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“Turn, Beatrice, turn your sacred eyes, ” they sang, “and look upon your faithful one who came so very far to look at you!
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Of your own grace grant us this grace: unveil your mouth for him, allow him to behold that second beauty which you hide from him. ”
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O splendor of the eternal living light! Who, having drunk at the Parnassian well, or become pale within that mountain’s shade,
141
could find with all of his poetic gifts those words that might describe the way you looked, with that harmonious heaven your only veil,
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when you unveiled yourself to me at last?
CANTO XXXII
FOR THE FIRST time in ten years, Dante the Pilgrim stares into the face of Beatrice. Looking away, he is left temporarily blinded, and when he recovers his sight, it is to discover that the pageant is now moving off. He and Statius, along with the lovely lady, follow the procession, which stops in front of a tree, where Beatrice descends. This is the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, but it is stripped bare of leaf and fruit. The griffin takes the pole of the chariot he has been pulling and attaches it to the tree, which immediately bursts into bloom. As the company begins to chant an unidentifiable hymn, the Pilgrim falls asleep. He is awakened by the lovely lady to find that the pageant has departed and that Beatrice, with her seven handmaidens, is left alone, seated beneath the tree. She directs the Pilgrim to fix his eyes on the chariot. As he watches, an eagle swoops down through the tree, tearing off the new- born leaves, and strikes the chariot with full force. Then a fox leaps up into the cart but is driven off by Beatrice. Again the eagle comes, but this time it perches on the chariot and sheds some of its golden feathers there. Suddenly the ground beneath the chariot opens, and a dragon drives its tail up through the floor of the cart. Withdrawing its stinger, it takes a portion of the floor with it. What is left of the chariot now grows a rich cover of feathers and then sprouts seven heads. Seated now upon the chariot is an ungirt whore, who flirts lasciviously with a giant standing nearby. When the whore turns her lustful eyes toward the Pilgrim, the giant beats her and drags the chariot off into the woods.
I fixed my eyes on her; they were intent on quenching their ten years of thirst at last— I was bereft of every other sense.
3
My eyes, walled in by barriers of high indifference, were drawn to her holy smile— they were entranced by her familiar spell.
6
But, suddenly, my gaze was forced away to where those goddesses stood at my left. “He should not look so hard!” I heard them say.
9
I was like one who had just strained his eyes by looking straight into the sun too long; indeed, I was left blinded for a while.
12
When I had grown accustomed to dim light— dim light, I mean, compared to that effulgence from which I had been forced to turn away—
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the glorious host, I saw, had wheeled about on its right flank and now was moving back, facing the seven torches and the sun.
18
When squadrons under shields start to retreat, it is the front-line troops, bearing their colors, who turn before the others can begin—
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just so, those soldiers who were in the front of the blest host had all marched past our post before the chariot had turned its pole.
24
The ladies took their place beside the wheels: the griffin moved, pulling his sacred charge, without a single feather being ruffled.
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Statius and I, along with the fair maid who had towed me across the stream, now moved behind the wheel which made the smaller arc.
30
As we walked through that high wood, empty now because of her who listened to the snake, our steps kept time to strains of heavenly notes.
33
We had already walked perhaps three times the distance any arrow shot full strength could reach, when Beatrice left the cart.
36
I heard them all murmuring Adam’s name; and then they formed a circle ‘round a tree whose every branch was stripped of leaf and fruit.
39
A tree like this in India’s wooded lands would seem a very miracle of height: the more it rose, the wider spread its boughs.
42
“Blessed art thou, Griffin. Thy sacred beak tears not a shred of this tree’s savory bark, which makes the belly writhe in deadly pain!”
45
These words were sung by all the others there around the tree. And the two-natured beast: “Thus is preserved the seed of righteousness. ”
48
Then, turning to the pole which he had pulled, he brought it up against the widowed tree, returning to it what it once brought forth.
51
40. Towering so high, this tree represents the Holy Roman Empire, the foundation of the highest earthly law.
48. The words are spoken by the griffin; it is the only time the creature speaks. The “seed of righteousness” firmly identifies the tree as the allegorical representation of Justice, the Justice of God, which includes in its design the justice of human institutions (empire) as well.
Just as the trees on earth in early spring— when the strong rays fall, mingled with the light that glows behind the heaven of the Fish—
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begin to swell, burst into bloom, renew the color that was theirs, before the sun hitches his steeds beneath some other stars,
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just so, that tree whose boughs had been so bare, renewed itself, and bloomed with color not quite roselike but brighter than a violet.
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I did not recognize the hymn that group began to sing—it is not sung on earth, and then, I did not listen to the end.
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Could I describe how those insistent eyes were lulled to sleep by the sad tale of Syrinx— the eyes that paid so dear for their long watch—
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as painter painting from his model, I would try to show you how I fell asleep. But let whoever can paint sleep, paint sleep!
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So, I shall tell you only how I woke: a splendor rent the veil of sleep, a voice was calling me: “What are you doing? Rise!”
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When they were led to see that apple tree whose blossoms give the fruit that angels crave, providing an eternal marriage-feast,
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59-60. Purple could signify the passion and death of Christ; hence, it is his sacrificial blood that infuses the tree with its color. The four cardinal virtues of the procession also wear purple, signifying their accessibility to mankind after the shedding of Christ’s blood. Without these virtues no righteous government is possible.
72. The words are those of the “sympathetic lady” (83), who has not as yet been identified as Matelda. Similar words were used by Christ at the Transfiguration (cf. Matthew 17:7).
74. The “apple tree” (73) is Christ (Apocrypha 18:14). When in full bloom it represents Christ’s promise to mankind that what will follow is the fruit of eternal bliss, enjoyed now by the angels living in perpetual union with Christ in Heaven.
Peter and John and James were overpowered by sleep, and then brought back to consciousness by that same word that broke a deeper sleep;
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they saw their company had been reduced, for Moses and Elijah were not there; they saw their Master’s robe changed back again.
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Just so, I woke to see, bent over me, the sympathetic lady who, before, had been my guide along the riverbank.
84
Fearful, I cried: “Oh, where is Beatrice?” The lady said: “See, she is sitting there on the tree’s roots beneath the newborn leaves;
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behold the company surrounding her. The rest go with the griffin up to Heaven to sweeter music and to deeper strains. ”
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I do not know if she said more than this, for now I was
allowed to see again the one who reigned completely in my mind.
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She sat there on the bare earth, left alone to guard the chariot that I had seen bound to the tree by the two-natured beast.
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The circle of the seven nymphs now formed a cloister for the lady; in their hands they held those lights no wind on earth could quench.
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“A short time you shall dwell outside the walls; then you, with me, shall live eternally, citizen of that Rome where Christ is Roman.
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Now, for the good of sinners in your world, observe the chariot well, and what you see, put into writing, when you have returned. ”
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Thus Beatrice. I obediently, devoutly, at the feet of her commands, gave mind and eye to satisfying her.
108
No bolt of lightning flashing through dense cloud, shot from the farthest region of the sky, has ever struck with such velocity
111
as moved the bird of Jove who then swooped down and through the tree, tearing off newborn leaves, rending the bark, destroying all the blooms;
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with his full force he struck the chariot, which staggered like a ship caught in a storm, careened by waves, tilting starboard and port.
117
Into the cradle of the glorious car I saw a fox leap up, so lean it seemed the food it fed on had no nourishment.
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My lady made it turn and run away, as fast as its weak skin and bones could go, accusing it of foul abominations.
123
Once more the eagle swooped down through the tree: this time into the framework of the car, to shed some of its golden feathers there;
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like sorrow pouring from a grieving heart a voice from Heaven was heard: “My little ship, O what ill-fated cargo you must bear!”
129
109-117. The tableau signifies the persecutions of the early Church under the Roman emperors from Nero (A.D. 54-68) to Diocletian (A.D. 284-305). The “bird of Jove” is the eagle, the standard of the empire, here acting as a bird of prey, “tearing, ” “rending, ” and “destroying. ” Dante compares the assaulted chariot, the Church, to “a ship caught in a storm. ” The ship is a traditional symbol of the Church (cf. Dante’s reference to Peter’s ship in Paradise XI, 119-120).
118-123. The second tableau represents the internal heresies that threatened the early Church, particularly the heresy of Gnosticism.
124-129. The third catastrophe, again initiated by action of the eagle, is a tableau representing the Church’s acquisition of temporal wealth and power through what came to be renowned as the “Donation of Constantino, ” the alleged gift of the Western Empire to the papacy, the “ill-fated cargo” of line 129.
And then I saw the ground between the wheels opening up: a dragon issued forth, driving its tail up through the chariot;
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then, as a wasp withdraws its sting, that thing drew back its poison tail, tearing away part of the floor—gloating, it wandered off;
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the rest, like fertile soil left for thick weeds to thrive on, grew a rich cover of plumes granted with good intentions, it would seem,
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and all the chariot, with both its wheels and pole as well, was overgrown with them in less time than it takes to heave a sigh.
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Thus changed, the holy shrine began to sprout heads from all parts: three on the chariot’s pole and one from each of its four corners grew.
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The three were horned like oxen, but the four had but one horn upon each of their heads. No one has ever seen a monster like it!
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Seated thereon, securely, like a fort high on a hill, I saw an ungirt whore casting bold, sluttish glances all around.
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130-135. The meaning of the fourth catastrophe is less certain. The dragon is a traditional representation of Satan (cf. Revelation 12:9), here issuing up from below to rend the floor of the chariot (i. e., the foundation of the Church). Historically, the tableau probably represents one of the schisms that divided the early Church, perhaps Mohammedanism, which rose to threaten her in the seventh century.
136-141. The tableau of the fifth catastrophe shows the Church’s further acquisitions of temporal wealth and power.
148-159. The seventh catastrophe brings us to the period of history close to Dante’s own time. The whore represents the corrupted papacy, which had been prostituting itself by forming lucrative alliances with the kings of France. The jealous “giant” (152) is most probably Philip the Fair (Philip III, 1285-1314) of France, and his kissing the whore “from time to time” (153) represents the mutual interests of king and pope served by their temporal alliances. Again, the imagery is apocalyptic. When the whore (at this point representing Pope Boniface VIII) casts her eyes on the Pilgrim, she is beaten by the jealous giant, who then removes both whore and transformed cart “far off into the woods” (159). The exact significance of the Pilgrim’s participation here is uncertain.
Acting as if someone might take her from him, a giant, I saw, standing there by her side; from time to time the two of them would kiss.
153
But when she turned her roving, lustful eyes on me, her lover in a fit of rage beat her ferociously from head to foot.
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Then, furious with jealousy, the giant ripped loose the monster, dragging it away far off into the woods, until the trees
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blocked from my sight the whore and that strange beast. ?
CANTO XXXIII
THE SEVEN LADIES. With the seventh catastrophe (the removal of the papacy to Avignon in 1305), we have moved into prophetic or future time, with respect to the fictional date of the journey (1300). Thus the Pilgrim is unable to see the further activities of the whore, the jealous giant, and the cart-turned-monster.
Deus venerunt gentes, sang the nymphs chanting in tears the dulcet psalmody, their voices alternating, three, then four,
3
and Beatrice listened to their song, sighing and sorrowful—hardly more grief showed in the face of Mary at the cross.
6
But when among those virgins silence reigned, yielding to her response, she stood up then and glowing like a flame, announced to them:
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“Modicum et non videbitis me; et iterum, sisters so dear to me, modicum et vos videbitis me. ”
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Then, having placed the seven in front of her, she had us move behind with just a nod to me and to the lady and the poet.
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So she moved forward, and she had not gone ten steps into the wood when, suddenly, she turned to fix her eyes on mine, and said,
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looking at me serenely: “Make more haste, so that, if I should wish to speak with you, you would be close enough to hear my words. ”
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I did as I was told. Once I was close, she said: “Why, brother, do you hesitate to question me, now that you are with me?”
24
Like those who feel a paralyzing awe when in the presence of superiors and scarcely can find breath enough to speak—
27
1. The seven virtues begin to sing Psalm 78 [79], a lamentation for the destruction of the temple of Jerusalem, which begins, “O God, the nations have come into your inheritance; / they have defiled your holy temple, they have laid / Jerusalem in ruins. ”
10-12. Beatrice speaks the words of Christ to his disciples: “A little while and you shall not see me; and again, a little while and you shall see me because I go to the Father” (John 16:16).
I, too, could utter, indistinctly though, the words: “My lady, you know all my needs, and how to satisfy them perfectly. ”
30
Then she to me: “It is my wish that you from now on free yourself from fear and shame, and cease to speak like someone in a dream.
33
Kn
ow that the vessel which the serpent broke was, and is not. Let him who bears the blame learn that God’s vengeance has no fear of sops.
36
The eagle that shed feathers on the car that would become a monster, then a prey, will not remain forever without heirs;
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I tell you this because I clearly see those stars, already near, that will bring in a time—its advent nothing can prevent—
42
in which five hundred, ten, and five shall be God’s emissary, born to kill the giant and the usurping whore with whom he sins.
45
Perhaps my prophecy with its dark words, obscure as those of Themis or the Sphinx, has not convinced you but confused your mind;
48
but soon events themselves shall be the Naiads that will untie this riddle’s complex knot— with no destruction of the sheep or grain.
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Note well my words: what I have said to you, you will repeat, as you teach those who live that life which is merely a race to death.
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35. He “who bears the blame” is, collectively, Pope Clement and Philip the Fair.
43. Beatrice is prophesying the coming of such an heir to the Caesars: “God’s emissary” (44) to Italy. Exactly whom Beatrice had in mind is a question that continues to puzzle readers of the poem.
47. Both Themis and the Sphinx arc associated in classical mythology with “dark words” and obscure riddles.
And when you write, be sure that you describe the sad condition of the tree you saw despoiled, not once but twice, here on this spot.
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Whoever robs this tree or breaks its limbs sins against God, blasphemes in deeds, for He created it to serve His Holy Self.
60
Because God’s first soul tasted of this tree, more than five thousand years in pain he yearned for Him Who paid the penalty Himself.
63
Your mind’s asleep if you do not perceive the special reason for the tree’s great height and why it grows inverted toward the top.
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If your vain thoughts had not been to your mind waters of Elsa, and your joy in them a Pyramus to your mulberry, then