A central figure—humble, upright, yet charged with expectancy—stands at the brink of change. Dalí renders him with slender, lengthened contours, his posture conveying both humility and readiness. Around him, shadowy silhouettes emerge: penitents moving in subtle procession, their limbs stretched and softened, their outlines dissolving into the surrounding atmosphere as though their sins, like smoke, are lifting away.
Architecture and landscape blur in Dalí’s vision. Arches dissolve into vertical beams of light, rocks give way to drifting haze, and the horizon tilts upward as if the earth itself is leaning toward transcendence. Fine engraving lines structure the figures with precision, while color washes soften edges, creating an effect of souls suspended in transition.
In this canto, Dalí distills the text’s core: the soul’s encounter with its own burden, the tender moment of surrender, and the faint glimmer of ascent. The result is an image of introspective quiet, where form hovers between being and becoming, and the boundary between the earthly and the divine grows thin.
