Authors: Dante
94–99.
It is now before dawn on Wednesday morning, the last day on the mountain, from which Dante will depart at noon.
“Cytherea” is a proper noun formed from the epithet used of the “maritime” Venus, the lustful goddess born of the spume of the sea near the island Cythera. Dante here presents her as the morning star, as she was seen at the opening of the
cantica
. However, and as has been pointed out in recent years with increasing insistence, in 1300, Venus was the evening star at this period of the year, and the morning star only in 1301. See the discussion in Vescovini [Vesc.2002.1], pp. 292, 300n., who resists the temptation to “redate” the poem to 1301, believing that Dante is merely taking advantage of poetic license. And see the note to
Purgatorio
I.19–21.
For the formulaic nature of Dante’s preparation of his three dream narratives in
Purgatorio
see Hollander (Holl.1969.1), p. 149. All the dreams are preceded by “an astronomical reference to the hour of the morning at which the dream occurs” and then by the distinct vocabulary of dream vision, as in the second of these tercets: “in sogno mi parea / donna vedere” (in a dream I seemed to see a lady).
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100–108.
The dream of Leah and Rachel is the most transparent of the three dreams in
Purgatorio
(see
Purg
. IX.13–33 and XIX.1–33). Leah and Rachel, the daughters of Laban in Genesis, were understood by Christian interpreters to represent, respectively, the active life and the contemplative life (and thus Rachel’s staring into the mirror is not to be taken as narcissistic self-admiration but contemplation in a positive sense). It is clear that Dante is making use of that tradition here. However, he is also making use of biblical typology in his treatment of Leah, who is related to Eve in her as yet unfallen condition in that she is doing what Adam and Eve were told to do, “ut
operaretur
et custodiret illum” (to dress [the garden] and keep it—Genesis 2:15). Dante’s verb in the last line of Leah’s speech, which concludes the dream, remembers the biblical verb in his
ovrare
, the working in this garden that points back to the tasks of that one before the Fall (see Holl.1969.1, p. 153). For the balanced relationships between the pair Leah and Rachel and a second pair, Matelda and Beatrice, the two central female presences in the earthly paradise, see Pacchioni (Pacc.2001.1).
It is probably also fair to say that the text intrinsically presents Dante as a new Jacob: “As Jacob toiled for seven years in order to gain the hand of Rachel, only to be given that of Leah (Genesis 29:10f.), so Dante has toiled up seven terraces of purgation with the promise of Beatrice, only to find Matelda” (Holl.1969.1, pp. 151–52). Pascoli (Pasc.1902.1), p. 462, had much earlier suggested that Dante, “the new Aeneas,” was also the “new Jacob.”
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110–111.
Awakening, the protagonist (and Statius, but Virgil only problematically so) is associated with travelers who are getting nearer home. It is quite clear that “home” now is at the very least the garden of Eden, and perhaps the true paradise that lies above. There are no thoughts of Florence here. In these lines the true pilgrimage becomes a journey from God, into the world, and back to God. It is interesting to compare the beautiful and sad opening of the eighth canto of this
cantica
, with its traveler whose thoughts are on friends left behind in the world. This pilgrim/traveler has apparently learned a good deal on the mountain.
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112.
For the resonance of a phrase found in the Song of Songs in this verse, “le tenebre fuggian da tutti lati” [the shadows all around were being put to flight]: “Donec aspiret dies et
inclinentur umbrae
” [Until the day break and
the shadows flee away
] (Canticle 2:17 and 4:6), see Eleanor Cook (Cook.1999.1), p. 5.
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122–123.
This is as close as the poet comes to telling us that the protagonist’s last P has been removed. He feels as light as his “feathers.”
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125.
Since the garden of Eden seems to be just slightly below the level to which the travelers have now climbed (see
Purg.
XXVIII.4), this topmost step of the stair is the highest point on earth attained by Dante, and by Virgil as well, but he has no further rising to do.
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127.
Beginning with Scartazzini (1900), commentators have cited St. Thomas to the effect that the pains of the damned are eternal while the fire of purgatory is temporary.
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131.
If Dante’s will is as good as Virgil will shortly say it is, he can take pleasure as his guide because he will only want that which reason will want. Nothing sinful would any longer tempt him.
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135.
The self-sufficient nature of the vegetation of the garden will be insisted on at
Purgatorio
XXVIII.109–120.
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139–141.
It is perhaps useful to consider an attempt to see how the poem may be divided into four large units, as follows:
| Dante’s development | locus | guide |
I. | correction of the will | Inf. I–XXXIV | Virgil |
II. | perfection of the will | Purg. I–XXIX | Virgil |
III. | correction of the intellect | Purg. XXX– Par. XXX | Beatrice |
IV. | perfection of the intellect | Par. XXX–end | Bernard |
See Hollander (Holl.1976.2). And for the possible contribution of St. Bernard to this schema, see note to
Paradiso
XXXIII.127–132.
It is at this moment that Virgil gives over the instructional task that has been his since
Inferno
I, presiding over the correction and perfection of Dante’s will.
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142.
The precise meaning and reference of this concluding verse has been the subject of much discussion. The metaliterary sense that he has of the canto as a whole leads Picone (Pico.1987.2), pp. 400–401, to allegorize the crown and miter that Virgil awards Dante as (1) the triumphant laurel of the modern poet and (2) the Christian truth that he can add to Virgil’s store of pagan wisdom and poetic technique. As Fasani (Fasa.2001.1), p. 432, points out, although the modern discussion has tended to treat the terms as synonyms, as long ago as in the commentaries of the Ottimo (1333) and of Francesco da Buti (1385) they were understood as separate entities. To the Ottimo they signified “rector and shepherd”; to Francesco, laurel crown (“
corono
; di laurea, come poeta”) and bishop’s miter (“come vescovo e guidatore dell’anima tua a l’eterna salute” [as bishop and guide over your own soul, bound for eternal salvation]), two very different sorts of adornment for Dante’s head. Fasani opts for the crown as a sign of Dante’s active life, his temporal (and decidedly imperial) political mission, and sees the miter as an image of his contemplative life, the poet’s spiritual mission.
Virgil can make Dante neither an emperor nor a bishop (and surely not a pope). He is metaphorically crowning Dante for now having, in his will, the ability to rule himself morally, as the world, were it only better governed, would be ruled by two powers, emperor and pope. Dante is now said by Virgil to be in complete command of the powers of his will, a microcosmic image of the world made just (improbable as Dante would have thought such a happy state) under its two prime authorities.
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1.
We enter the third and final part of the
cantica
. These divisions,
antipurgatorium
(the first naming of “ante-purgatory” in the commentaries),
purgatorium
, and
postpurgatorium
, are found in Benvenuto da Imola (1380).
Dante’s first word,
vago
(eager) ties him to Ulysses, eager for adventure (for the word
vago
see note to
Purg
. XIX.22–24). Virgil had told him, in his final instruction (
Purg
. XXVII.138), that in the garden he will be free either to sit (thus imitating Rachel, the contemplative life) or to move about (thus imitating Leah, the active life). We should not be surprised that Dante makes the latter choice. Since, as we shall see, his contemplative faculties are at this point faulty at best, his choice will be reflected in his intellectual difficulties with understanding the nature of the love represented by the beautiful woman he will shortly meet (and who is eventually identified as Matelda).
Matelda will only be named at
Purgatorio
XXXIII.119. It may be helpful to the reader to deal with her identity and her role in the poem before then. However, the reader should not forget that Dante has presented this woman as nameless, perhaps, among other reasons, to make us pay attention to what she means rather than concentrating on who she is. For the question of her identity, see the note to vv. 40–42.
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2.
This forest is sacred, in the words of Andreoli (1856), “because it was planted by the very hands of God.” Many discussants of the opening of this canto realize that the poet is drawing a line across the page between the last canto and this one. Dante has finished the first half of the journey and now he finds himself in a very different sort of forest from the dark wood in which he came to his senses at the opening of
Inferno
. That wood was “aspra e forte” (dense and harsh [
Inf
. I.5]) while this forest is “spessa e viva” (thick and verdant).
It is instructive and amusing to consider the opening remarks of Benvenuto da Imola (1380) as he addresses this canto: “Before I come to its literal meaning, I would like you first to note that this entire chapter is figurative and allegorical, for otherwise it would in large measure be fatuous and untrue.” Benvenuto is essentially denying the claim made by the poet that this is the actual garden of Eden. He goes on to assert that the garden signifies “the happy state of man in the perfection of his virtue, as much as is possible in this miserable life of ours.” Benvenuto’s commentary, which remains one of the most intelligent and helpful ever written, has a blind eye for many of Dante’s theological strategies.
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5.
In this forest Dante the sightseer can move
lento lento
(very slowly), enjoying his surroundings. Here he will not be subject to the fear that afflicted him in the
selva oscura
.
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7–9.
The gentle breeze, as we shall learn (vv. 85–87), surprises Dante, who had expected to find no meteorological disturbance of any kind in the garden. It strikes upon his brow, perhaps reminding us that that was where the seven P’s were inscribed on him by the warder of the purgatorial gate (
Purg
. IX.112). He is, as was Adam when he found himself in this place 6,499 years ago (see
Par
. XXVI.119–123), innocent. Unlike Adam, Dante will not fall in it.
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10–12.
From the westward movement of the boughs of the trees we learn that the wind in the garden blows from the east, a propitious source, since it is associated with the rising sun and thus with Christ, often represented as the sun climbing the sky, resurrected from the darkness of death.
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13–18.
The morning breeze does not disturb the birds plying their crafts (singing and nesting, according to John of Serravalle [1416], but surely flying as well). Lest the reader believe these birds are actually birds, Benvenuto (1380) reveals what they “really” represent: “wise and virtuous men, who rise to the heights of virtue and joyfully sing their praise of God.” An allegorical temper can steal the joy from any poem.
The harmony of birdsong and forest murmur, treble and bass, respectively, reveal the favorable conjunction of art (the birdsong) and nature (the wind in the trees) in Eden.
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19–21.
The sound of the forest is compared to that made by the trees in the great pine forest near Ravenna when it is stirred by the strong wind from Africa, released, at least in myth, from Aeolus’s bag of the winds.
The image of wind making melody on a natural instrument, the Aeolian harp, became a staple of Romantic literature.
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22–24.
Insisting again on the slowness, and thus the calm, of his progress (see verse 5), Dante implicitly contrasts his entrance into the world of sin in the first canto of the poem with his arrival in the garden. Here, just as there, he takes stock by looking back through a wood toward his point of entrance: “How I came there I cannot really tell, / I was so full of sleep / when I forsook the one true way” (
Inf
. I.10–12), but the differences between the two places overwhelm their similarities.
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