Artwork of Dante and Beatrice

In July, I spotlighted seven artists who illustrated The Divine Comedy, and in September, I spotlighted nine artists who did scenes from the poem. Now let’s look at some of the artists who created works of Dante and Beatrice outside of the poem.

The Salutation of Beatrice (1859), by Pre-Raphaelite Dante Gabriel Rossetti, has long been one of my favorites. I’ve used it as a desktop picture and blog banner several times in the past. It perfectly captures the longing and gnawing at the heart of unrequited love, being so close to someone you adore so much yet unable to express your true feelings.

Mr. Rossetti was born Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti, but began using his final middle name as his first name in honor of the Supreme Poet. Throughout his artistic career, he painted many Dantean artworks.

I absolutely adore this painting. Entitled Incipit Vita Nova (The New Life Begins), it’s by Cesare Sacaggi and shows Dante and Beatrice as children. He painted it in 1903, in Pre-Raphaelite style, though he belonged to the school of Tortona (i.e., a generation of artists working in Tortona in the late 19th and early 20th centuries).

Dante’s First Meeting with Beatrice was painted by Pre-Raphaelite Simeon Solomon sometime between 1859–63. Surprisingly, I haven’t found many paintings or drawings of this famous meeting of May Day 1274.

Pre-Raphaelite Marie Spartali Stillman did another painting of that meeting in 1887, The May Feast at the House of Folco Portinari, 1274. For awhile, I was confused and thought that meeting took place in 1275, because Dante seems to say he was nine years old, very close to his tenth birthday. But you have to read the opening line of Chapter II of La Vita Nuova more carefully.

“Nine times already since my birth the heaven of light had circled back to almost the same point” means, in the heliocentric understanding of the Universe, that the Sun had made almost nine full circles around the Earth since his birth. From late May 1265 to May Day 1274 was just shy of nine such revolutions. Thus, Dante was actually eight and about to turn nine.

Salvatore Postiglione did this artwork, entitled simply Dante and Beatrice, either sometime in the second late 19th century or very early 20th. In so many paintings of Dante, he’s depicted holding a book and dressed in red.

Mr. Postiglione belonged to the Realist school of art.

Frederick Richard Pickersgill also entitled this artwork Dante and Beatrice. There isn’t a date I could find for this one either, but we know it was done sometime during the 19th century. Many of his works depicted scenes from history, literature, and religion.

Raffaele Giannetti painted Dante and Beatrice in the Garden of Boboli in 1877. This is one of a series of Dantean paintings he did in a Pre-Raphaelite style.

Here’s another Rossetti painting, from 1856 (reproduced in much larger scale in 1871), Dante’s Dream at the Time of the Death of Beatrice. The green clothes of the ladies symbolize hope; the flowers on the floor symbolize purity; and the red doves symbolize love. This is Rossetti’s largest artwork.

Rossetti also painted this, The First Anniversary of the Death of Beatrice, in 1853. It depicts the events of Chapter XXXIV of La Vita Nuova, when Dante is interrupted from drawing angels by an unexpected visit.

And yet another Rossetti painting! This was done in 1852, and is entitled Giotto Painting the Portrait of Dante. His initials and the date can be seen a bit left of center. It was meant to be part of a triptych, with the other panels depicting Dante as a Florentine magistrate, sending his former best friend Guido de’ Cavalcanti into exile, and at the court of Can Grande della Scala.

Giuseppe Bertini, part of the Verismo (Italian Realism) school, painted The Meeting of Dante and the Ilario Monks between 1844–45. It’s set in an Augustinian convent.

The famous Renaissance artist and art historian Giorgio Vasari painted Italian Humanists in 1544, depicting Dante and six other leading figures of the late Middle Ages. The others are Petrarch, Giovanni Boccaccio, Cino da Pistoia, Guido Cavalcanti, and Guittone d’Arezzo.

Scottish artist Sir Joseph Noel Paton painted Dante Meditating the Episode of Francesca da Rimini and Paolo Malatesta in 1852. Though he declined an invitation to join the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, Sir Paton nevertheless painted in that style.

Pre-Raphaelite Henry Holiday painted the simply-titled Dante and Beatrice between 1882–84, and travelled to Florence so he could see the Ponte Vecchio, the stone streets, and other real-life landmarks that existed in the Middle Ages firsthand. He also created clay models of some of the buildings.

Like Rossetti’s Salutation of Beatrice, this painting too perfectly captures the longing look of unrequited love, feeling a gnawing at your heart from being so close to someone you have such intense feelings for but unable to do anything about it.

Antonio Cotti, Dante in Verona, 1879.

Dante (He Hath Seen Hell), Jean-Léon Gérôme, 1864. Both this and the above painting are based on the belief Dante’s contemporaries had, that he’d truly visited Hell.

Annibale Gatti did several versions of Dante in Exile, in 1850, 1854, and 1858. His oeuvre was historical works.

Though a popular image of Dante with a hatchet face and aquiline nose persists, the Pre-Raphaelites gave him a more human, even romantic look. Modern forensic reconstruction bears out this warm, human appearance of an everyday fellow, even if he might not have been classically handsome.

Artwork of The Divine Comedy

In July, I spotlighted seven artists who illustrated The Divine Comedy, either in full or for one canticle. Now let’s look at some standalone art. Many of these pieces have been used in my Dantean posts.

Joseph Anton Koch, an Austrian-born painter of the Neoclassical and German Romantic schools, did four frescoes in Rome’s Casino di Villa Massimo, in what is now called the Dante Room, from 1827–29. The first fresco is entitled Dante nella Selva con le Fiere e Virgilio (Dante in the Forest with the Beasts and Virgil). Though the word fiere means “fairs” in Modern Italian, Dante used it to mean “beasts.”

The next fresco depicts Inferno as a whole, with illustrations of a few major episodes (e.g., the neutrals in Ante-Inferno, Charon with his ferry across Acheron, Minòs, Dante and Virgil on Geryon, Agnèl being turned into a snake, Francesca and Paolo, Cerberus, Count Ugolino).

All frescoes of Inferno copyright Sailko.

Koch’s third fresco, La Nave del Purgatorio, depicts Canto IX, one of my all-time favouritest in the book, at the top. There’s so much power, beauty, emotion, and tension jam-packed into its 145 lines. At the bottom is a boat of souls arriving in Purgatory. The right tells the story of Buonconte da Montefeltro, who died in battle and was fought over by the Devil and an angel. On the left are two angels vanquishing sin in the form of a snake.

Copyright Sailko.

Koch’s final fresco depicts souls from all seven terraces of Purgatory. The poem’s dramatic midway point, Canto XVI, is also shown, as Dante clings to Virgil in a thick, blinding cloud of smoke. Among the historical figures are Pope Adrian V and King Hugh Capet of France (my 34-greats-grandpap).

The ceiling, I Cieli dei Beati e l’Empireo (The Heavens of the Blessed and the Empyrean), was done by German Romantic painter Philipp Veit, and depicts Paradiso as a whole. People who appear here include Piccarda Donati, Empress Constance of Altavilla, Byzantine Emperor Justinian, Rahab of the Bible, St. Thomas Aquinas, Dante’s great-great-grandpap Cacciaguida, Roman Emperor Trajan, King David, St. Benedict of Nursia, St. Peter, St. John the Evangelist, Adam, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, and Mary.

All closeups copyright Sailko.


Jumping back to Canto I of Inferno, here we have French landscape and portrait painter Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot’s 1859 work Dante et Virgile. Monsieur Corot (who was creepily, unhealthily co-dependent on and joined at the hip with his parents until his fifties) presented this shortly after he did it, but then forgot about it for years. When he ran across it in his studio, he told a friend, “Why, it’s superb; I can hardly imagine that I myself did that!” Today it’s in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts, which means I probably saw it at least once.

Dutch–French Romantic painter Ary Scheffer did at least six versions of this artwork, Francesca da Rimini and Paolo Malatesta Appraised by Dante and Virgil, from 1822–55. The oil painting is known by various titles—Les ombres de Francesca da Rimini et de Paolo Malatesta apparaissent à Dante et à Virgile (The Louvre); De gedaantes van Paolo en Francesca aanschouwd door Dante en VergiliusThe Ghosts/Shades/Shadows of Francesca de Rimini and Paolo Malatesta Appear to Dante and VirgilDante and Virgil Encountering the Shades of Francesca da Rimini and Paolo Malatesta in the Underworld (Pittsburgh); Dante and Virgil Meeting the Shades of Francesca da Rimini and Paolo (Cleveland).

Here’s one I haven’t shown yet, La Barque de Dante, aka Dante et Virgile aux enfers (1855), the first major work by French artist Eugène Delacroix. It depicts Canto VIII of Inferno, as Phlegyas ferries Dante and Virgil across the River Styx, the City of Dis in the background. Today it hangs in the Louvre.

Between 1853–58, Édoard Manet did two copies of this painting, now in the Museum of Fine Arts in Lyon and the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC.

Italian painter Domenico Morelli (1823–1901) did this artwork, Dante e Virgilio nel Purgatorio, possibly around 1855. It depicts Canto II, as a light-enshrouded boat of newly-deceased souls draws close to the Mount of Purgatory, guided by an angel. In 1845, he did another piece drawn from the Commedia, L’angelo che Porta le Anime al Purgatorio Dantesco, which won an award. For the life of me, I’ve been unable to locate this other painting!

Here we see French painter Jean-Hippolyte Flandrin’s Le Dante, conduit par Virgile, offre des consolations aux âmes des envieux (Dante, led by Virgil, offers consolations to the souls of the envious) (1835). It depicts the Second Terrace of Purgatory in Canto XIII. I particularly like the look of compassion on Virgil’s face.

This painting is now in the Museum of Fine Arts in Lyon.

Pre-Raphaelite Greek–British painter Marie Spartali Stillman did many Dantean subjects, such as this 1887 work, Dante’s Vision of Leah and Rachel, depicting Dante’s third and final dream in Purgatorio. In the Earthly Paradise (i.e., the Garden of Eden) on top of the mountain, in Canto XXVII, he dreams of Leah gathering flowers by the river while Rachel gazes into the water.

And finally we have German painter Carl Wilhelm Friedrich Oesterley’s 1845 work Dante and Beatrice, depicting their contentious reunion in Canto XXX of Purgatorio. Dante is so overcome with shame and remorse, he’s unable to look her in the face.

And what do you know! By hashgacha pratit (Divine Providence), nine artists were featured, representing Dante’s lucky number!

IWSG—Writing mojo slowly returning


It’s time for another meeting of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group. The first Wednesday of each month, we share struggles, triumphs, quandaries, and fears.

I set a lowball goal of 15K for July Camp NaNo, and overachieved (as it were). This is far from what I was capable of pre-lockdown, but after failing JuNoWriMo with only 18K, this has restored my self-confidence somewhat. Most of my wordcount came from creative nonfiction in the form of blog posts instead of my actual WIP, but since most of them were Dante-themed, they’re related to my WIP.

If you’re interested, I now have all my Dantean posts linked in one page. You can find it on my pinned page “Index of posts by topic” above my header.

Somewhat over 5,000 words also came from the two essays I wrote as part of my aliyah (moving to Israel) application, about my journey to Judaism and my involvement in the community since becoming a member of the tribe. The process of writing and editing those documents made me revisit feelings and experiences I’d not had reason to think of in many years. These weren’t just brief letters, but mini-memoirs with a great deal of raw emotion, honesty, and self-reflection.

This wasn’t the strongest finish possible, and not the relatively straight line I used to have, but I did lose a lot of writing time watching the Olympics. I also spent some time doing my penultimate proof check of the book formerly known as The Very Next. Hopefully, I won’t find even tiny errors in the about to begin final check.

In addition to slowly starting to regain my writing mojo, I’m also getting back into my art. That was on complete hiatus during lockdown. So many people are unwilling or unable to understand how this hurt mental and emotional health. I’ll always have cyclical depression, and it’s functional even at its worst, but it only lasted so long and was triggered this latest time because of lockdown.

When my mental and emotional states are askew, my writing suffers. It took a really long time, but finally I’ve been given a hand out of the latest dark forest I found myself in, with the right path lost. “I cannot remember well in my mind/How I came thither, so was I immersed/In sleep, when the true way I left behind.”

To mark my return to art, I ordered a bunch of new pencils—a dozen Faber–Castell Polychromos, two Caran d’Ache Luminance (widely said to be the Rolls-Royce of colored pencils), six Coloursoft, and three Inktense. I ought to do an updated post showcasing my art supply collection.

There’s no question these precious objects will be divided among my checked and carryon luggage when I make aliyah. If I can’t find an approved suitcase big enough for my beautiful oil pastels, I’ll take them out of their big wooden case and put them in smaller travel cases. Their list price is $510, and I got them for around $200 in a huge end-of-year sale. No way I’d leave them behind!

Geometric and abstract art are my callings in drawing and painting, just as historical fiction and soft sci-fi are my callings in writing. It can be fun to dabble and try something new, but there will always be that one thing, or those two or three things, which you feel the most natural passion and draw towards. I doubt any writer could be successful in and feel a genuine connection to 10+ genres.

Another huge boost to my shattered self-confidence in July was finishing my memorization of Canto I of Inferno in the original Medieval Florentine Tuscan (136 lines). I’m going to make a video of myself reciting it on Dante’s 700th Jahrzeit (death anniversary) on 13 September. While I’ve begun working my way through Canto II, there’s no way I can have all 142 lines ready in such short time!

I’ve always had an elephantine memory and been good with languages, but I still am in awe I really managed to not only memorize such a long piece, but in another language.

How has your writing been going? Did you do Camp NaNo? Have you ever lost your writing mojo and struggled to regain it?

Illustrations to The Divine Comedy

The Giant Antaeus Carries Virgil and Dante to the Ninth Circle of Hell, Bartolomeo Pinelli

Since the Commedia is such a visual book, it’s only natural many artists over the centuries have taken up the task of illustrating it. This post is about artists who illustrated the entire book (or an entire canticle), not artists who merely did one piece or a few pieces based on it.

1. Gustave Doré (né Paul Gustave Louis Christophe Doré) is probably the first artist most people think of, since his 136 woodcuts from the 1860s are so internationally famous. For this reason, the visuals in the 1911 Italian feature L’Inferno were based on Doré’s work. He also illustrated many other books and plays, as well as the Bible. My edition of Don Quixote has his 377 woodcuts.

Of all the artists who’ve illustrated the Commedia, Doré is one most commonly found in print. If you want illustrations by one of these other artists, you’ll probably have to spend a lot of money, and might not easily find such a volume.

Inferno I

Inferno III

Inferno XXII

Purgatorio XVI

Purgatorio I

Purgatorio V

Purgatorio XXXII

Paradiso III

Paradiso XX

Paradiso XXXI

2. Bartolomeo Pinelli did 145 prints during the first third of the 19th century. Though Doré’s art is more famous and evocative, I really like Pinelli’s illustrations, since they’re so cute and charming. It’s a shame they’re not better-known and more widely available. Sometimes simpler art speaks more powerfully or personally than detailed, sophisticated art.

Inferno III

Inferno XXXIII

Inferno frontispiece

Inferno XVII

Canto XIII, pl. 32 from L'Inferno di Dante (Dante's Inferno) - Bartolomeo Pinelli | FAMSF Search the Collections

Inferno XIII

Canto I, pl. 2 from L'Inferno di Dante (Dante's Inferno) - Bartolomeo Pinelli | FAMSF Search the Collections

Inferno I

La Commedia 'sublime' di Bartolomeo Pinelli | Istituto Centrale per la Grafica

Inferno III

Inferno XXXIV

Canto IX, pl. 26 from L'Inferno di Dante (Dante's Inferno) - Bartolomeo Pinelli | FAMSF Search the Collections

Inferno IX

Purgatorio II

3. William Blake received a commission for illustrating the Commedia in 1826, and produced 102 watercolours “during a fortnight’s illness in bed.” They were intended to be turned into engravings, but only seven made it to the proof state, and only a few watercolours were completed before Blake’s August 1827 death. He was said to have spent one of his last shillings on a pencil to continue working on this ambitious project.

I’d venture to say Blake is probably the next-best-known illustrator after Doré.

Inferno XXV

Inferno III

Inferno V

Inferno I

Inferno X

Paradiso XXV

Purgatorio XXXI

Purgatorio IX

Inferno XXXIII

Inferno XXIX

4. Stradanus (also known as Giovanni Stradano, Jan van der Straet, and Johannes Stradanus) created his series of sepia-toned prints between 1587–88, probably inspired by his friendship with exiled Florentine poet and politican Luigi Alamanni (1495–1556). Many members of the Alamanni family are mentioned in commissions for and dedications to prints. Stradanus’s work combines Italian Mannerism with Flemish style.

Unfortunately, Stradanus never completed this project, and only illustrated Inferno.

Inferno I

Inferno II

Inferno III

Inferno VI

Inferno VII

Inferno XIII

Inferno XXVIII

Inferno XXXIII

Inferno XXXIII

Inferno VIII

5. Sandro Botticelli was perhaps one of the earliest artists to do illustrations for a printed edition (as opposed to the illuminated manuscripts produced prior to the invention of the printing press). Goldsmith Baccio Baldini did the engravings of Botticelli’s artwork for a 1481 printing, but the results weren’t successful, as noted by art historian and artist Giorgio Vasari.

Since good artists learn from their mistakes and never let one flop get them down, Botticelli returned to the drawing board and created new illustrations between about 1485 and 1495, possibly until 1505 at the latest estimate. These 92 full-page drawings are considered among his very finest work, though only four are fully-coloured, and most are silverpoint, many worked over in ink.

For many years, this priceless book was lost. It finally resurfaced in the late 19th century, in the Duke of Hamilton’s Library and Vatican Library, thanks to art historian Gustav Friedrich Waagen.

Map of Hell

Inferno XVIII

Inferno XV

Inferno X

Inferno XXXI

Paradiso XXX

Inferno XXXIV

Purgatorio X

Purgatorio XXXI

Inferno XXXIV

6. Master of the Pico della Mirandola Pliny, or Master Pico (whose real name I can’t find), illustrated the 1491 Venice edition with 101 woodcuts. While they have an undeniable folksy charm and sweet simplicity, they do appear kind of crude and unrefined next to the other artwork profiled here.

Contrary to every other artist I’ve come across, and historical evidence of Roman grooming habits, Master Pico depicts Virgil with a beard. He also depicts people in Purgatory as naked, something which also contradicts all other artists and what Dante himself writes. And as though readers can’t figure it out by themselves, he puts the first initial of each main character above their heads.

Purgatorio XXX

Purgatorio XI

Purgatorio X

Purgatorio XXI

Inferno XXXIV

Inferno XXV

Inferno II



Inferno IX

7. Giovanni di Paolo created 75 images for an illuminated manuscript of Paradiso, an honour he was chosen for on account of his 1441 appointment as rector of the painter’s guild. Two other artists, who are still unidentified, did the artwork for the other two canticles.

Paradiso VI

The Wood of the Self-Murderers

English artist William Blake created the above artwork, The Wood of the Self-Murderers: The Harpies and the Suicides, between 1824–27, using ink, watercolour, and pencil. It’s part of a series which ended up as Blake’s final watercolour set before his August 1827 death.

In 1824, Blake’s painter friend John Linnell (1792–1882) commissioned him to create a series of paintings based on The Divine Comedy. According to legend, Blake, then in his late sixties, easily churned out 100 watercolour drafts “during a fortnight’s illness in bed.” Most had no colours, and only seven were gilded.

In March 1918, Linnell’s estate sold this artwork for £7,665 through Christie’s, to the British National Art Collections Fund. A year later, they gave it to London’s Tate Gallery, where it’s been on display ever since.

Dante and Virgil Penetrating the Forest, also by Blake

The scene depicted comes from Canto XIII of Inferno, in the Second Ring of the Seventh Circle of Hell. The Seventh Circle contains people guilty of various kinds of violence, including things most modern people wouldn’t consider violence at all, like suicide and gay relationships.

But in the Middle Ages, suicide was considered not only a sin, but an even greater act of violence than murder, since it involved a rejection of the gift of life. Even into the 20th century, many jurisdictions had laws against suicide, and people caught attempting suicide could be sent to jail and were treated like terrible, immoral criminals.

Thankfully, today we have a much more compassionate, scientific understanding of depression and mental health issues, and many help lines and organisations devoted to preventing suicide and providing counseling. The darkest night of the soul shouldn’t last forever.

Harpies in the Forest of Suicides, 1861 engraving by Gustave Doré

Anyway, this forest is haunted by Harpies, half-human, half-bird creatures. In Dante’s imagining, they eat the leaves of oak trees in which suicides are entombed. The poor souls are condemned to an eternity of being preyed on by Harpies and a zombie-like existence. They also can only speak and mourn when their trees are damaged or broken as punishment for expressing grief through suicide.

To rub even more salt into their wounds, the souls of these suicides are also not even allowed to return to their physical bodies after Judgment Day. Instead, they must hang their bodies on the trees, as an eternal reminder of what they denied themselves and how they denied their bodies in their final act of mortal life.

Another engraving by Doré, with the same subject

In Blake’s artwork, Dante and Virgil are walking through the forest when Dante rips a twig from a bleeding tree, and hears the words, “Why are you tearing me?” Just prior to this, Virgil warned him that if Dante breaks off any twigs, “what you are thinking now will break off too.” But Dante was intrigued by all the phantom wailing, and had to get to the bottom of it.

The blood then turns dark around the wound, and the voice continues, “Why do you rip me? Have you no sense of pity whatsoever? Men were we once, now we are changed to scrub; but even if we had been souls of serpents, your hand should have shown more pity than it did.”

Dante drops it in shock and horror upon hearing this, and Virgil placates the suicide by saying Dante wouldn’t have done it if he’d let himself believe what he (Virgil) once wrote, “but the truth itself was so incredible, I urged him on to do the thing that grieves me.” He then asks the suicide to identity himself so Dante might make amends.

Copyright Limonov44 at WikiCommons

The suicide is Pietro della Vigna (1190–1249), pictured above, a jurist, diplomat, scholar, legislative reformer, proponent of science and the arts, and chancellor, secretary, and close advisor to Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II. Other people at court, jealous of his success, falsely accused him of being an agent of the Pope and richer than the Emperor. Pietro was thrown in prison and had his eyes ripped out.

Pietro, who killed himself by banging his head against a wall, is presented as a heroic suicide. However, some historians believe he was truly tortured to death or died because of the blinding.

Der Hof Kaiser Friedrichs II. zu Palermo (The Court of Emperor Frederick II in Palermo), Arthur von Ramberg, 1865

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (U.S.), 1-800-273-8255
Samaritans (U.K.), 116 123
Canadian resources
Suicide Prevention Australia
European resources
International resources