Paradiso (158 page)

109.
   For the notion that Dante’s universe is four-dimensional, a hypersphere, see Peterson (Pete.1979.1), who believes that Dante’s vision of the cosmos looks forward to Einstein’s; Osserman (Osse.1995.1), pp. 89–91, suggesting that Peterson overlooks the earlier model proposed by Riemann; Freccero (Frec.1998.1); and Egginton (Eggi.1999.1). However, the reader probably should temper an enthusiasm for such “premodern physics” on Dante’s part with an awareness of his possible dependence, for his “ontological, neoplatonic, and theocentric” vision of the rest of the universe, on such models as he found in his precursors. For instance, see Chiarenza (Chia.1988.1), pp. 232–34, reacting to
Paradiso
XXVIII.14–15 with the suggestion that Dante’s “picture” derives from Bonaventure (
Itinerarium mentis
, V).

For a quick introduction to the properties of the hypersphere, one may visit the following site:
http://www.hypersphere.com/hs/abouths.html
.
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115–120.
   The Crystalline Sphere rules the temporal relationships among the parts of the rest of the universe. Dante employs the word
testo
(“flowerpot”; in modern Italian “baking dish”), a hapax when having this sense (but see
Inf.
XV.89 and
Purg.
VI.29 for its use with the meaning “text”) to portray the ninth (and invisible) sphere as the container of all time, with its invisible roots here, displaying its leaves, pushed downward, in the visible portions of the rest of the spheres (the stars and planets). (The Crystalline Sphere’s “likeness” to a flowerpot would seem to be based on the fact that we cannot see the “roots of time,” just as we cannot see the root system of a plant when it is in a pot.)

The author of the Codice Cassinese was perhaps the first to point to Dante’s source here, Aristotle’s
Physics
(IV.x–xiii); Francesco Torraca (comm. to vv. 118–120) appears to have been the first commentator to cite Dante’s citation of that passage in
Convivio
(IV.ii.6).
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121–126.
   Ever since the protagonist encountered the wolf of cupidity in the first canto,
cupidigia
has been a constant presence in the poem. It now becomes, in metaphor, the flood that covers all humankind and stifles efforts toward noble enterprises. Since we naturally long for the good, it is the blight of cupidity that turns our first flowering into rotten fruit.
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126.
   Casini/Barbi (comm. to this verse, citing
BSDI
9 [1902]:161) refer to the Tuscan saying (given here in a rough English version) that offers the following meteorological pearl: “If it rains on Ascension Day / the plums will suffer quick decay.”
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127.
   We follow Chimenz (comm. to vv. 127–129) and most recent commentators in reading the word
fede
in the moral (rather than the theological) sense, and thus “loyalty” or “honesty.”
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130–135.
   In these two examples of failing human conduct, does Dante rehearse the first two sins of mankind, eating and killing? An air of puzzlement about the poet’s reasons for choosing these particular examples pervades the early commentaries. John of Serravalle (comm. to vv. 133–135) is among the few to offer a motive, in the second instance, for
such nasty thoughts on the part of the grown child, putting in his mouth the following maledictive question: “When will she be dead, this damned widow?” Baldassare Lombardi (comm. to vv. 134–135) suggests two motives: to be done with her pious corrections and to dissipate her property. This two-part motive is repeated by any number of later commentators; Luigi Pietrobono (comm. to verse 135) is the first of them to think of Cecco Angiolieri’s sonnet “S’io fossi fuoco” (If I were fire) in which he says, “S’i’ fosse morte, andarei a mi’ padre;—s’i’ fosse vita, non starei con lui:—similemente faria da mi’ madre” (If I were Death, I’d go to my father; if I were life, I would not abide with him: and [I’d have] the same dealings with my mother).
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130.
   The gerund
balbuzïendo
, used as participle (repeated in verse 133), picks up the adjective
balba
(stammering) from
Purgatorio
XIX.7, the description of the foul seductress in Dante’s second Purgatorial dream. There it contrasted with the false beauty and eloquence that the dreaming protagonist lent her; here it is the sign of innocence and immaturity that is preferable to mature and calculated evildoing.
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136–138.
   A widely debated tercet, one of the most vexed passages in the entire poem. And yet, at least at first glance and if we listen only to its first interpreters, it seems easier to resolve than it has in fact turned out to be. The Ottimo, Benvenuto, and Landino, obviously reflecting on the context of the preceding six verses, argue that the
bella figlia
is human nature itself, “created” by the Sun (the Ottimo refers us to
Par.
XXII.116 for Dante’s presentation of the Sun as “father” of every mortal life). Starting with John of Serravalle (comm. to this tercet), who also believes that the reference is to human nature, commentators refer to Aristotle’s tag, “Homo et sol generant hominem” (Man and the Sun generate men), found near the end of the second section of the
Physics
(and quoted by Dante [
Mon
. I.ix.1].) This is then repeated by numerous later glossators.

What tends to be obscured in the conflicting studies of the tercet is the difficulty in making out the literal sense of the phrase “nel primo aspetto.” This phrase may be understood in at least three mutually exclusive ways: the
aspetto
(1) belongs to the daughter (it is probably located in the skin of her face, her “aspect,” what she looks like) and is darkened by the Sun; (2) belongs to the daughter and is
her
gaze; (3) is what is seen by the Sun, that is, is in
his
sight (whatever the Sun represents, whether itself or God). Since there is no sure way of determining which of these possibilities governs, one has to proceed “backward,” arguing from the context
to the meaning of this phrase. (Indeed, that is how we arrived at the first option.)

What may seem surprising today, in light of the wildly differing responses that begin with Carmine Galanti (as reported by Poletto [comm. to this tercet in 1894], he introduced Circe into the list of “candidates”) and continue into our own time, is the near unanimity of the ancients. Major exceptions are Jacopo della Lana (comm. to this tercet), who interprets her as representing the Church; the Anonimo Fiorentino (comm. to this tercet), who, in a variation, thinks that she represents the priesthood. (For passages in Bonaventure’s
Collationes in Hexaemeron
[XII and XXV] that portray the Church as
filia solis
, see Pierotti [Pier.1981.1].) On the other hand, and for something completely different, see Francesco da Buti (comm. to vv. 121–138), who uniquely is of the opinion that, reflecting her presence in
Aeneid
VI.142 (the next two verses detail the plucking of the golden bough), she is Proserpina, or the Moon. The most complete summary of interpretations until 1921 is found in Casini/Barbi (comm. to verse 136) and is still useful, to a point, today.

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.
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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.
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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.
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