36. On To The Wrathful, Sort Of: INFERNO, Canto VII, Lines 97 - 130
Marc Fishman’s evocative painting, “Dante On The Banks Of The River Styx”
Here's something new: a descent from one ring to another within a single canto.
Our pilgrim and Virgil scramble down to find themselves on the shore of Styx. Stuck in the muck are the wrathful . . . and of two sorts. Let's talk about Thomistic notions of wrath (or Aristotelean notions of wrath) and the strange inversions of medieval iconography.
But more importantly, what's up with Virgil, who seems to know things nobody could know?
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The segments for this episode of WALKING WITH DANTE:
[01:26] My English translation of INFERNO, Canto VII, lines 97 - 130. If you want to see this translation, find a deeper study guide, or continue the conversation with me through a comment on this episode, scroll down this page.
[03:57] The descent to the fifth circle and Virgil's strange ability to tell time.
[05:37] The naturalistic details proliferate in this passage. Are these allegories of wrath or the beginnings of the larger project about the hydraulics of hell?
[09:58] The fifth circle: wrath. Two sorts here, à la Aquinas (but really à la Aristotle).
[17:24] Virgil voices the damned who are sunk in the swamp. How?
[18:31] Walking the circle--we're starting to see more of hell as a landscape.
[19:13] The wrathful are an infernal perversion of standard medieval iconography: of Leah and Rachel. (This iconography will become increasingly important as we move through COMEDY.)
My English translation of INFERNO, Canto VII, Lines 97 - 130:
[Virgil says,] “Now let’s descend to even greater sorrow;
Those stars that were rising when I started out
Are falling now, and we must not stick around too long.”
We crossed the circle to its outer rim,
To a place where a boiling spring
Overflows and collects in a ditch to flow away.
The water was dark, more so than ink,
And we, going along beside its murky wave,
Went down by a fractured path.
Into this swamp, which is called Styx,
This miserable creek made its way
To the bottom of the evil, gray slope.
And I, with a fixed stare,
Saw a muddy people in that mess,
All of them naked and with looks of rage.
They were socking each other, not just with their hands,
But with their heads, their chests, even their feet—
They even tore each other limb from limb with their teeth.
My good master said, “Son, now you see
The souls of those overtaken with wrath.
And what’s more, I want you to believe for certain
“That under the water is a people who sigh
And make all those bubbles at its surface,
As you can see, wherever you turn your eyes.
“Stuck in the muck, they say, ‘We were so sad,
Even when the sun made the sweet air glad,
That we carried around our own acrid fog.
‘Now we croak like frogs in this black morass.’
They gargle their refrain deep in their throats
For they can’t speak complete words.”
In this way, we made a big arc around the gross pond,
Between the dry bank and the wet parts,
Our eyes on those who suck down the mud.
At last, we came to the foot of a tower.
FOR MORE STUDY
Two translation issues:
There’s an odd shift in pronouns at the beginning of the passage. Virgil says, “Or discendiamo omai a maggiore pieta;/ già ogne stella cade che saliva/ quand’io mi mossi . . .” (literally, “Now we descend even to a larger sorrow; already every star falls that rose/ when I myself moved . . .”—lines 97 - 99). Do you see that shift from “we” to “I”? Is that important? Is Virgil talking about the stars that were aloft when he (and he alone) started the journey—in other words, when Beatrice came to him in Canto II? Were there stars in Canto II? Or is he somehow overtaking the journey and making it his own? That sounds a bit nefarious. Or is it simply that Virgil has to keep track of these things because the pilgrim is otherwise so preoccupied?
They don’t actually walk around the circle. They traverse a “grand’ arco” (“great arc”—line 128). This point may seem minor, but maybe not. The pilgrim never makes a full revolution around any of the circles, whether in hell or up in Purgatory. If the pilgrim never goes the whole way, what does that say about his journey?
Two interpretive issues:
I mentioned that the naturalistic details in lines 100 - 108 often have an allegorical interpretation laid on them. Actually, it’s more of an anagogical reading, an interpretation about what is happening to the soul on its journey to perfection. So what could that interpretation be? The “fonte” (“spring”—line 101) can be seen as the rather harmless start of wrath, the way it comes from inside, seemingly refreshing at first. After all, there’s nothing better than to imagine a confrontation ahead, to savor a fight with someone you despise, or to plan out a smart retort to someone who’s wronged you! However, this spring also cuts through things: “un fossato che de lei deriva” (“a channel is of itself hews”—line 102). So it’s more destructive than first imagined. It’s then darker than purple (line 103)—think of a bruise to the flesh. An emotion leaves a mark on the body? And it quickly becomes “bige” (“murky”—line 104) and “tristo” (“sad”—line 107). It’s a gorgeous understanding, even a modern one, for how rage arises and affects the person.
Although Styx is a legendary river, Dante probably gets most of what he knows about it from THE AENEID (for example, Book VI, line 323). There, Servius mentions that the name “Styx” is a derivative of “tristitia” (“sadness”). Our poet, as I said in the episode, divides the wrathful into two camps: the fighting mad and the silently sullen. But there may be a way they are actually unified by sadness. After all, the river is said to become “sad” (line 107). The sullen are so sunk in sadness that they couldn’t even enjoy the sunshine in their lives (line 122). And the fighters don’t really have time for sadness, except the pilgrim’s reaction to them is aghast, maybe even frightened. We could even say they are acting out their sadness, which might be the root problem of rage.
Note the increasing chaos in the circles: there’s none in Limbo, Francesca and Paolo are blown about on the winds, the gluttons are immobile in their fetid muck, the avaricious/prodigal are smashing boulders, and some of the wrathful are tearing each other apart (while others just chant away in the muck). Things are getting increasingly wild and the violence is getting increasingly louder. Although the lustful are on the winds, there’s still a rhyme and reason to their movement. With the wrathful, it’s a free-for-all.
One journaling prompt:
It’s much easier to feel angry than sad. How is anger a cover for sadness? How can you better get in touch with your sadness to help solve the anger in your life?