Paradiso (The Divine Comedy series Book 3)

by Dante

  For a different view, see Hollander (Holl.2001.1), pp. 126–27, pointing out that, as in the Vita nuova, Beatrice in Heaven may indeed be addressed with tu, “only when she is at one with God, where and when there are no human hierarchies.” The fact would seem to be that these eleven second-person-singular pronouns and verb endings (in only twelve verses) do indicate a more personal sense of affection, in a sort of uncontrolled outburst of personal enthusiasm, allowable now that they are on an equal footing as lovers of one another in God. We cannot imagine Jesus addressing Mary as Voi. [return to English / Italian]

  79–81. For the figural equation, Beatrice as Dante’s “Christ,” see Hollander (Holl. 1969.1), p. 261. After calling attention to the poet’s last words to Virgil in the poem (Purg. XXX.51), “Virgilio a cui per mia salute die’mi” (Virgil, to whom I gave myself for my salvation), he then continues as follows, discussing this tercet: “At Dante’s beginnings we do well to have in mind his endings, and vice versa. It is Beatrice, the figure of Christ, who brings Dante to salvation; it is Virgil who brings Dante to Beatrice. Dante does not (and did not in the Vita nuova) use the word salute lightly. His last words to Virgil give him the highest function anyone less than Christ can perform, and that is to bring another to Christ.” In this vein, see Scott (Scot.1973.1), p. 570. See also Iannucci (Iann.1995.2), p. 483 (citing his earlier article [Iann.1979.1]), who also notes Beatrice’s Christlike attributes in this passage (as, once again, does Scott [Scot.2002.1], p. 486). This has become more or less the standard interpretation of those considered by some in Italy to be part of a so-called scuola americana, “the American school (of Dante studies).” And see Pasquini (Pasq.2001.1), p. 254, remarking on the “near-heterodoxy” of these verses.

  To be honest, this reading seems so obvious that one feels apologetic for harping on it. However, to understand what blinders Dantists accustomed themselves to wearing whenever they came near the border of so “blasphemous” a theologized poetic for the poem, see the allegorizing glosses of such as Benvenuto da Imola (comm. to this tercet). In his reading (and he is far from being alone in it), Beatrice becomes “theology” who comes down to this “hell on earth” (our world, not Limbo) in order to bring her message to all mortals (including, we assume, Dante Alighieri). This is so flagrantly wrongheaded that one has to admire Benvenuto at least for his stubbornness in not yielding to a Christological interpretation of Beatrice nor to a personal one of Dante, who, in his treatment, is only a stand-in for all humankind. This, one of the most personal moments of the Commedia, is thus turned into a kind of simpleminded version of an uplifting moral tale, one only implausibly attributed to the genius of Dante. Reviewing responses to this passage in the DDP, one finds the word “Christ” only in Singleton’s commentary (to verse 91) of 1975. How did (or does) anyone read this passage and not think of Christ’s descent into Hell and His subsequent Harrowing of the Hebrew saints? [return to English / Italian]

  85. The typological equations (Beatrice = Moses; Dante = the Hebrews) once again align Beatrice with Christ. See the note to verses 79–81. Here, as there, the commentators seem to want to avoid such “blasphemous” associations. For the Exodus as the poem’s controlling trope, see Singleton (Sing.1960.1). [return to English / Italian]

  88–90. As one who had sinned against Beatrice once before, Dante knows whereof he speaks. He thus prays that she will help him remain pure of soul for the rest of his time on earth when he is again without her. When he wrote these lines, he probably did not realize how brief that time would be. [return to English / Italian]

  91–93. This is the final tercet devoted to the interaction of the two lovers in the poem. Her final smile yields to her returning her attention to the source of all being. [return to English / Italian]

  94–99. Bernard summarizes the tasks that lie ahead for Dante: He must contemplate this resplendent gathering (splendore) to prepare himself to see, up through the ray (raggio), the source of the irradiating light (luce). See the note on Dante’s light physics, Paradiso XXIII.82–84. [return to English / Italian]

  94. Dante uses the Latinism sene (from senex) again. See the note to verse 59. And see Purg. XXX.17 for its Latin form. [return to English / Italian]

  96. A disputed verse. Some believe the prayer is Beatrice’s, the love Bernard’s; others think that both are Beatrice’s. See Scartazzini (comm. to this verse) for a summary of the two positions and a strong vote for the first solution, but eventual openness to the second. [return to English / Italian]

  97–99. Bernard’s suggestion might indicate that one of Dante’s unasked questions (see the note to vv. 56–57) had to do with the population of the Rose. [return to English / Italian]

  102. Bernard names himself, having sounded like a lyric poet of Dante’s youthful acquaintance talking about his lady, associating himself, however, not with a Giovanna, a Lagia, or a Selvaggia, but with the Blessed Virgin Mary. Everything about this moment comes as a surprise. We did not anticipate a new guide in the poem, if Dante surely decided that he wanted to have a chance to bid farewell to Beatrice, as well as to present her as being back in bliss. In addition, perhaps for reasons reflecting his personal devotion (for a possible confirmation, see Par. XXIII.88–89), he wanted a guide more associated with Mary for this highest part of the poem (not that Beatrice would have been in any way unqualified); perhaps he also felt a numerological tug in deciding to have a trinitarian third instructor. Still, one sympathizes with those who feel that there is something ungainly about the substitution of Bernard for Beatrice. (See the discussion in Botterill [Bott.1994.1], pp. 64–115.) And no one who defends the advent of a new guide can argue that it has been at all prepared for, as was Beatrice’s (as early as Inf. I.121–126). Pertile (Pert.2001.1), pp. 67–69, goes so far as to argue, if not particularly convincingly, that Dante had planned (and the first sign of such a plan revealed itself, according to him, in Inf. II.24–25, with the indication of Mary, Lucy, and Beatrice) to have Beatrice replaced by Lucy. Whatever one thinks of that solution, one must admit that there is a problem here, one that a few strokes of the quill could have avoided. However, see Mazzoni (Mazz.1997.1), who insists on the influence of Bernard’s work (or that which Dante considered Bernardine) behind the text of the poem from its outset. And see Iannucci (Iann.1995.2), pp. 481–82, for the notion that the surprise of Bernard’s presence is only a tactic to alert us to his importance for Dante. A series of essays discussing the reflection of several of Bernard’s writings in the Commedia is found in Aversano (Aver.1990.1). For a summary of Bernard’s importance for Dante and of the presence of his writing behind the cantos in which he appears, see Carroll (comm. to vv. 118–142). For the possible influence of Bernard’s De diligendo Deo on the structure of the entire poem, see Hollander (Holl.1976.2, repr. Holl.1980.1, pp. 33–38). And see the notes to Purgatorio XXVII.139–141 and Paradiso XXXIII.127–132. For a compact treatment of Bernard’s life, see Raoul Manselli, “Bernardo di Chiaravalle, santo,” ED (I [1970]), pp. 601a–5b, which, however, skirts the question of the actual literary influence of Bernard on Dante. For an introductory treatment in English, one may, in addition to Botterill, consult Gardner (Gard.1913.1), pp. 111–43.

  Dante does not refer to Bernard’s urgent and frequent support of the Second Crusade (1145–1147) in his preaching. For a study of this crusade, inevitably linked to the adjective “disastrous,” see Constable (Cons. 1953.1). Dante’s silence is perhaps not surprising, given its failure.

  Bernard names himself only at the end of his speech (vv. 94–102). The impression of humility is perhaps less pronounced than when similar behavior was exhibited by both Thomas Aquinas (Par. X.82–99) and Cacciaguida (Par. XV.88–135), who indeed speak longer before naming themselves. Nonetheless, his comportment is clearly intended to portray his modesty. [return to English / Italian]

  103–111. This long but essentially simple simile links Dante once again with a pilgrim arriving at his destination, in this case Rome, where the Veronica, a most holy rel
ic, was preserved. Veronica was supposedly a woman of Jerusalem who offered Jesus a cloth (sudarium) to wipe the blood and sweat from His face on the way to Calvary. His features remained on the cloth, which was eventually taken to St. Peter’s in Rome, where it was displayed to the faithful on certain occasions. That her name was actually Veronica is doubtful, since her name itself means “true likeness” (vera icona). The whole history of this image (and of other relics like it, particularly the Shroud of Turin) is controversial. But for Dante, there was not even a question of its authenticity. See his earlier reference, at the climactic moment of the Vita nuova (XL.1), to pilgrims on their way to Rome to see the Veronica, a moment fulfilled here in this poem by Dante’s pilgrimage to “that Rome where Christ Himself is Roman” (Purg. XXXII.102).

  See Lansing (Lans.1977.1), pp. 137–40, for consideration of three consecutive similes in this canto (see also vv. 31–40 and 43–48) dedicated to the theme of completion of a pilgrimage. [return to English / Italian]

  103. Croatia, for Dante’s audience, represented a very distant and “foreign” place, as in the more recent expression “from here to Timbuktu.” [return to English / Italian]

  109–111. See Singleton (comm. on these verses): “Bernard’s two principal qualifications to serve as final guide in the journey stem from his special devotion to the Virgin Mary and from his fame as one dedicated to mystical contemplation with special emphasis on the affective movement of the mind as it rises to God, an emphasis which later Franciscan thought and devotion adopted and stressed. It was believed that Bernard, in such meditation, had a foretaste of the peace of Heaven. In the Meditationes piissimae (XIV, 36–37), ascribed to Bernard, there is a rhapsody on the joys of contemplation. See also Bernard, Sermones in Cantica Canticorum, XXIII, 15–16. As noted above, Dante in his Letter to Can Grande (Epist. XIII, 80) refers the reader of his Paradiso to Bernard’s work De contemplatione.” [return to English / Italian]

  112–117. Dante, in fixing his gaze on Bernard, who has descended from his seat in the Rose upon Beatrice’s urging (see verse 66), has fixated on a lesser version of the good and true than that which Bernard will eventually bring him to see. At least for now the Virgin is the best sight available to him, and she is at the very highest point, in the top row of the stadium-rose. [return to English / Italian]

  115–117. How many souls are seated in the Rose? Dante keeps his counsel on that question. The Apocalypse numbers the saved as 144,000 (Apoc. 7:1, 7:4; 14:1, 14:3). Landino (comm. to Par. XXX.133–138) reports that some say that the number of blessed is equivalent to the number of fallen angels, while others are of the opinion that it is the same as that of the remaining good angels. (For Dante’s previous opinion on a related matter, see the note to Paradiso XXIX.50.) Landino concludes that only God knows the number of angels, as Aquinas says. [return to English / Italian]

  118–142. This passage is seamless, a single action, Dante’s raising his eyes (verse 118) at Bernard’s command and seeing Mary, surrounded by angels and admired by the rest of the blessed. It is like a painting of the Virgin seated in glory. However, since it is only like a painting, the poet introduces his central scene with a double simile, each element of which begins “e come.”

  Until now, we have been shown the Empyrean with a long-range perspective, seeing all the Rose as a unit divided into many parts. Now we focus on a single part of it and are presented with a new sense of graduated selectivity, in which the things that are nearest Mary are brightest, while those farthest from her gradually fade from view. [return to English / Italian]

  118–123. The first simile pairs Mary with the brightness of the Sun at its rising, as compared with the entire rim of the sky. We are asked to imagine a 360° view: The east and the parts of the horizon nearest it are brightest, the west, where the Sun lit up the horizon the evening before, the darkest. As we will see, this arrangement is perfectly mirrored in the varying brightness of parts of the Rose. [return to English / Italian]

  124–129. In the second simile, the brightness at the locus of the rising Sun is contrasted with the diminished light on either side of it, and is compared either to all the Rose or to Mary (see the note to verse 127).

  Once again, as in the first of these conjoined similes (vv. 118–123), the varied lightness in parts of the Rose is insisted on. [return to English / Italian]

  124. Rhyme forces Dante into synecdoche, the part temo (yoke-beam, or chariot-pole [i.e., that to which the horses are attached]) for the whole (chariot). For other occurrences of this word (timone in modern Italian), see Purgatorio XXII.119; XXXII.49, 140, 144; Paradiso XIII.9. [return to English / Italian]

  125. We last heard of Phaeton, a frequent presence in the poem, in Paradiso XVII.3 (see the note to XVII.1–6). Why Dante wants to recall that tragic adventure here is not immediately evident. [return to English / Italian]

  127. This arresting oxymoron, “peaceful oriflamme” (or “battle flag of peace”), has a varied history in the commentaries. Most trace its origin to the French royal battle standard. Scott (Scot.2002.1), p. 488, points out that, whereas many contemporary commentators say that this banner of the French kings, maintained at St. Denis, was red, it was actually red and gold, as its Latin derivation makes plain (auri fiamma [golden flame]). See Oelsner’s brief exposition (comm. to this verse), which, however, reverses the more usual relations between the red and the gold: “The Oriflamme (aurea flamma) was the standard given by the Angel Gabriel to the ancient kings of France, representing a [red] flame on a golden ground. No one who fought under it could be conquered. The golden glow of heaven is the invincible ensign not of war but peace.”

  Most who write about this verse play up the opposed values of the two elements in this image, Mary’s peaceful conquest as opposed to the French (or any) king’s military exploits. However, we should remember that this gathering, too, is an army, if now a triumphant one, with all but a final battle (that of the returning Christ against Antichrist at the end of days) behind it. (For a view in absolute disagreement with this one, see Porena [comm. to this verse].) While there is some dispute about whether the oriafiamma is Mary alone, all the Rose (including her), or some portion of the blessed souls distinct from her, see Trucchi (comm. to vv. 124–129) for an interesting solution. The oriafiamma is the entire Rose, Mary is the golden flame, the rest of the blessed (the petals of the “rose”) the red background. While this is not in accord with the minority explanation of what is figure, what background, it surely is worth serious consideration for its complete explanation of all the elements in the image. However, it is clear that Mary is the light referred to as the Sun in both similes. She is at the center (nel mezzo) of things as the protagonist now sees them. [return to English / Italian]

  130–132. Around Mary, the central object in this picture, the protagonist sees an assemblage of angels, apparently of all nine orders, since they seem differentiated from one another in how bright they shine and in what they do. [return to English / Italian]

  136–138. The topos of the inexpressibility of great beauty, now that it is no longer needed for Beatrice (see the note to Par. XXX.22–27), is made to accompany Mary. [return to English / Italian]

  137. Dante’s verb imaginar (referring to the mind’s ability to receive and store images received from outside it) is quite different from the more modern instance of the word, with its clear reference to invention of things not previously seen by the imaginer. See the note to Purgatorio XVII.13–18. [return to English / Italian]

  139–142. The canto concludes with Bernard, famous as the “lover-poet” of Mary, gazing, alongside her newest “lover-poet,” Dante Alighieri. His awareness of Bernard’s affection for her makes his own all the more ardent.

  For a recent discussion of whether or not Dante is to be considered “a mystic,” see Botterill (Bott.2003.1), who is mainly in the affirmative. It is difficult to believe that the final cantos of the poem, so obviously reflective of a great mystic, St. Bernard, and so triumphantly presenting a fin
al vision, can be thought of as separate from the tradition of Western mysticism. At the same time, it is difficult to think of the earlier ninety-seven cantos of the poem as being essentially mystical in character. Thus the best answer seems to be “no” and “yes”—in that order. But see Scott (Scot.2004.2), pp. 407–8, for a cautious denial of even this much mysticism in Dante’s poetry. One supposes that some (who find Dante’s poetry more like Blake’s than not) think of him as a mystic, while others (who do not so find) deny that he is one. [return to English / Italian]