by Dante
Strangely enough, it was only eighty years ago that what has come to be considered an essential reference in verse 136 was brought to light by H. D. Austin (Aust.1936.1): Song of Solomon (1:5), “I am black but comely.” Once Auerbach (Auer.1946.1), pp. 485–88, also treated this as an evident borrowing, it began to be more widely noticed. (For discussion of this tercet [and these two contributions], see Hollander [Holl.1969.1], pp. 174–80, and Pertile [Pert.1991.2], pp. 5–6.)
Scartazzini (comm. to this tercet) resurrects Jacopo della Lana’s solution: the Church. In the twentieth century Circe became the favored choice, supported by the Virgilian (Aen. VII.11) and Ovidian (Metam. XIV.346) phrase, filia solis, describing her (see Barbi [Barb.1934.1], pp. 292–93; Scott [Scot.1977.1], p. 229). More recently, Guthmüller (Guth. 1999.1), pp. 248–50, takes issue with Pertile’s anti-Circean view. Pertile (Pert.1991.2), who mines commentary to the Canticle of Canticles by Guillaume de Saint-Thierry (pp. 7–18), had argued that for Dante, in this passage, at least, the sposa (bride) of the Canticle represents the human soul.
The Third Vatican Mythographer (XI.6) offers the following list of those to whom the name filia solis was given: Pasiphae, Medea, Circe, Phaedra, Dirce. For the first of these, Pasiphae, see Sarteschi (Sart.2000.2), referring to Servius as source; but see the previous article of Cassata (Cass.1971.3), who had arrived at this interpretation before her. Lanza (Lanz.1996.1), ad loc., accepts Cassata’s argument.
However, for still another candidate, see Hollander (Holl.1969.1), p. 191n.: If Dante knew either the Dittochaeon (Prudentius’s poeticized version of Scriptural narrative) or some digest or listing in which at least its first line is found (cf. the online catalogue of the holdings of the monastery at Melk, where it does in fact appear), he would have seen some version of the following: “Eva columba fuit tunc candida; nigra deinde / facta per anguinum malesuada fraude venenum” (Eve was at first white as a dove; she then became black because of the venomous serpent and its persuasive fraudulence). Hollander begins by citing Ovid (Metam. V.568–571) for the facies (face, aspect) of Proserpina turning, in the obverse of what is described here, from sadness to sunlit gladness; he then presses his case for Dante’s figural melding of Proserpina and Eve (a familiar enough equation, e.g., both women as sinful “eaters” [Hollander, p. 179]).
There are problems with all the solutions heretofore proposed except, perhaps, for the most generic one: human nature, or human beings in general (or, in Pertile’s formulation, the human soul). This last hypothesis is accompanied by only one slight problem: Dante has, in the two preceding tercets, exemplified human conduct in a male child; why should he, if his subject remains the same, suddenly switch to a generic female child? This would make a reader believe that the reference changes to feminine for a reason, a hidden identity that we are meant to puzzle out. And we have certainly puzzled. However, and to take only the two most popular modern readings, Circe and the Church, both of these seem flawed. Circe does not have the virginal aspect that these lines at least seem to confer upon the bella figlia. And she really doesn’t fit the context; she does not change from good to bad, from lovely to ugly, etc.; she changes others into something that they were not before. In order to support this reading, one must interpret Circe as changing the complexion of her captives, hardly what Dante seems to be interested in here. And what about the Church? As a possible interpretation, it gains support from its longevity (it first was broached by Jacopo della Lana), from a modern authority (Scartazzini), and from a skillful argument (Chiavacci Leonardi’s [Chia.1997.1], p. 763). However, if one reads the entire context as political and civil, as it surely seems to be, one finds that solution awkward. Indeed, it could be argued that Dante’s thoughts about the Church’s reform and revitalization outside a political context at the time he was writing the last parts of Paradiso (with the Church, by electing John XXII pope, having thereby confirmed its election of the Avignonian captivity) are never anything but grim. All we hear about the Church in upper paradise is given in thundering invectives against her failings. It does not appear that Dante spent much thought on ways in which it might be amended.
As for the proposal of Eve, it faces (as do all the others but that putting forward human nature) a formidable challenge: the present tense of the verb fa. If the verse read, in the original, fé, as Lanza suggests it might have (Lanz.1996.1, ad loc.), then the reference to Eve would be a lot more plausible. But such proposals must be advanced only with a sense of restraint. [return to English / Italian]
139–141. Perhaps because we are so near the Empyrean, many Dantists do not observe the clearly political interests of the following prophecy (vv. 142–148), which concludes the canto. Any sort of open-minded reading of this tercet makes it plain that the governance Dante has in mind is not that of a pope, is not ecclesiastical in any way. It is instructive to compare the similar moment in Purgatorio XVI.94–96 (and see the appended note). It is also instructive to study the lengthy and concerted gloss to this passage of Francesco da Buti (comm. to vv. 139–148), which interprets the entire prophecy as having to do with the corruption and necessary reform of the Church. That so gifted a commentator can go astray is a warning to us lesser readers. [return to English / Italian]
142–148. Tozer interprets: “The reckoning of the Julian calendar involved a yearly error in excess of somewhat less than a hundredth part of a day (la centesma), and this in Dante’s time amounted to an error of about nine days, so that January was advanced by so much towards the end of winter and beginning of spring. It was this which was corrected by the Gregorian calendar two centuries and a half later. The general meaning, then, of prima che, &c., is ‘before a very long time has passed’; but it is intended to be understood ironically as meaning ‘before long,’ ‘soon,’ somewhat in the same way as when we say ‘not a hundred miles off’ for ‘near.’ ” Whatever the time involved, it is clear that this is a major prophecy in the poem, in line with those found in Inf. I (“veltro”) and Purg. XXXIII (“DXV”), as Hollander (Holl.1969.1), pp. 180–91, has argued. One of the medieval meanings of “fortuna” was “storm at sea”—cf. Purg. XXXII, 116—and that clearly seems to be the image Dante uses here. The word for “fleet” (classe) is here used for the first time in Italian (according to the Grande Dizionario [Batt.1961.1]); it comes from Latin classis, the name for Ravenna as home of the Roman fleet and (for a time) capital of the empire. Within the context of the canto, Peter’s slam of the papacy also ends with a Roman thought (Scipio defeating Hannibal); it is not really surprising that Beatrice here should prophesy the coming of an emperor who will set things right. (See, among others, Scott [Scot.1977.1], pp. 232–33; Hollander [Holl.2001.1], pp. 142–44.) Only then will the human race steer a good course—and the papacy, too, get straightened out. [return to English / Italian]
142–143. See Moore (Moor.1903.1), pp. 95–101, for an extended presentation of what still coincides with the “standard” interpretation of this problematic expression. He shows that the Julian calendar, itself developed to adjust “seasonal slippage” of considerable extent, mismeasured the solar year by the one-hundredth part of a day. Richard Kay (Kay.2003.2) argues that, on the contrary, Dante refers to the hundredth part of a degree of sidereal movement. [return to English / Italian]
144. For medieval views that the stars were involved in shaping these major human events, see Woody (Wood.1977.1). [return to English / Italian]
145–148. The word fortuna, as only several earlier commentators have pointed out (e.g., the Anonimo Fiorentino and Tommaseo, both to vv. 145–148 [although both eventually hedge their bets]), here nearly certainly has the meaning “storm at sea.” In the nineteenth century, beginning with Andreoli (comm. to vv. 145–147), that became the dominant reading (and see Hollander [Holl.1969.1], pp. 181n., 190). Tommaseo (comm. to these verses) had previously cited an analogous passage (Purg. XXXII.116), “come nave in fortuna” (like a ship tossed in a tempest), which might have offered a clue to others. Perhaps the vastly diff
erent context of that passage (the nascent Church is being attacked by Roman emperors) is responsible for the failure of attention. However, for a recent and differing opinion, see Prandi (Pran.1994.1), p. 120, who does not consider pertinent the meteorological meaning of fortuna in this occurrence of the word; the same may be said of Antonelli (Anto.2002.1), pp. 422–23.
For notice of a similar and entirely relevant passage, see Scott (Scot.1996.1), p. 100, in his discussion of Purgatorio VI.76–78, pointing to Epist. VI.3: “… When the throne of Augustus is vacant, the whole world goes out of course, the helmsman and rowers slumber in the ship of Peter, and unhappy Italy, forsaken and abandoned to private control, and bereft of all public guidance, is tossed with such buffeting of winds and waves as no words can describe, …” (tr. P. Toynbee). See Tommaseo (comm. to these verses [and see the note to verse 148]), citing an earlier form of the image in a discussion of empire in Convivio IV.v.8. Kleinhenz (Klei.1986.2), pp. 229–30, thinks that the prophecy is of “a powerful temporal ruler.” Vazzana (Vazz.1989.1), p. 726, sees the storm at sea as representing the next and very angry emperor, “un nuovo Scipione, salvatore armato” (a new Scipio, a savior in arms). [return to English / Italian]
146. For some of the earlier presences (there are six of them in all) of the word poppa, signifying “poop deck,” see the note to Purgatorio XXX.58. And here prora, of which this is the fifth and final appearance (see Inf. VIII.29 and XXVI.141; Purg. XXX.58; Par. XXIV.68), joins its naval counterpart for a shared final appearance. [return to English / Italian]
148. The canto ends with a corrective return to the image of failed fruition (found in verse 126). We are promised that the eventual imperial reemergence, latent in history (one perhaps thinks of the model represented by kairos, the “fullness of time” in the coming of Christ during the Pax romana), will be, amazing even to Dante, fulfilled before our very eyes. This underlying reference had already been precisely expressed in Convivio IV.v.8: “Nor was the world ever, nor will it be, so perfectly disposed as at the time when it was guided by the voice of the one sole prince and commander of the Roman people [Augustus], as Luke the Evangelist testifies. Since universal peace reigned everywhere, which it never did before nor ever shall again, the ship of human society was speeding on an even course directly toward its proper port” (tr. R. Lansing). This is, “reading Dante through the lens of Dante” (see the last paragraph of the note to vv. 67–72), perhaps the single best gloss to this difficult passage, even if it appears to have been cited only by Tommaseo (see the note to vv. 145–148). Much has recently been written about Dante’s rejection of the values he espoused in his earlier works, particularly Convivio (see the notes to Par. VIII.34–39 and XVIII.91–93). While it seems nothing less than obvious, to any sort of objective examination that this is true, it surely needs also to be observed that such retrospective change of heart is not total. These notes refer to the minor works frequently, and to the Convivio most frequently (roughly one hundred times). In some respects it was the pre-study for Paradiso (see the note to Par. III.91–96), embodying several of its major themes and images (centrally, the intellectual banquet [the “bread of angels”]). Thus, while some of its matter may have been “heretical” from the standpoint of the author of the later poem, many of its judgments, particularly in the fourth treatise, in which the Convivio changed its course dramatically, now embracing Roman history as one of its new themes, are exactly as we find them in Paradiso (see Hollander [Holl.2001.1], pp. 86–90). [return to English / Italian]
PARADISO XXVIII
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1–3. This retrospective opening tercet reminds us that, if humanity is in parlous condition (cf. Par. XXVII.127–141, Beatrice’s lament for our lost innocence), the protagonist’s guide has prophesied better times to come (Par. XXVII.142–148). Dante’s gaze, in this canto, will also reflect a double focus, first fixing on Beatrice’s mirroring eyes, and then behind him on what they reflect, God and the angels, themselves as seen, we are perhaps to understand, reflected on the convex outer surface of the Crystalline Sphere (see the note to vv. 13–15). [return to English / Italian]
2. Contini (Cont.1968.1), p. 1002, insists on the importance of the word “vero” (true) and the concept of truthfulness to this canto; it is, in his opinion, its “parola chiave”; indeed a major portion of his lectura (pp. 1002–12) is a meditation in this vein. [return to English / Italian]
3. See Bosco/Reggio (comm. to this verse), who claim that we may read Beatrice here either allegorically (as “Theology”) or literally (as herself). They, doubtless wisely, prefer the second understanding; nonetheless, some readers may find it a bit disquieting to discover intelligent critics even raising the possibility, so near the final vision, of “poets’ allegory” being used as an interpretive tool for what the poet presents as being both actual and experienced. [return to English / Italian]
4–9. This return to the conditions of the experiment alluded to in the second canto (see the note to Par. II.94–105) shows how captious some readers are in their insistence that Dante deliberately presents that experiment as being literally impossible. Such a reader will once again object that, if the flame is behind the subject’s back, it cannot be reflected in a mirror set directly in front of him. And once again a less positivistic reader will realize that, if the flame is, for instance, only a few centimeters above the observer’s head (as it is in the reproduction of a fifteenth-century illustration of the experiment [see Boyd.1995.1, p. 15)]), the result will be as Dante says. In any case, this is a poem and not a physics lab. And yet we should realize that Dante only says “behind” (dopo, retro) the observer, without in any way suggesting that the flame might not be visible from a point directly in front of him. [return to English / Italian]
4. A doplerus was a torch formed by twisting two candles together. Picone (Pico.2002.7), p. 433, adduces Guinizzelli’s previous use (in the third stanza of his canzone “Al cor gentil,” well known to Dante) of a slightly different Italian form, doplero. [return to English / Italian]
8–9. See Bosco/Reggio (comm. to these verses). In our translation we have not followed their suggestion that the only exact “fit” would be between a note that is sung and also played in instrumental accompaniment. Aside from Gabriele (comm. to verse 9), who shrugs the verse away with the description “a very ugly comparison,” most commentators struggle with these lines, until Porena (comm. to these verses) sees that all previous attempts at suggesting resemblance (e.g., singing with its accompaniment, song with its meter, words with their music, etc.) are not as precise as the image to which this musical analogue is likened, the reflection of a thing in a mirror. [return to English / Italian]
10–12. Psaki (Psak.1995.1), p. 426, is eloquent defending Dante’s right to present Beatrice’s sexual being as somehow still being a part of her attraction for him. The problem with her argument is that this text is clearly past-oriented, the verb fece (past definite) in evident contrast with the present tense of Dante’s coinage imparadisa (imparadises). The girl toward whom he had been drawn sexually had turned out to be valuable for other and (in this poem) better reasons. [return to English / Italian]
12. For this use of the word corda (cord, here translated “snare”) as having only metaphorical valence as a “simbolo di virtù” (symbol of virtue), see Padoan (Pado.1974.1), p. 177n. He says that this usage is found also at Inferno XVI.106 (the famous, or infamous, “cord” that holds Dante’s garments together and is used by Virgil as an invitation and challenge to Geryon) and Purgatorio VII.114 (where Pedro III of Aragon is “girt with the cord of every virtue,” perhaps the only occurrence in which Padoan’s formulation really works). However, it is not clear that the word in any of these appearances has only a metaphorical sense.
In the thirteen presences of the word corda in the poem, five times it refers to a bowstring; three times, to the strings of musical instruments; once, to the cords on a whip. That leaves one other form of corda that seems identical with (or at least highly
similar to) Padoan’s three: Paradiso XXVI.49, the cords (corde) of love that draw us after it. And that seems to be the same (or a closely related) meaning as is found here. [return to English / Italian]
13–15. Exactly what Dante sees reflected in Beatrice’s eyes is a matter of considerable dispute, although some commentators have possibly begun to sever the Gordian knot. Torraca (comm. to this tercet) was perhaps the first to realize that God and his angels have not descended to this sphere from the Empyrean, if without specifying how it is exactly that they are seen here. Sapegno (comm. to vv. 13–16) improves that formulation, insisting that the protagonist sees God and the angels in the Empyrean through the perfectly transparent sphere of the Primum Mobile. This view has the benefit of keeping God and his angels where they belong (in the “tenth heaven”), but does not do very well by the poet’s insistence that he saw them “in quel volume” (in [or “on”] that revolving sphere). The fullest and best discussion of the problem, one that is aware of the pitfalls into which all his precursors have slipped, is that of Siro Chimenz (comm. to this tercet). He gets all the details right, but in the end confesses that he simply cannot come up with a solution. See the note to the opening tercet of this canto for an attempt at a resolution: Dante portrays the surface of the Primum Mobile as where the highest realities of all, God and His angelic partners in creation, are visible. In support of this hypothesis, we might consider the fact that the introductory simile itself speaks of a reflection (in Beatrice’s mirroring eyes). That, in turn, may be considered (if this hypothesis is correct) a reflection of a reflection. Possible confirmation is found in Paradiso XXX.106–108, where the Rose is presented as a self-reflection off the convex surface of the Primum Mobile.
