“To run its course through smoother water
the small bark of my wit now hoists its sail,
leaving that cruel sea behind.” (Purgatorio I)
another gate! it starts in-between: ante-purgatory, like a waiting room’s waiting room where the excommunicates and the late-repentant dwell, still clasped to earthly affairs and subject to weather, echoing the zone
occupied by the ambivalent angels at the wide entrance to hell. as pictured in Blake’s lyrically muscular rendering above, there’s a less catastrophic gate, three steps, and an angelic custodian hovering at the top. the steps are white, darker than deep purple, red.
the radiance of the custodian’s face, so bright Dante can scarcely stand to look at it, forecasts what’s to come, preparations and purgations towards dazzlingly bright light. do ask him humbly to unbolt the gate…