Beatrice continues to rebuke Dante in order to move him to admit his guilt and repent. He admits that after she died he allowed other things to become the focus of his ideals. Finally, under great emotional stress from more heavy interrogation, Dante’s spirit is broken and he faints. When he recovers, he realizes that the young lady he met in the forest is walking him through the waters of Lethe. Once he has drunk from that water, he comes ashore purified and is brought to the four dancing ladies. They bring him to stand in front of the griffin and gaze at Beatrice, who is also looking at the griffin. Dante sees its dual nature reflected in her glorious eyes. After this, the three ladies on the right side of the chariot beg Beatrice to unveil herself completely so Dante can see her entire face. She does this and, Dante, stunned by her heavenly beauty, is at a loss to describe her.
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She was only beginning her tirade, and her words continued to slice at me like a sword. “You, there, standing beyond this sacred stream. Speak up! Say that I have told the truth about you. Speak, now! Confess and admit the charges I make against you!” But I could only stand there mute, paralyzed by shame and confusion. And though I struggled to speak, not a single word escaped from my mouth. So she kept up her barrage of wounding words. “Tell me,” she called from the chariot, “what are you thinking about? Give me an answer! Your memories of unhappy times have not yet been erased by the waters of this stream.”[1]As one can see clearly here, Beatrice was not finished with Dante. She was just beginning, he tells us; her “sword” still in action. Representing Christ in his Word, we can draw additional … Continue reading
If you pull too hard on a crossbow, it will break and the arrow will barely reach its target. I was that crossbow, and with tears and sighs, I broke down in the face of her relentless interrogation. Confusion and fear forced a wretched “yes” from my mouth that was barely audible.[2]The image of the broken crossbow here represents Dante. The bolt or arrow represents his one word. Strained beyond its limits, the crossbow or its string will snap, and Dante is just at that point. … Continue reading
And she continued: “In your desire for me, which led you to seek the Good which stands above all other things a man might hope to attain, what caused you to lose faith in reaching your goal? What was it that attracted you away from the right path? What promises lured you to spend your time in other pursuits?”[3]The image of the broken crossbow here represents Dante. The bolt or arrow represents his one word. Strained beyond its limits, the crossbow or its string will snap, and Dante is just at that point. … Continue reading
Sighing deeply, I could hardly find my voice to make an answer. Weeping bitterly, I told her: “When I could no longer look upon your face, I allowed the things of the world to lead me astray with their false promises of happiness.”[4]Here, at last, is Dante’s confession. Compare its (costly) simplicity with Beatrice’s long and intense prosecution. Weeping and hardly able to speak, he admits that when she died and, obviously, … Continue reading
“If you had said nothing,” she said, “or denied what you just confessed, God would still know your guilt. But in our heavenly court, when a sinner condemns his own sin, the grindstone moves the other way and dulls the blade of punishment. Nevertheless, you must truly feel the shame of your many sins, so that you will be stronger the next time the Sirens tempt you. So compose yourself now, and listen carefully to what I will tell you, so you can learn how even my buried body could have led you down a different path.[5]Dante might have thought that with his sobbing admission of guilt his trial would be over, but Beatrice is not finished with him. By reminding him that God would still know the truth if he had denied … Continue reading
“Never before did Nature or Art set before you such beauty as there was within my living form, which is now simply dust. But if such beauty vanished when I died, how could some other worldly thing become the object of your love? When you were tempted, you should have quickly followed me in spirit to higher things. You should not have allowed your wings to be weighed down by some pretty girl or some other fleeting attraction–leaving you weak to resist their snares. A young bird might hesitate to take to flight, but not one that is mature. That one will see the net, or avoid the arrow.”[6]The reader must understand here that Beatrice is not talking about her physical beauty. Rather, her own (inner) beauty (greater than Nature or Art) should have led Dante to the Ultimate Beauty of … Continue reading
Well, all I could do was stand there like a scolded child, silent, ashamed, with my head bowed, admitting I was wrong, and deeply sorry for what I had done. But she wasn’t finished. “If simply listening to my words can cause you such anguish, then I will give you more. Raise your beard now, and look at me!”[7]Unable to say more than what he has already admitted, Dante stands there like a bad boy in front of a scolding parent. But Beatrice is still not finished with him. To grasp the significance of what … Continue reading
It was easier for a great oak tree to be uprooted by the wind than it was for me to follow that deeply hurtful command that I look up at her. She called my face my “beard”! What venom there was in those words. And when I was finally able to raise my head, I couldn’t look at her. I looked at the angels instead–their rain of flowers had stopped.[8]Dante is so wounded by Beatrice’s venomous reference to his “beard” that he finds it harder to look up at her than it would be for the wind to uproot an oak tree. And yet, Dante is that oak … Continue reading
When I slowly turned my gaze toward her, I saw that she was now facing the griffin–a single creature but with two natures. Although she was covered by that white veil and on the opposite shore, she, who was the most beautiful person I had ever seen when she was alive, now surpassed every other beauty. Suddenly, I was overcome with such a terrible remorse. I once loved so many things that were not her. Those I now hated the most![9]A moment ago, Dante lacked the courage to look directly at Beatrice. Instead, he looked at the angels and realized that their rain of flowers had stopped. Now able to see more clearly, he sees her … Continue reading
At that moment, I was so completely undone by the bitter recognition of my guilt, that I fainted. Only Beatrice knows what happened next. But when I revived, I realized that I was being led into the stream by that lovely lady whom I had first seen walking alone in the forest. “Hold on to me now,” she said tenderly as she led me into the water up to my neck–she floating easily across the surface like a small boat.[10]Twice before, Dante, overcome by emotion, has fainted (see Inf. 3 and 5). This third time climaxes his confession. When he revives, he realizes that he is being led through the waters of the Lethe by … Continue reading
Already midstream, I heard Asperges me being sung with such heavenly beauty that I cannot put it into words. Ever so gently, the lovely lady dipped my head into the stream a bit so that I could drink of its waters. Then, cleansed of my sins, she led me to where the four lovely ladies were dancing. They gladly raised their arms and joined their hands over me and sang this song: “In this place we are nymphs. But in the heavens, we are stars. Before Beatrice was born, we were ordained to be her handmaids. We will bring you to her eyes. The other three see more deeply, and they will sharpen your sight as you look upon her beauty.” Then, they took me over in front of the griffin while Beatrice looked forward from the chariot.[11]As Dante is being led through the waters of Lethe by Matelda, he hears the singing of Psalm 51 (vv.3-19). Perhaps the angels are still present to sing this final hymn. This Psalm is often sung or … Continue reading
“Gaze, now, as deeply as you can into her eyes,” they said. “You can see those emeralds from which Love once shot his arrows at you.” A thousand flames of desire held my gaze upon those shining eyes that looked upon the griffin. They were like mirrors reflecting the sunlight as the twofold beast reflected in turn his two natures into them. Can you imagine my amazement at seeing that great creature standing there as one being, but reflecting its two natures in Beatrice’s eyes![12]Beatrice and Dante stand facing each other with the griffin between them. She is at the front of the chariot, he standing in front of the griffin. Apparently, Beatrice has lowered her white veil just … Continue reading
There I was, filled with awe and joy, tasting food that both satisfies and makes one hungrier at the same time. And then the other three ladies, more noble in bearing, came to me dancing to an angelic song. “Turn, Beatrice,” they sang, “turn your saintly eyes upon your faithful one, who has traveled so very far to see you! Grant us this great favor: unveil your mouth now, and let him see that second beauty which you’ve hidden from him.”[13]Awestruck at the revelatory experience he has just had, Dante expresses his joy in words taken from the Book of Sirach (24:21): “Those who eat of me will hunger still, those who drink of me will … Continue reading
O splendor of heaven’s living light! Which poet, having drunk from the waters of Parnassus could, even then, at the height of his powers, find words that could describe you standing there under that canopy of heavenly streamers–when, at last, you unveiled yourself to me?[14]Even though Beatrice is not in Paradise during these last cantos of the Purgatorio, she still sees God face to face, and the glory of that beatific vision is constantly reflected in her own face … Continue reading
Notes & Commentary
| ↑1 | As one can see clearly here, Beatrice was not finished with Dante. She was just beginning, he tells us; her “sword” still in action. Representing Christ in his Word, we can draw additional meaning here from the Letter to the Hebrews (4:12): “Indeed, the word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating even between soul and spirit, joints and marrow, and able to discern reflections and thoughts of the heart.”
The “sacred stream”is the Lethe, whose waters remove from one all remembrance of sin. But we need to understand that Dante is on the other side of this stream, which is itself an image of the break between him and Beatrice. She and the entire mystical pageant are heavenly creatures, and they stand in heaven, as it were, while Dante stands still within this world, the material world, the world of temptation and sin. And so, she will continue to press upon him the need to renounce completely his affection for those worldly things that led him astray from love of her. For Dante, this ceaseless interrogation by someone he loved (and who, it needs to be said, still loves him) paralyzes him with shame and confusion. He is desperate to respond, but what can he say that will satisfy her? What can he say that will turn this nightmare into the ecstatic reunion he had expected? He cannot speak. This master of words, this father of a new literary style, the author of this divine Poem, cannot speak. The momentary lull is again quickly filled by Beatrice. When she asks him, “What are you thinking?” this isn’t the first time Dante has been asked this question. Mark Musa makes an interesting point here in his commentary: “Once before on the journey Dante stood with his head bowed, unable to speak. It was in the circle of the Lustful, circle two of Hell, right after he had heard Francesca’s eloquent story of her fated love for Paolo; and at that point it was Virgil who asked, “What are you thinking of?” (Inferno V, 111). The contrasting mood is important here: Francesca’s romantic tale was deceptive; in telling it she used her eloquence wrongly, and the Pilgrim was naive. Here, the Pilgrim faces the righteous eloquence of a woman whose love he has wronged.” In the midst of this confrontation, let us not forget that, as Dante faces “heaven” across the sacred stream, this is a sacramental moment, the sacrament of penance and reconciliation. One might think of this as the apex, the ultimate purpose of the climb up the Mountain of Purgatory. Insofar as Beatrice represents Christ and the Eucharist, and the griffin represents Christ in his two natures, and the entire cast of the mystical procession represent the Old and New Testaments, Beatrice, in the name of Christ and the Church, offers forgiveness and absolution if Dante will but acknowledge, that is confess, his failings. Furthermore, Beatrice reminds Dante that the pain he feels is due to the fact that he still remembers his sins, his failings, his wandering away from her–he is still on the other side of the Lethe, the other side of absolution. |
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| ↑2 | The image of the broken crossbow here represents Dante. The bolt or arrow represents his one word. Strained beyond its limits, the crossbow or its string will snap, and Dante is just at that point. While it is hard to conceive that the arrow will go anywhere if the crossbow breaks, he expects us to follow his allusion through. In this case, without much force behind it, the arrow of Dante’s feeble “yes” to Beatrice’s accusations barely reaches her. |
| ↑3 | The image of the broken crossbow here represents Dante. The bolt or arrow represents his one word. Strained beyond its limits, the crossbow or its string will snap, and Dante is just at that point. While it is hard to conceive that the arrow will go anywhere if the crossbow breaks, he expects us to follow his allusion through. In this case, without much force behind it, the arrow of Dante’s feeble “yes” to Beatrice’s accusations barely reaches her. |
| ↑4 | Here, at last, is Dante’s confession. Compare its (costly) simplicity with Beatrice’s long and intense prosecution. Weeping and hardly able to speak, he admits that when she died and, obviously, without her physical presence to support him, he found himself easily distracted by other worldly pursuits and allowed himself to go astray.
A subtlety that English-speaking readers might miss in this highly charged confrontation (because there is no linguistic distinction in English) is that throughout this entire exchange Beatrice addresses Dante with the familiar pronoun tu (you), while Dante always addresses her with the formal pronoun voi (you). |
| ↑5 | Dante might have thought that with his sobbing admission of guilt his trial would be over, but Beatrice is not finished with him. By reminding him that God would still know the truth if he had denied her accusations or kept silent, she also reminds him that he is still on the “worldly” side of the stream of Lethe where silence and denial can still lead one astray. At the heart of things here she wants him to feel the shame of his sins as a way of strengthening his resolve against future attempts by the Sirens (the Evil One) to lead him astray. Recall Dante’s dream of the ugly siren in Canto 19.
Beatrtice’s image of the heavenly grindstone turning back on itself is an interesting one. Normally, one thinks of the wheel turning away from the blade, thus sharpening it (for a punishing use). But confession turns the grinding wheel backward and thus dulls both the blade of justice and punishment–a manifestation of God’s mercy. With this said, she urges Dante to calm down so she can tell him how even her dead body could still have helped him stay on the right path. |
| ↑6 | The reader must understand here that Beatrice is not talking about her physical beauty. Rather, her own (inner) beauty (greater than Nature or Art) should have led Dante to the Ultimate Beauty of God, something that pretty girls or fleeting attractions could not do. Note here the specific sins she lists. One might hear her saying, “You, of all people, should have known better!” In his commentary here, Ronald Martinez notes that the intensity of Dante’s loss of Beatrice “should have prevented any further attachment to merely mortal beauty.” But here was his weakness: instead of following her, at least in spirit, he allowed himself to be led astray by mere mortal beauty. As Mark Musa puts it: “His response should have been to follow Beatrice, no longer mortal, to the source of permanent and true joy in Heaven, to raise his mind and spirit to things eternal.”
Beatrice’s reference to the “snares” represented by the various temptations Dante fell for gives the bird image she uses greater significance. His wings were so weighted down by worldly pleasures that he could not soar up to the heavens after her when she died. Note the bite in her remark when she tells him that a more mature bird would have avoided all obstacles and soared up after her. |
| ↑7 | Unable to say more than what he has already admitted, Dante stands there like a bad boy in front of a scolding parent. But Beatrice is still not finished with him. To grasp the significance of what happens next, we have to picture him standing across the stream from her with his head bowed down in shame. Seeing how stricken he is by listening to her words, she commands him to look at her. But she doesn’t simply tell him, “Now look at me!” She insults his manhood and tells him to raise his beard. One might think this is a clever way to tell him to look up, except that she has already accused him of being childlike, immature, being a little bird. Now, with her reference to his beard, she sarcastically assumes that he’s a grown man and wants him to stop whimpering.
On a side note here, it may well be that Dante had a beard at one or another time in his life. But virtually all artistic representations of him show him clean-shaven, which suggests that Beatrice may have simply used his beard as a way of saying that he was an adult. |
| ↑8 | Dante is so wounded by Beatrice’s venomous reference to his “beard” that he finds it harder to look up at her than it would be for the wind to uproot an oak tree. And yet, Dante is that oak tree, having been “uprooted” from his past sins by the “winds” of Beatrice’s prosecution. Robert Hollander notes here an interesting comparison between Dante and Virgil’s portrayal of Aeneas as an oak tree in the Aeneid (IV:441ff): “Aeneas is compared to a deeply rooted oak tree buffeted by north winds when Dido makes her last-ditch appeal to him to stay with her in Carthage. In the end, he remains strong enough in his new resolve to deny her request and set sail. Here, the ‘new Aeneas,’ buffeted by the south wind, gives over his stubborn recalcitrance and accedes to the insistent demand of Beatrice, a new and better Dido, that he express his contrition. Where it was good for Aeneas to resist the entreaties of his woman, it is also good for Dante to yield to Beatrice’s.”
Still hurting, when he does “raise his beard,” he lacks the courage to look directly at Beatrice and focuses on the angels instead. And adding an interesting detail here, he notices that the angels’ rain of flowers has stopped. As we continue reading, it will soon become apparent that this seemingly small detail marks the end of Dante’s prosecution and the next stage of his redemption. Recall that when Beatrice first appeared, she was wearing a white veil and that she was additionally veiled by the rain of flowers, which has now been removed. |
| ↑9 | A moment ago, Dante lacked the courage to look directly at Beatrice. Instead, he looked at the angels and realized that their rain of flowers had stopped. Now able to see more clearly, he sees her still wearing the white veil, but she is looking at the griffin, not at him. As noted earlier, this basically marks the conclusion of Dante’s prosecution and confession.
Dante notes that the griffin is a single creature, but with two natures. We know that it is a mythical creature with the body of a lion and the head of an eagle. And it was noted earlier that this particular griffin also has two great wings that reach up into the sky. It’s head is gold, and its body is white with red markings. Most importantly, this griffin represents Christ in his two natures as God and human. But a marvelous transformation now occurs as the white-veiled Beatrice faces the griffin/Christ. Beautiful as she already was in life, Dante explains that at this moment she surpasses any other notion of beauty. Mark Musa notes here that in the Vita Nuova, the Poet wrote that “she was more than a woman. She was one of the most beautiful of the angels in Heaven.” Seeing this vision, he comes to the final necessary realization that seals his penitence and begins their long-awaited reunion. In a last burst of remorse, seeing everything that led him astray, all the things he had substituted for her, these, he tells us, he now hated the most. |
| ↑10 | Twice before, Dante, overcome by emotion, has fainted (see Inf. 3 and 5). This third time climaxes his confession. When he revives, he realizes that he is being led through the waters of the Lethe by Matelda, the mysterious young woman he encountered soon after he entered the Earthly Paradise. Gently and tenderly she guides him through the deep waters, reassuring him as Virgil did earlier when they passed through the wall of flames. Her movement across the water is reminiscent of Jesus’s walking on the water. The water of this stream not only cleanses him after his confession (a symbolic baptism), it also removes all memory of sin (see Aeneid VI:715). Mark Musa notes here: “The waters of Lethe wash away the memory of sin on the emotional plane. Beatrice excises Dante’s sin with the sword of her words; Lethe heals the wound. Memory of pain and sadness is covered over and what remains is an unbroken, whole spirit, capable of speaking of sin objectively rather than subjectively.”
The waters here also remind us of an earlier cleansing at the foot of the mountain when Cato sent the two Pilgrims to the shore and told Virgil to wash the grime of Hell off Dante’s face. And they are also a remembrance of Dante’s baptism which not only cleansed him from sin, but initiated him into the Christian community. And here in Lethe, he is both cleansed and initiated into the community of Paradise which he will soon enter. |
| ↑11 | As Dante is being led through the waters of Lethe by Matelda, he hears the singing of Psalm 51 (vv.3-19). Perhaps the angels are still present to sing this final hymn. This Psalm is often sung or recited at the beginning of the Liturgy as the priest walks up and down the aisles of the church sprinkling the congregation with holy water as a symbol of their purification. This is what Dante heard as he passed through the Lethe: “Have mercy on me, God, in accord with your merciful love; in your abundant compassion blot out my transgressions. Thoroughly wash away my guilt; and from my sin cleanse me. For I know my transgressions; my sin is always before me. Against you, you alone have I sinned; I have done what is evil in your eyes. So that you are just in your word, and without reproach in your judgment. Behold, I was born in guilt, in sin my mother conceived me. Behold, you desire true sincerity; and secretly you teach me wisdom. Cleanse me with hyssop, that I may be pure; wash me, and I will be whiter than snow. You will let me hear gladness and joy; the bones you have crushed will rejoice. Turn away your face from my sins; blot out all my iniquities. A clean heart create for me, God; renew within me a steadfast spirit. Do not drive me from before your face, nor take from me your holy spirit. Restore to me the gladness of your salvation; uphold me with a willing spirit. I will teach the wicked your ways, that sinners may return to you. Rescue me from violent bloodshed, God, my saving God, and my tongue will sing joyfully of your justice. Lord, you will open my lips; and my mouth will proclaim your praise. For you do not desire sacrifice or I would give it; a burnt offering you would not accept. My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite spirit; a contrite, humbled heart, O God, you will not scorn.” Not only do the words of this Psalm capture Dante’s conversion and confession in scriptural language, they also give voice to the penitent’s heartfelt trust in the mercy of God. Note in this Psalm, by the way, one of Dante’s goals in writing the Commedia: “I will teach the wicked your ways, that sinners may return to you.” Already the theme of baptism has been noted. In the ritual of the sacrament, the person being baptized is often immersed in the water to symbolize a death to sin and a rebirth to new life in God. Dante’s immersion here is not a repeat of the sacrament of baptism, but a definite link with that sacramental ritual and its spiritual benefits. And in addition to the immersion, he actually drinks of the same waters that purify and remove from him all memory of sin. This drinking of the waters of forgetfulness is, in fact, a ritual that all souls leaving Purgatory participate in. We now move to another ritual. Dante is taken from the waters of the Lethe to stand along the left side of the chariot where the four women representing the Cardinal Virtues (prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance) sing and dance around Dante before they present him to Beatrice. They, like the angel choir, are still present for one final duty. As forest nymphs in the Earthly Paradise, as stars in the heavens, and as foreordained handmaidens of Beatrice, these four women will bring Dante in front of the griffin where he and Beatrice will be able to look at each other. Noting their secondary status as natural virtues, they tell Dante that the three women on the chariot’s right side (the Theological Virtues of Faith, Hope, and Love) will clear his sight so that he will be able to see the true beauty of Beatrice’s face. About these Natural or Cardinal Virtues, Robert Hollander thinks of them as representing the active life (recall Leah earlier), and makes an interesting point that highlights a significant difference between poetry and prose: “The stars they are in heaven are probably (there is debate about this) identical with those we saw in Purgatorio 1:23, irradiating the face of Cato with their light. Dante thus seems to suggest that both Cato and Beatrice are of such special virtue that it seems that original sin did not affect them–a notion that could only be advanced in the sort of suggestive logic possible in poetry, for it is simply heretical. Dante never did say (or would have said) such a thing in prose.” In the end, we must remember that Dante wrote the Vita Nuova about Beatrice, and as Charles Singleton, notes in his commentary: “Beatrice here [at the top of the Mountain of Purgatory] is always the Beatrice of the Vita Nuova, in which… she is declared to be the”queen of the virtues” (VN X:2), and “a thing come from heaven to earth, to show forth a miracle” (VN XXVI: 6). |
| ↑12 | Beatrice and Dante stand facing each other with the griffin between them. She is at the front of the chariot, he standing in front of the griffin. Apparently, Beatrice has lowered her white veil just enough to uncover her eyes, and prompted by the four Cardinal Virtues, Dante looks into those emerald eyes (the color of hope). At this moment a great revelation takes place. To explain his excitement at what he sees, he says: “A thousand flames of desire held my gaze upon those shining eyes.” Dante the Poet tells us that as Beatrice looked at the griffin (not at Dante), its two natures were reflected in her eyes, not as lion and eagle, but as Christ God and Christ human in one and the same being. Her eyes are like two mirrors reflecting the sun, which is an image of God.
But Dante the Pilgrim isn’t actually ready to see the same thing (until late in the Paradiso). Instead, what he sees reflected in Beatrice’s eyes is the dual nature of the griffin itself (lion and eagle), not what it represents. Remember, he is not looking at the griffin, he’s looking into Beatrice’s eyes as she looks at the griffin. As Mark Musa notes in his commentary here, “The mystery of Christ’s dual nature is still beyond the Pilgrim’s understanding, and so, allegorically, he is as yet unable to gaze directly at the griffin, the symbol of those two natures. But he can begin to comprehend [this] through Beatrice’s (Revelation) green eyes.” In other words, as Musa continues, “The Pilgrim can ‘see’ the two natures of the beast imaged in Beatrice’s eyes, but he cannot comprehend their oneness; hence the natures are visible to him only alternately, not simultaneously.” Using the image of the mirrors from another point of view, for Dante, seeing an object in a mirror (in this case, the two natures of Christ) is not the same as seeing the object face-on. The words of St. Paul in his First Letter to the Corinthians (13:12) come to mind here: “Now we see as in a mirror, but then face to face.” Dante is still in the “now” part. Beatrice sees God face to face. He sees the two natures alternately. Beatrice sees them at the same time. “Can you imagine my amazement?” he asks the reader. And in doing so, draws us into the revelation he has just experienced. |
| ↑13 | Awestruck at the revelatory experience he has just had, Dante expresses his joy in words taken from the Book of Sirach (24:21): “Those who eat of me will hunger still, those who drink of me will thirst for more.” This is an image of the Eucharist (Christ, Beatrice) and a foretaste of the heavenly banquet. Allegorically, it represents Wisdom and Truth. These images of eating and drinking all require the mouth, and this leads to Beatrice’s next unveiling.
As we just read, it was the four Cardinal Virtues who escorted Dante from his immersion in the Lethe to the front of the griffin. There they urged him to look into the emerald eyes of his beloved Beatrice (who, recall, was looking at the griffin, not at him). Now, as foretold by them, the three Theological Virtues (Faith, Hope, and Charity) arrive singing and dancing as did their sister virtues. As the Cardinal Virtues urged Beatrice to unveil her eyes so Dante could see them gazing upon the two natures of Christ, the Theological Virtues urge her in their song to lower her veil all the way so he can see her “second beauty,” her mouth. Up to this point, Beatrice had been looking at the griffin. The Theological Virtues beg her now to turn toward Dante, “your faithful one, who has traveled so very far to see you.” What do they mean by “very far”? In order to be reunited with Beatrice, a reunion she orchestrated, the Pilgrim has traveled all the way to the center of the earth, emerged at the other side, and climbed to the top of the Mountain of Purgatory. On the way, he has seen every aspect of Hell and eternal damnation, and every form of repentance and redemption in Purgatory. All this to save him from the damnation he was headed for. In his commentary here, Robert Hollander uncovers a lovely text from Dante’s Convivio (III.xv) that is appropriate here but that raises a problem now solved by the Pilgrim’s repentance: “The three theological virtues sing their appeal to Beatrice, requesting that she unveil her mouth. The moment recalls an experience recorded in the Convivio: ‘Here it is necessary to know that the eyes of wisdom are her demonstrations, by which truth is seen with the greatest certainty, and her smiles are her persuasions, in which the inner light of wisdom is revealed behind a kind of veil; and in each of them is felt the highest joy of blessedness, which is the greatest good of paradise. This joy cannot be found in anything here below except by looking into her eyes and upon her smile.” It is important to know that these words are directed to another lady, also known as Wisdom in the Convivio, namely the Lady Philosophy, the one who came as the replacement for the then supposedly less worthy Beatrice.” In forming her prosecution and Dante’s admission of guilt, it is fascinating to see in this passage the “proof” of Beatrice’s accusations in his earlier writings, and his ultimate confession that he clearly sought the solace of another woman after Beatrice had died. But all of that has been put to rest and forgotten in the passage through the stream of Lethe. Clearly seeing her mouth, Dante will, in a way, “see” the unveiled truth as she speaks it–another form of the Revelation. Throughout the Paradiso the reader will encounter numerous references to the ever-greater (and dangerous) beauty of Beatrice’s eyes and her smile. |
| ↑14 | Even though Beatrice is not in Paradise during these last cantos of the Purgatorio, she still sees God face to face, and the glory of that beatific vision is constantly reflected in her own face which she now fully unveils for her beloved Dante. Cleansed by his confession and absolved of his sins, washed in the waters of forgetfulness, and now empowered by the revelation which Beatrice manifests to him, Dante, in a brief apostrophe, proclaims that no poet, though they be at the height of their powers, and having drunk the waters from Apollo’s own stream–no one except himself has the genius to describe such beauty as that of Beatrice when she completely unveils her face. Yet even at this moment of exaltation Dante himself is inadequate to the task because he can only convey his own ecstatic experience. He doesn’t attempt to put the heavenly beauty of Beatrice into words, a beauty enhanced by the streams of heavenly light from the great candelabra still shining above them and representing the presence and gifts of God’s Spirit. But perhaps as a nod to the impossibility of describing her, Dante seems to break his own grammatical rule here. He refers to Beatrice here using the familiar tu form of the pronoun instead of the formal voi form. |