Florence Through the Eyes of Dante
Florence, Italy
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Dante Alighieri, one of the greatest poets of all time, composed The Divine Comedy after an extremely difficult event in his life. In 1300, after being elected to one of the highest offices in Florentine politics in his thirties, he would fall victim to political persecution only two years later. In 1302, Dante’s political rivals exiled him from Florence on dubious charges: his personal property was confiscated, and he would be burned at the stake if he ever returned to the city. For the rest of his life, Dante never stepped foot inside of Florence. That he managed to overcome such a misfortune, let alone write one of the greatest literary works of all time, is remarkable. After I read The Divine Comedy, I became fascinated by both the poem and the poet. So when I graduated from high school the following year, my family and I decided to visit Italy.
We arrived in Florence after staying in Milan and Venice. When my family ate Florentine bread during dinner the first evening, I couldn’t help but wonder why it was unsalted, as opposed to Milanese or Venetian bread. But then I remembered a passage from one of the most memorable chapters in The Divine Comedy, where Dante vividly describes the pain of his exile. Due to a medieval trade dispute between Florence and Pisa, Florentine bread was unsalted—unlike the salted bread in every other Italian city—so in exile, even the seemingly insignificant act of eating bread reminded Dante that he would never return to his beloved home:
Thou shalt have proof how savoureth of salt
The bread of others, and how hard a road
The going down and up another’s stairs.
I felt a deep connection to Dante’s sense of loss, and an even deeper admiration for how he transcended it. At that moment, I was no longer a passive observer of history, but an active participant, with Dante guiding me through the city he once lived in.
The following day, entering the Baptistery of St. John became far more significant than checking off an activity on the itinerary. It was the place where Dante was baptized into the Catholic faith. Climbing the dome of Florence's iconic cathedral—the Santa Maria del Fiore—became an opportunity to marvel at one of humanity’s most monumental achievements in engineering. Its architect, Filippo Bruneselleschi, constructed the gigantic dome using mutually reinforcing inner and outer domes, a revolutionary practice later followed during the construction of the US Capitol’s rotunda.
During my last evening in Florence, I watched the sunset atop the Piazzale Michelangelo, overlooking the entire city and the nearby mountains. The sun seemed to smile in benediction, illuminating the cathedral and the rest of the city skyline as it set. Amid the multitude of tourists at the bustling plaza, I noticed a German traveler reading the Divine Comedy, introduced myself as a Dante enthusiast, and began a conversation. It quickly became one of the highlights of my entire trip. We discussed our respective countries, our favorite sites in Italy, and our favorite books, but what I remember most was hearing his approach to traveling.
“For every new country I visit,” he told me, “I try to read an author from that country.”
This made me reflect on how reading Dante made my visit to Florence infinitely more meaningful. How a 700-year-old poem can spark a conversation between two tourists from completely different backgrounds. How we forge deeper bonds with a place when we connect with the people who’ve lived there. Read St. Augustine’s Confessions when you visit the Duomo di Milano, where one saint baptized another during Easter Vigil in 387. Or Virgil’s Aeneid when you visit Rome. That activity on your itinerary will blossom into a magnificent, life-changing experience.