Authors: Dante
139–141.
The reference is, obviously, to the Moon (Latona’s daughter, Diana) and to Dante’s earlier misprisions of the reasons for its differing degrees of brightness (see
Par.
II.49–51). Now that he is seeing her from “behind,” from the side turned away from earth, her surface is uniform in appearance.
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142–143.
Dante’s improved eyesight (see vv. 124–126) quickly bestows a new benefit: He can look directly at the Sun, the son of Hyperion in some classical myths, including Ovid’s (
Metam.
IV.192).
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144.
Referring to them by the names of their mothers, Dante sees Mercury (Maia) and Venus (Dïone). The literal sense of this tercet has caused problems; Bosco/Reggio (comm. to vv. 143–144) propose a reading that is mirrored in our translation.
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145–146.
Perhaps the best gloss available for these verses was written by Dante himself (
Conv
. II.xiii.25): “The heaven of Jupiter may be compared to Geometry because of two properties: one is that it moves between two heavens that are antithetical to its fine temperance, namely that of Mars and that of Saturn; consequently Ptolemy says, in the book referred to [Dante mentions his
Quadripartitus
in section 21], that
Jupiter is a star of temperate constitution between the cold of Saturn and the heat of Mars
; the other is that among all the stars it appears white, almost silvery” ([italics added] tr. R. Lansing).
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146.
Saturn, the father of Jupiter, thus lent his name to the only planet that cannot be named by a parent.
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148–150.
From his vantage point in the eighth celestial sphere, Dante is now able to observe the relationships among the seven planets (see the note to verse 134) with regard to their varying sizes, the differing speeds of their rotations around the earth, and the distances between their
ripari
, that is, what medieval astronomers refer to as their “houses,” or their stations in the heavens.
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151.
The word “aiuola,” frequently translated as “threshing floor,” is almost without a doubt, as Scott (Scot.2003.1) has argued, without the biblical resonance of Matthew 3:12 and Luke 3:17 that is heard by some from the nineteenth century into our own time. He also believes that the word reflects its presence in a phrase found in Boethius’s
De consolatione
, II.7[pr],
angustissima … area
. Scott cites Kay (Kay.1998.1), p. 317, n. 22, glossing
Monarchia
III.xvi.11, where Dante uses the Latin equivalent of “aiuola”: “Latin
areola
is a diminutive form of
area
, and hence is ‘a little space’ ” (see also Pasquini [Pasq.1988.1], p. 439). (For the long-standing but frequently overlooked knowledge of the reference to Boethius, see first Pietro di Dante [Pietro1, comm. to vv. 145–150] and then Francesco da Buti [comm. to vv. 149–154], who are joined by several later practitioners, including Landino, Daniello, and Tommaseo. Longfellow [comm. to this verse] gets the Boethius right but is responsible [according to Scott] for the invention of “threshing floor” in his translation.) This rendering of the word has had a long run, but may in fact still need winnowing. Scott continues: “Dante uses it here in this general, etymological sense, although often both
areola
and its Italian calc
aiuola
are used for specific small spaces, e.g. a flowerbed, seedbed, open courtyard, threshing floor, or even a blank space on a page [ … ]. Dante probably had in mind Boethius’s description of the inhabitable world as an ‘angustissimum [
sic
] … area’ (
Cons. Phil
. II.7[pr].3), which Dante echoed in
Epist
. [VII.15]: ‘in angustissima mundi area’ [such a narrow corner of the world].”
See Dante’s second use of
aiuola
at
Paradiso
XXVII.86.
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152–154.
Because of the high-speed revolution of the celestial sphere in which he is currently lodged, Dante is able to see all of the physical contour of our earth. He does so without particular enthusiasm, and is quick to turn his eyes back to the eyes of Beatrice, which are undoubtedly to be understood as gazing up toward God and not down toward Dante’s (and our) paltry patch of earth.
This passage inevitably leads a reader to wonder exactly how much time Dante spent in the heavens (and in the Empyrean). He left our terrestrial globe at noon on Wednesday (either 30 March or 13 April in the year 1300, as the reader will recall [see the note to
Inf.
I.1]). How long was he in Paradise? When did he come “home”? For discussion, see the note to
Paradiso
XXVII.79–81.
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1–12.
This warm-hued and extended simile opens a canto that has long been admired as one of the most lyrical of the entire
Commedia
. It contains more similes than any canto since
Purgatorio
XXX (which has seven) and
Paradiso
XIV (eight), by merit of offering seven in all (and two simple comparisons). In contrast, the preceding two cantos together offered only a single striking example (XXI.34–42). When one considers them, their burden unabashedly religious and explanatory, one senses at once the differing register introduced by the presence here of affective poetry.
The first nine verses of the simile portray a mother bird awaiting the dawn so that she can find the food with which to feed her nestlings; the final tercet makes the terms of the comparison clear: Beatrice hopes soon to be able to nourish Dante with a vision of the final and best thing knowable by humankind, eternal beatitude in the presence of God. Nonetheless, for all the resemblances (and few of Dante’s similes are as “neat” as this one) between mother bird and Beatrice, between soon-to-be-awake, soon-to-be-satisfied nestlings and Dante, we also can see that there is at least one crucial difference here as well. In the imagined earthly scene, the physical sun rises in the east; in the reported scene in the eighth sphere, the metaphoric “sun” descends from the zenith, a supernatural sun having risen at noon, as it were. Dante’s theologized “transvaluation of value,” so crucial a part of his strategy, especially in
Paradiso
, following examples found in the teaching of Jesus, is observable here. What will the joys of Heaven be like? Like the pleasure of being fed, but having nothing to do with eating; like the pleasure of the bride when her bridegroom comes to her, but having nothing to do with sexuality; like the pleasure of possessing great wealth, but having nothing to do with money.
See Goffis (Goff.1968.1), p. 838, for notice of Dante’s reliance here on Lactantius’s
De ave Phoenice
, vv. 39–42, in the portrait of his mother bird, as was first claimed by Enrico Proto (
BSDI 22
[1915], pp. 72–73). This attribution is now supported by a number of commentators. The passage presents the bird at the top of a tree, turned to where the sun will rise and waiting for its rays. Some have objected that the phoenix, as near-immortal bird, does not seem appropriate to this context and deny its presence behind Dante’s lines. Lactantius, who lived into the early fourth century, was imbued with the Christian faith, so much so that he was hired by the emperor Constantine to instruct his children. It is not certain he was in fact the author of the poem; what is certain is that, as a Christian
symbol (precisely of the reborn Christ), the bird, whoever was its author, is appropriate to the atmosphere of Dante’s moment, preparing for a vision of Christ in His flesh.
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1.
It seems entirely fitting that a canto centrally devoted to the mother of Jesus begin with this image of the selfless and loving mother bird. Such is the retrograde nature of some commentators that they debate whether this bird is meant to be taken as male or female. While it is true that the gender of the bird is not specified, and while male birds do indeed care for nestlings, the context of the simile and of the canto as a whole makes a father bird an otiose thought.
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2.
The phrase
dolci nati
(sweet brood) may have its origin in Virgil,
Georgics
II.523, “dulces … nati,” in that glowing tableau of the bucolic life in the “good old days” of pre-Roman Italy. Indeed, as Bosco points out in his introductory note to this canto, there are many classical references peeking out at us from these lines, including that one. Apparently the first to cite this passage in the
Georgics
was Scartazzini (comm. to this verse); see also Marigo (Mari.1909.1).
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3.
For the blackness of the night that hides things from view, Tommaseo was the first to point to Virgil (
Aen
. VI.271–272): “ubi caelum condidit umbra / Iuppiter, et rebus nox abstulit atra colorem” (when Jupiter has buried the sky in shade, and black Night has stolen from the world her hues [tr. H.R. Fairclough]).
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4.
There seems no reason to honor the views of those who see in the
aspetti disïati
anything other than the “faces” of the nestlings. Yet some believe that the phrase refers to the locations of nourishment for the young birds or even the “aspects” of the soon-to-rise Sun.
As Tommaseo (comm. to vv. 4–6) points out, words for “desire” and “desiring” occur four times in this canto (see also vv. 14, 39, 105).
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7.
The bird now ventures from the nest farther along the branch, where the leaves are less thick, in order to have a better view of sunrise.
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9.
For the medieval
alba
(a love-song, lamenting the coming of dawn, sung to one’s beloved after a night of lovemaking), see Saville (Savi.1972.1). And see Picone (Pico.1994.2), pp. 211–13, for the relevance also of the religious
alba
. Picone points out that in Dante’s scene the dawn
is a welcome presence, betiding the renewal of affection rather than the sad time of necessary separation for lovers.
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10–11.
This language for Beatrice’s attitude recalls that found in
Purgatorio
XIX.26, where Beatrice (if that is she in Dante’s dream) is
santa e presta
(holy and alert); in that dream it is Dante who makes “straight” the deformed witch he wants to love.
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11–12.
Unriddled, these lines indicate the heavenly equivalent of noon on earth, the zenith of the universe. We remember that the physical sun lies
below
the place where Dante finds himself. Beatrice is expecting “sunrise” there, at the zenith, not at the “horizon.” The descent of the blessed spirits of the Empyrean, naturally, is from “true north,” the very top of the universe. Lombardi points out (comm. to these verses) that the heavenly Jerusalem is directly over the earthly one; this “supernatural sunrise” calls our attention to the fact that the “sun” that is about to “dawn” is indeed extraordinary.
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12.
The Sun at its zenith seems to “move” more slowly because it covers the smaller part of its arc, as seen by us; see Tozer (comm. to
Purg.
XXXIII.103–105): “At noon the sun is brightest, and the imagination naturally conceives that it pauses or slackens its speed when it reaches the highest point of its course.”
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13–18.
Dante, as nestling, must await his “food.” Like the subject it describes, delayed satisfaction both for giver and recipient, the passage continues to draw out that moment of satisfaction, until the “sun” is finally described as having risen.
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19–21.
While a great deal of preparation has led up to this moment (and it should now be clear that it is this moment that necessitated the invocation in the last canto), it is nonetheless a vast surprise, once we realize that what has just occurred is a “visit” by the entire Church Triumphant to the second of the heavenly spheres beneath the placeless, timeless Empyrean. There the object of their “visit” is no other and no more than Dante Alighieri, “a Florentine by birth but not in his behaviors.” There are few moments in the poem, not even the final vision of the triune God, that come close to reaching the level of daring found here. The saved who dwell with Christ are thought of as the souls that have been harvested by Him (some in the Harrowing [see
Inf.
IV.52–63], slightly fewer than half
of them later), in part because of the positive qualities bred in them by the stars at their birth. Aversano (Aver.2000.2), p. 104, suggests that the descent of these souls from the Empyrean may mimic that described in the Apocalypse (Apoc. 21:2), “And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, …” (
descendentem de coelo a Deo
).
There has been and remains dispute as to who exactly comes down to be seen by Dante. Some embarrassment is felt on the poet’s behalf had he wanted the reader to believe that all the saints in Heaven came down to greet him. Embarrassing or not, that seems the only possible reading:
tutto il frutto
(all the fruit) does not allow for a more modest, gentlemanly selectivity.
We are forced also to reflect that Dante has seen some of these souls before. If all of them now descend, their number includes all the souls since Piccarda whom he has already seen in the various seven previous heavens.
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