Paradiso
Page 77
It has seemed reasonable to some to point out that Cangrande was too young in 1300 to be the subject of so dramatic a prophecy (not to mention the one in Inf. I, if that, also, applies to him), since he was only nine years old in 1300 and only around fourteen or fifteen when Dante began writing the poem. However, those who have made this argument have neglected to take three things into account: First, stories about Cangrande as a child prodigy were abundant (e.g., in one such the boy is depicted as being shown a chest, opened to reveal the coins and jewels it contains; he reaches out and covers that pelf back over with its cloth: See Cacciaguida’s words in vv. 83–84 and Benvenuto’s gloss to them [comm. to vv. 82–84]; and see the similar sentiment expressed of the veltro, Inf. I.103); second, Cangrande had been named commander in chief of the Veronese armies before he was in his teens; third, and in general, expectations of the princes of royal houses and other such luminaries were simply out of all proportion to our own expectations of the young. See the note to Inferno I.100–105. Further, if this later passage was written when Cangrande was well into his twenties, as it undoubtedly was, it is not surprising that it looks to him to take over the role of the veltro and of the “five hundred ten and five.” But see the note to Paradiso XXVII.142–148. [return to English / Italian]
78. What does Dante imagine Cangrande will accomplish politically? Somehow, he apparently must think, Cangrande will finish the task that Henry started but failed to complete, the reestablishment of conditions leading to the refounding of Aeneas’s Rome. That is the only surmise possible that might justify the amazingly positive things said throughout this eventually unexpressed (or better, suppressed [see vv. 92–93]) prophecy. It is not, perhaps, “officially” one of the three “world prophecies” that appear, one in each cantica (Inf. I, Purg. XXXIII, Par. XXVII), but it reflects the first two of them and informs the third. [return to English / Italian]
79–81. Dante takes the sticks out of the hands of those who would beat him about the head for prognosticating such things about a mere child. See the note to verses 76–90. [return to English / Italian]
82–84. The “Gascon” (Pope Clement V) first led Henry on and then tried to undermine his imperial efforts. The date most commentators affix to the pope’s open hostility to Henry is 1312, when the emperor hoped to be crowned (a second time in Italy) in St. Peter’s, but was put off and finally relegated by decision of Clement to St. John Lateran, outside the walls of the city and in ruins. The “sparks” of virtue with which Cangrande is credited here may have been his demonstrations of support for the emperor; similarly, his “toil” is perhaps his effort, unrewarded, on Henry’s behalf (for this view, see Carroll [comm. to vv. 76–93]). More likely, the first signs of virtue apparent in his not caring for worldly possessions was, apparently, a part of his “legend” (see the note to vv. 76–90); as for the affanni (toils) he does not complain about, most who remark on them take them as referring to his military exercises. [return to English / Italian]
85. Poletto (comm. to vv. 85–87) makes the point that only Beatrice (Par. XXXI.88) and the Virgin (Par. XXXIII.20) are allowed to share this word with Cangrande. See also the first word of the dedication to him of Epistle XIII, “Magnifico.” [return to English / Italian]
89–90. Steiner was the first among the commentators to see the possible connection with a part of Mary’s hymn of praise for her Lord, Luke 1:52–53: “He has put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree. He has filled the hungry with good things; and the rich he has sent away empty” (comm. to vv. 89–90). In light of this scriptural connection, Porena (comm. to these verses) thinks of Cangrande as a sort of Lombard Robin Hood. [return to English / Italian]
91–93. It is difficult to see how this blank “prophecy” of the things that will be accomplished by Cangrande, imperial vicar that he was and insisted on being even after Henry’s death, is anything but “imperial” in nature. (Henry, betrayed by Pope Clement V in 1312, is referred to a few lines ago [verses 82]). See Di Scipio’s (Disc.1983.1) convincing attack on Passerin D’Entrèves (Pass.1955.1) for denying Dante’s significant involvement with imperial ideas (in favor of religious orthodoxy), a position that simply fails to account for such clearly political (and imperial) passages as these.
It seems likely that Dante’s optimism about Cangrande’s future deeds is more the result of desperation than hope. Here was a man who had decided, upon precious little evidence, when he was writing the fourth book of Convivio, that the Roman Empire would be active once more. Within a decade an emperor comes down to Italy and behaves like the new Charlemagne, as far as Dante is concerned. One can only imagine (but the edgy tone of his second epistle to the emperor tells us a great deal about his growing disillusionment) the bitterness he felt once Henry had died in 1313. And now, some four or five years later, here he is, shouting at the top of his lungs, “The emperor is dead, long live the emperor!” He had, with little in the way of hard evidence, simply decided that Rome must rise again. And events made him correct. If Italy had not been ready for Henry (see Par. XXX.137–138), it would have to be ready for what Cangrande would do to clear the path for the next emperor. It may not be excessive to suggest that Dante felt as “keyed in” to the political events of his day, even before they occurred, as Fyodor Dostoyevski felt himself endowed with prescience about those of his time.
Carolyn Calvert Phipps (in a seminar in 1980) pointed out that there is a possible dependence here on the prophetic book referred to in the Apocalypse (10:4): “Signa quae locuta sunt septem tonitrua: et noli ea scribere” (Seal up those things which the seven thunders said and write them not). This is the instruction given John by the angel who brings him God’s prophetic book for him to ingest. What makes Professor Phipps’s observation particularly worthy of study is that there may be another possible visitation of the tenth chapter of the Apocalypse in this canto; see the note to vv. 130–132. [return to English / Italian]
94–96. Concluding, Cacciaguida characterizes his utterances over the last seventeen tercets (vv. 43–93) as chiose (glosses); this long prophetic passage is unique in the poem, both for its length and for its personal import for the protagonist. It is divided into three sections, lines 43–69 (the pains of exile [Dante]); 70–75 (the first stay in Verona [Bartolommeo]); 76–93 (the second stay in Verona [Cangrande]).
What exactly do these “glosses” predict of Dante’s difficult life as an exile? See the note to verses 52–54 for the range of possibilities according to the commentators. And to what specific prognostications do they respond, only Cacciaguida’s here or to some of the earlier ones we heard in the first two cantiche, and if so, to which ones? We can say with some security that only the first section of his ancestor’s prophecy, that concerning Dante’s harsh political fate, is involved. It is worth remarking that the time frame that Cacciaguida seems to have in mind is short (a pochi giri), and that thus we should probably think that the events of 1304, just four revolutions of the heavens away from the date on which he speaks (1 April 1300), are likely what he has in mind. [return to English / Italian]
97–99. Cacciaguida’s repeated promise of Dante’s vindication in the punishment of his enemies sounds very much as it did when it first was uttered in vv. 53–54. As for the notion contained in the neologism s’infutura (present tense of Dante’s coinage, infuturarsi [lit. “to infuture oneself”]), ever since the early days of the commentary tradition at least some have argued that it would have been bad taste and out of keeping with Christian doctrine (not to mention the poet’s own stated views) for Dante to have boasted at having survived his enemies in the flesh. Benvenuto da Imola (comm. to this tercet) does not even consider this possibility, referring only to Dante’s honorable name as what will survive him, and survive longer than the dishonor of his enemies. Nonetheless, such a vaunt has been a long-standing trait in those who have survived the threatening behaviors of such powerful enemies as Boniface VIII (dead in 1303) or Corso Donati (dead in 1308). (Boniface is me
ntioned in this context by several commentators, although it is a bit of a stretch to believe that Dante thought of him as a “neighbor.”) Porena points out (comm. to this tercet) that the “orthodox” interpretation, ridding Dante of a perhaps petty desire to outlive his enemies, makes little sense, since his immortal longings (see vv. 119–120) are considerably grander than the afterlives he foresees for his Florentine enemies, clearly meant to be in oblivion while Dante lives on. If that was his wish, he has been rewarded. [return to English / Italian]
100–102. The metaphor, drawn from weaving, has it that Cacciaguida has finished answering Dante’s question (the “warp”) with his response (the “woof”), thus completing the pattern. See the earlier use of a similar metaphor, describing Piccarda’s words (Par. III.95–96). [return to English / Italian]
103–105. A “pseudo-simile” (see the note to Inf. XXX.136–141) in which the protagonist is compared to someone—very much like himself—asking a question of a person whom he trusts and loves—exactly such a one as Cacciaguida. [return to English / Italian]
106–107. The metaphorical presentation of time as a (currently unseen) adversary in a duel on horseback captures the feelings of a person surprised by history and now realizing the enormity of his self-deluding former sense of security. [return to English / Italian]
108. That is, time saves its heaviest blows for the one who is least aware of its relentless advance. See the similar thought expressed at vv. 23–24. [return to English / Italian]
109–111. This tercet sounds a rare (and disingenuous) note of caution on the poet’s part. If he will lose his native city within two years because of his obstinate adherence to telling the truth, should not he then consider mitigating his bitter words in complaint of the human iniquity found in other parts of Italy lest he be denied shelter and support in his exile? Since we have read the poem (which he only imagines writing at this point), we know that he did not succumb to the Siren song of “safety first.” However, and as Carroll suggests (comm. to vv. 106–120), “In those days of the vendetta it is a marvel that a sudden knife in the heart did not send Dante to make actual acquaintance with that invisible world whose secrets he feigned to know.” [return to English / Italian]
111. For a source of this verse, Brugnoli (Brug.1995.1), pp. 56–57, cites Ovid, Tristia II.207: “Perdiderint cum me duo crimina, carmen et error.…” (Although two crimes, one a poem, one a mistake, shall have brought me to perdition …). This text, highly familiar and certainly most applicable to Dante, is somehow almost entirely lacking from the commentary tradition, appearing only once before, in Boccaccio’s Vita Ovidii (in his comm. to the literal sense of Inf. IV.90), and never, or so it seems, in the context of Dante’s own exile. [return to English / Italian]
112–120. Less an example of captatio benevolentiae than a sort of insistence on an inexcusable but necessary rudeness, this passage, recapitulating the journey until here and now, the midpoint of the third “kingdom,” seeks our acceptance of the poet’s revealing the harsh things that he has learned in Hell, Purgatory, and the first five of the heavens. While he might have won the goodwill of some of us by gilding the lily, as it were, he would have lost his claim on the rest of us (we do indeed call Dante’s time “ancient,” do we not?). For we want truth in our poetry, not blandishment. [return to English / Italian]
118. Beginning with Scartazzini (comm. to this verse), the Aristotelian provenance of this gesture has been amply noted (the beginning of the Ethics [I.4]): “For friends and truth are both dear to us, but it is a sacred duty to prefer the truth.” Dante himself has quoted or referred to this dictum on at least three occasions (Conv. IV.viii.13; Mon. III.i.3; Epist. XI.11). Cf. also the frequently cited Aristotelian tag, “Assuredly, I am Plato’s friend, but I am still more a friend to truth.” [return to English / Italian]
119. Brunetto had taught him how to make himself immortal, “come l’uom s’etterna” (Inf. XV.85). It is not, we can assume, by flattering one’s hosts. Brunetto seems to have been on Dante’s mind in this context; see the note to verses 121–122. [return to English / Italian]
121–122. Cacciaguida’s shining presence is verbally reminiscent of the identical phrasing found in Inferno XV.119, where Brunetto refers to his own work (for the question of exactly which work, whether Tresor or Tesoretto, see the note to Inf. XV.119, and Hollander [Holl.1992.2], p. 228, n. 82) as il mio Tesoro, the same words that we find here, used of Cacciaguida. Are we perhaps to believe that, for Dante, Cacciaguida is a better, truer “father” than Brunetto? See Quinones (Quin.1979.1), pp. 174–76, and Ordiway (Ordi.1990.1) on Brunetto’s replacement by Cacciaguida.
This is the sixth appearance (of seven) in the poem of the word tesoro. It first appeared in Inferno XV.119 (where Brunetto Latini alludes to his book of that title); then in Inferno XIX.90 (where Christ wants no “treasure” from Peter in compensation for the spiritual gifts He bestows upon him [as opposed to Simon Magus, who wants to acquire such gifts for a price]). In the first canto of the last canticle (Par. I.11), the poet refers to the “treasure” of God’s kingdom that he has been able to store in his memory; the word is then found in Paradiso V.29 (where it refers to God’s greatest gift to humankind, the freedom of our will); X.108 (representing the worldly goods that Peter Lombard renounced in order to follow Christ); and finally in XXIII.133 (designating the treasure in heaven of Matthew 6:20 [and/or 19:21], as Tommaseo [comm. to vv. 133–135] was apparently the first commentator to observe). That last reference eventually colors all that precedes it. In the final reckoning, worldly treasure is measured against this sole standard. And thus the word tesoro, which begins its course through the poem as the title for one of Brunetto Latini’s works (by which he hopes to have achieved “immortality” in the world, a contradiction in terms), is examined and reexamined in such ways as to suggest either the desirability of renunciation of earthly “treasure” or the preferability of its heavenly counterpart, that “treasure in Heaven” that we may discover through the exercise of God’s greatest gift to us, our true treasure here on earth, the free will, in our attempt to gain a better (and eternal) reward.
The poet’s clear enthusiasm for his ancestor’s noble sacrifice at least casts into doubt the central thesis of Brenda Deen Schildgen’s article (Schi.1998.1) and book (Schi.2002.1), namely, that Dante did not promote crusading in the Holy Land, a position that may have the advantage of having a certain vogue among those who find crusading distasteful, but no other. [return to English / Italian]
124–135. Cacciaguida admits that Dante’s truth-telling will hurt all those who either themselves have given offense or who bear the sins of their relations on their consciences, but encourages him to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. [return to English / Italian]
127–129. This tercet contains terms that have a possible relevance to Dante’s sense of his own poeticizing. First, there is menzogna (a reference to the bella menzogna [beautiful lie] that represents a kind of poetry, as in Conv. II.i.3). Next we come upon the term visione (see Par. XXXIII.62), a kind of writing distinguished by being (or by claiming to be) literally true. This lofty word has barely ceased resonating when Dante descends the stylistic ladder to perhaps the lowest level of the vernacular that we encounter in this canticle, grattar dov’ è la rogna (scratch where it itches). In three lines he puts forward what the poem is not (a tissue of lies, a “mere” fiction), what it is (an inspired vision), and what style its author insists that he employs (the comic, or low vernacular, style). See the notes to Inferno XX.I–3, XX.106–114, and XX.130; Purgatorio IX.34–42 and XXX.21; and Paradiso I.20–21. [return to English / Italian]
130–132. While few of the commentators suggest a source for this tercet, Pietro di Dante is a rare early exception (comm. to vv. 127–132 [only in his first redaction]). He cites, after various other potential sources, the text that alone has had a “career” among Dante’s commentators to this passage, Boethius (Cons. Phil. III.1[pr]), a citation only recurring near
ly five centuries later in Campi (comm. to this tercet). In the first half of the twentieth century it is found in Grandgent (comm. to this tercet) and in Scartazzini/Vandelli (comm. to verse 132). Porena (comm. to verse 132) also cites it, but sees a possible problem with its pertinence to Dante’s context. However, it currently enjoys a certain stability, finding its way to most recent commentaries. Boethius’s text reads: “Talia sunt quae restant, ut degustata quidem mordeant, interius autem recepta dulcescant” (You will find what I have yet to say bitter to the taste, but, once you have digested it, it will seem sweet [tr. R. Green]). However, there is no instance of a commentator referring to a biblical text (a close neighbor of one that may have been on Dante’s mind only shortly before [see the note to vv. 91–93]), one found in John’s Revelation (Apocalypse 10:9 [repeated nearly verbatim in 10:10]), where the angel is addressing the apostle: “Accipe librum, et devora illum: et faciet amaricari ventrem tuum, sed in ore tuo erit dulce tanquam mel” (Take the book and eat it; it will make your stomach bitter, but in your mouth it will be sweet as honey). [return to English / Italian]
133–142. Cacciaguida’s concluding ten lines (and he will speak only nine more as he leaves the poem in the next canto, vv. 28–36) establish, if not the ars poetica of this poem, then its mode of employing exempla for our moral instruction. This passage has caused no little confusion, especially three elements contained in it. (1) Some commentators seem to assume that it is only concerned with those in Hell; (2) others think that the poem ennobles its subjects (rather than the obverse); and (3) still others object that not all the populace of the afterworld seen by Dante may be considered famous. The first two problems are easily dealt with, for it is obvious that the poet means to indicate the famous dead in all three canticles and also that the honor accrues to the poem (one that eschews the commonplace for the extraordinary) rather than to its subjects. As for the third, one example of this complaint will suffice. Singleton (comm. to verse 138) argues that this claim cannot be taken as literally true, since there are many “unknown characters” found in the cast of the Comedy. “One has only to think,” he says, “of the riff-raff, generally, of the eighth circle of Inferno.” However, those crowds of “extras” do not count in Dante’s scheme of things; those who are named are famous (or were, in Dante’s time at least, better known than they are in ours).