Docela obyčejný text

When he finally stepped onstage, Langdon received a rousing round of applause from a crowd that

was standing room only.

“Meine Damen und Herren,” Langdon began, his voice booming over the loudspeakers.

“Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome.”

The famous line from Cabaret drew appreciative laughter from the crowd.

“I’ve been informed that our audience tonight contains not only Dante Society members, but also

many visiting scientists and students who may be exploring Dante for the first time. So, for those in

the audience who have been too busy studying to read medieval Italian epics, I thought I’d begin with

a quick overview of Dante—his life, his work, and why he is considered one of the most influential

figures in all of history.”

More applause.

Using the tiny remote in his hand, Langdon called up a series of images of Dante, the first being

Andrea del Castagno’s full-length portrait of the poet standing in a doorway, clutching a book of

philosophy.

“Dante Alighieri,” Langdon began. “This Florentine writer and philosopher lived from 1265 to

1321. In this portrait, as in nearly all depictions, he wears on his head a red cappuccio—a tight-fitting,

plaited hood with earflaps—which, along with his crimson Lucca robe, has become the most widely

reproduced image of Dante.”

Langdon advanced slides to the Botticelli portrait of Dante from the Uffizi Gallery, which stressed

Dante’s most salient features, a heavy jaw and hooked nose. “Here, Dante’s unique face is once again

framed by his red cappuccio, but in this instance Botticelli has added a laurel wreath to his cap as a

symbol of expertise—in this case in the poetic arts—a traditional symbol borrowed from ancient

Greece and used even today in ceremonies honoring poet laureates and Nobel laureates.”

Langdon quickly scrolled through several other images, all showing Dante in his red cap, red tunic,

laurel wreath, and prominent nose. “And to round out your image of Dante, here is a statue from the

Piazza di Santa Croce … and, of course, the famous fresco attributed to Giotto in the chapel of the

Bargello.”

Langdon left the slide of Giotto’s fresco on the screen and walked to the center of the stage.

“As you are no doubt aware, Dante is best known for his monumental literary masterpiece—The

Divine Comedy—a brutally vivid account of the author’s descent into hell, passage through purgatory,

and eventual ascent into paradise to commune with God. By modern standards, The Divine Comedy

has nothing comedic about it. It’s called a comedy for another reason entirely. In the fourteenth

century, Italian literature was, by requirement, divided into two categories: tragedy, representing high

literature, was written in formal Italian; comedy, representing low literature, was written in the

vernacular and geared toward the general population.”

Langdon advanced slides to the iconic fresco by Michelino, which showed Dante standing outside

the walls of Florence clutching a copy of The Divine Comedy. In the background, the terraced

mountain of purgatory rose high above the gates of hell. The painting now hung in Florence’s

Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore—better known as Il Duomo.

“As you may have guessed from the title,” Langdon continued, “The Divine Comedy was written in

the vernacular—the language of the people. Even so, it brilliantly fused religion, history, politics,

philosophy, and social commentary in a tapestry of fiction that, while erudite, remained wholly

accessible to the masses. The work became such a pillar of Italian culture that Dante’s writing style

has been credited with nothing less than the codification of the modern Italian language.”

Langdon paused a moment for effect and then whispered, “My friends, it is impossible to overstate

the influence of Dante Alighieri’s work. Throughout all of history, with the sole exception perhaps of

Holy Scripture, no single work of writing, art, music, or literature has inspired more tributes,

imitations, variations, and annotations than The Divine Comedy.”

After listing the vast array of famous composers, artists, and authors who had created works based

on Dante’s epic poem, Langdon scanned the crowd. “So tell me, do we have any authors here tonight?”

Nearly one-third of the hands went up. Langdon stared out in shock. Wow, either this is the most

accomplished audience on earth, or this e-publishing thing is really taking off.

“Well, as all of you authors know, there is nothing a writer appreciates more than a blurb—one of

those single-line endorsements from a powerful individual, designed to make others want to buy your

work. And, in the Middle Ages, blurbs existed, too. And Dante got quite a few of them.”

Langdon changed slides. “How would you like to have this on your book jacket?”

Ne’er walked the earth a greater man than he.

—Michelangelo

A murmur of surprise rustled through the crowd.

“Yes,” Langdon said, “that’s the same Michelangelo you all know from the Sistine Chapel and the

David. In addition to being a master painter and sculptor, Michelangelo was a superb poet, publishing

nearly three hundred poems—including one titled ‘Dante,’ dedicated to the man whose stark visions

of hell were those that inspired Michelangelo’s Last Judgment. And if you don’t believe me, read the

third canto of Dante’s Inferno and then visit the Sistine Chapel; just above the altar, you’ll see this

familiar image.”

Langdon advanced slides to a frightening detail of a muscle-bound beast swinging a giant paddle at

cowering people. “This is Dante’s hellish ferryman, Charon, beating straggling passengers with an

oar.”

Langdon moved now to a new slide—a second detail of Michelangelo’s Last Judgment—a man

being crucified. “This is Haman the Agagite, who, according to Scripture, was hanged to death.

However, in Dante’s poem, he was crucified instead. As you can see here in the Sistine Chapel,

Michelangelo chose Dante’s version over that of the Bible.” Langdon grinned and lowered his voice to

a whisper. “Don’t tell the pope.”

The crowd laughed.

“Dante’s Inferno created a world of pain and suffering beyond all previous human imagination, and

his writing quite literally defined our modern visions of hell.” Langdon paused. “And believe me, the

Catholic Church has much to thank Dante for. His Inferno terrified the faithful for centuries, and no

doubt tripled church attendance among the fearful.”

Langdon switched the slide. “And this leads us to the reason we are all here tonight.”

The screen now displayed the title of his lecture: DIVINE DANTE: SYMBOLS OF HELL.

“Dante’s Inferno is a landscape so rich in symbolism and iconography that I often dedicate an entire

semester course to it. And tonight, I thought there would be no better way to unveil the symbols of

Dante’s Inferno than to walk side by side with him … through the gates of hell.”

Langdon paced out to the edge of the stage and surveyed the crowd. “Now, if we’re planning on

taking a stroll through hell, I strongly recommend we use a map. And there is no map of Dante’s hell

more complete and accurate than the one painted by Sandro Botticelli.”

He touched his remote, and Botticelli’s forbidding Mappa dell’Inferno materialized before the

crowd. He could hear several groans as people absorbed the various horrors taking place in the funnelshaped

subterranean cavern.

“Unlike some artists, Botticelli was extremely faithful in his interpretation of Dante’s text. In fact,

he spent so much time reading Dante that the great art historian Giorgio Vasari said Botticelli’s

obsession with Dante led to ‘serious disorders in his living.’ Botticelli created more than two dozen

other works relating to Dante, but this map is his most famous.”

Langdon turned now, pointing to the upper left-hand corner of the painting. “Our journey will begin

up there, aboveground, where you can see Dante in red, along with his guide, Virgil, standing outside

the gates of hell. From there we will travel downward, through the nine rings of Dante’s inferno, and

eventually come face-to-face with …”

Langdon quickly flashed to a new slide—a giant enlargement of Satan as depicted by Botticelli in

this very painting—a horrific, three-headed Lucifer consuming three different people, one in each

mouth.

The crowd gasped audibly.

“A glance at coming attractions,” Langdon announced. “This frightening character here is where

tonight’s journey will end. This is the ninth ring of hell, where Satan himself resides. However …”

Langdon paused. “Getting there is half the fun, so let’s rewind a bit … back up to the gates of hell,

where our journey begins.”

Langdon moved to the next slide—a Gustave Doré lithograph that depicted a dark, tunneled

entrance carved into the face of an austere cliff. The inscription above the door read: ABANDON ALL

HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE.

“So …” Langdon said with a smile. “Shall we enter?”

Dan Brown - Inferno


Přeložte  tučně vyznačené části textu a vložte svůj překlad do komentáře k tomuto blogu (do nedělního večera).

zajímavý odkaz