Visualizing Dante: Alfonso D’Aragona’s Manuscript Edition of the Divina Commedia
Marco Lettieri (2025)
This page is adapted from the full-length monograph, Marco Lettieri, Word and Image in Alfonso d’Aragona’s Manuscript Edition of the “Divina Commedia” (Florence: SEF Editrice, 2021).
Alfonso D’Aragona’s illuminated manuscript edition of Dante Alighieri’s Divina Commedia, commissioned in the early 15th century and created under the patronage of the Aragonese court, represents a unique Renaissance artifact. Crafted by Priamo della Quercia and Giovanni di Paolo, it offers an intricate visual narrative of Dante’s journey through the realms of the afterlife. The manuscript’s historical journey saw it pass through several European collections before being preserved in its current location at the British Library, the national library of the United Kingdom. Despite its age, the manuscript remains in relatively good condition, though it exhibits some wear consistent with centuries of handling and preservation challenges. This historical treasure invites us to delve into the cultural and artistic significance of the Divina Commedia during the Renaissance.
In this exploration, we delve into selected images from D’Aragona’s manuscript, focusing on key moments from the Inferno and Purgatorio. These illuminations, created by Priamo della Quercia, offer not mere illustrations, but interpretations that invite viewers to engage deeply with Dante’s timeless themes of sin, redemption, and the human condition. I have chosen to focus exclusively on the Inferno and Purgatorio to maintain a sense of uniformity since the illuminator changes for the Paradiso (Giovanni di Paolo). Furthermore, since the Inferno and Purgatorio are renowned for their vivid and dramatic depictions of the torments of the afterlife, the graphic and imaginative portrayals of various sinners and their punishments by Priamo della Quercia captivate readers and stimulate their imaginations. The Paradiso deals with abstract and theological themes related to divine order, the nature of God, and the ultimate good. The discussions are often more esoteric and less visually stimulating compared to the concrete and dramatic images of the Inferno and Purgatorio.
From the ominous encounter with the three beasts in Inferno 1 to the haunting portrayal of Ugolino’s fate in Inferno 33, each image captures the essence of Dante’s vision while adding layers of interpretation and commentary. Through meticulous attention to detail, della Quercia infuses the scenes with symbolic resonance, inviting viewers to contemplate the moral dilemmas and spiritual challenges faced by Dante and his guide, Virgil.
As we journey through the circles of hell and ascend the terraces of purgatory, we encounter not only the torments of the damned but also the hopes of the repentant souls seeking purification. D’Aragona’s manuscript, with its illuminations of Purgatorio, offers a glimpse into Dante’s vision of divine grace and the transformative power of repentance.
Join me along this journey as we examine selected miniatures from D’Aragona’s manuscript, delving into the artistic choices of della Quercia and the cultural context of the Renaissance period. Through this exploration, we will deepen our understanding of Dante’s enduring masterpiece and the rich tapestry of interpretations it has inspired across the centuries.
Inferno
Inferno 1
At the left, Dante is attacked by three wild beasts, the leopard, the lion, and the she-wolf; at the right, Dante meets Virgil (London, British Library, Yates Thompson 36, fol. 10r)
With his entire body covered, Dante, hiding beneath pale blue garments, is depicted in a manner reminiscent of a universal pilgrim. In contrast, Virgil’s appearance is markedly distinct, featuring darker skin tones, a prominent nose, and an angular jawline, which may suggest an interpretation of him as a figure of classical antiquity. Their contrasting costumes further reinforce this dichotomy: Dante’s attire, including a headdress that echoes 14th-century Florentine customs, aligns him with medieval Christian tradition, while Virgil’s robe reflects Greco-Roman influence. For historical viewers of D’Aragona’s manuscript, these details would evoke a rich tapestry of associations, bridging cultural and temporal divides.
Dante is depicted in the center of the frame between the dark forest and the mountains of purgatory. If “mountains” were chosen intentionally, this marks a notable departure from Dante’s singular “mountain” of purgatory in the text, showcasing Priamo della Quercia’s creative liberty.
Dante’s three beasts are clearly visible in della Quercia’s painting. Della Quercia remains true to Dante’s ordering of the animals: he paints the three distinct stages in which Dante was attacked by the three beasts, beginning with the lonza, then the leone, and finally the lupa. In the miniature, the lupa is the only beast able to tackle Dante to the ground, a striking departure from the text, where no physical contact between Dante and the beasts occurs. Instead of merely representing a symbolic struggle, the illustration adds a layer of physicality, suggesting a direct confrontation that intensifies the sense of Dante’s vulnerability, which is not explicitly conveyed in the canto itself: “tal mi fece la bestia sanza pace, / che, venendomi ’ncontro, a poco a poco / mi ripigneva là dove ’l sol tace” (Inf. 1.58-60). This visual commentary reveals to the viewer that the she-wolf is the most dangerous, frightful, and challenging of all the three beasts.
Inferno 8
Dante and Virgil being rowed across the river Styx by Phlegyas; Dante and Virgil at the gates of Dis (London, British Library, Yates Thompson 36, fol. 14r)
This is the first time in the illuminations that Virgil breaks the barrier between the physical being and the soul, between the living and the dead; in the boat, Virgil puts his hand on Dante’s back as if to calm him down. This moment marks a pivotal shift in their relationship, transitioning from a purely verbal connection to one that is more physical and intimate. The act of touching, an essential human gesture, signifies a deeper bond forming between them, transcending the role of the guide and the pilgrim. It is a subtle but significant gesture, an acknowledgment of their shared journey through the realms of the afterlife. Virgil also kisses Dante on the forehead, a profound expression of compassion and protection. The kiss, representing both a literal and symbolic passing of strength and comfort, transforms their relationship into one where the boundaries between mentor and student, living and dead, begin to blur, allowing for a more personal and human connection to emerge.
This episode in the eighth canto is not the first time in the Commedia that Virgil touches Dante. In Inf. 3.19, Dante writes: “E poi che la sua mano a la mia puose.” Why then does della Quercia wait until the eighth canto to depict the touch of Virgil?
Della Quercia’s depiction of Virgil’s touch and kiss lends importance to this event in the Commedia. In this eighth canto Dante looks upon the wrathful and refuses to empathize. He has moved on from the fainting scene in the fifth canto with Paolo and Francesca. Here, he rejects the souls wholeheartedly and looks upon them with disgust. In response Virgil hugs and kisses Dante, in an act of approval and pride for the pilgrim. Although it may seem that Dante is simply another wrathful soul as he becomes angry and mean towards the damned in the fifth circle, his is a different type of anger. Dante is not angry in a wrathful, impatient, and uncontrolled sense; he is, instead, experiencing righteous anger. This is a pivotal moment in the Commedia and in the pilgrim’s developmental arc; della Quercia centers his painting upon this turning point, compelling the viewer to pause and reflect.
Inferno 13
Dante breaks a branch from a tree in the forest of the suicides; Dante and Virgil converse with Pier delle Vigne (London, British Library, Yates Thompson 36, fol. 23r)
We now move to the section of the Inferno that deals with violence. The miniature above is found in canto 13, the seventh circle of hell, the sin of violence against oneself. The souls depicted in this miniature are guilty of the sin of suicide. As with the other miniatures of this manuscript, the story moves from left to right within the frame, the same direction in which one reads the words on the page.
As we examine this miniature, we come to realize how distinct it is from Dante’s poem. This is not the first time in the illuminated manuscript that the artist Priamo della Quercia departs from the text. In the poem itself, as Dante and Virgil descend deeper into the underworld, the imagery becomes more gruesome, violent, and horrifying. Della Quercia does not follow the words of the poet or those of the commentators of the Commedia. In this canto, we are given a less graphic image: the disorder among the trees is not prominent or obvious, the forest does not appear especially dense, blood is almost nonexistent compared to previous miniatures in the manuscript, and the souls appear to be in a less violent and unhealthy state. It is possible to see the mountains in the backdrop among the trees; if, indeed, this forest were dense, overcrowded, and chaotic, the shapes would be indiscernible and it would be impossible to see through the trees. The question is why the artist deviates from the original words of the poet.
In the Middle Ages, during the time Dante composed the Divina Commedia (early 14th century), suicide was not only regarded as a grievous sin but also a criminal act, for which the dead could still receive capital punishment. This harsh stance reflected the medieval Church’s interpretation of self-destruction as a violation of divine law and societal order. However, Priamo della Quercia’s Renaissance context offered a different perspective. By the early 15th century, when della Quercia illuminated Alfonso d’Aragona’s manuscript, cultural attitudes were shifting. The Renaissance emphasis on humanism and classical antiquity introduced more nuanced views on morality, including the subject of suicide. Renaissance scholars often looked to figures like Cicero and Seneca, Stoic philosophers who discussed suicide as a rational response to certain moral dilemmas, thus challenging medieval orthodoxy. Della Quercia’s visual choices in representing the forest of suicides reflect this cultural shift. Unlike Dante’s gruesome and chaotic portrayal of twisted, bleeding trees as metaphors for the souls of suicides, della Quercia’s miniature softens the imagery. The forest is more orderly, the violence subdued, suggesting a Renaissance reinterpretation that emphasized a more contemplative, perhaps even empathetic, view of the sin. In doing so, della Quercia’s manuscript illuminations offer a fascinating lens through which we can trace the evolving cultural and intellectual landscape of early modern Europe.
Inferno 32
Dante and Virgil enter the ninth circle and encounter traitors against their family and their homeland (London, British Library, Yates Thompson 36, fol. 59r)
In this canto, Dante and Virgil have arrived at an area of hell so frightening, so haunting, so violent, so fierce and furious that words will not suffice. Della Quercia answers Dante’s call, captures his words, and produces the most violent and terrifying image seen in this canticle thus far.
In this miniature accompanying Inferno 32, Dante watches the traitors punished in the frozen lake Cocytus, and pulls on the head of Bocca degli Abati, a traitor infamous for his betrayal of the Guelphs at the Battle of Montaperti, to force him to reveal his identity. Bocca, eternally frozen in the ice of Cocytus, embodies the sin of treachery, which Dante condemns with particular severity. To the right of Bocca, we see Count Ugolino and Archbishop Ruggieri, two souls Dante introduces towards the end of canto 32 and whose harrowing tale unfolds in the next canto, where Dante recounts the story of Ugolino and his betrayal of his children. Ugolino, betrayed and imprisoned by Ruggieri, recounts how he and his children starved to death, leading (perhaps) to his horrifying act of cannibalism. Their punishments are vividly illustrated by Priamo della Quercia: while the contrapasso for all of Cocytus involves various ways of being stuck in the eternal ice, the souls of Ugolino and Ruggieri are locked in their eternal hatred, with Ugolino gnawing on Ruggieri’s skull, a gruesome reminder of their shared treachery. This visual juxtaposition deepens the viewer’s engagement with the moral gravity of Dante’s text, highlighting the layered relationships among these damned figures while grounding their suffering in their historical and literary contexts.
As recounted in Inferno 33, Ugolino was a man who was imprisoned with his children, and his story has long evoked horror and pity. In a famously ambiguous verse of the poem, Dante writes that Ugolino “gnawed his hands” in despair (Inf. 33.58), leading his children to believe he was doing so out of hunger. My interpretation of this passage suggests the possibility of cannibalism—Ugolino consuming his dead children at their request, a horrifying act of survival. This brutal moment, however, is not isolated; it resonates with Dante’s own violent reaction to Bocca, where he brutally demands the traitor’s identity and then casts him aside in his fury. Both scenes, though differing in context, capture the contagious nature of rage and vengeance that pervades the infernal landscape. Dante’s violence towards Bocca may be seen as a foreshadowing of Ugolino’s equally intense, though perhaps more desperate, violence. Priamo della Quercia’s illuminations seem to draw a deliberate link between these acts, highlighting how the cycle of anger, retribution, and suffering intensifies as it passes from one soul to another. The violent outbursts of Dante and Ugolino create a mirror effect, revealing the corrupting power of vengeance that spreads through the damned, transforming them into agents of their own destruction. By juxtaposing these two scenes, Priamo della Quercia compels his viewers to reflect on the contagious nature of violence and its devastating impact on both the individual and the larger moral order of the Inferno.
Ugolino’s horrifying admission, “Poscia, più che ’l dolor, poté ’l digiuno” (Inf. 33.75), speaks to a deeper form of desperation that transcends mere suffering and becomes an all-consuming force. In this moment, hunger, a primal and violent impulse, overtakes the pain of loss and betrayal, marking the ultimate degradation of the soul. This stark moment parallels Dante’s own violent reaction to Bocca in the earlier canto, suggesting that the capacity for violence—whether physical or psychological—infects the damned, as each act of vengeance feeds into a larger cycle of corruption and torment. Just as hunger overwhelms Ugolino’s will, the unchecked rage between these figures reflects how the contagious forces of vengeance and violence erode the moral fabric of the Inferno, perpetuating a cycle of suffering that knows no end. However, this interpretation remains speculative, as none of the ancient commentators interpreted the verse in this way. Instead, they viewed it as a tragic reflection on human suffering: that no matter how immense our sorrow, it is not sorrow that kills us. Priamo della Quercia captures the visceral terror of this episode in his miniature, vividly portraying Ugolino gnawing on the head of Archbishop Ruggieri, his betrayer, in an eternal act of vengeance. This interpretation invites the viewer to grapple with the profound moral and emotional complexities that Dante weaves into his narrative. All of this was done in vain, as Ugolino ended up dying in prison nonetheless.
This miniature by della Quercia does not directly engage with the contested question of cannibalism but powerfully conveys the relentless brutality of Ugolino’s torment. Just as Ugolino gnaws on Ruggieri’s head for eternity, della Quercia invites the viewer to confront the depths of human betrayal and the horrific consequences Dante imagined for such sins. The soul’s mouth is clearly wide open and in direct contact with the other soul’s head. Furthermore, there is blood surrounding the bite. By adding this element, della Quercia amplifies the horror and grotesqueness of the scene, creating a more visceral and visually impactful depiction than Dante’s original text. This artistic choice could reflect a Renaissance tendency to emphasize dramatic and macabre imagery, heightening the emotional engagement of the viewer with the moral and psychological complexities of Dante’s Inferno. Della Quercia’s depiction asks his viewer to connect Ugolino’s grisly act to Dante pulling Bocca degli Abati’s hair. This act draws the viewer into the scene, creating a powerful sense of participation in Dante’s experience. In this way, the viewer, too, becomes complicit in the cycle of retribution and punishment represented in the miniature, feeding on the image of Dante’s encounter and grappling with the idea of justice as portrayed in the Divina Commedia.
Purgatorio
Purgatorio 10
Dante and Virgil are at the gates of purgatory; the prideful are carrying heavy stones (London, British Library, Yates Thompson 36, fol. 84r)
The miniature shown above is divided into two distinct panels, each depicting key moments from Purgatorio 9 and 10. On the left side, the scene from Purgatorio 9 captures Dante and Virgil approaching the threshold of purgatory. Dante is shown in three stages of movement, reflecting his gradual progression from a sleeping and dreaming state at the beginning of Purgatorio 9 to one of readiness to continue to climb up the mountain after he is permitted entrance to purgatory by the angel who guards the gate. These figures align with Dante’s narrative as he describes crossing the threshold and entering the realm of purification. The left panel first highlights Dante’s exhaustion and need to sleep, followed by his dream of the eagle carrying him aloft like Ganymede. The dream is described in Purgatorio 9 and is followed by Virgil’s gloss, explaining he was transported to the gate of purgatory by Saint Lucy.
On the right side of the miniature, we see the moment from Purgatorio 10, where Dante and Virgil have crossed the threshold and begin their ascent up the first terrace, where the prideful dwell. The terrace is depicted with the proud souls carrying heavy stones on their backs, symbolizing their penance. The stone burdens represent the weight of their hubris in life, which now serves as both punishment and a path to humility. The miniature emphasizes the struggle of these souls and Dante’s own climb, mirroring the physical challenge of overcoming pride as he progresses through purgatory.
The citation from Purgatorio 10, “Noi salavam per una pietra fessa, / che si moveva e d’una e d’altra parte, / sì come l’onda che fugge e s’appressa” (7-9), refers to the difficult and unstable nature of the path Dante and Virgil must navigate after crossing the threshold. This imagery of an undulating stone, akin to a shifting wave, captures the daunting and precarious ascent they undertake. Della Quercia’s depiction aligns with this notion, illustrating Dante’s struggle as he moves forward with visible determination.
It is necessary to address here what is missing from the image. Standing opposite to the embankment, Dante notices decorative carvings in the white marble: “esser di marmo candido e addorno / d’intagli sì, che non pur Policleto, / ma la natura lì avrebbe scorno” (Purg. 10.31-33). These carvings are created by God and, as Dante argues, no human artist could ever replicate or reach the majesty of God’s creations. Why does della Quercia choose to omit the most significant aspect of this canto and, more specifically, the most significant message of the entire Commedia concerning the arts? While reference to the carvings on the wall is a tool for Dante to surpass the efforts of the visual artist or sculptor, the omission of these carvings in della Quercia’s miniature could be a tool for the artist to disregard Dante’s notion that no mortal artist could compete with the divine or the poet. It is no surprise then that the canto to follow (Purgatorio 11) references the manuscript illuminator Oderisi da Gubbio and explores the excessive pride of the artist, an exploration of pride that contrasts with the penance depicted in the current miniature. Della Quercia, however, chose not to illustrate Purgatorio 11, possibly suggesting a deliberate focus on the themes of humility and repentance already presented in the preceding panels. By concentrating on the penance of both the pilgrim and the prideful souls, the miniature underscores the journey of spiritual transformation. The image of Dante at the gate of purgatory, burdened by the challenge of overcoming his pride, and the prideful souls carrying heavy stones serve as poignant symbols of the arduous path to redemption. These chosen scenes encapsulate the theme of humility as essential for purification, reinforcing the spiritual lessons Dante aims to convey.
Purgatorio 18
Dante speaks to two of the slothful souls; Virgil observes the two souls and the siren in Dante’s dream (London, British Library, Yates Thompson, fol. 98v)
The next miniature illustrates the slothful of canto 18, and Dante’s dream about the siren in canto 19. This is the pilgrim’s second purgatorial dream, following his dream of the eagle in Purgatorio 9, also illustrated by Priamo della Quercia. The left side of the miniature depicts the second half of canto 18 where Dante meets two souls guilty of the sin of sloth or acedia. The right side of the miniature, where Dante is seen crouching in sleep, represents his dream encounter with the horrid siren of canto 19 who distills the vices of the upper terraces of Mount Purgatory, the terraces to which he will transition after his encounter with the slothful.
The slothful are souls who were lazy in mortal life and are here sentenced to a penance that involves hurriedness and constant rush. The viewer’s gaze is immediately drawn to the center of the frame, where there are two souls speaking to Virgil. Della Quercia depicts the two souls in the miniature with an obvious inclination towards rapid movement: their legs are open as if in a stance of walking quickly, and they are leaning forward, with arms erect and with faces pressed forward to further suggest a determined effort to counterattack slothfulness. Virgil appears to have his right arm forward as if to tame the two souls and to suggest that they pause.
Della Quercia, an artist of the Renaissance, mirrors Petrarch’s interpretation of acedia as a less serious sin, a view that aligns with the period’s evolving perspectives on moral and psychological states. While Dante’s Purgatorio treats acedia as a grave sin that hampers spiritual progress, leading to languor and spiritual paralysis, Petrarch’s writings reflect a nuanced understanding of the vice. In his Canzoniere, Petrarch often describes moments of melancholy and indecision, suggesting that acedia can be a passive, almost involuntary condition tied to human frailty rather than an active rebellion against divine will. This softer view of acedia aligns with Renaissance humanist ideals, which emphasized the complexities of human nature and the potential for redemption. In Petrarch’s Secretum, Augustine characterizes acedia as a profound inner affliction, stating, “Habet te funesta quedam pestis animi, quam accidiam moderni, veteres egritudinem dixerunt.” This depiction highlights the humanist focus on understanding and addressing the multifaceted aspects of human experience, including moral and spiritual challenges (see Enrico Fenzi, “Qualche nota sull’Acedia di Petrarca”).
Image Credit: Courtesy of the British Library, Yates Thompson MS 36
Recommended Citation: Lettieri, Marco. “Visualizing Dante: Alfonso D’Aragona’s Manuscript Edition of the Divina Commedia.” Digital Dante. Columbia University Libraries, 2025. https://digitaldante.columbia.edu/image/lettieri-illuminations/
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