How to Reassemble Your Broken Self
(Purgatorio, Canto XXXI): Beatrice, Our Divine Origin, and Macrocosm
Break a vase, and the love that reassembles the fragments is stronger than that love which took its symmetry for granted when it was whole.
~ Derek Walcott
Welcome to Dante Read-Along! ✨
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Welcome to Dante Book Club, where you and I descend into Hell and Purgatory to be able to ascend to Paradise. Our guide is the great Roman poet Virgil and in this Thirty-first Canto of the Purgatorio, we feel Dante’s contrition and confession before Beatrice. You can find the main page of the read-along right here, reading schedule here, and the list of chat threads here.
In each post you can find a brief summary of the canto, philosophical exercises that you can draw from it, themes, character, and symbolism explanations.
All the wonderful illustrations are done specially for the Dante Read-Along by the one and only Luana Montebello.
This Week’s Circle ⭕️
The pageant in the garden, continued - Beatrice rebukes Dante - Dante’s confession - He faints - Matilda draws Dante through the Lethe, the waters of oblivion - He drinks of the waters - He stands before Beatrice on the far side of the river - The handmaidens of Beatrice - The dual nature of the griffin - Dante is forgiven - Beatrice unveiled.
Canto XXXI Summary:
Beatrice turned from addressing the divine procession in which she had pointed indirectly to Dante’s errors in life as he wandered from the truth, back to Dante himself. Her sharp words demanded Dante’s compliance and acknowledgement, to seal his penance with the deepest level of confession.
“Tell, tell if this is true; for your confession
must be entwined with such self-accusation.”
xxxi.5-6
The term is clear and points to the act of confession by the lips, confessio oris, which is the second act of penance, following contrition of the heart, contritio cordis, and without which remission of sins is normally not possible in the Church.1
Dante was struck dumb, both by the sharpness of her speech toward him and by the recognition, even after the removal of all of the P’s of his penance, of the memory of his past error. Yet Beatrice continued relentlessly, demanding a response, and pointed out that he still held the remembrance of sin that had not yet been erased by the waters of Lethe.
So paralyzed was he that his yes, when he finally could respond, was not audible, and his affirmation only understood by reading his lips. His yes opened the floodgates of his remorse.
Just as a crossbow that is drawn too taut
snaps both its cord and bow when it is shot,
and arrow meets its mark with feeble force,
so, caught beneath that heavy weight, I burst;
and I let tears and sighs pour forth; my voice
had lost its life along its passage out.
xxxi.16-21
As the tension of a crossbow was so much tighter than the hand drawn bow and arrow, so much more intense was that breaking of Dante’s old nature, as though true contrition was a breaking down of the last bonds of sin wrapped round the heart. Compare this moment to that of the ice melting that encased his heart which opened the flood of tears in the last canto, his first moment of extreme contrition.2
It may seem strange that Dante’s overwhelming conviction of sin, and his abject confession, should be placed at this point, after his (symbolical) purgation by the ascent of the Mountain. He has already “seen himself as he is” and made his act of contrition at Peter’s Gate, without any such violent psychological disturbance. What is meant, I think, is that not until the state of innocence has been recovered can sin be apprehended in its full horror. So long as any taint of sinfulness remains, there is always something in the soul that still assets to sin; only when the last, lingering vestige of unconscious assent has been purged away can one see one’s own sin as it appears to God-as something unspeakably vile and hideous. The sight is unbearable to human nature, therefore as soon as realization is complete and confession made, the remembrance of sin is mercifully drowned in oblivion.3
Beatrice responded that his goal, through her, was of the ultimate experience of God that humankind could imagine, but her next words drove the point of Dante’s error home deeper, as she asked him what exactly he had hoped to gain from wandering from the true path, and, sardonically, what obstacles were so tremendous that he was unable to right himself?4
At this she said: “In the desire for me
that was directing you to love the Good
beyond which there’s no thing to draw our longing,
what chains were strung, what ditches dug across
your path that, once you’d come upon them, caused
your loss of any hope of moving forward?
xxxi.22-27
She accused him of having found false things promising, and scorned his attempt at courting these other things. He finally found the voice to speak and confirmed what had led him astray, and bitterly lamented his succumbing to error.
It is these words that changed the mood of the exchange. If we ourselves, through reading, have taken this journey not only in letter, but in spirit, perhaps this rebuke would be just as stinging to our own consciences. Beatrice said that it was good that he had confessed, as he would not have been able to hide his guilt.
Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. Galatians 6:7
Had he tried to lie, it would have been perfectly clear. But he had acknowledged it, and made it so that the stone that sharpened the blade of justice would be tempered by mercy:
But when the charge of sinfulness has burst
from one’s own cheek, then in our court the whet
stone turns and blunts our blade’s own cutting edge.
xxxi.40-42
She asked him to understand his place in yet another way, so that by learning this, he would come to strength even against the false promises and irresistible force of the very Sirens themselves. He must become a master of his own feelings and reap the tears he had sowed into a greater joy.
At this point in their exchange, we should remember the pageant that is still taking place, though halted; Dante and Beatrice were participants in it even as far as the symbolic nature of their speech. As we imagine Beatrice standing in the triumphal cart speaking so cryptically, each expression was an element of the pageant. It is not just a conversation between them, but an expression of those truths in the imagery of the positioning of the figures and even in the placement of gazes. Beatrice continued:
Nature or art had never showed you any
beauty that matched the lovely limbs in which
I was enclosed—limbs scattered now in dust;
and if the highest beauty failed you through
my death, what mortal thing could then induce
you to desire it? For when the first
arrow of things deceptive struck you, then
you surely should have lifted up your wings
to follow me, no longer such a thing.
xxxi.49-57
In expounding upon her beauty, Beatrice continued her participation in the pageant; in this symbolic language, external beauty was evidence of a corresponding inner beauty. Yet that earthly beauty was mortal and fallible; it is the internal and immortal that is the true perfection. When Dante no longer had her form before him to inspire him, she asked grimly, what else could have taken her place? When he followed others instead, who led down false trails, the correct thing to do would have been to follow her, if only in memory of her perfect beauty.
Dante could only stand with bowed head, in shame. But she was not yet ready to relent; she asked him to face her words directly and not with bowed head; she called him to raise his beard, marking his maturity in face of his childish actions. He looked up at her.
The angels had ceased showering Beatrice with flower petals, and at the same time as Dante noticed this with his tearful and timid gaze, he also saw that Beatrice had shifted position and was gazing at the griffin, that creature that held two natures within itself, the eagle and the lion, human and Christ.
The nettle of remorse so stung me then,
that those-among all other-things that once
most lured my love, became most hateful to me.
Such self-indictment seized my heart that I
collapsed, my senses slack; what I became
is known to her who was the cause of it.
xxxi.85-90
The moment had become too much, and Dante fainted.
The act of penance clearly continues still in this climax of contrition, Dante’s falling here carrying out the simile of the robust oak’s uprooting and consequent fall.5
When he revived, it was Matilda who was with him, guiding him through the waters of the Lethe up to his neck. This entirely new positioning brings an incredible sense of urgency and excitement of what is to come, and the care with which she guided him contrasted with the harshness of the state that Beatrice had brought Dante to. Matilda guided him into the ritual of washing away the memory of sin:
Then, when my heart restored my outer sense,
I saw the woman whom I’d found alone,
standing above me, saying: “Hold me, hold me!”
She’d plunged me, up to my throat, in the river,
and, drawing me behind her, she now crossed,
light as a gondola, along the surface.
xxxi.91-96
This crossing over and the attainment of the far shore and Beatrice complete a total pattern of justification, as the reader may now see in retrospect.6
Again, like a medieval mystery play, the actions are so symbolic that each step can be read for its allegory; Dante heard the Psalm Asperges me: Cleanse me. One can feel and taste the cool and purifying water:
Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean: wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Psalm 51:7
Dante’s crossing of Lethe, immersed therein, is therefore the absolution which completes the act of penance as well as the pattern of justification. Dante is now absolved of his sins, has confessed to Beatrice, and may be led up to her by her handmaids, the seven virtues…The reader will do well to distinguish this drinking and its significance from the immersion, as in a kind of baptism (but not actual baptism, for the sacrament of baptism is not to be repeated). Baptism absolves from the guilt of original sin, penance from that of personal sin, and it is personal sin for which Dante has felt contrition and to which he has confessed.7
Matilda dipped Dante’s head into the stream, deep enough for him to drink the water of oblivion. He was cleansed. She led him to the ladies of the four cardinal virtues, Prudence, Temperance, Justice and Fortitude, who raised their arms above him and clasped their hands, creating a crown over him, a crown of virtue.
Here we are nymphs; in heaven, stars; before
she had descended to the world, we were
assigned, as her handmaids, to Beatrice;
we’ll be your guides unto her eyes; but it
will be the three beyond, who see more deeply,
who’ll help you penetrate her joyous light.
xxxi.106-111
These cardinal virtues, who are also stars when alighted above, were the four stars that Dante and Virgil saw in the sky upon their arrival in Purgatory, and along with the three theological virtues of Faith, Hope, and Charity, are the seven handmaidens of Beatrice, or Wisdom, as the virtues are said to serve in books such as Ecclesiastes and Proverbs.
Wisdom hath builded her house, she hath hewn out her seven pillars: Proverbs 9:1
The cardinal virtues are active virtues, and will bring Dante to Beatrice; the theological virtues “see more deeply” and are of a superior station; they are contemplative, and will garner the meaning from the light they encounter in Beatrice’s eyes.
The positioning of the pageant shifted again, as Dante was brought to the front of the triumphal chariot and Beatrice turned to face the front and center; yet she did not gaze at Dante, but at the griffin before her. She studied the griffin with her emerald eyes as Dante studied her, and within the mirror of Revelation that he saw there in her eyes, the reflection of the griffin unfolded its natures, one divine, one human, in their green depths.
Just like the sun within a mirror, so
the double-natured creature gleamed within,
now sowing one, and now the other guise.
Consider, reader, if I did not wonder
when I saw something that displayed no movement
though its reflected image kept on changing.
xxxi.121-126
Beatrice, with her eyes fixed on the griffin, is now “acting out” her meaning as Revelation, her eyes being fixed upon Christ alone, as represented by the griffin in its dual nature, eagle and lion.8
The griffin did not change as Dante looked at it, but when he looked at the reflection in Beatrice’s eyes, there he saw the two natures, one changing into the other. This magical moment is as dramatic as any enchanted encounter in literature. The sight of it, the wonder and fulfillment of it, made Dante long even more deeply to rest in the fulfillment of the Truth it represented.
The cardinal virtues sang for Beatrice to turn from the griffin and gaze upon Dante, who had worked so hard to arrive at that moment. He was now called faithful; he was forgiven.
“Turn, Beatrice, o turn your holy eyes
upon your faithful one,” their song beseeched,
“who, that he might see you, has come so far.
Our of your grace, do us this grace; unveil
your lips to him, so that he may discern
the second beauty you have kept concealed.”
xxxi.133-138
And here it is right to know that the eyes of wisdom are her demonstrations, whereby the truth is seen most certainly, and her smile is her persuasions, whereby the inner light of wisdom is revealed behind a certain veil; and in these two is felt that loftiest joy of blessedness which is the supreme good in Paradise. This pleasure may not be in ought else here below save in looking upon these eyes and this smile.
Dante, Convivio III.xv.2-3
At the thought, Dante praised her as the “splendor of the eternal living light,” (139), indicating her nature as a mirror and her splendor as the reflection of that light.
No poet, no matter the inspiration from the Muses from their home on Mt. Parnassus, could have begun to describe the radiance of Beatrice as she stood underneath the rainbow banners in the heavens when she drew aside that veil and let the full light of the reflected divine shine upon Dante in all her glorious splendor.
💭 Philosophical Exercises
It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.
~ Frederick Douglass
I.
The higher we ascend, the more Dante tests not only my intelligence but also my ability to articulate the complex, transformative meanings of his vision.
Throughout our journey we have learned that accepting one’s shortcomings is what often separates the souls damned eternally in Inferno from those permitted to purify themselves in Purgatory. Yet here, Beatrice’s words reveal a deeper truth that Dante must accept, something even greater if he is to move beyond Purgatory and enter Paradise.
The fledgling bird must meet two or three blows before he learns, but any full-fledged bird is proof against the net that has been spread or arrow, aimed.” ~ lines 60-63
In the similes of her speech, which is incredibly beautiful, Beatrice hints to a threefold defence that one’s purified soul must have in itself. One must ‘anticipate the arrow’ → ‘be aware of the net’ → ‘confess one’s consent’.
When Beatrice asks Dante to explain how he strayed so far that he found himself lost in the dark wood, he shifts the blame for his failings onto her death:
Weeping, I answered: “Mere appearances turned me aside with their false loveliness, as soon as I had lost your countenance.” And she: “Had you been silent or denied what you confess, your guilt would not be less in evidence: it’s known by such a Judge! But when the charge of sinfulness has burst from one’s own cheek, then in our court the whet- stone turns and blunts our blade’s own cutting edge.
Dante’s claim that Beatrice’s death turned him astray seems, at first, almost absurd. The loss of her physical body should have revealed to him how fleeting and fragile all temporal things are. Her death placed a fork in Dante’s path: it could have directed him toward the eternal, teaching him to place his love in what does not perish. And yet, by his own admission, he chose the other way, the path of indulgence in transient, earthly loves.
To choose the right path at this forked road of our existence, one must always be prepared for the sting of the arrow. Life will hurl at us countless temptations and sudden earthquakes of the soul, each striking like a venomous shaft, each threatening to make us lose sight of the true path.
In the previous cantos, we explored Dante’s notion of misplaced love. The arrow, after all, is Cupid’s weapon of choice, and his shafts are indiscriminate: they can drive us toward eternal goods or bind us to fleeting desires. Awareness, then, is our first defence.
We must live with the vigilance of Damocles beneath his sword, knowing that at any moment the arrow may pierce us and make us forget what truly matters.
The second image Dante (the author) gives us of what leads to our downfall is that of a net, an invisible mesh that ensnares the spirit and holds it fast. The net stands for our habits and entanglements, and once caught we resemble fish trapped by an experienced fisherman. And just as nets rarely capture a single fish, so too our bad habits are rarely solitary. We borrow them from those around us, imitate them in fashion or custom, and carry them forward by sheer inertia.
Finally, Beatrice’s words reveal that confession is not only the acknowledgement and remorse for one’s mistakes, but also the admission that one gave consent to them.
This idea was mind-altering for me, my dear reader. It is not enough simply to acknowledge that I have made mistakes; it is just as important perhaps even more so to recognise that I consented to them. I consented to tell a lie; no one forced me. I consented to gluttony; I was not imprisoned by my cravings. I consented to greed; the economy did not compel me to want more.
Every action we take requires our consent. We are never forced into evil, but we choose it.
II.
In Canto XIX, on the terrace of sloth, we encountered the Sirens and recalled how Odysseus ordered his crew to bind him to the mast, so that when their ship passed the island, he would hear their song yet not be seduced from his course.
The Sirens, in myth, perish when their venomous song fails to corrupt a sailor’s heart. Odysseus, however, bound his free will to the mast: their voices tempted him, and he might have yielded had his body not been physically restrained. Dante, by contrast, sets the pagan vision against the Christian one. His entire journey through Hell and Purgatory has been a training of the will, a forging of character, so that when he finally confronts the Sirens, he does not need ropes. His free will itself is strong enough to resist.
This Week’s Sinners and Virtuous 🎭
(Themes, Quotes, Terms and Characters)
I. Beatrice’s Eyes Mirror Our Divine Origin
Within each of us lies a spark of divinity, waiting to hatch from the fragile shell of our earthly existence. Beatrice’s emerald eyes reflect the Griffin and then turn to Dante, mirroring the union of our dual nature - the human and the divine.
II. The Most Important Word of This Canto: Dante’s Breaking
Each canto seems to revolve around a single word, one key that unlocks its meaning. For this canto, that word is breaking. We hear of the bow and arrow breaking, and then we see Dante himself losing every sense but that of the heart.
Life, too, is a constant trial of our present strength. Arrows come flying, events strike, and some of them break a part, or even the whole, of our personality. Unprepared, we may find ourselves like Dante, wandering lost in a dark forest. Yet those who know the arrow may come at any moment also know this: even when something within us breaks, we must learn to gather the fragments and reassemble ourselves.
III. Memory and Matelda
With the crossing of Lethe and then Eunoe, we witness a transition from the microcosm of earthly concerns through which we have struggled, to the vast macrocosmic forces that move the universe and give us our place within it. Memory, and the role it plays in shaping our psyche and guiding how we live, is one of the themes I find most fascinating.
Quotes 🖋️
(The ones I keep in my journal as reminders of eternal wisdom):
The fledgling bird
must meet two or three blows before he learns,
but any full-fledged bird is proof against
the net that has been spread or arrow, aimed.”
~ lines 60-63, Purgatorio, Canto XXXI 
Charles S. Singleton, Commentary on the Purgatorio 757
Purgatorio xxx.97-99
Dorothy L. Sayers, Purgatory 319
For those familiar with Cicero, her speech here almost reminds me of the tone in the first lines of in Catilinam, in which Cicero opens with “When, O Catiline, do you mean to cease abusing our patience? How long is that madness of yours still to mock us? When is there to be an end of that unbridled audacity of yours, swaggering about as it does now?” in Catilinam 1.1
Singleton 767
Singleton 769
Singleton 770
Singleton 775