PURGATORIO, Episode 180. Starved For Affection: PURGATORIO, Canto XXIII, Lines 1 - 27

Our pilgrim must move beyond the mystical tree on the sixth terrace of Mount Purgatory. So he sets off behind Virgil and Statius, only to overtaken by a group of cadaverous, skeletal penitents, whose hollow eyes watch the pilgrim's slower journey.

This passage is an interesting set of problems: low stylists which end up with Ovidian references, all tied up in the very real medieval problem of starvation.

Here are the segments for this episode of WALKING WITH DANTE:

[01:13] My English translation of the passage: PURGATORIO, Canto XXIII, lines 1 - 27. If you'd like to read along or start a conversation with me and others about this passage, please scroll down this page.

[03:19] Camaraderie and mentorship in a lower style with a final salvo at avarice.

[11:34] A psalm fragment in Latin and a possible quibble about Virgil's character.

[16:26] Pensive pilgrims, right out of the VITA NUOVA, Dante's earlier work.

[20:05] Ovid's METAMORPHOSES as a source for hunger: cited thoroughly and then overwritten beyond its ending.

[25:04] Rereading the passage: PURGATORIO, Canto XXIII, lines 1 - 27.

And here’s my English translation of PURGATORIO, Canto XXIII, Lines 1 – 27

While my eyes searched through the green foliage

As one does who

Wastes his life hunting for tiny birds,

My greater-than-father said to me, “My son,

Come along now, because the time we’ve got

Wants to be used more effectively.”

I turned my face—and indeed my steps no less hastily—

To follow the wise ones, whose talk was such

That it made my going bear no cost.

And behold! We could hear weeping and the singing of

Labia mea, Domine, in a modality

That gave birth to both delight and sorrow.

“O, my sweet father, what is this that I hear?”

I began. And he [said], “Perhaps shades who come along

To untie the knot of their debt.”

Just as pensive pilgrims do—

That is, passing people along the road who they don’t know

And turning to them without otherwise stopping—

So from behind us, moving at a faster pace,

A group of silent and devout spirits

Overtook us and passed us while marveling at us.

Each was dark and caved in at the eyes,

With a pallid hue and skin so dehydrated

That it took its shape from the bones underneath.

I don’t believe Erysichthon made his outer shell

As desiccated by fasting, even when

It made him tremble the most.