PURGATORIO, Episode 211. The Flames Don't Burn Up Irony: PURGATORIO, Canto XXVII, Lines 49 - 90
Our pilgrim has entered the flames of lust. For the first time, he is not a voyeur of the torments. He experiences them on the last terrace of lust.
He then hears a call to enter Paradise . . . before he falls asleep on the mountain's rocky staircase.
Problem is, those flames don't burn up irony. It's thick in this passage. A goat even gets into Paradise!
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The segments for this episode of WALKING WITH DANTE:
[01:22] My English translation of PURGATORIO, Canto XXVII, lines 49 - 90. If you'd like to read along or continue the conversation with me about this passage, please scroll down this page.
[04:09] Dante's guilt (or creative apex) and Virgil's white lie (or painful memory).
[10:02] The angel in Latin and in vernacular Florentine--and perhaps Dante's homesickness.
[15:02] The scope of the journey: a half revolution around Mount Purgatory.
[18:14] The pastoral, idyllic, Edenic simile to (try to) summarize the moments after the flames.
[21:09] The irony in the simile, full of inaccurate reference points.
[25:28] Dante, the goat let loose into Paradise.
[29:29] Our poet, a world-builder.
[30:55] Rereading the passage: PURGATORIO, Canto XXVII, lines 49 - 90.
My English translation of PURGATORIO, Canto XXVII, Lines 49 – 90:
The moment I was inside, I would have thrown myself
Into molten glass to cool down—
The burning was without measure there.
To comfort me, my sweet father
Kept on talking about Beatrice as he walked on,
Saying, “Even now I can already see her eyes.”
Guiding us was a voice that sang
From over there. Completely captivated by it, we came
Out right where the ascent was possible.
“Venite, benedicti Patris mei!”
The sound was in the light there.
It was such that I couldn’t look in it.
“The sun goes on his way,” it continued, “and evening comes along.
Don’t stop but hurry on your way
While the western sky is not yet dark.”
The way went straight up between the rocks
So that I blocked the sun’s rays along that path
In front of me, given how low the sun was.
We’d sampled only a few of the steps
Before my sages and I saw that my shadow was fading
And the sun had set behind us.
And before the horizon, in its immense stretch,
Had taken on a uniform appearance
And night had laid down its dispensation,
Each of us made a bed on one of the steps—
The nature of the mountain robbed us
Of the power and desire to climb any farther.
As quick and restless goats
Stand still to chew their cud when they’ve previously
Been fast and frisky when grazing on the heights,
Silent in the shade even while the sun was burning
And overseen by the shepherd who leans on this staff
And lets them taken their rest,
And as that herdsman, who makes his lodging in the open air,
Spends the night beside his flock,
Watching over them lest a beast should scatter them,
So were we three together,
I as a goat and they as my shepherds,
Held close on all sides by the towering rocks.
I could see only a small space between those rock walls;
But little as it was, I could see that the stars
Were brighter and bigger than ever before.