middle Ages to the twentieth century. The literary criticism remains true to Dante’s description of the siren. Cristoforo Landino, in his 1481 critical edition of the

Divine Comedy, outlines five different “mancamenti” of the ugly woman: “perchè è guercia, et vada zoppa, et similmente faccia l’opere manuali imperfectamente, perchè è monca, et finalmente sia di brutto colore” (Landino, 366). Singleton, in his 1975 critical edition, writes:

“This woman, symbolizing the sins of the flesh, the malo amor that is purged in the three upper circles of Purgatory, could not be more ugly or deformed that this tercet suggests, defective as she is in speech and vision, lame, her hands maimed, her complexion sickly pale” (Singleton,

448). It is important to notice that the siren found within della Quercia’s miniature above is not

“sickly pale”, nor “monca”. In fact, her skin color is even of a hue darker than that of the other souls and the saintly woman.

While it is true that during the Renaissance a pale complexion was a characteristic of nobility and wealth for women, it was not necessarily a sign of health. Joseph Byrne, in his book,

The World of Renaissance Italy: A Daily Life Encyclopedia, explains why the faces of women were pale: “Real women’s faces had unbalanced features, and facial skin that was pocked, freckled, pimpled, scarred, wrinkled, discoloured. Cosmetics could help” (Byrne, 229). As a result, women relied heavily on cosmetics to conceal their unhealthy faces; these cosmetics would render their complexion pale. The darker-skin of the working-class women, which

“suggested long hours in the fields” (Byrne, 229), was actually a sign of greater health due to nutrition from the sun and the daily exercise. Thus, the question still remains, why would della

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Quercia paint the horrible siren with a healthy dark appearance? Let us recall that for Maritain it is the artist’s role to impose a light of intelligibility on his/her work of art. This would mean that the artist is not solely an imitator, but also a creator.

Instead of imitating Dante’s words, della Quercia creates a distinct persona for the siren: she is not visibly deformed, nor noticeably disgusting. In fact, she is not noticeably distinct from the saintly woman to the right. According to Dante’s words, it is the appearance of the saintly woman that makes the hideous siren cower and disappear. However, della Quercia’s image depicts the saintly woman almost lost at the edge of the miniature with the siren in the center, imposing and powerful. It is no doubt that by placing the siren at the center of the frame, della

Quercia renders her more significant of a character, more noteworthy than the saintly woman. It is no surprise that della Quercia does this whether deliberately or subconsciously since the siren is a symbol of the Renaissance woman, standing “on a footing of perfect equality with men”

(Burckhardt, 336). In fact, the Renaissance woman became more powerful than the Renaissance man with her role as a siren: “Tellingly, both Gaspara Stampa and Veronica Franco were represented by their sixteenth-century observers as sirens at once dangerous and divine. In 1545,

Parabosco cast Stampa as a siren capable of driving her enthralled male listeners out of their minds in his lettere amorose” (Quaintace, 143). And women devoted to religion, to morality, and to their husbands, was a symbol of Medieval Italy, largely due to the power of Christianity, and the influence of Judaism and Islam on Christianity: “Although the population of medieval

Italy was predominantly Christian, it is possible to trace the histories of its Jewish and Muslim communities. In both of these, women were largely subject to the male members of their families

[…]” (Schaus, 418).

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Thus, while Dante raises the status of the saintly woman and provides a degrading description of the siren, della Quercia instead places the siren in the center of his image, ignores

(whether consciously or not) Dante’s description, and creates a symbol for the Renaissance woman. Furthermore, it is not only the position of the saintly woman that is to be observed, but also her body language. Her arms are folded in a sign of restraint, humility and obedience. The siren occupies more space with a more active type of body language giving her the powerful and independent attributes of a female goddess. The siren’s stance can be compared to Sandro

Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus of 1486:

While Venus is undoubtedly and clearly healthier and more beautiful, it is the stance that

I would like to draw attention to. Both are facing their audiences, both occupy a significant amount of space, and both are naked and confident. It must be noted, however, that while Venus

110 is full-bodied and filled with the power and essence of love, the siren is in an obvious state of starvation and degradation. While Venus represents rebirth and renewal, (she is after all the goddess attributed to the season of spring), the siren is a symbol of death and decay since she is placed in Dante’s underworld of Purgatorio. Thus, della Quercia accurately relays the same type of confusion that befalls Dante when he first falls in love with the siren, but then suddenly realizes her stench and ugliness. Della Quercia conveys Dante’s misperception by creating a paradoxical image of a siren that is on one hand confident, goddess-like, and embodying of

Renaissance attributes, and, on the other hand, in a state of hunger, squalor, and death. This is the ultimate perplexity of the attributes of a siren, and that is why Dante renders the siren the symbol of acedia.

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3.4

Canto XXII: Dante Rises Above Virgil

This brings us to the frightening image of the twenty-second canto. Before discussing the fearful images of the souls with sunken eyes and starving bodies, it is necessary to address Dante’s alteration in emotional state. His heaviness and fear are no longer consuming him: “E io più lieve che per l'altre foci / m'andava, sì che sanz'alcun labore / seguiva in sù li spiriti veloci”

(Purgatorio XXII vv 7-9). There is an obvious purging of Dante’s previous emotions that had

112 plagued him throughout the entire Inferno and the first cantos of the Purgatorio. In this twenty- second canto Dante is getting closer to the Earthly Paradise. Carmelo Ciccia describes this paradise accurately, precisely and without ambiguity:

La divina foresta è certamente contrapposizione della selva oscura dell’inferno:

questa (brutta, intricata, oscura) sumboleggiava la colpa, cioè lo stato di peccato,

dannazione, allontanamento da Dio; l’altra (bella, armoniosa, splendente), quello

di salveza, cioè purità, innocenza dei primi uomini, avvicinamento a Dio (Ciccia,

44-45).

Every mark that is removed from Dante’s face, Già era l'angel dietro a noi rimaso / l'angel che n'avea vòlti al sesto giro, / avendomi dal viso un colpo raso (Purgatorio XXII, vv 1-3), brings him closer to God and further away from sin and suffering. It is important to note that, for Dante,

Purgatorio outlines the same sins as the ones in the Inferno, however, with less graveness and with the quality of repentance and penance. My statement echoes that of Jacques Le Goff:

It is a reprise, in a minor key, of the infernal torments appropriate to each class of sin, with this difference: the sinners in Purgatory have sinned less gravely than those in Hell, whether because they have partly effaced their sin by repentance and penance, or because they were less inveterate sinners […] (Le Goff, 341).

Since Dante refers to a few of the same sins in the Purgatorio as the sins in the Inferno, it is obvious that Dante’s “purging” correlates directly to his experience from the Inferno. He is being purged and cleansed from his voyage into the underworld. Dante is not detached from the textual reality as the readers of his poem; he is directly involved in the journey with the souls that surround him. As a result, the images of Dante throughout the Inferno took on a sunken quality, while the miniature of the Purgatorio provided above reveals the image of Dante lighter and

113 happier, as if almost floating off the ground. This ascension is the objective of Purgatory, as

William Warren Vernon explains: “As soon as every one of the spirits within the gate of

Purgatory proper has complete its purgation, and if its penance was on the ground rises up from it, or, if not lying down, sets itself in motion to ascend up to Heaven” (Vernon, 91). The miniature referenced above is found in canto XXII; Dante has passed the halfway point of the

Purgatorio, and his ascension towards Paradiso is becoming more evident. His stance is more confident as he pushes Virgil slightly out of the frame, and he seems to be floating above the other souls.

The souls in the above miniature are guilty of the sin of gluttony, as the souls were in the third circle of the Inferno. The souls of Purgatorio differ from those of the Inferno because of the simple fact that they recognized their sins before dying and because they repented. Statius explains this to Virgil:

e se non fosse ch’io drizzai mia cura,

quand’io intesi là dove tu chiame,

crucciato quasi a l’umana natura:

Per che non reggi tu, o sacra fame

de l'oro, l'appetito de' mortali?',

voltando sentirei le giostre grame. (Canto XXII, vv 37-39).

Below is the miniature that depicts the souls guilty of gluttony from canto VI of the Inferno, more specifically from these verses:

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Quando ci scorse Cerbero, il gran vermo,

le bocche aperse e mostrocci le sanne;

non avea membro che tenesse fermo.

E 'l duca mio distese le sue spanne,

prese la terra, e con piene le pugna

la gittò dentro a le bramose canne. (Canto VI, vv 25-30).

This miniature differs significantly from the above miniature from the Purgatorio in three specific ways. Firstly, there is the presence of a frightening beast in the miniature from the

Inferno. In this image, Virgil can be seen throwing dirt into the three mouths of Cerberus to silence and temporarily disarm the guardian of the third circle. In the miniature from Purgatorio,

Dante and Virgil are immediately greeted by the souls; there is an absence of struggle and no

115 sense of fear. Secondly, in the image from the Inferno, Virgil’s role as Dante’s guide is significantly evident as he crouches down and confronts Cerberus. As Dante travels throughout the Inferno, he is in dire need of Virgil’s assistance. However, as they draw nearer to the summit of mount Purgatory, “the experience so far is supposed to have so transformed Dante that he no longer needs Virgil’s guidance in order to go forward” (Fortuna, 168). The miniature above from the Purgatorio demonstrates just that: Virgil is depicted as having a minor role exhibiting a posture of surrender and inaction. He appears only once in the miniature of the Purgatorio, while in the Inferno his presence is doubled because he embodies a more significant role. Furthermore, in the Purgatorio, his hands are below his waist in a relaxed and effortless state, while it is Dante who speaks to the souls gesturing with his hands. In the image from the Inferno, Virgil is depicted as active and protecting. And finally, the third difference between the two miniatures is that the souls are barely visible in the image from the Inferno, while in the Purgatorio the souls overpower the frame and acquire a more significant role.

While it is true that the souls in the miniature from the Purgatorio appear starved with sunken eyes and visible bones, they also seem to have a more active role, standing upright and drinking from the river. Furthermore, as the Angel purges a letter P from Dante’s forehead,

Dante approaches and speaks to the souls without the help of Virgil or Statius.

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This is a very significant scene depicted above by della Quercia because it demonstrates Dante’s maturity and rising above Virgil. Paul Barolsky tells us: “When Virgil delivers Dante to Beatrice and she leads him into paradise, Dante rises above Virgil both in Christian doctrine, of course, and poetical accomplishment” (Barolsky, 100). Barolsky is referring to the fact when Dante is accepted into the circle of ancient poets in the fourth canto of the Inferno. Another instance is in canto XV of the Inferno where Brunetto Latini walks on a lower bank and Dante on the higher one; here, della Quercia depicts that same scenario but instead with the poets, Virgil and Statius.

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It appears that the figure of Dante on the right is towering over the two Roman poets, significantly larger and more imposing of a figure. Della Quercia depicts Dante at having achieved greater heights allegorically and physically. In a physical sense, della Quercia simply places Dante on higher ground within the frame of the miniature. In an allegorical sense, della

Quercia demonstrates that Dante is a greater poet than his predecessors, Statius and Virgil. The artist does not invent this idea from nothing but utilizes Dante’s words in previous cantos to inspire his work. One example is in canto XVIII of the Inferno, where Dante addresses the reader directly:

Pensa, lettor, se io mi sconfortai

nel suon de le parole maladette,

chè non credetti ritornarci mai” (vv 94-96).

This address to the reader is one of many in the Commedia and it distinguishes Dante from classical epic poetry, where the address to the reader is never used. Auerbach refers to the addresses to the reader as “a new creation, although some of its features appear in earlier texts”

(Auerbach, 268). It is important to note that Auerbach is influenced by the reflections of

Hermann Gmelin, who states: “auch die Anrede an den Leser, die das antike Epos nicht kennt und die erst die mitelalterliche Dichtung als Ausdruck der Verbundenheit zwischen Dichter unde

Leser bzw” (Gmelin, 130). Since it was unknown to ancient epics, Dante is using the modern nuances of medieval poetry to demonstrate his mastery of words above Statius and Virgil. It is important to note that della Quercia’s miniature and the scenario he is depicting are not in direct

118 correlation with Dante’s words. While in other instances of the Commedia Dante’s ego and pride are undoubtedly obvious, in this canto XXII of the Purgatorio, his words tell a different story than the image of della Quercia. In reference to Virgil and Statius, Dante writes: “Elli givan dinanzi, e io soletto / di retro, e ascoltava i lor sermoni, / ch’a poetar mi davano intelletto” (Canto

XXII, vv 127-129).

In Canto XXVII of the Purgatorio, Virgil and Statius are closely guiding Dante. In fact, as they take rest, Dante compares himself to a goat guarded by two herdsmen.

Quali si stanno ruminando manse

le capre, state rapide e proterve

sovra le cime avante che sien pranse,

tacite a l'ombra, mentre che 'l sol ferve,

guardate dal pastor, che 'n su la verga

poggiato s'è e lor di posa serve; (Purgatorio XXVII. 76-81).

It is clear that Dante could not accomplish his journey without the aid of his herdsmen, especially Virgil. Although Virgil requires the assistance of Statius to help Dante through the various terraces of the Purgatorio, he is nonetheless the most significant and most influential of the two guides. It is true that, at times, this notion may be subject to skepticism as Dante proceeds further upwards on the mount of Purgatory and does not care to draw a distinction between his two guides. The proof lies within the following verse: tali eravamo tutti e tre allotta,

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/ io come capra, ed ei come pastori, / fasciati quinci e quindi d'alta grotto (vv. 85-87). At this point in the Commedia, for Dante, both Virgil and Statius are his herdsmen, the former no greater than the latter. Anthony L. Pellegrini explains: “Here he (Dante) bring himself down further in the order of things by identifying himself with the goats, while the roles of herdsmen are attributed to Virgil and Statius” (Pellegrini, 108). Furthermore, Rocco Montano explains

Dante is merely a goat because “Virgil and Statius have completed their task, but the pilgrim has not yet reached his goal” (Montano, 333). If, in fact, Dante sees Virgil as a more significant companion, it becomes lost in his metaphor of the sheep and herdsmen as Dante fails to mention any sort of distinction between his two fellow herdsmen. Instead, he groups them together within the same hierarchical structure. However, in della Quercia’s miniature, there exists an obvious distinction and hierarchy between Statius and Virgil and also between Dante his two guides.

(image below).

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In this above miniature, della Quercia depicts an obvious hierarchy with Dante first, followed by

Virgil and finally Statius. In this image, the entire torso of Dante is visible, while Virgil and

Statius are hidden in the secondary layers of the miniature, the latter almost blending into the backdrop with the trees. This miniature does not correspond to Dante’s self-description of a goat; instead, it is Statius who appears to be the most goat-like with his goatee facial hair and his garments blending into the backdrop of nature like a goat lost within an overgrown pasture.

Edward Moore recalls that Statius “was indebted to Virgil for his recovery from this vice

[avarizia], as well as for the more important boon of his conversion to Christianity, which comes later (Moore, 31). While Dante compares himself to a goat and groups his guides into one single category of herdsmen, della Quercia instead depicts Dante in the forefront of the miniature, as if he is guarding Virgil and Statius, and places both guides into their respective orders, with Virgil first and Statius second.

It becomes clear later on in this canto why della Quercia chose to depict this hierarchical structure. While Dante is not yet certain nor confident of his ability to travel alone (this insecurity is seen in his self-description of a goat and his dependence upon his guides like herdsmen), Virgil urges him to proceed independently of his guides: “Tratto t'ho qui con ingegno e con arte; / lo tuo piacere omai prendi per duce / fuor se' de l'erte vie, fuor se' de l'arte” (vv. 130-

132). However, della Quercia possesses the omniscient role of the reader and not that of the insecure and frightened pilgrim. At times, it may be simpler to be the teacher or the coach who dictates rather than the student who must carry out the lessons learned. Thus, while Dante may not yet wish to give up his role as a goat, the time has come to do so as urged by Virgil and as understood by the reader and della Quercia. Let us not forget that Dante is the writer of this

121 poem and, as a result, refuses to identify as a fellow herdsman. Instead, it is della Quercia who recognizes this role in Dante by depicting the hierarchical structure of Dante in a principle role.

It is interesting that the artist, della Quercia, possesses the role as teacher in a canto where Virgil expresses the importance of art as a serious teaching tool: “tratto t'ho qui con ingegno e con arte”

(v 130). While Virgil has used his art of poetry throughout the Commedia to guide Dante throughout the Inferno and Purgatorio into a state of maturity, likewise della Quercia uses his images to further the reader’s understanding of the Commedia. While only reading canto XXVII of the Purgatorio, the reader may seriously consider Dante to be a goat amongst his herdsmen, but della Quercia teaches the reader two important facts: first, Dante is more than a simple bovidae following his shepherds; and second, Virgil is more significant of a guide than Statius.

With his images, della Quercia reminds the reader of these two facts, which may be lost to the reader without the presence of images. It is important to not forget that Dante is the poet who creates the persona of the insecure and immature pilgrim. Eric Pyle reminds us of William

Blake’s paintings and how “Blake will not be fooled into confusing the identity of the pilgrim

Dante and the poet Dante” (Pyle, 54). Pyle continues: “The pilgrim may seem passive and uncreative, but he is after all a creation of the poet. And the poet has filled his book with creation and imagination rivaled by few books in history” (Pyle, 54). Thus, reading Dante’s words without images may lead the reader astray into believing that Dante is truly a goat amongst his herdsmen. However, the paintings of della Quercia and the sketches of Blake remind us that

Dante is the poet mastermind behind the story and, as a result, is the true guide. As a result, della

Quercia places Dante in the forefront of the miniature as if he is the protector of Statius and

Virgil. It is important to recall that, as Amilcare A. Iannucci states, it is Dante who “undertook to

122 restore to Virgil his lost voice” (Iannucci, 54). Although, at times, the reader may overlook the fictional elements of the text due to Dante’s supreme ability to weave together elements of history and features of storytelling, the Virgil of the Divine Comedy is solely Dante’s creation. It is true that “in the allegorical structure of the Divine Comedy, Virgil has often been identified as the personification of Human Reason” (Kleinhenz, 55) and, thus, Dante utilizes the poetry and philosophy of the historical Virgil to guide him throughout his journey. Kleinhenz continues:

“Virgil is, first and foremost, the Latin poet of the Aeneid, the Georgics and the Dialogues, whose shade resides in Limbo among the virtuous pagans. These particularizing historical features are essential for his interaction with Dante the Pilgrim and with the other character of the Comedy” (Kleinhenz, 55). However, on the non-allegorical plane and on the non-historical realm of existence, Dante is the ultimate architect behind the dialogue of Virgil and is the creator of his thoughts and philosophy, albeit he is working within a structural framework of the historical Virgil. Della Quercia, having only images at his disposal, captures the essence of

Dante the poet, as Dante sits in front of his allegorical guides, Virgil and Statius, and acts as their literal marionette giving them speech and bringing them to life.

It must be mentioned that what is missing in the above miniature (and in the other miniatures of this canto and the previous canto) is Dante entering the fire. It is an epic scene that depicts Dante’s final transformation and purging, and his final dependence upon Virgil as his guide and final display of obedience:

Ond' ei crollò la fronte e disse: “Come!

volenci star di qua?”; indi sorrise

come al fanciul si fa ch'è vinto al pome.

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Poi dentro al foco innanzi mi si mise,

pregando Stazio che venisse retro,

che pria per lunga strada ci divise. (vv. 43-48).

In commenting on these verses, Singleton outlines the obedience of the pilgrim: “Dante's eyes are fixed on the fire in terror. Virgil commands him to look toward him and to come to him and so free himself from his paralyzing fear” (Singleton, 653). However, Dante has one final moment of doubt towards his guide as he tests the materiality of the fire:

Credi per certo che se dentro a l'alvo

di questa fiamma stessi ben mille anni,

non ti potrebbe far d'un capel calvo.

E se tu forse credi ch'io t'inganni,

fatti ver' lei, e fatti far credenza

con le tue mani al lembo d'i tuoi panni. (vv. 25-30).

As Lloyd Howard points out, Dante tests the fire “so that he can prove for himself that this fire does not burn materially” (Howard, 100). No longer is Dante asked to simply and blindly follow

Virgil’s commands, but he is to assess the fire with his own reason. Lloyd Howard juxtaposes this scene from canto XXVII with canto XVI of the Inferno: “Perhaps the memory of such images also comes to Dante’s mind in Inferno 16, when he realizes that if he were to jump down

124 to embrace the three politicians he would not be shielded from the fire” (Howard, 100). In fact, while the sodomites were immersed and burned within the destructive and painful flames of canto XVI of the Inferno, here in canto XXVII of the Purgatorio the sodomites are paired with the lustful as they walk through the wall of purifying fire. The question, thus, arises: why does

Dante punish the sodomites in the Inferno but decide to purify their soul in the Purgatorio? Chad

Tendon offers a solution by contending “Dante’s beliefs simply changed allowing for the idea that homosexual lust is no worse a spiritual threat than heterosexual lust” (Denton, 132). If

Dante’s beliefs changed, then one could conclude that della Quercia’s opinions about sodomy did not. Della Quercia depicted Brunetto Latini and other homosexuals in the miniature found in

Canto XV of the Inferno provided below:

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However, as mentioned previously, della Quercia does not provide a miniature of the cleansing fire and the sodomites of the Purgatorio. If Dante’s choice to include homosexuals in Purgatorio showed his changing beliefs of the notion of sodomy, then della Quercia’s choice to not depict this epic scene of the cleansing fire could be the artist’s commentary on his dissatisfaction with

Dante’s choice and change in belief. Dante spent most of his life actively opposing the papacy and its laws, as seen with his loyalty to the Guelfi Bianchi, “who favoured Florence’s republican government and resented Pope Boniface VIII’s increasing interference in local affairs” (Shadle,

22). Shadle continues: “Dante was a member of the White Guelphs, and when Charles of Valois, the brother of King Philip IV of France, helped bring the Black Guelphs to power with the support of Boniface, Dante was sent into exile” (Shadle, 22). Instead, it would be fair to say that della Quercia held the papacy in great esteem.9 This statement is supported by della Quercia’s fresco provided below, entitled The Blessed Agostino Novello Giving the Cloack of Office to the

Rector, c.1442-3, which “records a ceremonial loggia set up in the cathedral square for the visit of Pope Eugenius IV to Siena in 1443” (Richardson, 152).

9 For more information regarding the significance of Dante's role with the White Guelphs, see Elisa Brilli's article: Firenze, 1300-1301. Le cronache antiche (XIV secolo ineunte): "Quel che invece sarebbe interessante conoscere nel dettaglio è la gestione politica interna ed esterna della Firenze temporaneamente bianca, quella stessa dalla quale Dante era stato eletto e impiegato, ma a ciò ostano le alcune documentarie in merito all’attività istituzionale del Comune fiorentino durante questo bienni".

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This fresco was produced around the same time that della Quercia was working on the illuminated manuscript of the Divina Commedia. His support and glorification of the papacy is evident in this very elegant and intricate fresco. As Richardson further explains: “One of the bystanders, meanwhile, is shown wearing the distinctive peaked cap of Byzantine Emperor John

VII Palaiologos, who attended the important church council that met in Florence in 1439”

(Richardson 152). Della Quercia’s fresco above demonstrates his support for the Byzantine

Empire and, since “the emperor expressed his opposition to homosexuality in religious terms”

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(Boswell, 172), della Quercia would advance that same disapproval. Consequently, it is no surprise that della Quercia chose not to represent Dante’s changing beliefs toward homosexuality in canto XXVII of the Purgatorio. This serves as a crucial example of the miniaturist’s beliefs opposing the original text.

In the miniature of canto XXVII, della Quercia chose to depict the three women outlined by Dante: Leah, Rachel and Matelda. It is important to note della Quercia has rarely depicted women that possessed significant roles; in previous miniatures, women were depicted as anonymous souls undergoing punishment. What is interesting is how della Quercia chose to represent Leah dressed in red garments, like Virgil, and Rachel in a blue cloak, like Dante. As

Barry Craigs reveals: “Leah, who gathers flowers in Dante’s dream, is representative of the active life, and would seem to be a necessary preparation for Rachel, whose bright eyes indicate the greater life of contemplation” (Craig and MacDonald, 15). Dante is dressed in blue, like

Rachel, because he is on a journey that will ultimately become solely contemplative, that which is found in Paradiso. Virgil, instead, is dressed in red, like Leah, because he is not allowed to enter Paradiso and is, thus, restricted to an active life. Craigs further explains: “Dante’s dream of

Leah and Rachel suggests that the habituation in ethical virtual that Dante achieves while climbing Purgatory is necessary to his assumption of the contemplative life found in Paradiso”

(Craigs and MacDonald, 15). This understanding of the dream has been echoed by critics long before Craigs. Singleton explains: “Rachel’s eyes are beautiful, even as Leah’s hands are said to be” (Singleton, 660). Singleton quotes the Convivio and analyzes further: “The object of contemplation is truth, but philosophy, as Dante says in the Convivio, not only contemplates truth, but contemplates the contemplation itself, here signified by Rachel’s constant desire to see

128 her own eyes” (Singleton, 660). Della Quercia illustrates Rachel’s eyes at an angle, possibly with the intention to look at her own eyes from the side. She is seated in a meditative posture revealing the objective of contemplation. Leah, on the other hand, is depicted as actively collecting flowers from the ground with a gaze slightly downwards. This downward gaze is opposite of Paradiso since the active life is excluded from that realm and reserved only for contemplation.

Utilizing the various miniatures found in the Purgatorio, I have advanced Eco’s and

Maritain’s theoretical premises about how the critical reception of images is just as significant as the literary criticism. Furthermore, the artist, at times, has decided to forego the criticism of the text and, instead, insert original creations that seem the mimic the sociological reality of his time period. With mention of the opening decorative letter, I furthered the notion about della

Quercia’s visual criticism of the metaphor of the ship. While for Dante, it was a central theme of the first canto and the canticle in its entirety, della Quercia chose to suppress the metaphor and enclose it within a disarray of decorations. I also analyzed one of the most significant cantos of the poem in relation to my thesis: canto X. While Dante outlined an epic scene about the visibile parlare, della Quercia chose to disregard the tableaux carvings on the wall, as either a means to bow to the greatness of Dante’s words or as a negative commentary on the visible parlare. Then

I addressed canto XVIII, and reflected upon the differing views of acedia between the Middle

Ages and the Renaissance, and how these views influenced the likes of Dante and della Quercia.

Finally, I presented canto XXVII and the hierarchical depictions of Dante and his two guides. I also examined the representation of the two significant female characters, Leah and Rachel, and

129 how these representations adhered to the conflicting principles of a contemplative life and an active life.

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Chapter 4

Paradiso

Upon reaching the summit of Mount Purgatory and entering the Earthly Paradise, Dante fixes his sight on the Paradiso with Beatrice as his guide. Apart from the original construction of the various heavens, there is not much that is different from the other canticles. As Massimo

Verdicchio tells us: “Of course, there is also a lot at stake, and the subject matter of the corrupt state of Church and Empire is a very serious subject for Dante” (Verdicchio, x). His theme of church and state resonates throughout the Paradiso as it did with the other canticles. This notion will be further analyzed with the miniature of canto XXVII where Dante meets St. Peter. Due to this theme of church and state which will develop as the canticle progresses, I begin this fourth chapter by analyzing Canto VI which involves a dedication to the Justinian emperor and resembles Dante’s political life. In fact, the structure of this canto is extremely significant as it completes a pattern set out in the entire Commedia. Tom Simone observes: “Parallel to this idea is Dante’s structural attention to political life in the sixth canto of each of the three divisions of the Comedy, including Ciacco’s first veiled prediction of the Pilgrim’s future exile in Inferno and the approach to the valley of worldly princes in Purgatorio” (Simone, 55). The sixth canto is noteworthy in each of the three canticles and must be analyzed in this chapter as it closes the pattern set out by Dante in the previous canticles. I then proceed to analyze the miniature of canto X and also to demonstrate the significance of this canto because it involves “the third of

131 the six addresses to the readers in the Paradiso, now explicit and in many respects the most important and mirrors the real situation of the writing poet” (Durling, 215). Verdicchio remarks that the following address to the reader "reminds us of the objectives of the Commedia, and the

Veltro’s mandate to nourish the reader with love, wisdom and virtue” (Verdicchio, 61). After canto X, I will analyze the miniature found in canto XVII. This is a very significant canto because it is the centre of the canticle and “the reader would do well to keep in mind that with canto XV, XVI, and XVII we are at the center of the Paradise’s thirty-three cantos, and the center for Dante is always a position of importance” (Musa, 182).

I will then examine the miniature of canto XXVII. This is where Dante recounts the appearance of St. Peter and where he demonstrates his continued dislike of the church and its authority. It is fair to say that this a prominent theme in each of the three canticles. Finally, I will conclude by analyzing the miniature in canto XXXIII where Dante sees God finally. This is one of the most significant cantos of the entire Commedia as Dante finally realizes his objective: “In the final lines of Paradiso, Dante enjoys the vision of God. As he gazes into the trinity he sees “nostra effige”: he sees our image. Dante’s gesture is identical with that of Narcissus as he bends over the pool and gazes at his image” (Shoaf, 21).

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4.1

Canto VI: Politics and the Roman Empire

As mentioned in the introduction of this chapter, canto VI of the Paradiso is dedicated to politics, as were canto VI of the Inferno and canto VI of the Purgatorio. Dante’s exile was undoubtedly politically motivated, and the Divine Comedy was born out of Dante’s exiled state.

Thus, it logically follows that politics is a central theme of the Commedia, which recurs constantly throughout the three canticles: “Canto VI of each cantica, then, is constantly reserved for political considerations, so minutely thought out is the architectural plan of the poem”

(Limentani, 25). More specifically, while Canto VI of the Purgatorio deals with the politics of

Italy, Canto VI of Paradiso is about “the providential designs for the happiness and welfare of mankind” (Limentani, 25). To frame this narrative and to advance the notion of universal happiness throughout the ages, Dante turns to the Roman Empire and to the Emperor Justinian as solid examples. For Dante, Justinian’s reformation of the Roman Law to include Christian doctrine was inspired by a greater, more spiritual power, such as God or the Holy Spirit. Dante likens his poetic inspiration to that of Justinian’s political inspiration, as he too was called upon a higher power to write. Dante draws our attention to the motivation of Justinian’s conversion:

Agapetus, “who convinces Justinian as to the two natures of Christ” (Singleton, 115). Justinian made a decision to transition from the pagan and secular governance to include a religious sect,

133 however still separate from the authority of the church. Similarly, Dante was a member of the

Guelfi Bianchi who “perdettero per sostenere, come dicevano, le parti imperiali” (Giusti and

Gotti, 202). While the Guelfi Neri wished to amalgamate the church and state into one papal empire, the Guelfi Bianchi opposed the papal influence and wanted to keep it separate from political affairs. This idea of separateness supported by Dante and Justinian is depicted in

Giovanni di Paolo’s miniature reproduced below.

In this miniature, there is an overwhelming display of interplay between the colours red and blue found within the garments, the frame and the buildings. These two colours, for Giovanni di

Paolo, represent two natures: human law and the papacy, and the two natures of man and God.

This is seen with Dante, a human not yet deceased or ascended, wearing a blue robe, while

Beatrice and Justinian, two souls of the Paradiso, are clothed in red garments. As mentioned above, Justinian converted to Christianity and created a legal system that retained the

134 separateness of religion and state: “It was derived by organizing laws passed by legislative bodies, edicts from the emperor, and interpretation of these laws by judges for specific cases of over 1000 years. It is the basic premise for all modern civil law” (Cech, 251). In the above miniature, there are two sets of separate structures, one painted in blue to resemble human law and the other in red to depict the papacy. This is clearly understood by the flag that is being carried through two red doorways with the symbol of an eagle representative of the black Guelfs:

“the Pope, because of his love for Florence’s Guelf party, expressed his wish that it should always bear his own arms on the flag and seal, which was still is a vermilion eagle on a green dragon against a white field […]” (Brucker, 121). Giovanni di Paolo painted the eagle black to distinguish the “Black Guelphs who favored aristocratic rule and were aided by the pope, and the

White Guelphs, who favored Florence’s republican government and resented Pope Boniface

VIII’s increasing interference in local affairs” (Shadle, 22). Thus, the men depicted as walking through the doorway are Black Guelphs in a setting of Papal power. In the distance can be seen buildings painted in blue, which serve as the civil law to juxtapose the Papacy. This is an accurate representation of Dante’s loyalty to the White Guelphs who acknowledged the separateness of the papal state from the Empire.

The duality of church and state outlined in the paragraph above is also depicted in the frame surrounding the miniature. It is important to note that the frames of Giovanni di Paolo attempt to convey some meaning as they stand out significantly and vary from miniature to miniature, while for della Quercia the frames were of a subtle earth tone and almost lost within the image itself. The frame of the above miniature is bold and large with interchanging red and blue colours. Newton “proposed a colour wheel based on adjacent sequence of seven

135 wavelengths within the visible spectrum” (Feisner, 14). Within this colour wheel, depicted below

(Feisner, 14), the red and blue are complete opposites of one another, thus representing the conflict between the papacy and the empire.

Using colours to understand and publicize politics is not a foreign concept: “Colors often have culturally loaded meanings. One reason is the traditional color-coding of the nodes and links representing political parties: red for conservatives and blue for liberals” (Pfeffer, 290).

Furthermore, it is pertinent to use primary, simple colours such as red and blue because “using colors that are counterintuitive or unfamiliar makes reading and understanding incomparably harder and can easily lead to frustration caused by visually jumping back and forth between the figure and the legend” (Pfeffer, 290). Giovanni di Paolo, obviously unaware of this principle, utilized only red and blue in the above miniature: red for the Papacy and blue for the Empire.

These methods demonstrate that “Giovanni di Paolo’s miniatures do more than simply illustrate the text: they offer sophisticated visual interpretations of Dante’s visions” (Woods, 118). More

136 specifically, Di Paolo expresses a sophisticated awareness of Dante’s political vision. Di Paolo utilizes art to render this political vision more accessible to the reader. The image helps the reader transcend the words and achieve a deeper and more sophisticated understanding of the text. Upon analyzing a miniature of this illuminated manuscript, Woods concludes that the

“images examined in this section demonstrate how manuscript illuminations could operate in ways that augmented, or indeed even took priority over, the texts they accompany” (Woods,

118). In the above miniature of canto VI of the Paradiso, di Paolo provides insight into Dante’s political message. This insight not only serves to supplement Dante’s text but also to teach about politics through a Dantean context, and as moral instruction for a politically sound life: “Visions of biblical figures and events, and of heaven, hell and purgatory, could provide moral instruction and a focus for prayer” (Woods, 118).

Finally, it is also important to note that in the above miniature di Paolo depicts the significant encounter between Justinian and Dante. To the left of the miniature, di Paolo illustrates Dante at the same level as Justinian, both engaging in conversation and with outstretched arms almost as if to embrace each other. It is as if Dante finally meets his counterpart; while Justinian became inspired by spirituality to rule, Dante was inspired by spirituality to write and to continue his voyage into Paradiso. At this encounter, Singleton explains: “It is a cardinal point of Dante’s belief that in the perfect state all effort both of will and intellect shall cease, while their activity reaches its highest point” (Singleton, 115). Throughout the Inferno and the Purgatorio Dante was guided by Virgil, the archetype of intellect and reason.

In the Paradiso, he is guided by Beatrice, the embodiment of spirituality and the ceasing of the intellect. Similarly, Justinian was at first guided by intellect as he rose to power, but later

137 adopted Christianity to guide his codification of the law. Barbara Reynolds clarifies this point:

“In the establishment of Justinian’s government at Ravenna, Dante saw the divinely willed restoration of Imperial rule in western Europe and the promise of his own hopes: what had happened once could happen again” (Reynolds, 348). What Justinian did for the Empire is what

Dante wished for the city of Florence and for all of Italy. And, furthermore, just as Justinian was

“divinely willed”, so too was Dante in his writing of the Divine Comedy. With this sixth canto of the Paradiso, as well as the sixth canto in Purgatorio and Inferno, Dante reminds the reader that he is a political man and that this poem has a political agenda. Di Paolo felt it was necessary to capture this aspect of Dante’s character; Di Paolo’s miniature stresses the importance of the sixth canto and of Dante’s political ambitions.

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4.2

Canto X: The Gazes of Dante and Beatrice

In canto X of the Paradiso, Dante’s ambitions extend to greater heights: he rises to the fourth sphere of the sun, a feat attained only by the likes of Apollo. Dante meets St. Thomas

Aquinas demonstrating that, for him, the spiritual, contemplative and philosophical life is held to a higher standard than the political life that he has left behind. Di Paolo provides two miniatures for this canto, which is a rare occurrence throughout the entirety of the illuminated manuscript.

The first miniature depicts Dante and Beatrice ascending to the sun.

At first glance, it is the sun that captures the immediate attention of the observer. The sun is painted in a bright yellow colour with rays of light spreading across the entire miniature. Di

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Paolo placed the sun at eye level and in the center of the frame so that the viewer is immediately drawn to it. As the viewer looks at the sun, he/she finds it difficult to focus elsewhere on the miniature; the point of focus is securely drawn towards the beaming sun as the rest of the miniature almost falls into oblivion. This experience is precisely what Dante orders to the reader in the first few lines of this canto:

Leva dunque, lettore, a l’altre rote

meco la visa, dritto a quella parte

dove l’un moto e l’altro si percuote;

e lì comincia a vagheggiar ne l’arte

di quell maestro che dentro a sè l’ama,

tanto che mai da lei l’occhio non parte (Paradiso X, vv 7-12).

While di Paolo draws the attention of the viewer to the bright rays of the sun, Dante tells the reader to direct his/her attention upwards towards the sun. Singleton explains that “this invitation to the reader, which extends through vs. 27, is to a ‘feast of contemplation’ of this total order”

(Singleton, 177). Singleton continues:

The first twenty-seven versus of this canto which bears the perfect number ten have quite correctly been viewed by commentators as marking, thematically, a fresh beginning, so that the first nine canto, which deal with the first three of the heavenly spheres, are an initial subdivision of the Paradiso (Singleton, 177).

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This “fresh beginning” that Singleton refers to is a similar experience that viewer has with di

Paolo’s miniature. The sun is so blinding that it cancels out the rest of the miniature; the viewer’s eyes are, as a result, reset and ready to receive the “fresh beginning”. It is important to note that although the sun is present throughout the miniatures of the Purgatorio and throughout the poetry of Dante in the Purgatorio, it is never as prominent as in the tenth canto of the Paradiso.

In later illustrative traditions of the Divina Comedia, this dichotomy between the sun of the

Purgatorio and the sun of the Paradiso is also observed: “Accordingly Blake depicts the sun as obscured throughout the Purgatorio illustrations […] Blake reveals the sun only in the Paradiso illustrations, beginning with the first finished illustration of Paradiso, ‘Dante Adoring Christ’”

(Moskal, 160). The question, thus, arises: why does Dante choose to use the sun at this significant juncture in the Paradiso? Blake, who did not provide any illustrations of the Paradiso prior to canto X, “chose this passage to begin with because it echoes his own vision of Christ as the sun” (Moskal, 160). As a result, canto X is the turning point of the Paradiso as Dante transitions from a Catholicism of the Old Testament to the religion of the New Testament. Dante explains the position of the sun later on in the canto:

Tal era quivi a quarta famiglia

de l’altro Padre, che sempre la sazia,

mostrando come spira e come figlia (Paradiso X, vv 49-51).

The sun is where the trinity resides; it is where Jesus Christ ascended upon his crucifixion and joined his Father at the right hand. Singleton clarifies these verses and explains the role of the

141 sun: “To the ‘fourth family’, the sapienti who now present themselves in the sun, it is given to contemplate the mode of God’s spiration and how the Son is generated by the Father, i.e., the greatest mystery of the Christian faith, the Trinity […]” (Singleton, 180). The sun marks the second half of the Paradiso, or also the second half of the Christian faith. In the following miniature of this same canto, we see depictions of Saint Bonaventure and Saint Thomas Aquinas, and, as Mazzotta tells us, this “marks a radical turning point in the poet’s thinking” (Barolini and

Storey, 152). Mazzotta continues:

He confronts the philosophical-theological speculations of the two great masters of the thirteenth century. With them he focuses on a number of doctrinal controversies in which their fraternal orders and they themselves were engaged. And through them he seeks to reconstitute the vast circle of Christian wisdom: wisdom as a whole and the whole of wisdom (Barolini and Storey, 152).

It is no surprise then that di Paolo places the sun at the center of his miniature with the depiction of a person within the sun. At first glance, it is extremely difficult to perceive that there is a figure within the sun. Di Paolo creates a sort of effect similar to when humans stare directly at the sun; initially, there is a blinding effect, but then the eyes are able to adjust to the overwhelming brightness, and the shape of a being within the sun emerges.

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Examining the above miniature, there is still some doubt that there is a figure inside the center of the sun. This doubt is essential in order to grasp the intensity and the brightness of the sun as outlined by Dante:

Quant’esser convenia da sè lucente

quel che’era dentro al sol dov’io entra’mi,

non per color, ma per lume parvente! (Paradiso X, vv. 40-42).

Dante and Di Paolo feel it is necessary to accentuate the brightness of the sun because of what it represents. As mentioned above, this is the turning point of this canticle where there is a shift towards Catholicism and towards wisdom and enlightenment. Mazzotta explains: “The reader is invited to lift up his sight to the cosmic cross formed by the intersection of the celestial equator and the ecliptic, the two oblique virtual circles traced by the sun’s diurnal and annual motions”

(Mazzotta, 159). This ‘cosmic cross’, as termed by Mazzotta, is why the sun is the seat of the trinity. Mazzotta continues: “Most simply, we are asked to be stargazers, to behold with a sense of wonder the spectacle of creation as a total gift of being, and so come to terms with the givenness of creation, its reduction to the perfection of art. What sustains this cosmic theodrama is the inner life of the Trinity” (Mazzotta, 159). This ‘inner life’ is seen within di Paolo’s depiction of the sun, that subtle glimpse of a figure seated at the throne of the solar body.

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As the gaze moves from the sun to examine the rest of the miniature, the viewer is drawn to the figures of Beatrice and Dante rising towards the sun. It is important to note that di Paolo depicts Dante at exactly eye level with the sun. It is possible to draw a line from Dante’s eyes to the center of the sun (depicted below in red).

Di Paolo, here, depicts Dante’s address to the reader where he encourages us to look at the sun with him. This address is the “the third of the six addresses to the readers in the Paradiso, now explicit and in many respects the most important […] as it mirrors the real situation of the writing poet” (Durling, 215). Durling brings attention to the notion of the third address so as to stress the idea of the completion of the Holy Trinity. As mentioned previously, Dante’s encounter with the sun is his realization of the trinity; it becomes clear that we have now entered the section of the Paradiso that is indicative of the New Testament and the rising of Christ to throne of the Trinity. Dante addresses the reader to bring our gaze up to meet his at the level of the sun and the level of the Trinity. While Dante, the reader, and the viewer must raise their gaze towards the sun, Beatrice appears to be above the sun and, upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that her gaze lowers to meet the sun.

Beatrice represents the Divine and possesses a role that rises above Dante. Barbara Reynolds explains: “In Paradiso her role grows more and more exalted. In her exposition of doctrine, she

144 represents Dante’s intellect, clarifies and illuminated by his meditation, perhaps also by mystical experience, where or not heightened by stimulants” (Reynolds, 341). As a result, it is no reprise then that according to di Paolo’s miniature Beatrice does not need to raise her gaze towards the

Trinity but she can slightly lower it, as Dante makes her equal to the Trinity. Charles Tomlinson clarifies this point: “the root of nine is three, and the Trinity is three; therefore, Beatrice was continually accompanied by the number nine to show that she was herself a nine, that is, a miracle, the root whereof was nought by the marvelous Trinity” (Tomlinson, 63). Dante introduces this notion in his Vita Nova:

Lo numero del tre è la radice del nove; perocchè senza numero altro alcuno per se medesimo fa nove, siccome è manifesto che tre via tre fanno nove, e lo fattore de’ miracoli per se medesimo è Tre, cioè Padre Figliuolo e Spirito Santo, li quali sono tre ed uno, questa donna fu accompagnata dal numero del nove, a dare ad intendere che ella era un nove, cioè un miracolo la cui radice solamente è la mirabile Trinitade (Alighieri, 63, 29.3).

It is interesting to note that while di Paolo illustrates Dante’s account of Beatrice’s Divinity and association with the Trinity, there is no mention of this idea in the literary criticism and commentary to the Divine Comedy. This is another instance where the visual commentary rises above the literary commentary and attempts to disseminate Dante’s words and philosophy and theology. Thus, as might be expected, the second miniature in this canto is a depiction of Dante and St. Thomas Aquinas, theologian and philosopher, and many other beautiful souls in heaven.

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Dante’s description of this scene and the “identification of blessed souls is made a point of ceremonial interest” (Kirkpatrick, 119). Dante finds himself surrounded by a group of souls that are dancing and singing in a ceremonial fashion:

e 'l canto di quei lumi era di quelle;

chi non s'impenna sì che là sù voli,

dal muto aspetti quindi le novelle.

Poi, sì cantando, quelli ardenti soli

si fuor girati intorno a noi tre volte,

come stelle vicine a' fermi poli,

donne mi parver, non da ballo sciolte,

ma che s'arrestin tacite, ascoltando

fin che le nove note hanno ricolte. (Paradiso X, vv. 73-81).

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It is a beautiful spectacle that captures the attention of Dante and makes him feel pleasure and happiness. This brings to mind St. Thomas Aquinas’ quote mentioned in the previous chapters:

“id quom visum placet”. It is no surprise that as Dante describes this beautiful spectacle St

Thomas Aquinas reveals himself as one of the souls in this realm of the sun. In the miniature of this section, di Paolo depicts the souls seated in a circle holding musical score, as would a chorus. Although on the surface it is a scene of entertainment, pleasure and beauty, as also demonstrated by di Paolo’s colourful and stupendously rich miniature, this a scene with profound insight and great theology. This becomes evident when one begins to listen more closely to the songs sung by the chorus. Hollander reveals to us: “eventually we learn that the conjoined choruses of the two groups of twelve theologians are singing of the incarnation and of the Trinity” (Alighieri and Hollander, 262). This is not mentioned until canto XIII of the

Paradiso; however, the mystery of their singing contributes to the significant realization that this canto is not merely about entertainment and pleasure. Di Paolo depicts this notion by illustrating the souls in a very different fashion than the previous cantos of the Paradiso and the other two canticles. The souls are each drawn distinctly from one other and are draped in very eccentric and adorned attire and headwear. The previous miniatures of this canticle depicted souls in simple clothing and only within the colour spectrum of reds and blues. Here, instead, di Paolo utilizes darker colours that border on the spectrum of shades of black and gray. This is the section of canto X where Dante truly pays homage to the theology of St. Thomas Aquinas giving him the first word of “quando” as he did with Ulysses:

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E dentro a l'un senti' cominciar: “Quando

lo raggio de la grazia, onde s'accende

verace amore e che poi cresce amando, (Canto X vv. 82-84).

Hollander tells us that Aquinas is a sort of hero as was Ulysses, but with more modest tendencies: “where Ulysses has epic pretensions in his self-narrative, Thomas, another kind of

‘hero’, one who indeed vigorously pursued virtue and knowledge (and not merely in what we might regard as an advertisement for himself) is a foil to prideful Ulysses” (Alighieri and

Hollander, 263). While the literary commentary makes this observation about humility and heroism, we also see it in di Paolo’s miniature. Aquinas is pictured in a black and gray robe, as opposed to the bright colours of the other members of the chorus. This colour choice by di Paolo serves to remind the viewer of Aquinas’ humility and his dedication to the Dominican order:

Io fui de li agni de la santa greggia

che Domenico mena per cammino

u' ben s'impingua se non si vaneggia (vv. 94-96).

Although these souls are of the order that endlessly pursued knowledge (i sapienti), they did so without forgetting the rule of Divinity. Singleton explains about the Dominican order that “they have abundance of spiritual food, as long as they adhere to his rule” (Singleton, 184). In the above miniature, di Paolo portrays this order and adherence to rule with a symmetrical and systematically outlined illustration. Di Paolo depicts ten souls seated in a semi-circle; Dante does

148 not mention the specific number of souls in this scene. Di Paolo uses the number ten to create balance and symmetry within the image. As opposed to using an odd number of souls, by using the number ten he is able to divide the miniature in half with five souls on either side.

Furthermore, as Vernon tells us, “the number ten is a symbolic number, and that, just for the fact of the symbolism of that number, the commandments are ten” (Vernon, 321). The commandments form the foundation of Christian Theology and this fact is in accordance with the role of the theologians found within this canto. It is a theologian’s duty to study, first and foremost, the Ten Commandments, and, as Waltke points out, “the Ten Commandments require specific interpretation and application to each culture” (Waltke, 414). Furthermore, the number contributes to the balance of the miniature because “as it concludes the series of radical numbers, and contains them all within itself, the number ten represents a complete and perfect being, and is a symbol of completeness and perfection” (Vernon, 321).

Above the seated souls, di Paolo depicts St. Thomas Aquinas, a friar of the Dominican order. He is easily identifiable because, as Ralph Griffiths reveals, “The Dominican monk is without a beard: his head is shaved, with a chaplet of hair, broad and unbroken […] when he goes out he is covered with a long black woollen cloak” (Griffiths 39-40).

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As mentioned previously, this is the first instance where di Paolo uses colours other than red and blue or skin tones. The black cloak on top of the white garments is a significant artistic decision made by di Paolo, not only to identify the Dominican order, but also to remind the viewer about the beliefs of the Dominicans and how those coincide with the sapienti. John Harvey explains:

“The Dominicans, it should be said, were not, like the Benedictines, clad solely in black […] their black cloak and hood were worn on top of a white cloak and hood: the white symbolizing the soul to be redeemed from black sin” (Harvey, 48). As mentioned previously, the sapienti were pursuers of knowledge without sacrificing humility and modesty. They were great theologians and philosophers and thinkers, but never to the point of narcissism and arrogance. In all likelihood, for di Paolo, the white robe is a symbol of the pursuit of knowledge and the black cloak is a constant reminder that all mortals are the same under one God. Within the spaienti, there exists that perfect balance of the pursuit of knowledge and desire for humility. It is also important to note that St. Thomas Aquinas is the only soul in this miniature to have his head completely exposed. This is a significant artistic choice made by di Paolo to uphold that, in fact, this soul is the Dominican friar, St. Thomas. A friar of the Dominican order “is without a beard: his head is shaved, with a chaplet of hair, broad and unbroken” (Born, 19). Instead of completely removing all hair, the Dominican friar retains a patch of hair that perfectly circles the bottom half of the scalp. The removal of hair symbolizes the renunciation of all earthly riches and material; however, the retaining of hair represents the dedication to the pursuit of knowledge. As the combination of the black cloak and white robe denotes the perfect balance between humility and the richness of knowledge, so too does the removal of hair and the preserving of a perfectly circular patch of hair. As di Paolo paints the entire miniature adhering to various rules of

150 symmetry (as mentioned above), he depicts St. Thomas Aquinas with that same symmetry obeying the aesthetic mandates of the Dominican order. This image, altogether, reveals order and equilibrium and attention to artistic balance from the position of the sun directly in the center of the frame to the position of the souls seated in a perfect semicircle. To enhance the feeling of perfect balance, di Paolo illustrates the souls on either side staring towards the center of the frame. Immediately, the viewer’s gaze is also drawn to the center where the encounter between

Beatrice, Dante and St. Thomas takes place. It is undoubtedly the most significant event of this canto and di Paolo felt it was necessary to attract the viewer’s attention to that scene. Dante then ends the canto by naming all the souls that are seated within the semicircle. Di Paolo depicts this scenario with the outstretched hands of Beatrice and St. Thomas as they point to identify the souls.

It is important to note that Canto XII of the Paradiso has a miniature that greatly resembles Canto X. Due to its overwhelming similarity, a full analysis of this miniature will not be given so as to avoid repetition. However, a brief outline of the similarities will be provided so as to strengthen the arguments put forth about the miniature in Canto X.

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At first glance, it becomes immediately obvious that there exists a striking resemblance between both miniatures. The souls are seated in a semicircle with the sun directly behind them. There is a sort of perfect balance to the order of the souls, and their gaze is directed into the center towards the principle scene. As in the other miniature, St. Bonaventure and Beatrice have their arms extended identifying the other souls in the Heaven of the Sun. There is the presence of other Dominican friars with black robe and white cloak already discussed with regards to the other miniature. While in the other miniature, there is St. Thomas Aquinas helping to identify the souls alongside Beatrice and Dante, in this miniature there is St. Bonaventure together with the

Pilgrim and his guide. The miniatures are very similar because they are within the same Heaven of the Sun and the events that transpire are analogous. It is possible that di Paolo provides similar miniatures so as to contribute more thoroughly to the notion of uniformity within the Heaven of the Sun. As demonstrated with regards to the miniature of Canto X, di Paolo’s objective was to create a miniature that generated feelings of uniformity, balance and equilibrium. By creating a

152 series of similar miniatures that all relate to the Heaven of Sun, there is a stronger sentiment that contributes to the equilibrium in this sphere.

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4.3

Canto XVII: Dante's Exile and his Poetry

Along this same theme of symmetry and evenness, we now arrive at the center of the

Paradiso, canto XVII. As Mark Musa tell us, “the reader would do well to keep in mind that with canto XV, XVI, and XVII we are at the center of the Paradiso's thirty-three cantos, and the center for Dante is always a position of importance” (Musa, 182). In fact, this is an extremely significant canto as it addresses Dante’s concern about his future regarding his exile from

Florence. Di Paolo’s miniature of this canto depicts this scene quite precisely.

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In this above miniature, di Paolo utilizes the method of horizontal storytelling. There are two scenes being depicted in this miniature that can be read from left to right. Dante appears twice: in the first instance, he is being thrust outside the walls of Florence; in the second, he is standing outside the wall and writing poetry. Di Paolo’s choices for this miniature are interesting. While in the previous miniatures, the souls residing in the various spheres of the Paradiso are the focal point of the miniature, in this miniature Dante is in the center of the story. He is clearly depicted with a large frame and precise features.

Above, I placed cropped images of Canto XVII (left) and Canto X (right) to demonstrate the sharper and more intricate image of Canto XVII. Instead, in Canto X, Dante’s face almost blends in with the garments of Beatrice and his cloak with the backdrop of the sky. It is clear that he is not the center of the miniature and that di Paolo has chosen to depict Dante in a very subtle

155 manner. In contrast, di Paolo’s representation of Dante in Canto XVII is precise and focused and central. Di Paolo adheres to Dante’s words about the importance of this canto:

Per che mia donna “Manda fuor la vampa

del tuo disio,” mi disse, “sì ch'ella esca

segnata bene de la interna stampa:

non perché nostra conoscenza cresca

per tuo parlare, ma perché t'ausi

a dir la sete, sì che l'uom ti mesca.”

(Paradiso XVII, 7-12).

Singleton comments: “Dante’s desire to know what he now will ask of Cacciaguida is a burning desire (termed a ‘thirst in vs.12) within him to which Beatrice urges him to give adequate expression” (Singleton, 287). In this canto, Dante finds himself at a crossroads where he has this

“burning desire” to know the difficult times that will soon befall him. It is a very significant scene that is centred on Dante, his future, and the birth of the Divine Comedy. He is urged by

Cacciaguida to continue writing poetry when he is sent into exile as a way to counteract this misfortune. It must be noted that in the above miniature there is no depiction of Cacciaguida or

Beatrice; it is a miniature that is solely focused on Dante and his worry. Dante expresses his concerns:

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mentre ch'io era a Virgilio congiunto

su per lo monte che l'anime cura

e discendendo nel mondo defunto,

dette mi fuor di mia vita futura

parole gravi, avvegna ch'io mi senta

ben tetragono ai colpi di ventura;

per che la voglia mia saria contenta

d'intender qual fortuna mi s'appressa:

ché saetta previsa vien più lenta.” (Canto 17, 19-27).

It is important to review these verses because they are worries that have plagued Dante and it is due to this worry that he had the drive to create such a masterpiece as the Divine Comedy. Thus, his exile is an extremely important event that serves as the foundation to Dante’s magnum opus.

Accordingly, Di Paolo chooses Cacciaguida’s discourse about Dante’s future as the focal point of his miniature. Beginning with the left of the miniature, Dante is being thrust out of the walls of Florence. There is the symbol of Florence, the giglio, above the doorway to represent and remove any doubt that Dante is indeed leaving the city of Florence. The giglio is coloured red to represent the faction of the Guelphs: “il commune popolesco che avea un giglio bianco in campo rosso invertì i colori dello stemma, e adottò l’impresa del giglio rosso sul fondo bianco, che tutora rimane come arma della città, mentre l’insegna abolita fu ritenuta dai fuorusciti ghibellini

(di Crollalanca, 60). Since the Ghibellines were no longer in power in Florence, it is not their white giglio above the door in the miniature. The Black Guelfs are the responsible party for

Dante’s exile; as a result, the character depicted as pushing Dante out of the doorway must be a

157 black Guelf. More specifically, it is most probably Corso Donati since Dante cryptically makes reference to him in verses 97-99:

Non vo' però ch'a' tuoi vicini invidie,

poscia che s'infutura la tua vita

via più là che 'l punir di lor perfidie.”

Paradiso XVII, vv 97-99

Singleton tells us that the word vicini is a reference to Corso Donati: “Dante's life extended long beyond the miserable end of Boniface and of Corso Donati (Purg. XXIV, 82-87). The latter was a 'neighbor' in the strictest sense of the word” (Singleton, 287). Corso Donati was related to

Dante through marriage and their families were neighbours. As Dante make reference to Corso

Donati in this canto, di Paolo chooses to illustrate his character and the one responsible for physically removing Dante from Florence. What is also noteworthy is how di Paolo represents

Donati and Dante. Donati has a smaller frame with an insecure and apprehensive posture; Dante, on the other hand, stands tall and proud with a prestigious gaze painted upon his face. Would this really have been the case? As Dante was being exiled from the city of Florence, would he have remained so calm and composed and noble? The answers to these queries are obvious: while being exiled, no one could be in such a state as depicted by di Paolo. Thus, the question arises, why did di Paolo choose to depict Dante in such a fashion? Let us recall that while the “poet

Dante” is writing the Divine Comedy already exiled from Florence, the “pilgrim Dante” has not yet experienced this misfortune. In this canto XVII, Dante is being warned by Cacciaguida and advised on how he should handle the situation. Dante responds to Cacciaguida:

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per che di provedenza è buon ch'io m'armi,

sì che, se loco m'è tolto più caro,

io non perdessi li altri per miei carmi.

Paradiso XVII, 109-111

Thus, the “pilgrim Dante” accepts his state of exile and is prepared to live a new life dedicated to poetry. Likewise, di Paolo illustrates this newfound sentiment of Dante with a courageous demeanour and strong foundation. Dante is also leaning slightly forward as he does not struggle against Corso Donati and is prepared to take on his new life in exile. He has his hands up in a posture of surrender, as he does not fight against the path that has been chosen for him. This would undoubtedly be contrary to Dante’s actual reaction when he heard news of his exile.

Nonetheless, di Paolo has chosen to depict Dante “the pilgrim” and not Dante “the poet”.

From there, we now move to the right sight of miniature which portrays Dante writing on a wooden board with his head resting in his hand. Cacciaguida advises Dante to write the truth even if it will offend some people:

indi rispuose: “Coscïenza fusca

o de la propria o de l'altrui vergogna

pur sentirà la tua parola brusca.

Ma nondimen, rimossa ogne menzogna,

tutta tua visïon fa manifesta;

e lascia pur grattar dov' è la rogna.

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Ché se la voce tua sarà molesta

nel primo gusto, vital nodrimento

lascerà poi, quando sarà digesta.

Questo tuo grido farà come vento,

che le più alte cime più percuote;

e ciò non fa d'onor poco argomento. (Paradiso XVII, 124-135).

On the right side of the miniature, Dante is portrayed in a less confident stance than when he is being thrust out the doors of Florence. As mentioned above, he is resting his head in his hand in an almost exhaustive posture. Di Paolo suggests that Dante is burdened by something as he hunched over his book and lacks the presence of a confident poet and a powerful statesman. The source of Dante’s burden is from Cacciaguida’s advice outlined above where he encourages

Dante to speak the truth even if it will cause problems with various noteworthy figures and individuals. It is almost as if he is enlisting Dante to fight in a crusade, obviously with his words as a sword. It is no surprise that Cacciaguida, “crusader, knight, and martyr” (Jacoff, 114), would be the one to charge Dante with the writing of a poem that would shake the foundation of the old world:

Because Dante is preoccupied with the political and ecclesiastical crises of his times, he adopts and transfigures the “Matter of the East”, as it was deployed in crusade narratives and other travel literature, to convert his poem into a crusade to save Florence, Italy, Europe, and the Christian church (Schildgen, ix).

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For one man to be the savior of his city and his church is quite the responsibility. It is no doubt that as Dante began writing his poem in exile, he would feel the pressure to reveal truths that would rewrite the history of Florence and call for reform of the Christian church. He stands at the right of the miniature burdened by such a task that would not doubt make him question his objective. However, Cacciaguida pushes Dante forward to realise his mission and to continue despite the difficulties that may arise. The miniature above is an accurate depiction of this occurrence and truthfully illustrates Dante leaving the city of Florence and then realizing his momentous task in exile. In the miniature above, it is also important to note the direction that

Dante faces. While it is true that in almost every miniature of this manuscript Dante faces right, it is here in this canto that it becomes most evident. In previous miniatures, it was a way for the artist to demonstrate the literary progression of the story; as one reads from left to right, so does one understand the movement of the story as told through the image. In the specific miniature above, the artist emphasizes Dante’s movement towards the right not only to tell a story but also his necessary evolution towards a new life into exile. Although Dante had previously discussed his exile via Farinata’s prophecy in canto X of the Inferno, it is essentially this seventeenth canto of the Paradiso where Dante must come to terms with this state and continue to evolve and move forward. As Dante explains in his De Vulgari Eloquentia, he no longer embodies the fear of exile, but understands its necessity for spiritual and intellectual growth:

To me, however, the whole world is a homeland, like the sea to fish – thought I drank from the Arno before cutting my teeth, and love Florence so much that, because I loved her, I suffer exile unjustly[…] and when I reflect inwardly on the various locations of places in the world, and their relations

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to the two poles and the circle at the equator, I am convinced, and firmly maintain that there are many regions and cities more noble and more delightful than Tuscany and Florence, where I was born and of which I am a citizen, and many nations and peoples who speak a more elegant and practical language than do the Italians (DVE, Book 1, pg. 13).

Dante began his journey into the underworld lost in a dark wood and fearing his state of banishment, and he continued to express that dread of exile throughout later cantos; however, it is here in the seventeenth canto of the Paradiso that Dante provides a more innovative outlook on exile as he had outlined in his De Vulgari Eloquentia. As a result, di Paolo depicted Dante leaving the walls of Florence in a confident stance and with the hint of a smile lingering on his face. Dante is then seen outside the walls of Florence facing the right which is suggestive of his continuing evolution away from Florence towards foreign lands. To the far right of the miniature, di Paolo depicts a hill and trees and structures that become cut-off by the frame. This gives the impression of a world that continues further than what the eye can see. While throughout the Inferno and Purgatorio, Dante feels trapped by his state of exile, it is here that he is finally liberated with the help of Cacciaguida. As mentioned above, di Paolo’s decision to not provide an illustration of Cacciaguida is an interesting choice. Di Paolo distances himself from the literary critics who place Cacciaguida at the center of this canto. Instead, for di Paolo, this is a canto that expresses the personal evolution of Dante, the pilgrim and poet. It is important to remember that although there is the presence of the character, Cacciaguida, it is still from the hand and mouth of Dante: “The speaker, it has been said, is Cacciaguida, and he must have known who his ancestors were and whence they came. No doubt, but the real speaker is Dante;

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Cacciaguida holds the place only by poetic fiction” (Butler, 32). As one reads through the

Divine Comedy, one is not always conscious of the fact that Dante is the real speaker and the other characters only speak by the mouth and hand of Dante. Although characters and events seem lifelike, it is important to recall that the only real character is Dante, the pilgrim. Di Paolo uses his visual commentary to remind the reader of this fact, especially with the miniature of the seventeenth canto of the Paradiso which completely eliminates any sign of the character of

Cacciaguida. In fact, this is a visual commentary that is constant throughout di Paolo’s miniatures, especially in canto XXXIII of the Paradiso where Dante finally meets God. Before analyzing the final miniature of this manuscript where Dante encounters God face to face, it is important to examine another miniature from canto XXVII where Dante, the pilgrim, experiences an extremely significant encounter.

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4.4

Canto XXVII: A Living Man Reaches New Heights

What first must be mentioned about this miniature are the spectacular colours that overwhelm the frame.

There is a complete array of oranges and pinks and reds and blues; all of this contributes to a spectacular experience where one must assume this is a very significant scene. In fact, this is the canto where Dante once again addresses the corruption of the catholic church, a theme very prominent throughout the Commedia. It is no surprise that di Paolo chose to depict this canto with such a vast colour scale as “this represents the highest mark conceivable! A soul out of

164 time, a living man in this case, now crosses over to the “celestial Athens” (see note to Par. XVI,

1-79) that lies ahead and above” (Singleton, 426). As Singleton paints his sentence with the punctuation of an exclamation mark, so too does di Paolo illustrate this miniature with punctuation marks in the form of vibrant colours. The beautiful array of colours serves as way to celebrate the fact that Dante has arrived where no living human has ever visited. And, in fact, because no other living human has been to this area, Dante will divulge sensitive information that is rare and threatening. Giuseppe Mazzotta tells us: “Here in Canto 27 Dante continues in their afterglow, but the focus is still on St. Peter, who had been examining Dante. But now Peter launches into a prophetic denunciation, lambasting the collusion between the papacy, institute because of him, and his successors” (Mazzotta, 248). Although Dante is in the Paradiso, there still is a glimpse of negativity and criticism, which comes as a complete surprise. Hollander explains: “Perhaps because we are so near the Empyrean, many Dantists do not observe the clearly political interest of the following prophecy which concludes the canto” (Hollander, 677).

While some Dantists and critics may not rightly observe this occurrence, di Paolo’s entire miniature is a representation of this political interest. For example, to the far right of the miniature, there is a flag representing the papal state: “The coat of arms is a red crest or shield charged with the crossed keys of Saint Peter and the Papal Tiara. The keys represent the keys of the kingdom of heaven promised to Saint Peter” (Minahan, 566). In this canto, Dante undoubtedly attacks the power of the papacy, a point of view that marked the central claims of the white Guelfs and which would later contribute to Dante’s exile. Di Paolo depicts Dante’s disappointment with the papal power by providing an image of the pope with an almost evil facial expression.

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The squinted eyes, the pursed lips, and the sharp cheekbones, are all indicators of a piercing and evil demeanor. Furthermore, the juxtaposition of Dante kneeling at the feet of St. Peter with the opposing image of two individuals kneeling at the feet of the pope indicate the contrasting loyalties between a secular ruler and a spiritual God. As Mazzotta tell us, this brings to mind canto 27 of the Inferno: “This declaration is imbued with the fire of prophecy, without a doubt, but it’s also, retrospectively, a reference to the attack against Boniface, who in the parallel Canto

27 of Inferno is shown to be colluding with Guido da Montefletro. There is a clear symmetry between the two cantos” (Mazzotta, 248). In fact, when placing both miniatures side by side, there are some obvious similarities as well as differences. Below, I have provided the miniature from canto 27 of the Inferno.

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It is important to recall that the miniatures from the Inferno were illustrated by Priamo della

Quercia, while the miniatures from the Paradiso are from Giovanni di Paolo. It is interesting that, despite the different artists, there exist some obvious parallels between this miniature of the

Inferno and the one from the Paradiso. First and foremost, there is an overabundance of kneeling. In the image from the Inferno, a few of the souls are in kneeling positions, while in the

Paradiso, Dante and the souls are kneeling. This act that is common in both cantos represents the respect for earthly power and heavenly authority. Dante is not kneeling in the miniature from the

Inferno because of what had occurred in canto 19: “He [Virgil] rebukes the Pilgrim for kneeling to him, citing a verse from the gospels to indicate that earthly relationships no longer hold in the spiritual realm […]” (Musa, 202). In fact, in Inferno 27 Dante refuses to kneel before the Pope; however, in Paradiso 27 he kneels at the feet of St. Peter. Both artists remain loyal to Dante’s objective: loyalty is with the true spiritual leaders and not the secular corrupt popes. In Inferno

27 it actually appears as if the souls are kneeling before Dante and Virgil. This is a very bold

167 statement that he attributes to himself: a spiritual leader. As Mazzotta tells us: “The whole issue of the temporal power of the papacy is glimpsed and underscored throughout the scene between

Guido and Boniface” (Mazzotta, 95). This notion of the temporal power of the papacy is what

Dante opposed while serving as a white Guelf. All of this comes to fruition in canto 27 of the

Paradiso where Dante kneels before the first and only Pope. As mentioned above, the scene outlined by di Paolo includes a spectacular array of colours.

St. Peter is endowed with a magnificent glowing robe of a golden colour not yet seen in other miniatures of the Paradiso. In fact, the visibility of colour in this canto is very significant for

Dante:

quand'ïo udi': “Se io mi trascoloro,

non ti maravigliar, ché, dicend' io

vedrai trascolorar tutti costoro. (Paradiso XXVII, 19-21).

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Di Paolo depicts this scene with a collection of reds, oranges and yellows to expose the anger and embarrassment of the secular church. Singleton rightly observes: “St. Peter has blushed red with shame, and as he explains the cause of his indignation all the souls of this heaven will also blush. Hence the change from white to red comes to affect the whole heaven in this sense”

(Singleton, 428). In fact, the entire miniature looks like it is blushing, from St. Peter to the souls seated behind him. Dante continues with the colour references:

Di quel color che per lo sole avverso

nube dipigne da sera e da mane,

vid'ïo allora tutto 'l ciel cosperso. (Paradiso XXVII, 28-30).

With this terzina Dante outlines the hues of reds and oranges and yellows that appear during sunrise and sunset. This is a very interesting tercet as related to this thesis because it is as if

Dante demands for a production of an illumination alongside his text. He specifically uses the word dipigne to call the artist to action with his weapon of a paintbrush. Di Paolo answered that call and fulfilled Dante’s divine providence.

In the final canto of the Paradiso and of the entire Comedia, Dante outlines the spectacular event of finally meeting God.

Da quinci innanzi il mio veder fu maggio

che 'l parlar mostra, ch'a tal vista cede,

e cede la memoria a tanto oltraggio.

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Qual è colüi che sognando vede,

che dopo 'l sogno la passione impressa

rimane, e l'altro a la mente non riede,

cotal son io, ché quasi tutta cessa

mia visïone, e ancor mi distilla

nel core il dolce che nacque da essa. (Paradiso XXXIII, 55-63).

It is important to note that this is not the conclusion of the Divine Comedy or of Dante’s journey, but the climax or the turning point:

Salvation for the pilgrim Dante, however, is yet forthcoming. We should keep in mind that in his final vision Dante is not proclaiming his own salvation. His vision is of a new life that he must yet live out, not in the world inhabited by the ‘state of souls after death,’ as he writes in alleged ‘Letter to Can Grande’ (37), but in the human world we all inhabit (Slattery, 1).

For this reason, while one might expect a miniature by di Paolo that stands above the rest in its uniqueness and awe-inspiring visuals, the final miniature of this manuscript is in actuality no different and no more spectacular than the ones preceding it.

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4.5

Canto XXXIII: Where is Saint Bernard?

As with the other miniatures outlined above, di Paolo’s decision to omit certain aspects of the canto must first be addressed. In this specific image, di Paolo foregoes the first fifty lines of canto XXXIII of the Paradiso. These lines allude to the very significant event of the appearance of Saint Bernard and, as Lino Pertile tells us, “what truly disrupts the model is Saint Bernard, for in the final chain of mediators between Dante and God, Saint Bernard takes over the position that at the beginning of the story was Saint Lucy’s” (Pertile, 112). Indeed, Dante should be depicted

171 alongside Saint Bernard in the miniature above, as he is “twinned with Saint Bernard” (Mirsky,

180). However, di Paolo chose to omit the character of Saint Bernard altogether and illustrate

Dante together with Beatrice. Examining the miniature from this canto more closely, the character next to Dante is undoubtedly Beatrice: it is the same image of Beatrice as seen in previous cantos with the obvious bust of a female and a long flowing veil. It is interesting that di

Paolo chose to depict Beatrice instead of Saint Bernard especially since she disappears before

Dante sees God: “This is our last glimpse of Beatrice, the last mention of her name in the poem; and the singling out of her in the impressive scene in which so many other blessed souls clasp their hands, as they join Bernard in his prayer […]” (Singleton, 567). Di Paolo’s visual commentary of not depicting Saint Bernard in canto XXXIII is in line with Steven Botterill’s claim: “The first thing to be said about Bernard’s involvement in the Commedia is simple enough: it comes as a surprise. Nothing in the poem prepares the reader for it; nothing overly justifies it” (Botterill, 65). While Dante undoubtedly replaces Beatrice with Saint Bernard, di

Paolo decides to ignore this event and to continue depicting Beatrice by Dante’s side. At this point, di Paolo’s role is no longer limited to that of a visual commentator, but becomes an artist, creator and a visual poet. This is an extremely significant event that clearly demonstrates a distinction between words and images, and a departure of the visual critic from the original text.

Every literary critic mentions the presence of Saint Bernard; in reality, they have no choice because they provide a verse by verse commentary. Furthermore, the literary commentary would either make reference to Saint Bernard or completely omit it. There would be no doubt because words, unlike images, are straightforward and clear. Regarding the miniature above, at first glance, there could be a doubt whether the figure alongside Dante is Beatrice or Saint Bernard.

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Without the letters that precisely form their names, the image can pretend to be hermetic in nature. While it is true that a picture can be worth a thousand words, it is that infinite array of possibilities that creates a seed of doubt. However, with the use of modern technology, one can eliminate this seed of doubt by placing previous images of Beatrice together with this one.

The image on the left is from the canto in question, and the image on the right is from canto X of the Paradiso which was previously discussed. After cropping the original images and placing them side by side, it becomes clear that both characters are Beatrice and, as a result, any doubt as to whether di Paolo chose to depict Saint Bernard or Beatrice is completely removed. But now the question still remains: why did di Paolo choose not to follow Dante’s words and, instead, provide his own framework for the ending of the Commedia? It is possible that di Paolo simply did not think that an ending with the removal of Beatrice was adequate enough. Di Paolo would not be alone in this assumption: “It raises a whole host of questions about the poem’s narrative design, theological implications, and cultural underpinnings, and inflicts them on readers still

173 reeling, like Dante himself, from the show of Beatrice’s departure” (Botterill, 65). Di Paolo chose to not even represent this departure; this image in the manuscript could hold a lot of implications with regards to how the words and images interact. While it is true that images can accompany words flawlessly by providing a deeper understanding of the text and the narrative structure, it is also possible that these images could provide a sense of confusion by altering the content of the story.

After examining the absence of Saint Bernard in di Paolo’s miniature and the continued presence of Beatrice alongside Dante, it is important to continue reading the miniature along the lateral storyboard from left to right. We now finally arrive in the realm of God.

Bernardo m'accennava, e sorridea,

perch' io guardassi suso; ma io era

già per me stesso tal qual ei volea:

ché la mia vista, venendo sincera,

e più e più intrava per lo raggio

de l'alta luce che da sé è vera.

Da quinci innanzi il mio veder fu maggio

che 'l parlar mostra, ch'a tal vista cede,

e cede la memoria a tanto oltraggio.

. (Paradiso XXXIII, 49-57)

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Here, again, as in other instances in the Divine Comedy, more specifically the visibile parlare in

Purgatorio X, Dante’s words fail him. He cannot rely upon his poetic discourse to fully reveal what is now only a figment of his memory. Robert Hollander explains: “The experience of seeing God face-to-face is ineffable, not describable, and the vision cannot be remembered in any of its details anyway (these twin disclaimers were made at the outset All that remains is the awareness of having had the experience” (Hollander, 904). The question thus arises: how will di

Paolo approach this very difficult task of depicting God, a task to which Dante himself surrendered? Again, as mentioned above, this dilemma brings to mind canto X of the Purgatorio.

And, as already discussed in the previous chapter of this thesis, Priamo della Quercia decided to omit the carvings on the side of the mountain to avoid attempting the impossible. Dante himself could not even find the right words to describe this vision; how could della Quercia rise above

Dante and challenge the master poet? Here, in canto XXXIII of the Paradiso, we are presented with a very different scenario. Giovanni di Paolo does not decide to bow before the master poet, as had his predecessor, Priamo della Quercia. Instead, this new artist of the Commedia challenges Dante’s inability to fully describe the presence God and provides a clear illustration of the creator, a task which for centuries prior many artists refused to undertake for fear of committing idolatry.

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Di Paolo’s depiction of God is a spectacular representation with bright colours of gold and with rich rays of light that draw the viewer’s attention to the center of the miniature. This is undoubtedly the most significant illustration of the Paradiso and di Paolo makes it known by illustrating a bright, imposing figure that seems to jump off the page and that covers and overlaps the upper frame. Di Paolo makes it clear that this image of God is void of the trinity; as with

Dante who “does not render the phenomenon of the Trinity so much as the impossibility of such a rendering” (Maspero, 316). The above miniature displays the figure of what appears to be a man or woman seated with his/her hands in prayer. It is important to mention that while the other figures in the miniatures throughout the manuscript were obviously male or female (especially with the naked souls), it is totally unclear with regards to this image. First, we must examine the face and head.

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Unlike other faces in previous miniatures, this one is blurred and without any obvious facial features that suggest whether it is a male or female, young or old. Furthermore, the head is veiled which covers any hint of longer or shorter hair. Next, the body is completely covered by a long flowing robe without any hint of body shape or formation.

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The figure of God appears to be in a sitting position covered by a long and oversized robe. The only body parts visible are the face and hands, which do not aid in revealing whether the figure is a man or woman. This is a method used by di Paolo to create a greater sense of mystery that surrounds an already enigmatic entity. In its entirety, it is a magnificent image that is decorated with a stupendous golden colour. The rays of gold emanating from the figure give an appearance of a glowing movement. Staring at the center of the miniature it appears as if the image of God is growing and shrinking, similar to the experience one has when staring at the sun. Dante cannot resist the comparison to a bright light:

O somma luce che tanto ti levi

da’ concetti mortali, a la mia mente

ripresta un poco di quel che parevi

e fa la lingua mia tanto possente,

ch’una favilla sol de la tua gloria

possa lasciare a la futura gente; (Paradiso XXXIII, 67-72).

Singleton tell us: “These three tercets constitute a final invocation by the poet, who no longer appeals to the Muses (Inf. II, 7; Purg. I, 8) or to Apollo (Par. I, 13), but to God himself and to that light “which in itself is true” (vs. 54)” (Singleton, 574). This depiction of God as the sun is not an original invention by Dante or di Paolo. Dante was probably influenced by Virgil’s character Sol: “the sun, conceived as driving in a chariot from ocean to ocean, and more or less

178 identified with Apollo the sun-god” (Greenough, 255). In the above miniature, di Paolo has, in fact, depicted a sort of sun-god: robed in glorious gilded garments with bright yellow rays emanating from its figure. This depiction evokes the miniature from canto X of Paradiso already outlined above. Let us recall that Dante and Beatrice already saw this bright sun from a distance:

As mentioned previously, this marked the turning point of the Paradiso from the Old Testament to the New Testament. As a result, what should be depicted within the sun would be the holy trinity. This theory was put forth previously when this miniature was analyzed above from a great distance; however, in this final canto of the Commedia we are provided with a close-up of

God. In this close-up, it becomes evident that di Paolo has chosen not to depict the essence of a trinity but instead of one single entity. In this case, di Paolo remains true to Dante’s words. As

Singleton tell us, “This is the last invocation in the poem and is followed by the closing verses which recount that which (invoked by grace) “returned somewhat to memory” (vs. 73), that which is the merest particle or glimpse of the supreme vision of God face to face” (Singleton,

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574). This face to face experience that Dante has is not with a trinity but with one God. In canto

X it is unclear whether Dante would meet the trinity or a single entity; di Paolo depicted this confusion with his miniature in canto X. However, in this miniature of canto XXXIII, that vagueness is obliterated, and we are presented with a clear image of a single being with obvious human attributes.

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Conclusion

Throughout this thesis, I have analysed and commented upon a number of images from

Alfonso D’Aragona’s illuminated manuscript of the Divine Comedy. The main objective was to investigate whether the images and words together could provide a more serious and comprehensive commentary on the Divine Comedy than words alone, such as we find in a conventionally annotated edition. Before undertaking this investigation, it was necessary to provide a description of the manuscript that demonstrated a profound understanding of its physical contents. Information about its script and material was provided to demonstrate how it fit into the manuscript tradition of the fifteenth century in Italy. Alfonso's was a magnificently rare manuscript, with an imposing presence at 36.5cm by 25.8cm, with a foliation of 190 plus 3 unfoliated modern paper flyleaves, and 110 large miniatures in the lower margin in colour and gold, as well as 3 large historiated initials that form partial foliate borders in colour and gold at the beginning of the Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso.

In order to study the relationship between words and images in the commentary genre, I found it useful to examine two distinguished works on the aesthetic of Scholasticism by Jacques

Maritain and Umberto Eco. The fourth section of the first chapter is devoted to an outline of the theoretical premises of Maritain’s Art and Scholasticism and Eco’s Il Problema Estetico in San

Tommaso d'Aquino. Maritain addresses the role of the artist, as well as the relationship between the artist and the viewer. To put it simply, according to Maritain, the artist produces a painting or a poem based upon his initial interaction with the external world. After this preliminary

181 interaction takes place, he internalizes and contemplates the aesthetic experience. It is now his duty to produce a work of art that his intelligence and morals reveal to him. These characteristics render the artist a significant agent of criticism. However, the purpose of this thesis was not to put into question the aesthetic validity of the artist, but to explore whether, as an agent of interpretation, the artist, was more worthy of being defined a visual literary critic, such as pictorial correlative of an interpreter like Boccaccio or Singleton. Umberto Eco’s Il Problema

Estetico in San Tommaso d'Aquino proved to be of great help in this regard. Eco’s work illuminated Aquinas’ views of art and, more specifically, Aquinas’ statement: id quod visum placet. Eco explored Aquinas’ notion of what constitutes as art, and whether art could provide as much information as words could. Thus, Eco became concerned with cognitive component of the artist. The cognitive component examined whether the craftsman would create a work of art from the imagination or from an experience involving the senses. Aquinas maintained that artistic production was not ‘creation’ because the artist could not “bring forms into existence ex nihilo, since the forms which he produces are dependent upon a preexisting, concrete, and organic reality” (Eco, 179). Regarding this thesis, the pre-existing reality points towards Dante’s words in the Divine Comedy. However, Dante’s words alone provide a lesser aesthetic experience than the words combined with illuminations. Eco demonstrated the significance of the transition from simple manuscripts to illuminated manuscripts. The simple manuscripts without illuminations contribute only to the initial experience of intelligibility, void of the aesthetic experience. As explored throughout the thesis, it is the illuminated manuscript, the combination of words and images, that provide a greater and more profound understanding of the original text. To explore

182 this query, specific miniatures from the three canticles were analyzed. The theoretical premises served to assist this endeavour, but only by analyzing the images directly could one really investigate this problem.

As a result, what ensued was a rigorous investigation of the miniatures found within

Alfonso D’Aragona’s manuscript. I have argued that the images served as a visual commentary to Dante’s text and they were compared and contrasted with the textual commentators of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The lens through which I structured my own personal interpretation of the Divine Comedy was chiefly that of Charles Singleton. The reason for this choice was that Singleton argued in favour of figural interpretation of the Comedy, building on the work of Auerbach. To conduct a thorough and explicit analysis, I divided the three chapters that followed into the Inferno, Purgatorio, and the Paradiso. For the Inferno, I divided it into four parts: the ante-inferno and Dante’s three main types of sin, incontinence, violence, and malice or fraud. I used these divisions to adhere to the main structure outlined by Dante. The canto I chose for the ante-inferno was canto 1 with the three beasts. For the section of incontinence, I chose to analyze the entrance to the second circle of hell with Minos in canto 5 and the lustful; and canto 8 (fifth circle of hell), the wrathful. For the section of violence, I analyzed canto 13 (seventh circle of hell), the sin of violence against oneself. And, finally, for the section of malice or fraud, I examined canto 32 (ninth circle of hell) the traitors to their kin.

With each of these images, in addition to the visual commentary that they provide, I explored the aesthetic experience of the reader and how that aesthetic experience differed from reading the words of the Comedy without any accompanying miniatures.

With this first canto, I demonstrated that della Quercia accurately adhered to the ideal

183 attributes of an artist as outlined by Maritain. I explained how della Quercia depicted Dante’s words precisely and completely: there appears to be a hierarchy of inspiration wherein Dante receives his inspiration from the muses, the illuminators from Dante, and we as the readers, from both the words and the images. However, in the fifth canto, I demonstrated a discrepancy between Dante’s words and della Quercia’s miniature. While della Quercia depicted Minos as an elite, legal or royal figure, Dante avoided using the term ‘judge’ or ‘king’ and instead “more simply singles him out as ‘quel conoscitor di de la peccata' (Boccaccio, 182). With these miniatures in the Inferno, it became clear how the artist was different from the written commentator: the visual commentators, such as Priamo della Quercia, sought to bring pleasure or discomfort to the viewer; in essence, they pursued the method to evoke a strong emotion whether negative or positive. In the illuminations cited throughout the thesis, the viewer is inundated with bright colours and, at times, violent images. While the violent images may force some viewers to turn away in disgust, the bright colours proved to be quite attractive because “colour adds more control to visual dynamics, it also makes it more complex, because not only are there more variables and more relationships to consider, a colour by itself can demand attention” (Shaver,

103). The artists of this manuscript strategically used colour to bring attention to significant moments or characters. To further prove this notion, the miniature from the eighth canto was analyzed as depicting the wrathful souls in the fifth circle of hell. The colours were deeper, brighter and, generally, more prominent. This understanding led me to investigate the theme of voyeurism in illuminated manuscripts. This theme of voyeurism is also what separates an illuminated manuscript from a manuscript composed of only words. Not only does an illuminated manuscript deepen and possibly alter our understanding of the text, but it also

184 accommodates and awakens our desire to view images of people in their purest form unimpeded by deceit and theatrics. And this desire was satisfied by Prima della Quercia’s paintings of nude bodies. Della Quercia satisfies Maritain’s description of modern art; he not only paints what he reads, but he penetrates Dante’s words and stands alongside him as poet, critic and storyteller.

Della Quercia is not content at providing only accompanying criticism, as Singleton and

Hollander do; his aim is to produce poetry and create an aesthetic experience.

In canto 13 of the Inferno, it became obvious what a significant role the artist of a manuscript had to the critical tradition of a poem. The analysis of the miniature from canto 13 revealed the artist’s decision to depart from the text. In the poem itself, as Dante and Virgil descend deeper into the underworld, the imagery becomes more gruesome, violent and horrifying. The artist of the miniature did not follow the words of the poet or the words of critics because while Dante was writing during a period that promised execution for an act of attempted suicide, della Quercia was instead becoming acclimated to a culture that had become more tolerant of suicide. The artist of the miniatures from the Inferno, Priamo della Quercia, imposed his unique criticism on the Dante’s verses, at times truthfully and realistically, and other times diverting from Dante’s philosophy.

After the Inferno, what followed was analysis of select miniatures from the Purgatorio.

As the miniatures from the previous canticle revealed della Quercia’s own interpretation of

Dante’s words, the miniatures in the Purgatorio demonstrated a similar objective, however, with what was omitted from the miniature. This was confirmed in the analysis of canto X of the

Purgatorio. In relation to this thesis, canto X of the Purgatorio was the most important canto of the entire Commedia. In this canto, Dante provides a critique of visual arts (sculptures and

185 paintings) and demonstrates the limits of the skilled artist. In essence, Dante believes that words can demonstrate what images cannot; words can surpass the limits that art imposes. Thus, the question arose: Why does della Quercia choose to omit the most significant aspect of this canto and, more specifically, the most noteworthy viewpoint of the entire Commedia concerning the arts? In this chapter, it was revealed that the notion of a “work of art [that] is put within a work of art” explains why della Quercia chose to omit the tableaux from the white marble walls that

Dante observes. If della Quercia provided the carvings on the white marble walls, the philosophical and aesthetical significance of the visibile parlare would not have been noteworthy. The carvings would blend with the rest of the miniature and their function would ultimately become lost. By eliminating the function and significance of the carvings, della

Quercia would risk undermining St. Thomas Aquinas’ notion of id quod visum placet (as mentioned in the second chapter of this thesis) or, as observed by Rubin, “Augustine’s concept of delectatio, the love for things that give pleasure, which requires judgment to make the choice between false and true” (Rubin, 340). While for Dante it was a powerful concept to provide a work of art within a work of art, or more specifically, visual arts within the art of words, for della

Quercia the carvings on the wall served no greater purpose than any other image found within the illuminated manuscript. Della Quercia forwent the carvings on the white marble walls and provided a blank backdrop with no hint of Dante’s words.

What followed was an analysis of canto XVIII of the Purgatorio and how della Quercia an artist of the renaissance, mirrored Petrarca’s interpretation of acedia. By providing clothing in the form of a beard for the soul, della Quercia inadvertently or advertently delivered commentary in support of Petrarca’s interpretation of acedia. More specifically, for artists and philosophers

186 during the Renaissance, acedia was not something based upon freewill but more upon the misfortune of fortuna. Acedia was not something one could avoid with reason or morality; it was an infliction and an illness. However, for Dante, it was a serious sin and, thus, a product of one’s freewill. It is no surprise that Dante engages in a serious philosophical discussion of freewill and determinism in the middle of this canto. Della Quercia, by painting the soul guilty of acedia clothed with a beard, upheld the beliefs of his time period wherein acedia could not be avoided by freewill and was simply an unavoidable illness inflicted by the likes of fortuna. The miniatures of the Purgatorio proved that the artist could not avoid flashing a glimmer of his intelligence on the content of the poem. More specifically, della Quercia did not provide a miniature of the cleansing fire and the sodomites of the Purgatorio. If Dante’s choice to include homosexuals in Purgatorio showed his changing beliefs of the notion of sodomy, then della

Quercia’s choice to not depict this epic scene of the cleansing fire revealed the artist’s commentary on his dissatisfaction with Dante’s choice and change in belief. However, della

Quercia did not only produce images that opposed Dante’s words. In the miniature of canto

XXVII, della Quercia chose to depict the three women outlined by Dante: Leah, Rachel and

Matelda. The depiction is closely related to Dante’s words, but della Quercia does not hesitate to provide a commentary of his own. Della Quercia chose to represent Leah dressed in red garments, like Virgil, and Rachel in a blue cloak, like Dante. As Barry Craigs notes: “Leah, who gathers flowers in Dante’s dream, is representative of the active life, and would seem to be a necessary preparation for Rachel, whose bright eyes indicate the greater life of contemplation”

(Craig and MacDonald, 15). Dante is dressed in blue, like Rachel, because he is on a journey that will ultimately become solely contemplative, that which is found in Paradiso. Virgil, instead, is

187 dressed in red, like Leah, because he is not allowed to enter Paradiso and is, thus, restricted to an active life.

With the following chapter on the Paradiso, I demonstrated Dante’s continued dislike of come religious and political authorities and how the artist, Giovanni di Paolo, echoed this aversion. Dante’s exile was undoubtedly politically motivated, and the Divine Comedy was born out of Dante’s exiled state. This idea was depicted in Giovanni di Paolo’s miniature of canto VI of the Paradiso. In the miniature, there was an overwhelming display of interplay between the colours red and blue found within the garments, the frame and the buildings. These two colours, for Giovanni di Paolo, represented two natures: human law and the papacy, and the two natures of man and god. This was an accurate representation of Dante’s loyalty to the White Guelphs who acknowledged the separateness of the papal state from the Empire. In canto X of the

Paradiso, di Paolo provided two images, which is a rare occurrence throughout the entirety of the illuminated manuscript. Di Paolo echoes Dante’s words quite accurately: while di Paolo draws the attention of the viewer to the bright rays of the sun, Dante tells the reader to direct his/her attention upwards towards the sun. I have argued that Dante and Di Paolo felt it was necessary to accentuate the brightness of the sun because of what it represented. It is interesting to note that while di Paolo illustrates Dante’s account of Beatrice’s divinity and association with the Trinity, there is no mention of this idea in the literary criticism and commentary to the Divine

Comedy. This is another instance where the visual commentary rises above the literary commentary and attempts to disseminate Dante’s words and philosophy and theology. Thus, as was expected, the second miniature in this canto was a depiction of Dante and St. Thomas

Aquinas, theologian and philosopher, and many other beautiful souls in heaven. With this

188 specific miniature, St. Thomas Aquinas’ words, cited in the previous chapters: “id quom visum placet”, were brought to mind. It was no surprise that as Dante described this beautiful spectacle

St Thomas Aquinas revealed himself as one of the souls in this realm of the sun.

The following miniature analyzed was from canto XVII, found at the center of the

Paradiso. This was an extremely significant canto as it addressedd Dante’s concern about his future regarding his exile from Florence. Di Paolo’s miniature of this canto depicted this scene fully and accurately. In the miniature, di Paolo utilized the method of horizontal storytelling.

There were two scenes being depicted in this miniature that were read from left to right. Dante appeared twice: in the first instance, he was being thrust outside the walls of Florence; in the second, he was standing outside the wall and writing poetry. What was noteworthy about this miniature was how di Paolo represents Donati and Dante. Donati was depicted with a smaller frame with an insecure and apprehensive posture; Dante, on the other hand, was illustrated as tall and proud with a prestigious gaze painted upon his face.

From this canto, I proceeded to analyze canto XXVII where Dante, the pilgrim, experienced an extremely significant encounter. What first was mentioned about the miniature were the spectacular colours that overwhelmed the frame. It was no surprise that di Paolo chose to depict this canto with such a vast colour scale as a way to celebrate the fact that Dante had arrived where no living human had ever visited. The miniature revealed very significant information: The squinted eyes, the pursed lips, and the sharp cheekbones of the Pope were all indicators of a piercing and evil demeanor. Furthermore, the juxtaposition of Dante kneeling at the feet of St. Peter with the opposing image of two individuals kneeling at the feet of the pope indicated the contrasting loyalties between a secular ruler and a spiritual God.

189

The final miniature of this manuscript, from canto XXXIII of the Paradiso, was found to be no different and no more spectacular than the ones that preceded it. As with the other miniatures outlined above, di Paolo’s decision to omit certain aspects of the canto was addressed. In this specific image, di Paolo forwent the first fifty lines of canto XXXIII of the Paradiso. Indeed,

Dante should have been depicted alongside Saint Bernard in the miniature above, however, di

Paolo chose to omit the character of Saint Bernard altogether and illustrated Dante together with

Beatrice. While Dante undoubtedly replaced Beatrice with Saint Bernard, di Paolo decided to ignore this event and continued depicting Beatrice by Dante’s side. At this point, it became undoubtedly clear that di Paolo’s role was no longer limited to that of a visual commentator, but has become that of an artist, a creator and a visual poet. This was a significant finding in the thesis that echoed the premises of Maritain outlined in the second chapter. This event clearly demonstrated a distinction between words and images, and a departure of the visual critic from the original text. This entire exploration of the various miniatures in the three different canticles have led to the conclusion that the artist is his own critic (and sometimes his own creator) and can reveal more about Dante’s words than just the words alone. In fact, while the written commentators of the Comedy strictly aimed to inform readers and analyze the text, the visual commentators, Giovanni di Paolo and Priamo della Quercia, along with informing and analyzing, sought to also bring pleasure or discomfort to the viewer, and to evoke a strong emotional reading as the basis of an enhanced aesthetic experience.

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