I cannot think of a more eloquent description of the Dante experience then that described by the luminous Jorge Luis Borges. He said “I have fantasized a magical work, a panel that is also a microcosm: Dante’s poem is that panel whose edges enclose the universe.” In true Borgesian fashion, my trip began to resemble a labyrinth of Dantean microcosms. While the entire trip could be distilled into a trial and transformation of the body, mind and spirit, each day, and even each individual experience I bore witness to was in itself a Dantean microcosm. My mind became accustom to this method of viewing the world and subsequently I looked at the journey as a garden of forking paths to be traversed as Dante and his guides traversed their own gardens of forking paths. Layers formed upon layers of challenges, delights, lulls and moments of uncertainty, each having to be processed in the trinity of sensual experience. The agony and the ecstasy occurred simultaneously and constantly. Only the most rudimentary of analysis would proclaim that this epic poem is Dante’s firm claim that this is the exact architecture of the afterlife. I like to look at the Divine Comedy as the “experience” of life, not death. The journeys we all take, be they physical, psychological, metaphorical, literal, or any other way, require some form of transformation. We make decisions based upon desires of the body, the mind or the soul, and each decision is reflected in the results of these decisions. This isn’t just casual moralizing, but the prism from which I viewed this trip. The trip itself was a suspension of reality. I was unfettered from daily concerns of bills, relationships and job. It was a series of decisions and desires. In this state, I entered Siena.
Siena
First things first. Siena is magical. Not in the pre-fab imaginationland Disney way, where dreams come true. No, Siena is magical in the New Orleans or Rio De Janeiro secretive way. It is much more than it displays to the uninitiated. The city, like many in Tuscany, is a walled city. Behind these walls are many, many closed doors; doors that contain a people who are fiercely proud of their traditions and secrets. There are four entrances into the city and I felt like I was passing through a threshold when I walked through the gate that separated the Piazza Gramsci from Siena proper. The first thing I saw was a sign depicting the city’s emblem: the she-wolf suckling Romulus and Remus. This sight put me immediately in the Dante space, as I was remembering Dante’s initial experience in Canto I of the Inferno before he is united with his guide Virgil. Dante is startled when he emerges from the dark forest, in an attempt to begin his ascent up Mt. Purgatory, to come face to face with three beasts. Dantists have theorized that these beasts (a leopard, a lion and a she-wolf) represent lust, pride and avarice respectively. While he managed to evade the Leopard and the Lion, the She-wolf denies his path up the mountain, forcing Dante to descend into Inferno before he is able to enter Purgatorio. This is a powerful allegorical passage that Dante uses to declare that one must confront the demons inside in order to transform. There are no shortcuts.
Before the trip, I knew next to nothing about Siena. I knew of St. Catherine, as Professor Rutigliano has quite a fondness for her political acumen, as well as her mystical significance. In several of the pre trip meetings, Professor also conveyed to me that I would grow to love Siena. I had to take his word on this. My mind was fixated on Florence. It was my white whale and had been for many years. I just had to see it. What I wasn’t prepared for was how much more Siena resonated with me than Florence. It’s a treasure trove of art and architecture almost on par with Florence, except the secret isn’t out. Siena doesn’t flaunt like Florence. It has held fast to its secrets. I looked at the she-wolf and the she-wolf looked back and seem to say: ‘This is the path. You must pass through Siena before you can get to Florence.”
Once I crossed the threshold, my journey began in earnest. Luggage in tow, I schlepped from the Piazza Gramsci to the opposite end of the city where the hotel was located. The group was convening later that evening and I had some time to absorb the vibrations of the town. The day before I arrived was one of the two most important days in Siena. It was the first race of the Palio, the horse race that takes place in July and August every year. This race for the Sienese is akin to the Superbowl, election night and new year’s eve all rolled into one. It’s a big deal.
Siena is divided into 17 neighborhoods, or Contrade. For each running of the Palio, there are 10 horses, each one representing a specific contrada. To maintain some sense of equality, every year, the seven contrada that did not compete the year before are invited, and the remaining 3 spots are filled by a lottery. Yesterday’s race was won by the Goose Contrada. Throughout the city, the red, white and green seal was hanging proudly. People everywhere were rejoicing. As I reached the cross street and could see the sign for my hotel, I was confronted with a gathering of about fifty people. A victory parade, one of many, was initiating. There were drummers and people from the goose contrada adorned in medieval outfits of green leggings and red sashes. They began singing what seemed like to me the anthem or fight song of the contrada. It would not be the last time I heard this song on this day.
I managed to get to the hotel and check in. The group arrived a short time later and we all went out for a wonderful dinner. After dinner, Professor Rutigliano informed us that we were going to go on a midnight tour of Siena. We walked past the Duomo and found ourselves in the Piazza del Campo, the de facto town center and the space where the Palio is held. There were young people out and about, drinking and reveling. Then I heard a familiar tune. The anthem I had heard earlier today was being chanted in the distance. Around the corner came about 50 mostly younger women chanting the victory song at the top of a set of stairs leading down into the Piazza. I was mesmerized, enchanted by the sight of this assemblage of fiercely proud women glorifying their contrada and taunting the losing contrade. This single line melody, song on a loop for what must have been an hour, echoed through the Piazza. It was a powerful, visceral moment, reinforcing to me that I had entered a different space. I was in a liminal state and was transfixed by this gathering of muses, of Beatrices.
The next day we went to the Duomo, where I was confronted with the Medieval philosopher Boethius, who had a profound influence on Dante and The Divine Comedy. He wasn’t actually there, nor was there any mention of him at the cathedral, but his Wheel of Fortune was prominently displayed in the marble floors. There has been quite a bit written about Boethuis’ influence on Dante. Dante called Boethius in Paradiso’s Canto X “ The blessed soul who exposes the deceptive world to anyone who gives ear to him.” Fortune personified is a prominent theme in both the Divine Comedy as well as in Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy, and it was exciting to see a visual representation of the circular nature of Fortune. The marble displays a series of figures in various stages, some in the midst of good fortune, others bad fortune. This wheel also reminded me of another concept that Boethius proclaimed and Dante was certainly influenced by. Boethius’ concept of anima mundi, that is the medieval theory that there is an interconnectivity between all living things, much in the same way that the soul is connected to the body. It is a cosmic relationship, one that mirrors the interplanetary movements. Former NYU professor John Freccero makes the direct connection, relating a passage from The Consolation of Philosophy (You release the world-soul throughout the harmonious parts of the universe as your surrogate, threefold in its operation, to give motion to all things. That soul, thus divided, pursues its revolving course in two circles, and returning to itself, embraces the profound mind and transforms heaven to its own image) and a passage from Paradiso Canto 2 (with your divine power you govern the heaven with double motion so that you incline to the left and to the right). Boethius is quite fond of circular imagery, and to see the painstaking work of done in the style of graffito (i.e. drilling and scratching holes into the marble and filling them with pitch) makes the floors striking even 700 years after they were designed.
Across the street from the Duomo is the Palazzo Pubblico of Siena, a museum housing the frescoes of Ambrogio Lorenzetti. These frescoes, as Professor Rutigliano pointed out, are visual representations of the Aristotelian Philosophy of Governing and the Golden Mean. They are Allegories of good government, displaying scenes of people working together in both urban and pastoral scenes for the greater good of the public. In the frescoes, people share equal loads in farming duties; gather in democratic scenes of governance and just in general visual depictions of communities. While Dante tended to be a bit more imperialistic in his ideas towards government, there is a connection between Dante and Lorenzetti’s frescoes. Both artists use their respective mediums to display to a public examples of ethical and moral behavior. The pride of the artist is represented by both individuals, who felt compelled to display a particular world view to a larger public. While I am used to seeing displays of Christian virtue in Cathedrals, it did take me by surprise to see a secular display, commissioned by the city. My time in Siena was filled with these and more artistic displays of virtuous displays and ideals. I had grown to appreciate and love this city that has sat patiently in the shadows of its more flashy Tuscan neighbor Florence. I would come to realize that Siena is has its own special charm, one that in many ways supersedes that of Florence.
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