30. The Curious Case Of Ciacco: INFERNO, Canto VI, Lines 34 - 57
Ciacco!
In the third circle of Inferno, our pilgrim encounters the glutton Ciacco. This strange, nauseating soul offers us several problems.
One, he mixes gluttony with another sin, thereby complicating the structure of the rings of hell . . . and maybe of theology itself.
Two, he complicates the material nature of the soul (always my own obsession).
And three, he himself remains a mysterious figure, obscured in the mists of time.
Let’s step into the muck and mystery of gluttony to talk about the social unrest that this sin causes.
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The segments for this episode of WALKING WITH DANTE:
[01:48] My English translation of INFERNO: Canto VI, lines 34 - 57. If you'd like to see this translation, find a deeper study guide, or continue the conversation with me by a comment on this episode, scroll down this page.
[03:26] Questions about the material nature of soul . . . and why those questions may not be important for now.
[08:56] Some gorgeous poetry and its importance to the canto's larger purpose.
[11:11] Two problems: 1) the first Tuscan in hell and 2) the fusion of two sins in a canto that's supposed to punish just one.
[15:28] Some thoughts about gluttony as a sin and how gluttony can get linked to politics in a world of scarcity.
[18:47] Who is Ciacco? Lots of answers. Is our inability to know him the point?
[23:08] The hallmark of the poet's art: to craft a story that rides the line between allegory and realism.
[29:43] Rereading the passage: INFERNO, Canto VI, lines 34 - 57.
My English translation of INFERNO, Canto VI, Lines 34 - 57:
We were walking over the shades that lay about
Under the leaden rain and putting the soles of our feet
On that emptiness that seemed like real people.
All of them were scattered about on the ground,
Except for one who sat right up
Right when he saw us pass in front of him.
“O you who get a guided tour of hell,
He said to me, “recognize me, if you’ve got the know-how.
You were, before I was unmade, made.”
And I to him, “The distress you suffer
May have erased you from my mind,
So that I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.
But tell me who you are, set down
In this place of suffering, with such a penalty
That none is so nauseating, even if it’s greater.
And he to me, “Your city, which is so full
Of envy that its bag overflows,
Held me in it when life was cloudless [sunny].
You citizens called me Ciacco,
And for the contemptible sin of the gut,
As you can see, I am beaten down by this rain.
I am a miserable spirit but I am not alone.
All these here endure the same penalty
For the same guilt.” And then he said no more.
FOR MORE STUDY
Two translation issues:
When our pilgrim treads on the gluttonous souls, what exactly does he step on? The first description lies at lines 35b - 36: “e ponavam la piante/ sovra lor vanità che per persona” (literally, “and we put the feet/ over their emptiness which [was] as a person”). First off, as I noted, the verb is in the first person plural: “we put” or “we placed.” So Virgil, too? And secondly, “vanità.” Although it can carry the notion of frippery (à la modern vanity), it’s more a term about hollowness or even a void. The damned are hardly emotional voids. Witness Francesca! But perhaps our poet wants us to see them as such. They’re not worth our consideration. In other words, he’s hedging his bets, lest ecclesiastical types accuse him of spending too much energy on the damned. Lastly, the solution to the soul’s material nature may possibly lurk in the preposition: “sovra.” They actually don’t put their feet “through” the souls so much as “on top of” them. Maybe Dante and Virgil are walking over these souls? But then how do the souls hold them aloft?
Ciacco’s plea is actually quite heartfelt: “riconoscimi, se sai” (literally, “recall me, if you know [how]”—line 41). It’s so concise that it’s hard to render into English. There’s the lisping play of sounds: sh-s-s. There’s also a play on words here with two types of knowing: knowing (or recalling) a person and the know-how of doing so. “Reconoscimi” has the ring of familiarity about it; “sai” has the sense of less personal knowledge. “Remember how we knew each other, if you have the know-how.” But that’s far less elegant that Ciacco’s phrase.
Four interpretive issues:
As I said in the episode, Ciacco conflates gluttony with envy (“invidia”) at line 50 in a powerful indictment. But it’s not the first time we’ve encountered envy in COMEDY. Back when Virgil gives his apocalyptic prophecy about the greyhound in Canto I, he claims that this Messianic figure or heroic warlord (depending on how you interpret the prophecy) will put to death the she-wolf who was loosed onto the world by “‘nvidia prima” (“primal envy”—INFERNO, I, 111). One could say, without much hesitation, that envy is with us through almost all of INFERNO. Even Ciacco seems envious of the pilgrim’s tour of the underworld. Pride is usually seen as the primal sin. Why would envy take that spot for Dante? (Your answer here will be more speculative and tentative, unless you know what’s ahead in COMEDY.)
The pilgrim says that no punishment is more disgusting than that of this circle (although some may well be “greater”—line 48). What’s so disgusting is undoubtedly the filth, which (think gross here) is directly the result of gluttony, of eating too much. Indeed, the digestive metaphors are thick in this canto: Cerberus’ throats (line 14), his belly (line 17). Florence’s overflowing sack (line 50), and more to come. Even as Ciacco rounds out this first speech, you can hear the faint ring of digestive functioning: “E più non fé parola” (literally, “And no more he made words”—line 57). As you head through this canto, keep that digestive imagery in mind. Think, too, about how the body politic can digest its citizens.
It’s fascinating to compare Francesca with Ciacco, our first two “great” sinners of hell. In many ways, they can’t be more opposed: her elegance v. his degeneracy, her linguistic facility v. his spit-out words, her focus on herself v. his focus on Florence. Yet it might also be useful to consider ways in which Francesca and Ciacco are similar, maybe not at first blush, but on further thought.
After the classical figure of Cerberus, this passage is almost singularly lacking in classical references. We might say it’s made whole-scale from our poet’s imagination. In fact, it’s one of the first long passages in INFERNO without some sort of classical, philosophical, or theological architecture behind it. What do you make of that? And what then do you make of Dante’s art at a moment when he’s “on his own”?
One journaling prompt:
Is there more than one way to be a glutton? Yes, in English we can say someone is a “glutton for punishment.” But I mean specifically in terms of food and drink. Gluttony is often seen as simply consuming too much. But are there other types of gluttony you’ve seen? What are their connections to scarcity?