Imagery And Allegory
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Dantes portrayal of Hell in the Inferno is an undisputed masterpiece of visual and allegorical imagery, enriched not only by extensive use of figurative language, but by concrete physical descriptions as well. Perhaps the most interesting display of Dantes skill in combining these sensory and metaphorical elements occurs in Canto XIV: here, as the two figures cross over a river encased in stone, Virgil recounts to the Pilgrim, in stunning detail, the story of the statue, buried in Mount Ida on the island of Crete, whose falling tears form the waters for the three rivers of the Underworld. In the course of the guides narration, the reader, who is first confronted and captivated by powerful geographical images, gradually becomes aware of the underlying allegorical interpretation, and realizes that the scenes portrayed here tell the story of the Fall of Man and his subsequent misery on earth. The speaker, though, is neither Dante nor the Pilgrim, but Virgil, and the effect on the reader of this shift in perspective is indeed the most fascinating aspect of the passage: not only is Dante using Virgil, in Bloomian terms, to authenticate his own creation, but the emotions which Virgil himself conveys to the reader heighten the feeling of suspense, amazement, and appreciation of the work as a whole.
There are two distinct portions of the story Virgil recounts to the Pilgrim in this passage; yet a third image comes from the landscape surrounding the two as they talk. In all three sections, the pictures painted by the poets are geographically and topologically defined, with concrete depictions of the surroundings and a well-focused center. The river, for instance, which the figures use as a pathway through the deserted landscape, is at first seen through its environment, and its origins are specified. Dante then draws a comparison to a similar river in Italy; this concrete image, though not helpful for the modern reader, would have been significant to Dantes contemporaries. Finally, then, Dante describes the river itself, with its encasement of stone, and reveals its function for the travelers as a bridge or a path which they will follow:
Without exchanging words we reached a place
where a narrow stream came gushing from the woods
(its reddish water still runs fear through me!);
Like the one that issues from the Bulicame,
whose waters are shared by prostitutes downstream,
it wore its way across the desert sand.
This rivers bed and banks were made of stone,
so were the tops on both its sides; and then
I understood this was our way across. (ll. 76-84)
At first, this picture is much like any other that occurs in Dantes work: a strange and foreign landscape is depicted in words that make it partially comprehensible to the human reader, but the portrayal retains its haunting and disturbing imagery. Upon reading farther, however, the focus of the picture here sharpens, and we see, as Virgil states, how the stream winds its way along, “extinguishing the flames above its path” (l. 90). The color of the river, then, corresponds to its effect on the surroundings: in driving away these flames, the river seems to sublimate them and take on their characteristic redness.
A striking remark, though, is revealed at the end of Virgils narration: this river is composed, in fact, not of water, but of the tears which fall from the statue in Mt. Ida on Crete. With this revelation, Virgils portrayal of the scene makes an emotional appeal to the reader by allegorical means. The color of these tears is red, recalling an image of blood: possibly this is the very blood that pours out of the statues heart, either in pity or in pain for the sins that have destroyed the race of man; alternatively, the red river is an allegory for the suffering of Christ for mankinds sins. Also, as Virgil explains, the single stream seen here is destined to separate and become the three famous rivers of Hell — one of many tripartite appearances, perversions of the Holy Trinity, that are mentioned throughout the Divine Comedy. As such, Dantes characterization of the stream as “gushing” out of the forest gains credibility, for the force required to power three distinct rivers must necessarily be tremendous, even to the limits of human comprehension.
The imagery in Dantes scene painting here is unquestionably moving; it dwindles, however, in comparison to the strength of the descriptions laid out by Virgil. In the scenes the guide sets before the Pilgrim, the master poet creates not only a still-life in words, but tells the story that accompanies the image. The first picture Virgil paints, namely of Crete and Mount Ida, is concrete and defined, far beyond the scope of Dantes vision. Names are given, and the island is placed “in the middle of the sea.” The scenery Virgil creates there is superlative: what was once a lush paradise of greenery and warmth is now a cold and abandoned desert. In both cases, however, the presentation is methodical, touching, and vivid, complete with personification, allegory, and simile:
“In the middle of the sea there lies a wasteland,”
he immediately began, “that is known as Crete,
under whose king the world knew innocence.
There is a mountain there that was called Ida;
then happy in its verdure and its streams,
now deserted like an old, discarded thing ” ( ll. 94-99)
Truly, there was never a more enchanting allegory for the Garden of Eden. Why exactly Dante has chosen Crete as the symbol for paradise lost is unclear, but the focus of the picture here is as sharp as can be. The world of mankind “knew innocence” before the Fall, when Eden was still a fruitful pasture; now, however, the island is a wasteland, deserted by God and man alike: a metaphor here perhaps for Palestine or for other ancient deserts which figure in Christian mythology. Even the name “Ida” could be seen as an allusion to “Eden,” though in the original Italian the similarity may not be as great as in the English.
The next section of Virgils narration presents anew the impressive allegorical imagination of Dante and, by extension, of his guide. The inclusion, however, of the story