each one in its own hue, before the Sun
harnesses his team beneath the Bull—
just so the boughs that had been bare before
took color, turning something less than rose
and more than violet as they bloomed once more.
The hymn I heard those blessed souls sing then
is not sung here, nor did I understand it;
nor did I hear it through to the Amen.
Could I portray the eyes of Argus here,
lulled one by one by drowsy tales of Syrinx,
that time their pitiless watch cost him so dear,
as a painter paints his model, I would try
to show exactly how I fell asleep.
But who can image drowsiness? Not I.
Therefore, I pass to my waking, and declare
a radiance tore the veil of sleep; a voice
cried out: “Arise! What are you doing there?”
When they were shown the flowering of that Tree
that makes the angels hungry for Its fruit
and sets a feast in Heaven eternally,
Peter, John, and James, awe-stricken, fell
into a sleep from which they were recalled
by the same word that broke a greater spell;
and saw their company reduced, as both
Moses and Elijah vanished from them;
and saw the Master’s robe change back to cloth.
Just so did I awaken from my dream
to find, bent over me, the compassionate lady
who had conducted me along the stream.
Fearful I cried out, “Beatrice! Where is she?”
And the lady: “She is seated on the roots
of the new foliage, as you can see,
encircled by the seven shining Graces.
The others mount to Heaven behind the Griffon,
intoning sweeter and profounder praises.”
If she said more, her words were lost on me,
for now my eyes were fixed once more on Beatrice,
my senses closed to all that was not she.
She sat on the bare earth alone, left there
to guard the chariot that the Biformed Beast
had fastened to the tree with such great care.
A living cloister ringing her about,
the Seven Nymphs stood, holding in their hands
those candles no wind ever shall blow out.
“Here briefly in this forest shall you dwell;
and evermore, with me, be of that Rome
in which Christ is a Roman. Hence, look well
there at the great car, and that you may be
a light to the dark world, when you return
set down exactly all that you shall see.”
Thus Beatrice; and I, devoutly bent
at the feet of her commands, turned mind and eye
as she had willed, in all obedient.
No flash from densest clouds when the rains fall
from the remotest reaches of the sky
ever shot down as fast out of the squall
as did the bird of Jove that I saw break
down through the tree, ripping the flowers, the leaves,
even the bark, with its fierce claws and beak.
He struck the chariot a tremendous blow,
at which it lurched like a storm-battered ship,
now rolled to port, now starboard, to and fro.
Next came a fox, so gaunt and angular
it seemed to know no fit food; and it pounced
upon the cab of the triumphal car.
But threatening all its filthy sins with woe
my lady sent it reeling back from there
as fast as such a bag of bones could go.
Then, through the tree, I saw the bird descend
once more into the car, and shed its plumes
to feather it in gold from end to end.
And from the sky, as if a heart let slip
all of its grief in one sound, a voice cried:
“Oh what a load you bear, my little ship!”
Then, as I watched, I saw a fissure split
the earth between the two wheels, and a dragon
rise to the car and sink its tail in it.
Much as an angry wasp draws back its stinger,
it drew its tail back, ripping the car’s floor,
and wandered off as if it meant to linger.
Like rich soil left to weeds, what then remained
covered itself with feathers, which no doubt
had been intended to burnish what they stained.
And both the wheels and the pole were overgrown,
and all the car to the last part, and all
in less time than the lips part for a moan.
So changed, the holy ark began to sprout
heads from its various parts: three from the pole,
one from each corner. Seven in all grew out.
The three were horned like oxen, but the four
were each armed with a single evil horn.
No one had seen the monster’s like before.
Secure as a great fortress on a crag,
an ungirt harlot rode the beast, her eyes
darting with avarice. Beside that hag,
and ready to risk all to keep her his,
a giant strode erect, and as they passed,
from time to time the two exchanged a kiss.
But when she turned her hungry eyes on me,
her savage lover in a bestial rage
whipped her from head to foot unmercifully.
Then in a jealous fit the brute untied
the monster from the tree, and dragged it off
into the woods, far toward the other side,
until between me and that doxie queen
on her weird beast, he made the trees a screen.
NOTES
1-9. DANTE’S RAPTURE ADMONISHED. Beatrice had died in 1290. Dante has not, therefore, seen her for ten years, and the sight of her unveiled face so draws him into the old nets (of love) that he loses track of all else until he is brought to his senses by overhearing the Three Maidens charge him with overdoing. For it is immoderate (non è bello, i.e., it is not an Aristotelian mean of good conduct) to stare so intensely, even at the vision of eternal beauty, if in so doing a man loses sight of the other gifts of God. Bear in mind, too, that Dante is staring with his earthly memory of the other Beatrice. The Heavenly Beatrice has not yet been truly revealed to him. That revelation will take place in the next Canto.
16-18. The Heavenly Pageant came originally from the east. It passed Dante, executed a right-wheel-about, and is now returning, face to the east. Accordingly, it now has in its face the light of the Sun as well as that of the candelabra.
20. under their shields: Troops turning in retreat within range of the enemy held their shields over their heads for protection.
22. the vanguard of that heavenly force: The twenty-four elders.
30. the wheel that turned the lesser arc: The right. In making a right turn, it would swing through the lesser arc. The Poets, therefore, are walking behind the Three Theological Virtues.
36. when Beatrice descended: In this masque, Beatrice has entered in a chariot that represents the Church Triumphant. The procession is now moving to the tree that represents the Civil Authority of the Holy Roman Empire. Her descent in order to approach on foot signifies the humility the Church should display before civil authority, as commanded by Paul (Romans, xiii, 1): “Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers. For there is no power but of God: the powers that be are ordained of God.” To this, as Dante’s image of the ideal Church, contrast his lament for the evils that befell the Church when it grew rich and arrogant (Inferno, XIX, 109-111, and note), and the final allegory of the present Canto.
37-60. THE TREE OF GOOD AND EVIL. This passage contains an elaborate conception, difficult in itself, and made more difficult by much of Dante’s phrasing in what i
s certainly his least attractive style.
The tree, to begin with, is instantly recognizable, by its resemblance to its offshoot on the ledge below, as the original Tree of Good and Evil. It is for this reason that all souls murmur against Adam at sight of it.
Then, in a second symbolism, the tree is made to represent the Holy Roman Empire, towering so high (and spreading wider as it soars) that no tree in the Indian forests (the comparison is from Virgil) could equal it. (The comparison to Indian forests implies, of course, the superiority of the Christian empire.) But though enormous, the tree is, by itself, barren.
When Christ (the Griffon) approaches the tree, all praise Him for not having eaten (peculiar diet) the sweet-tasting wood (the material riches of the Empire), for by His holy poverty in this world He escaped the bellyache of corruption (with which the Church has been plagued ever since it grew rich). The Griffon replies that only so (in holy poverty) can the seed of goodness be preserved.
To understand the Griffon’s next action, it is necessary to know that the true cross, according to legend, had been cut from the Tree of Good and Evil. The Griffon draws the Chariot (the Church) to the tree and binds fast to the tree “what came from it,” i.e., the pole of the chariot. Thus one may understand that the pole the Griffon has been pulling (and what draws the Church forward) is the true cross. This interpretation is disputed but does have the virtue of being coherent.
Now with the Church securely bound to the Empire by the true cross, the tree that had been barren breaks into bloom, turning (lines 59-60) something less than rose and more than violet (i.e., the Imperial purple).
For good measure, Dante throws in a legendary reference and several astrological ones. Sense of lines 52-57: “As in the spring on earth when the great light falls mingled with the rays of those sweet stars [of Aries, the sign in which the Sun rides from March 21 to April 19] that follow Pisces [the zodiacal sign immediately preceding Aries] the trees begin to swell, then burgeon full . . . before the Sun [Apollo, the charioteer of the Sun] harnesses his team [to bear the Sun across the sky] beneath the Bull [Taurus, the sign the Sun enters on April 20].”
64-65. Argus . . . Syrinx: Argus (called Panoptes or “the all-seeing”) had a hundred eyes all over his body. When Jupiter was smitten by Io, Juno changed the girl into a cow and sent Argus to keep watch over her. Jupiter, in his turn, sent Mercury to lull Argus to sleep either by the magic of his flute or, in the version Dante follows, by a kind of Arabian Nights series of tales about Syrinx, who was loved by Pan, and who was changed into a reed by her sisters to save her from Pan’s pursuit. His watch cost him dear because Mercury, after lulling him to sleep, cut off his head. Juno set the eyes of her dead gamekeeper into the tail of the peacock, the bird sacred to her. (See XXIX, 95, note.)
70 ff. DANTE’S DREAM AND AWAKENING. The strains of the heavenly hymn lull Dante into a blissful sleep, which may be taken as symbolizing the serenity of the Kingdom. A radiance reaches through his closed eyes and he awakens to hear a voice cry “Arise!” This is the word with which Christ called Lazarus, among others, from the “greater spell” of death. Obviously, therefore, Dante’s awakening symbolizes one more release from mortal error into eternal life. Opening his eyes, Dante finds Matilda bending over him. It was she who cried to him, and at first Dante thinks that all the others have left and that he is alone with her.
Dante then compares his experience to that of Peter, John, and James at the Transfiguration. “And after six days Jesus taketh with him Peter, and James, and John his brother, and bringeth them up into a high mountain apart, and he was transfigured before them: and his face did shine as the sun, and his garments became white as the light . . . they fell on their face, and were sore afraid. And Jesus came and touched them and said, Arise, and be not afraid. And lifting up their eyes, they saw no one, save Jesus only.” (Matthew, xvii, 1-8.) And see also Luke, ix, 28-36, especially, “Now Peter and they that were with him were heavy with sleep: but when they were fully awake, they saw his glory, and the two men that stood with him.”
Basing his account on these two passages, Dante adds his own allegory. The vision that is shown to the disciples becomes a vision of Christ as the Mystic Tree of Heaven (which is, of course, another aspect of the Tree of Good and Evil). The vision, however, is not of the fruit of the tree but of its flowers (line 73). It is, therefore, the vision of the flowering promise of Christ, from which will follow the fruit of eternal rejoicing. The vision is especially apt since, during Dante’s sleep, Christ (the Griffon) has reascended to Heaven with most of the Heavenly Procession. There Dante shall follow him in the Paradiso, and there the fruit of felicity awaits.
73. that Tree: Christ.
81. and saw the Master’s robe change back to cloth: I.e., back to its mortal state, as it was before the Transfiguration.
83. the compassionate lady: Matilda.
85. Fearful: Seeing only Matilda by him, Dante is afraid that Beatrice has left.
86-90. She is seated on the roots of the new foliage: As Christ, after his Transfiguration, resumed his earthly appearance, so Beatrice, having entered as the figure of revelation aboard the triumphal chariot, is now seated upon the ground. Beatrice is seated on the ground and under the new foliage (that sprang from the touch of Christ—the Griffon). Let the tree in this aspect symbolize the Holy Roman Empire, and the roots Rome. The chariot, of course, represents the Church. It rests on the roots (Rome) and is tied to the tree (the Empire). Beatrice (Divine Love) is left on earth to guard the chariot under the protective shade of the tree, while the Griffon (Christ) ascends to Heaven followed by the rest of the Heavenly Train, which is singing a hymn that is sweeter and profounder than earth can understand. Beatrice is left on earth encircled and attended by the Seven Nymphs (the Three Theological Virtues and the Four Cardinal Virtues).
109-111. Dante’s meteorological figure here is based on the belief that the highest reaches of the sky are the domain of fire. The highest clouds, therefore, being closest to the sphere of fire would be especially subject to fiery influences and would give forth the most powerful lightning flashes.
112. the bird of Jove: The eagle. See Ezekiel, xvii, the Parable of the Eagles and the Cedar. There, the eagle represents the Babylonian persecution of the Jews. Here, Dante clearly enough intends its attack to symbolize the Roman persecution of the early Christians.
118. a fox: Is most usually taken to represent the heresies that threatened the early Church and that were repelled by the divine wisdom of the Church Fathers.
124-129. THE GIFT OF THE EAGLE. The Eagle of Imperial Rome returns and covers the car (the Church) with its feathers (riches) and a voice from Heaven cries out in grief. The grief is clearly for the evils that descended upon the Church when it grew rich. Dante must certainly have had the Donation of Constantine (see Inferno, XIX, 109-111, and note) in mind in the first feathering of the car. The second gift of the eagle would then symbolize the whole process whereby the temporal wealth of the Empire passed so largely into the hands of the Church.
131. a dragon: Satan.
135. as if it meant to linger: Having broken the floor of the car (the foundation of the Church, once it has been weakened by wealth), Satan would certainly not run away, but rather remain to see what other mischief he could do, wandering off only very slowly.
142-147. THE CAR TRANSFORMS ITSELF INTO A SEVEN-HEADED MONSTER. “And I saw a woman sitting upon a scarlet-colored beast full of the names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns.” (Revelation, xvii, 3.)
The Seven Heads have been interpreted in endless ingenious ways. Let them be taken as representing the Seven Deadly Sins. They thus took root in the Church as soon as it covered itself with wealth. The first three of the seven are Pride, Wrath, and Avarice. Being the worst sins, they sprout from the pole (i.e., they come before the others). And since they represent offenses against both God and one’s neighbors, they are represented as having two horns. The four lesser sins (Acedia, Envy, Gluttony, and Lust)
offend God but not necessarily one’s neighbors and they are, therefore, represented as having single horns. Thus the total of ten horns.
149-150. an ungirt harlot: She represents the Papacy as it existed under Boniface VIII and Clement V, the two Popes Dante most charges with corruption. (See Inferno, XIX, and note to 77-79.) “Ungirt” (Dante uses sciolta, “untied, unbound”) should be understood to imply both lewdness (immodesty of dress) and lack of restraint (knowing no bounds). her eyes darting with avarice: looking everywhere for plunder.
152. a giant: The French monarchy, and especially Philip the Fair (Philip IV, 1268-1314, crowned in 1285), who made the Papacy his puppet.
154. But when she turned her hungry eyes on me: The question here is why the giant beats the harlot for looking at Dante. Again, many answers have been suggested, but two seem most to the point.
If Dante is taken here as representing Italy, the whipping can only refer to Philip’s humiliation of Boniface VIII (see Canto XX, 85-93, note), and the harlot’s covetous glance at Dante-as-Italy would represent Boniface’s intrigues with various rulers. It was these intrigues that put him most at odds with Philip.
On the other hand, Dante may be taken to represent the typical Christian who looks to the Church for guidance. The allegory would then be saying that every time the corrupt Church is stirred by a wish to return to its true pastoral mission, the French kings whip her and drag her back to sin.
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