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I need an explanation for this History question to help me study.THE POEM IS BEL

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I need an explanation for this History question to help me study.THE POEM IS BELLOW, please write the discussion board and reply to another one. I will provide the reply once the discussion is done. **PLEASE SEND THE RESPONSE AS A PDF!*DISCUSSION SUBJECT: Why does Dante use the symbolism of three for each of the important beings he meets at the end of each section of the Divine Comedy (Satan at the end of Inferno, Beatrice at the end of Purgatorio, and God at the end of Paradiso)? What is he saying about Satan, Beatrice, and God that they are all represented by the number three (the three faces of Satan, one yellow, one black and one red; the three colors of the garb of Beatrice, red for love, green for faith, and white for hope; and the three aspects of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit)? Why do you think he does this?Why do you think Dante focuses on the things he does in the poem? What does this say about his society?THE POEM:Divine Comedy, written by Dante AlighieriTranslated by Allen Mandelbaum, Latin translation by Jonathan MartinProvided by (Links to an external site.)INFERNOCanto XII 46-61“But fix your eyes below, upon the valley,for now we near the stream of blood, where thosewho injure others violently, boil.”O blind cupidity and insane anger,which goad us on so much in our short life,then steep us in such grief eternally!I saw a broad ditch bent into an arcso that it could embrace all of that plain,precisely as my guide had said before;between it and the base of the embankmentraced files of Centaurs who were armed with arrows,as, in the world above, they used to hunt.On seeing us descend, they all reined in;and, after they had chosen bows and shafts,three of their number moved out from their ranks;and still far off, one cried: “What punishmentdo you approach as you descend the slope?But speak from there; if not, I draw my bow.”Canto XII 100-112Now, with our faithful escort, we advancedalong the bloodred, boiling ditch’s banks,beside the piercing cries of those who boiled.I saw some who were sunk up to their brows,and that huge Centaur said: “These are the tyrantswho plunged their hands in blood and plundering.Here they lament their ruthless crimes; here areboth Alexander and the fierce Dionysius,who brought such years of grief to Sicily.That brow with hair so black is Ezzelino;that other there, the blonde one, is Obizzoof Este, he who was indeed undone,within the world above, by his fierce son.”Canto XXXIV 1-69“Vexilla regis prodeunt inferni [The banners of the King of Hell advance]toward us; and therefore keep your eyes ahead,”my master said, “to see if you can spy him.”Just as, when night falls on our hemisphereor when a heavy fog is blowing thick,a windmill seems to wheel when seen far off,so then I seemed to see that sort of structure.And next, because the wind was strong, I shrankbehind my guide; there was no other shelter.And now—with fear I set it down in meter—I was where all the shades were fully coveredbut visible as wisps of straw in glass.There some lie flat and others stand erect,one on his head, and one upon his soles;and some bend face to feet, just like a bow.But after we had made our way ahead,my master felt he now should have me seethat creature who was once a handsome presence;he stepped aside and made me stop, and said:“Look! Here is Dis, and this the place where youwill have to arm yourself with fortitude.”O reader, do not ask of me how Igrew faint and frozen then—I cannot write it:all words would fall far short of what it was.I did not die, and I was not alive;think for yourself, if you have any wit,what I became, deprived of life and death.The emperor of the despondent kingdomso towered from the ice, up from midchest,that I match better with a giant’s breadththan giants match the measure of his arms;now you can gauge the size of all of himif it is in proportion to such parts.If he was once as handsome as he nowis ugly and, despite that, raised his browsagainst his Maker, one can understandhow every sorrow has its source in him!I marveled when I saw that, on his head,he had three faces: one—in front-bloodred;and then another two that, just abovethe midpoint of each shoulder, joined the first;and at the crown, all three were reattached;the right looked somewhat yellow, somewhat white;the left in its appearance was like thosewho come from where the Nile, descending, flows.Beneath each face of his, two wings spread out,as broad as suited so immense a bird:I’ve never seen a ship with sails so wide.They had no feathers, but were fashioned likea bat’s; and he was agitating them,so that three winds made their way out from him—and all Cocytus froze before those winds.He wept out of six eyes; and down three chins,tears gushed together with a bloody froth.Within each mouth—he used it like a grinder—with gnashing teeth he tore to bits a sinner,so that he brought much pain to three at once.The forward sinner found that biting nothingwhen matched against the clawing, for at timeshis back was stripped completely of its hide.“That soul up there who has to suffer most,”my master said: “Judas Iscariot—his head inside, he jerks his legs without.Of those two others, with their heads beneath,the one who hangs from that black snout is Brutus—see how he writhes and does not say a word!That other, who seems so robust, is Cassius.But night is come again, and it is timefor us to leave; we have seen everything.”PURGATORIOCanto XII 52-84I think no man now walks upon the earthwho is so hard that he would not have beenpierced by compassion for what I saw next;for when I had drawn close enough to seeclearly the way they paid their penalty,the force of grief pressed tears out of my eyes.Those souls—it seemed—were cloaked in coarse haircloth;another’s shoulder served each shade as prop,and all of them were bolstered by the rocks:so do the blind who have to beg appearon pardon days to plead for what they need,each bending his head back and toward the other,that all who watch feel—quickly—pity’s touchnot only through the words that would entreatbut through the sight, which can—no less—beseech.And just as, to the blind, no sun appears,so to the shades—of whom I now speak—here,the light of heaven would not give itself;for iron wire pierces and sews upthe lids of all those shades, as untamed hawksare handled, lest, too restless, they fly off.It seemed to me a gross discourtesyfor me, going, to see and not be seen;therefore, I turned to my wise counselor.He knew quite well what I, though mute, had meant;and thus he did not wait for my request,but said: “Speak, and be brief and to the point.”Virgil was to my right, along the outside,nearer the terrace—edge—no parapetwas there to keep a man from falling off;and to my other side were the devoutshades; through their eyes, sewn so atrociously,those spirits forced the tears that bathed their cheeks.Canto XXIX 121-132Three circling women, then advancing, danced:at the right wheel; the first of them, so redthat even in a flame she’d not be noted;the second seemed as if her flesh and bonewere fashioned out of emerald; the thirdseemed to be newly fallen snow. And nowthe white one seemed to lead them, now the red;and from the way in which the leader chanted,the others took their pace, now slow, now rapid.Upon the left, four other women, dressedin crimson, danced, depending on the cadenceof one of them, with three eyes in her head.Canto XXX 22-57I have at times seen all the eastern skybecoming rose as day began and seen,adorned in lovely blue, the rest of heaven;and seen the sun’s face rise so veiled that itwas tempered by the mist and could permitthe eye to look at length upon it; so,within a cloud of flowers that were castby the angelic hands and then rose upand then fell back, outside and in the chariot,a woman showed herself to me; abovea white veil, she was crowned with olive boughs;her cape was green; her dress beneath, flame—red.Within her presence, I had once been usedto feeling—trembling—wonder, dissolution;but that was long ago. Still, though my soul,now she was veiled, could not see her directly,by way of hidden force that she could move,I felt the mighty power of old love.As soon as that deep force had struck my vision(the power that, when I had not yet leftmy boyhood, had already transfixed me),I turned around and to my left—just asa little child, afraid or in distress,will hurry to his mother—anxiously,to say to Virgil: “I am left with lessthan one drop of my blood that does not tremble:I recognize the signs of the old flame.”But Virgil had deprived us of himself,Virgil, the gentlest father, Virgil, heto whom I gave my self for my salvation;and even all our ancient mother lostwas not enough to keep my cheeks, though washedwith dew, from darkening again with tears.“Dante, though Virgil’s leaving you, do notyet weep, do not weep yet; you’ll need your tearsfor what another sword must yet inflict.”PARADISOCanto XXXIII 91-145I think I saw the universal shapewhich that knot takes; for, speaking this, I feela joy that is more ample. That one momentbrings more forgetfulness to me than twenty—five centuries have brought to the endeavorthat startled Neptune with the Argo’s shadow!So was my mind—completely rapt, intent,steadfast, and motionless—gazing; and itgrew ever more enkindled as it watched.Whoever sees that Light is soon made suchthat it would be impossible for himto set that Light aside for other sight;because the good, the object of the will,is fully gathered in that Light; outsidethat Light, what there is perfect is defective.What little I recall is to be told,from this point on, in words more weak than thoseof one whose infant tongue still bathes at the breast.And not because more than one simple semblancewas in the Living Light at which I gazed—for It is always what It was before—but through my sight, which as I gazed grew stronger,that sole appearance, even as I altered,seemed to be changing. In the deep and brightessence of that exalted Light, three circlesappeared to me; they had three different colors,but all of them were of the same dimension;one circle seemed reflected by the second,as rainbow is by rainbow, and the thirdseemed fire breathed equally by those two circles.How incomplete is speech, how weak, when setagainst my thought! And this, to what I such—to call it little is too much.Eternal Light, You only dwell withinYourself, and only You know You; Self-knowing,Self-known, You love and smile upon Yourself!That circle—which, begotten so, appearedin You as light reflected—when my eyeshad watched it with attention for some time,within itself and colored like itself,to me seemed painted with our effigy,so that my sight was set on it completely.As the geometer intently seeksto square the circle, but he cannot reach,through thought on thought, the principle he needs,so I searched that strange sight: I wished to seethe way in which our human effigysuited the circle and found place in it—and my own wings were far too weak for that.But then my mind was struck by light that flashedand, with this light, received what it had asked.Here force failed my high fantasy; but mydesire and will were moved already—likea wheel revolving uniformly—bythe Love that moves the sun and the other stars Requirements: about a paragraph and a half