Paradiso (85 page)

2–3.
   The development of the opening metaphor (Beatrice as Sun) has it that the light of his guide illumines the truth behind the conundrum of the causes of the Moon’s dark spots as the light in a lover’s eyes makes beautiful the face of his beloved. The poet is joining the two main aspects
of his Beatricean versifying, that based on appreciations of her physical beauty and that dependent upon a spiritual understanding of a more lasting attraction. It is jarring, perhaps, but exhilarating to watch the “old poetry” being conjoined with the new, the rhymes of carnal love being forced into collaboration with the language of Scholastic discourse, “provando e riprovando” (by proof and refutation). The words clearly refer, in reverse order, to Beatrice’s refutation of Dante’s erroneous ideas (
Par
. II.61–105) and to her truthful assertions (
Par
. II.112–117).
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4–9.
   Dante presents himself as both rebuked and corrected (the terms relate to
provando
and
riprovando
in verse 3) in this “confession.” His previous confession (
Purg
. XXXI.1–42) involved recanting his past improper loves. That this scene marks the beginning, in
Paradiso
, of what has been described as “the correction of Dante’s intellect” in a program that began with the correction and perfection of his will (
Inferno
and most of
Purgatorio
) seems likely. (See the note to
Purg
. XXVII.139–141.) This process will carry through until St. Bernard appears and the program of the perfection of Dante’s intellect is begun.

Dante’s confession is once again impeded (see
Purg
. XXXI.7–9). This time, however, not through any failing on his part, but because his attention has been drawn to higher things. (Further, Beatrice already knows his thoughts and so expression of them is not necessary.)
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7.
   What is the precise character of the sight (
visïone
) appearing to him? Is it a dream? Is it an experience of the noumenal world in a Pauline face-to-face encounter? From the prose of the
Vita nuova
onward, these have been the two kinds of “visions” that weave their way through Dante’s works. It would thus seem here that what he is seeing is actual, not dreamed; and it would further seem that, in seeing his first saved souls as they are for eternity (if not yet with their bodies [see
Par
. XXV.127–129]), he is experiencing a higher form of vision than he has previously known, gazing on the presence of two heavenly souls in the very Moon, a collocation that causes, as we shall see, considerable difficulty in a reader’s attempt to comprehend the ground rules governing the appearances of the saved in the spheres of the heavens.
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10–16.
   As though to reward us for having had to deal with his theologized poetry, Dante now engages us in a pleasing aesthetic moment (so often associated in the poem with similes, a mode offering Dante the very stuff of lyric expression). It is charged with the erotic energy of
thirteenth-century Italian and Provençal lyric. What is perhaps surprising is the fact that this poet is able to bring that energy to bear
here
, in the highest realm. At the same time, we should note the way in which he twice in this canto invites us to carnal impressions of love only to warn us that these are valuable only if they are markers of a higher form of affection. These lines and the earlier verses that also seem erotically charged (vv. 1–3) look forward to the stories of two nuns who are delighted to renounce sexuality. They also glance back to Beatrice’s explanation of the moonspots.
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17–18.
   The “opposite error” into which Dante falls results from the fact that, where Narcissus looked into a mirroring surface of water and thought the beautiful visage he saw in it was that of someone else, Dante believes that the faces before him are reflections of those who are now suddenly present alongside him and Beatrice, not these actual new beings themselves. See Bernardino Daniello (comm. to these verses): “quelle faccie, ch’erano vere, gli paresser false, et a Narciso la falsa, vera pareva” (those faces, which were real, seemed to him to be false, while to Narcissus the false seemed real).

For the “Narcissus program” in the poem as a whole (
Inf
. XXX;
Purg
. XXX;
Par
. III, XXX, XXXIII), see the note to
Inferno
XXX.126–129 and articles by Brownlee (Brow.1978.1) and Shoaf (Shoa.1983.1), pp. 21–100.
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19–24.
   Dante, bending his eye on vacancy, allows Beatrice the chance to get off a good schoolmarmish rebuke of her pupil, whose actions mirror those of untutored humankind, unable to read the very facts of human relations—for example, who is standing where; who is reflected, who is not.
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25–28.
   For Dante’s
puerizia
and subsequent “childish” behavior, see
Purgatorio
XXX.40–54. Francesco da Buti’s comment to that passage (comm. to
Purg
. XXX.37–51) shares elements with his comment (to vv. 19–33) on this one, which has it that from the ages of one through seven a male is a child (
fanciullo
), while from eight through fourteen he is a boy (
garzone
). The commentator continues by saying that Beatrice means to associate her confused pupil with the latter stage of development. In the garden of Eden his failings were portrayed as being based on affectional disorder; here, as is always the case after his tasting of Lethe and Eunoe (and his moral coming of age—belated though it may have been), it is his intellect that is behaving in a juvenile manner.
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29–30.
   
Dante’s misprision has set up Beatrice’s explanation, central to our understanding of the epistemology of the heavenly spheres. All whom we meet here are the living souls of real people with real histories (i.e., they are not part of some “symbolic” or otherwise less “real” manifestation) and a place in Heaven, that is, the Empyrean, not one of the lower spheres, where they manifest themselves to Dante
only
on the occasion of his Pauline visit to the heavens. It is this last detail to which particular attention must be paid, since later discussion in this canto might lead one to believe that the souls whom we meet in the Moon are indeed its permanent residents. See vv. 49–50, 55–57, 64–66, 73–75, 88–90, 97, and 121–123 (and discussion in the accompanying notes). Virgil describes himself, in the only previous (and only other) use of the verb in the poem (
Purg
. XXI.18), as situated in the Limbus, which “mi rilega nell’etterno essilio” (confines me in eternal exile), hardly envisioned as a temporary state. (The form “rilegollo” has, by common consent, a different meaning; at
Inf
. XXV.7, his blasphemous act of freedom required that Vanni Fucci be bound again.) But what exactly does
rilegare
(or
relegare
, a form that shows up in some manuscripts) mean? Either “relegate” or “bind fast,” according to Andrea Mariani (“rilegare,”
ED
IV [1973], p. 929). And, as Simone Marchesi has suggested in conversation, whether the form that Dante used was “relegato” or “rilegato,” the word may refer to the Roman punishment of “relegation,” the lesser form (because it was not necessarily permanent) of exile. This description would surely fit the condition of Piccarda and Constance rather well.

Beatrice’s words may easily be understood as verifying that the souls in the heaven of the Moon are indeed permanently here, as Francesco da Buti believed (comm. to vv. 19–33): “sono nell’ultimo grado di sotto (di Dio) in vita eterna” (they are on the last level farthest from God in the life eternal). As we move through the relevant passages, it will be clear that Dante is far from having shut the door on such an explanation—but that is precisely what he will do in the next canto (in
Par
. IV.28–39). In consequence, one would be excused for believing that Beatrice means that Piccarda, Constance, and other Moon-dwellers are
rilegate
(bound, or, as in our translation, “assigned”) here on a permanent basis. See also the note to
Paradiso
IX.119–123.
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31–33.
   Having potentially undermined the authority of the next speaker by pointing out that she was one who had broken her vows, Beatrice quickly restores it in these words that guarantee her ability to speak God’s truth and nothing but that truth.
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34.
   
The use of the word
ombra
to identify a saved soul is puzzling. We expect it and find it, amply present, in
Inferno
(some two dozen occurrences) for the damned. It is surprising to find that its use to indicate the souls of the dead, now saved, increases in
Purgatorio
. While it appears there 49 times in all, it is present with this meaning 34 times. Here, in Paradise, to see the first saved soul whom we meet in this
cantica
referred to as a “shade” is disconcerting. The term that becomes normative in
Paradiso
is
vita
, generally translated “living soul” (IX.7; XII.127; XIV.6; XX.100; XXI.55; XXV.29). It is perhaps the association of those present in the first three heavens with flawed activities (broken vows, ambition, and lust) that moved Dante to begin his descriptions of the inhabitants of Paradise with the word that would surely seem to connect them with the damned; it is repeated at verse 67, in the plural, to refer to all the souls found in the Moon. The souls who appear in Mercury (
Par.
V.107) will be the next and the last heavenly presences to be referred to as
ombre
.
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35–36.
   The soul whom we meet will shortly (at verse 49) be identified as Piccarda Donati. It seems clear from her eagerness to speak with Dante that we are meant to understand that she has recognized him from their days in Florence.

Piccarda joins a select few, those personages who appear at the opening of their respective canticles as the first representative of sin and then of redemption: Celestine V (if it is indeed he, as seems nearly certainly to be the case) in
Inferno
III, Manfred in the third canto of
Purgatorio
, and now Piccarda. Each of these figures is a surprise, and was surely meant to be one: a damned pope, a saved libertine and possible murderer, and a woman who, no matter how unwilling her subjection to the world, was certainly no St. Clare.

The protagonist’s “muddled” condition results, in the opinion of Manfredi Porena (comm. to verse 36), from his excitement at being able, for the first time, to speak with a soul who lives in Heaven.

While it is impossible to tell from the text, it would seem that Piccarda, unlike Beatrice and heavenly souls we meet farther along, does not read Dante’s mind, but needs to have a spoken question in order to respond (see vv. 91–96). Dante also voices questions to Justinian (
Par
. V.127–129), to Charles Martel (
Par
. VIII.44; 91–93), and to Cunizza (
Par
. IX.19–21). It is only when he encounters Folquet of Marseille (
Par
. IX.73–79) that he expects anyone other than Beatrice to read his thoughts. This is another detail setting those below the heaven of the Sun apart from the more exalted souls of Paradise, for Dante never has to verbalize another question,
although Cacciaguida wants to savor his unnecessary voicing of one (see
Par
. XV.64–69).
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37.
   Piccarda is a spirit who is “ben creato” (spirit made for bliss), in sharp opposition to those in Hell referred to as being “mal nati” (“ill-born souls” at
Inf
. XVIII.76; “born for sorrow” at
Inf
. XXX.48).
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43–45.
   While there is much that is personal in the interaction between Dante and Piccarda, her first words show how “impersonal” the feelings of the saved are, both for one another and for this very special visitor. They are more than glad to welcome him, and his coming increases the love they feel in general (see
Par
. V.105) by adding one more soul for them to love. Nonetheless (with the major exception of Cacciaguida, whose familial ties to the protagonist are much [some might say shamelessly] exploited), almost all of the exchanges between Dante and the blessed show that they are at a postpersonal level of development. If we keep in mind some of the great scenes of personal remembrance found in the first two
cantiche
(e.g., those presenting Ciacco, Cavalcante, Brunetto, Casella, Belacqua, and Forese), the starkness of the contrast is evident.
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46–49.
   “Piccarda, daughter of Simone Donati, of the celebrated Florentine family of that name, and sister of Corso and Forese Donati. Piccarda was a connection by marriage of Dante, he having married Gemma, daughter of Manetto Donati.… The commentators state that Piccarda was forced from her convent by her brother Corso, while he was Podestà of Bologna (i.e., in 1283 or 1288), in order to marry her to a Florentine, Rossellino della Tosa, and that she died soon after her marriage.…”
(T)
.
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