Brunetto Latini

Luigi Speranza

To speak of «unchanging human nature» is to sail over very calm and very dull seas.

Yet we want to consider Dante's portrait of Brunetto Latini precisely as an example of human nature at its most stubbornly unchangeable.

We want to argue, not that Brunetto is a Sodomite __ most readers of the Inferno would agree about that __ but rather that Dante has portrayed him as a Sodomite.

As a homosexual man with characteristically, even stereotypically, gay attributes and mannerisms.

What I am claiming is that Brunetto would have been as recognizably gay to Dante's first readers and auditors as he is to us in the late twentieth century.

In making this claim we do not intend, like Ulysses, to sail off the map, but rather to explore some possibly new territory.

Dante and Virgil first encounter Brunetto amidst a troop __ «una schiera» (v. 16) __ of souls who are hurrying through the gloom of the Seventh Circle.

This «schiera» is the first of half-a-dozen collective nouns that will be used of the Sodomites in the course of Canto XV:

«cotal famiglia»;
«la traccia»;
«questa greggia»;
«la mia masnada»;
«quella turba grama»

-- «that company», «the train», «this flock», «my band», «that wretched crowd», vv. 22, 33, 37, 41, 109; the translations are by J. D. Sinclair).

Dante, as he does so often, uses reiterated images to make a point, here, to set off these sinners as a particular group who share a defining sin, and so to make clear that Brunetto is of this group: whatever his claims upon Dante's esteem and affection, he is definitely a member of this scorched army whose rubric is Sodomy.

As the «schiera» approaches, Dante writes of them:

ciascuna ci riguardava come suol da sera guardare uno altro sotto nuova luna...
Each looked at us as men look at one another under a new moon at dusk... (vv. 17-19).

Here again Dante is underlining, through word choice and image, an important fact, namely, the fiercely visual nature of this group's interest in the two travellers who have appeared in their midst: «riguardava» and «guardare».

Note, too, the intentness indicated by: each one of them looked, just as at dusk, under a new moon, men look «uno altro» __ at each other.

The intensity of their gaze is unmistakable, as is the sharpness of its focus.

Of course, the light in the Seventh Circle is dim, as Dante tells us.

But beyond this simple narrative fact is the demonstrable true-to-life quality of this encounter: true to homosexual life.

In this twilit atmosphere, the souls of the Sodomites are, in modern gay slang, cruising the two strangers in their midst.

They are appraising Dante and his companion.

And here we consider yet another instance of Dante's grim, often cruel comedic sense.

Even after death, these souls cannot change their ways.

They caannot resist the temptation to ogle newcomers as objects of possible erotic interest.

Their compulsion to cruise survives even in Hell.

Dante underscores the intentness of the group's gaze with a famous analogy:

sì ver' noi aguzzavan le ciglia come 'l vecchio sartor fa nella cruna...
They puckered their brows on us like an old tailor on the eye of his needle... (vv. 20-21).

Their brows are puckered, wrinkled, like an old tailor's as he threads a needle.

The scrutiny that these souls train upon Dante and Virgil is here brilliantly, unforgettably rendered.

There is an almost brutal exactness about it, and a submerged sarcasm.

Clearly Dante the Poet has observed men observing other men: observed them closely: the image is surely the result of simple, everyday experience, only captured and described with Dante's typical acuity.

As so often in Dante's poetry, it is not just the detail __ «le ciglia» or «sartor» __ but the detail within the detail __ «aguzzavan le ciglia»; «vecchio sartor» __ that renders the image all the more believable, all the more vivid.

The image of the «vecchio sartor» is interesting for other reasons as well.

For one, because Brunetto himself is old and the «vecchio sartor» subtly prepares us for Brunetto's appearance.

For another because clothes play a strangely prominent part in Canto XV, and in Canto XVI.

This is another example of Dante's often «sadistic» infernal humor.

These souls are painfully naked, exposed, hence clothing is all the more important to them.

For the same reason, clothing imagery rather cruelly recurs in the cantos in which they appear.

This comes out especially clearly in Canto XVI, where the three Florentine Sodomites recognize Dante by his apparel:

Sòstati tu ch'a l'abito ne essere alcun di nostra terra prava»
«Stop thou, who by thy dress seemest to be one from our degenerate city» (XVI, 89).

This is the only instance in the Inferno where Dante is recognized by his Florentine clothing.

We are tempted to cite this as another gay stereotype __ the marked interest in clothing __ but I will refrain.

Yet true it is that the souls of these gay men notice things __ notice visual details.

They size people up visually.

They are very observant about fine points, just as a tailor threading his needle is as focused on details as anyone could possibly be.

The combination of visual interest and clothing imagery occurs in the lines that introduce Ser Brunetto himself:

Così adocchiato da cotal famiglia, fui conosciuto da un, che mi prese
per lo lembo e gridò: «Qual maraviglia!»
Eyed thus by that company, I was recognized by one who took me by the hem and cried: «How marvelous!» (vv. 22-24).

«Adocchiato»: again, Dante is heavily underscoring the kind of interest taken in the two travellers.

They are not just looked at but are eyed by the Sodomites __ this collective «famiglia».

And one of them, recognizing Dante, reaches up and grabs him «per lo lembo» __ by the hem of his gown.

Once more, the suggestive emphasis on clothing, as this lost soul makes his dramatic, his remarkably intimate, gesture, followed immediately by his equally dramatic (even flamboyant) exclamation:

«Qual maraviglia!»

Accompanied by such a gesture, and in such a context, these words have an unmistakable intonation.

«Gridò» here has the sense of «shrieked»: «How amazing! Incredible!»

The expression of at surprise has, in gay parlance, a distinctly queeny pitch.

A flamboyance that is stereotypically characteristic of vehement homosexual speech.

The shock of Dante's recognition of his old teacher is conveyed through a combination of Dante's typical sardonic humor and the eye imagery that recurs in this canto.

ficcaï li occhi per lo cotto aspetto» («fixed my eyes on his baked looks», v. 26),
Dante says.

Despite the shade's ghastly condition __ its «viso abbrusciato» («scorched features», v. 27) makes even more hideously vivid the already brutal description __ the student still manages to recognize his old teacher: the «conoscenza» in this moment of recognition echoes the earlier (v. 23) «fui conosciuto».

Dante conveys the simultaneity of recognizing and being recognized through his use of almost-identical words, thus leading to his famous, startled cry:

Siete voi qui, ser Brunetto?
Are you here, Ser Brunetto? v. 30).

In the exchange that follows Brunetto immediately adopts a conciliatory tone.

«non ti dispiaccia / se Brunetto Latino un poco teco / ritorna 'n dietro...»
let it not displease thee if Brunetto Latini turn back with thee a little...», vv. 31-33)

This tone has an initially fluttery cast to it.

O figliuol mio» (v. 31), he begins, and repeats the diminutive six lines later (v. 37).

This diminutive is of course a sign of real affection, and is not necessarily meaningful in homosexual terms (St. Peter, for instance, will use it when addressing Dante in the Paradiso).

Yet Brunetto's «filgiuol mio» seems very much of a piece with the specifically gay characteristics that I have been sketching in.

Brunetto's «my son»'s have more of a «my boy» intonation, or even the modern gay «my dear»: the expression of an older gay man's affection for a much younger man.

Ti verrò a' panni.
I shall come at thy skirt», v. 40),

Brunetto says to Dante.

Again, with the peculiar emphasis on clothing.

And the student and his master walk on, lost in conversation, so much so that it comes as something of a shock to realize that Virgil is the strangely silent third party in their company.

Indeed, Virgil is rather shunted aside throughout Dante's interview with Ser Brunetto.

Dante seems to be so excited by his encounter with his dearly loved teacher that he all but ignores Virgil, who will make only one remark __ and that a brief and ambiguous one __ in the course of the episode.

Brunetto asks Dante what «fortuna o destino» (v. 46) has brought him here alive.

He also asks him «chi è questi che mostra 'l cammino?» (v. 48).

Both questions are significant, the latter because it reveals Brunetto's quick and accurate appraisal of the situation.

He doesn't ask «Who is that with you?» but rather «Who is that who is showing you the way?».

Yet Brunetto proves to be curiously uncurious about just who this stranger actually is.

And Dante is oddly unforthcoming about Virgil's identity.

One would think he would be more than eager for his beloved teacher to meet the shade of the greatest Latin poet.

I suspect the reason for this disinterest is, again, the simple fact that the teacher and student are so caught up in their own excitement at seeing each other that they find it very easy to all but ignore Virgil.

As when two old friends get together, a kind of synergy (to be modish) takes over.

They find their private agenda so enthralling that they cannot include a third party in their excited conversation.

Until he begins his tirade against Florence, Brunetto's speech has, as I indicated, a rather garrulous, distracted quality.

Especially after the furious egotism of a Farinata or a Capaneus, there is in Ser Brunetto a noticeable reluctance to talk about himself, a reticence behind his volubility.

He seems to be intent on engaging and keeping his audience's attention while skillfully steering the topics of conversation safely away from himself.

He barely listens to Dante's reply to his two questions.

Then he tells Dante, rather vaguely, that, if only he himself weren't dead, he would have helped him with his great work.

It is only then __ after this fluttery, or flustered, preamble __ that he launches into his tirade against Florence.

This latter he couches in flattering, revealing terms, for his former student's benefit: «è ragion», he says, «ché tra li lazzi sorbi / si disconvien fruttare lo dolce fico» («with reason, for among the bitter sorbs it is not natural the sweet fig should come to fruit», vv. 65-66).

There is an almost coquettishly sexual quality to this image of the «sweet fig» amidst the «bitter sorbs».

As commentators remind us, the image of the fig has, ultimately, a biblical provenance.

Yet in Brunetto's «dolce fico» there is a faintly unpleasant flirtatiousness in the tone __ a «sweet young thing» quality which he continues a few lines later, when he warns Dante that the Guelphs and Ghibellines «avranno fame / di te» («shall be ravenous against thee», v. 71).

«They'll want to gobble you up!», Brunetto tells the sweet fig.

There is no other character in the poem who dares to assume such a tone with Dante.

Yet Dante is not at all offended by such treatment, such a tone.

Familiarity thas bred affection.

What we see at work here, I think, is a rather subtle instance of Dante the Poet seeing more, and capturing more, than Dante the Traveller is aware of.

Dante the Traveller and Ser Brunetto quickly and effortlessly fall into their old intimacy that is filled with love and respect.

While Dante the Poet has caught in his teacher's speech and mannerisms something that the youthful Dante was unaware of.

Dante undeniably shares his younger self's «reverenza» for Ser Brunetto.

Only he sees more, and knows more, than his younger self possibly could.

As Ser Brunetto's and Dante's colloquy reaches its conclusion, Dante queries his teacher for the names of his fellow sinners.

Brunetto claims there really isn't time to list them all, then singles out Priscian and Francesco d'Accorso for a kind of tongue-clucking dismissal.

The two of them consort, he says, with «quella turba grama» (v. 109).

Then he describes the corrupt career of Andrea de' Mozzi, which began in Florence and ended in Vicenza, where he «lasciò i mal protesi nervi» («he left his sin-strained nerves», v. 114).

This last is a striking and very strange image indeed. «O the terrible, terrible nerves of the invert!» exclaimed Radclyffe Hall in The Well of Loneliness.

Can this stereotype have held true 700 years ago, when Brunetto Latini spoke of his infernal compatriot? We think it could.

The encounter now ends as Ser Brunetto spies another crowd approaching.

With his usual visual sharpness, he sees «nuovo fummo» (v. 117) rising from the sand, the sign of people with whom he cannot associate.

And so he rushes off, in the famous image of the naked runners in the race at Verona.

First, though, he recommends his Tesoro, «nel qual io vivo ancora» («in which I yet live», v. 120).

A pathetic touch that is genuinely moving.

For all of his occasional posturing or histrionics, Brunetto Latini is, even so, a scholar, and a great teacher, who asks only to be remembered by his book.

Though, sadly, he cannot know that the book in which he will live on is not his Tesoro at all, but a quite different work, written by a former pupil.

Genuine pathos is here combined with a subtle mockery, just as the two are combined in the canto's closing image.

For Ser Brunetto is not a beautiful, naked young athlete.

He is an unclothed old man who is covered with ruinous burns and is, as I have suggested, something of a queen.

Yet he does seem to be «di costoro / quelli che vince, non colui che perde» («not the loser among them, but the winner», vv. 123-124).

Reading these words we cannot help but regard him with something of Dante's youthful affection.

The Poet-Who-Writes has made his judgment and now sees Ser Brunetto for what he was, and still is.

Though he yet retains his youthful feelings for the teacher who influenced him so profoundly.