NOTES ON THE SONNETS EPIGRAMS AND MADRIGALS

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The Roman numbers, in the Introduction and Notes, refer to the numeration of Guasti (Le Rime di Michelangelo Buonarroti, Florence, 1863).

(Stylized E)

ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS OF THE POEMS.—On the corrupted texts of 1623 were based the versions of J. E. Taylor (Michael Angelo considered as a Philosophic Poet. With Translations. London, 1840), and of J. S. Harford (Life of Michael Angelo Buonarroti. With Translations of many of his Poems and Letters. London, 1857). The beautiful renderings of Wordsworth (five sonnets) depended on the same faulty presentation. The correct texts of Guasti were followed by J. A. Symonds in his complete translation of the sonnets (The Sonnets of Michael Angelo Buonarroti and Tommasi Campanella. London, 1878). In his biography of the sculptor (The Life of Michael-Angelo Buonarroti. London, 1893), Symonds rendered several of the madrigals. A selection[62]from the poems, with the Italian text, and renderings by different hands, was edited by Mrs. E. D. Cheney (Selected Poems from Michael-Angelo Buonarroti. With Translations from various sources. Boston, 1885). This publication includes thirteen epitaphs for Cecchino Bracchi, and the verses written by Michelangelo on the death of his father, as well as a number of the sonnets of the last period (after 1547). Versions of single sonnets may be found scattered through periodical literature.

1 [I] Donato Giannotti wrote an essay concerning the duration of the journey through Hell and Purgatory, as related in the “Divina Commedia.” This discussion he cast into the form of a dialogue, in which Michelangelo is given the principal part; the conversation is dated as taking place in 1545, and one of the interlocutors is made to recite the sonnet which, with doubtful accuracy, is said to have been composed a few days before. The work of Giannotti is interesting as containing the estimate of a contemporary concerning the character of Michelangelo, but the words assigned to him cannot be considered as a record of his actual expressions. The essayist seems to have applied to the artist for material, as indicated by the subscription of the following sonnet, probably composed at this time.

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His praise remains unuttered, for his fireOf glory burneth with o’ervivid flame;The home that wronged him easier to blame,Than toward his humblest merit to aspire.This man for us descended, where God’s ireSubdueth sin, once more toward heaven rose;The gates that his Creator did not close,A cruel city barred to his desire.Ah ruthless mother, nurse of her own woe,In measure as her sons are excellent,Their sorrow making bitterly to flow!Of thousand instances one argument;No man hath lived more shamefully exiled,No age hath known a like, a greater child.

His praise remains unuttered, for his fire

Of glory burneth with o’ervivid flame;

The home that wronged him easier to blame,

Than toward his humblest merit to aspire.

This man for us descended, where God’s ire

Subdueth sin, once more toward heaven rose;

The gates that his Creator did not close,

A cruel city barred to his desire.

Ah ruthless mother, nurse of her own woe,

In measure as her sons are excellent,

Their sorrow making bitterly to flow!

Of thousand instances one argument;

No man hath lived more shamefully exiled,

No age hath known a like, a greater child.

2 [XIV] The sketch, characterized by rude vigor, lacks the truth and harmony essential to a beautiful work; these qualities are to be attained by the final touches of the hammer, or, as we should now say, of the chisel. So it is only the influence of the beloved person which can perfect the incomplete design of Nature, and bestow on the character its final excellence. Of all the sonnets, this is the most celebrated.

Respecting an inferior variant, the younger Buonarroti, in an obscure mention, appears to say that it was contained in a letter of the[64]sculptor written in 1550, which letter made mention of the marchioness of Pescara; and this assertion has led Guasti to refer the sonnet to that date. It is quite clear, however, that the treatment does not belong to the later period, after the death of Vittoria Colonna, in which the productions of Michelangelo had assumed the monotone of a colorless piety. It seems to me more likely that the time of composition is to be set earlier than 1534, and that the conception, ideal in character, had no relation to Vittoria, with whom the sculptor had perhaps not yet become acquainted.

3 [XV] The sculptor, who is designated as the best of artists, on beholding the block of marble at his disposal, obtains the suggestion of a statue; this possible work appears to him as a figure concealed beneath the veil of superincumbent matter, which he proceeds to remove. His success will depend on the clearness of internal vision; if he lack the vivid conception, the result will be an abortive product, which metaphorically may be called a likeness of Death. So if the lover, in place of the “mercy” which he desires to awaken, can create in the heart of his lady only a feeling inconsistent with his wishes, the blame should be laid solely to his own insufficiency. The idea is poetic, not philosophic, and the sonnet a poem of love,[65]belonging to what I have called the earlier manner of the poet. The sonnet has been paraphrased by Emerson:—

Never did sculptor’s dream unfoldA form which marble doth not holdIn its white block; yet it therein shall findOnly the hand secure and boldWhich still obeys the mind.So hide in thee, thou heavenly dame,The ill I shun, the good I claim;I, alas! not well alive,Miss the aim whereto I strive.Not love, nor beauty’s pride,Nor fortune, nor thy coldness can I chide,If whilst within thy heart abideBoth death and pity, my unequal skillFails of the life, but draws the death and ill.

Never did sculptor’s dream unfold

A form which marble doth not hold

In its white block; yet it therein shall find

Only the hand secure and bold

Which still obeys the mind.

So hide in thee, thou heavenly dame,

The ill I shun, the good I claim;

I, alas! not well alive,

Miss the aim whereto I strive.

Not love, nor beauty’s pride,

Nor fortune, nor thy coldness can I chide,

If whilst within thy heart abide

Both death and pity, my unequal skill

Fails of the life, but draws the death and ill.

In this rendering the fourth line is open to criticism; it is not want of manual skill that is the cause of failure, but the inability to form an adequate idea. Harford modernizes the introductory lines:—

Whate’er conception a great artist fires,Its answering semblance latent lies withinA block of marble.

Whate’er conception a great artist fires,

Its answering semblance latent lies within

A block of marble.

The metaphor is thus reduced to the scholastic platitude, that in all matter lies the potentiality of form. So Varchi understood[66]the lines, and cites Aristotle as authority that the action of an agent is nothing but the extraction of a thing from potency to act; with changes on such intolerable jargon he occupies two pages. The lecture, intended to be flattering, only serves to show with what contemporary crassness the delicate conceptions of Michelangelo were obliged to struggle.

4 [XVII] The contrast between the permanence of the artistic product and the transitoriness of the mortal subject suggests reflections which may take different turns. (See madrigal No. 9 [XIII].) One is reminded of certain sonnets of Shakespeare.

5 [XIX] The lover feels himself enriched by the impression of the beloved, which, like the divine name on the seal of Solomon, confers the power of working miracles. The pretty composition is among the few which may be said to be inspired by a really cheerful and joyous sentiment, and, like the preceding, may be held to belong to the earlier manner of the poet.

6 [XX] This most beautiful sonnet, somewhat immature in its music, is a precious relic of Michelangelo’s early love verse. The poem was written below a letter from his father, received in Bologna, and dated 24 December, 1507. Subscribed is the line:La m’arde e lega et emmi e parmi un zucchero.[67]“She burns me and binds me and eats me, and I think her a sugarplum.” The lines, therefore, have a biographic inspiration, and may be presumed to have been in honor of some young beauty of Bologna. A fragment of a madrigal seems akin.

Lezzi, vezzi, carezze, or feste e perle;Chi potria ma’ vederleCogli atti suo’ divin l’uman lavoro,Ove l’argento e l’oroDa le’ ricieve o duplica suo luce?Ogni gemma più luceDagli occhi suo’ che da propia virtute.

Lezzi, vezzi, carezze, or feste e perle;

Chi potria ma’ vederle

Cogli atti suo’ divin l’uman lavoro,

Ove l’argento e l’oro

Da le’ ricieve o duplica suo luce?

Ogni gemma più luce

Dagli occhi suo’ che da propia virtute.

“Looks, laughter, graces, gaud, and pearl;Who that gazeth on the girlEver hath a thought to spareFor the gold that gleameth there,Or if silver sparkle fair?Every gem that on her liesBorroweth lustre from her eyes.”

“Looks, laughter, graces, gaud, and pearl;

Who that gazeth on the girl

Ever hath a thought to spare

For the gold that gleameth there,

Or if silver sparkle fair?

Every gem that on her lies

Borroweth lustre from her eyes.”

In this connection also should be cited the sonnet which Guasti has placed next in order, and which also seems to contain internal evidence of belonging to a period relatively early.

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To others kind, and only self-oppressed,Doth live a lowly worm, that to adornA lady’s beauty will her life divest,In death alone appearing nobly born.So would my lady might esteem no scornHer life in my mortality to vest,That I might shed this slough, and be rebornForth from my being to a state more blest.Would that of me the silken thread were twined,That fashioned to her happy gown, doth useSo fair a bosom with content to bind,By day at least to wear me; or the shoes,That like the column’s base, her steps sustain,If only in the falling of the rain!

To others kind, and only self-oppressed,

Doth live a lowly worm, that to adorn

A lady’s beauty will her life divest,

In death alone appearing nobly born.

So would my lady might esteem no scorn

Her life in my mortality to vest,

That I might shed this slough, and be reborn

Forth from my being to a state more blest.

Would that of me the silken thread were twined,

That fashioned to her happy gown, doth use

So fair a bosom with content to bind,

By day at least to wear me; or the shoes,

That like the column’s base, her steps sustain,

If only in the falling of the rain!

It would seem that these remains of the poetical activity of early manhood, though not numerous, are yet sufficient to refute the rash generalizations of biographers who undertake to sum up the personality from their impressions of the artistic product. It does seem strange that with these lines before him, Mr. Symonds could have written: “Michelangelo emerges as a mighty master who was dominated by the vision of male beauty, and who saw the female mainly through the fascination of the other sex. The defect of his[69]art is due to a certain constitutional callousness, a want of sensuous or imaginative sensibility for what is specifically feminine.... Michelangelo neither loved nor admired nor yielded to the female sex.... I find it difficult to resist the conclusion that Michelangelo felt himself compelled to treat women as though they were another and less graceful sort of males. What he did not comprehend and could not represent was woman in her girlishness, her youthful joy, her physical attractions, her magic of seduction.... What makes Michelangelo’s crudity in his plastic treatment of the female form the more remarkable is that in his poetry he seems to feel the influence of women mystically. I shall have to discuss this topic in another place. It is enough here to say that, with very few exceptions, we remain in doubt whether he is addressing a woman at all. There are none of those spontaneous utterances by which a man involuntarily expresses the outgoings of his heart to a beloved object, the throb of irresistible emotion, the physical ache, the sense of wanting, the joys and pains, the hopes and fears, which belong to genuine passion.... Michelangelo’s ‘donna’ might just as well be a man; and indeed, the poems he addressed to men, though they have nothing sensual about them, reveal a finer[70]touch in the emotion of the writer.” (Life, vol. i, c. vi, 8. See vol. ii, pp. 381-5.)

The reasons for the limitation which may have prevented Michelangelo from adequately representing the sensuous aspect of womanhood, should be sought in the character of his plastic genius. So far as the power of appreciation is concerned, and especially in regard to the spirit of the verse, the opinion of Mr. Symonds appears to me to reverse the fact. The nature of the artist may be pronounced especially sensitive to the physical influence of woman. If, in the extant poetry, this sentiment appears in chastened form, such calmness may be set down solely to the period of life. Yet even in these later compositions, extreme impressibility is revealed in every line. Mr. Symonds’s error has prevented him from entering into the spirit of the sonnets, and also constitutes a deficiency in his instructive biography. (See note to sonnet No. 13 [XXX].)

7 [XXII] The verse, direct and passionate, though doubtless of a later date, still bears the character of pieces which must be pronounced relatively early. Observable is the use of theologic metaphor, employed only for the sake of poetic coloring, and not yet sublimed to pure thought.

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8 [XXIV] This delightful sonnet, according to the nephew, was found on a letter bearing date of 1529. (Seep. 7.) The lines seem to give the idea of a gentle and lovely personage whose countenance shines out as through a golden mist. In later compositions, the conflict of Death and Love is worked out differently. (See madrigal No. 9 [XIII].)

9 [XXV] On the same authority, this inexpressibly charming production is assigned to 1529. Here appear the germs of Platonic imagination. The soul, a divine essence, endows the visible suggestion with the spiritual essence derived from its own store. But the object is not completely divinized; the end is still possession. The reflective element will increase, the sensuous lessen, until poetry passes over into piety.

10 [XXVII] The love verse is not to be taken as wholly biographic, but rather as ideal.

11 [XXVIII] The atmosphere of the sonnet is that of later time and of a more rarefied height. We are now in full Platonism. The soul, heaven-born, perceives in the eyes of the beloved its primal home, the Paradise whence itself has descended, and the heavenly affection of which earthly love is a reminiscence. But the period may still be before the Roman residence, and the meeting with Vittoria Colonna.

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12 [XXIX] This sonnet may safely be set down as belonging to the later time. The sentiment of unhappy attachment, impossible desire, wistful loneliness, breathes through the verse. The piece contains two mystical but grand lines. Whoever has hoped for an elevation not given to mortals has wasted his thought in the endeavor to penetrate the recesses of deity, as seed is lost on the stony ground, and words spent in the limitless air.

13 [XXX] This gentle and tender poem, of the earlier period, somewhat similar in sentiment to No. 5 [XIX], and obviously from the heart, is penetrated by the same feeling as that discernible in Nos. 8 and 9 [XXIVandXXV]. Varchi, with his characteristic want of perception, chose to fancy that it might be addressed to a man, like the following, said to be composed for Tommaso Cavalieri.

What right have I to give my passion ventIn bitter plaint and words of sighing breath,If Heaven, soon or late, apparellethEach living soul in mantle of lament?Why ere his time, invoke the feet of Death,When Death will come? Nay, rather let my glance[73]At last dwell peaceful on his countenance,Since other good my sorrow vanquisheth.Yet if no power is mine to shun the blowI court and seek; what help will be my own,To interpose ’twixt dolor and delight?Since prison and defeat allure me so,It is not strange, if naked and alone,I remain captive of an armèd knight.

What right have I to give my passion vent

In bitter plaint and words of sighing breath,

If Heaven, soon or late, apparelleth

Each living soul in mantle of lament?

Why ere his time, invoke the feet of Death,

When Death will come? Nay, rather let my glance

At last dwell peaceful on his countenance,

Since other good my sorrow vanquisheth.

Yet if no power is mine to shun the blow

I court and seek; what help will be my own,

To interpose ’twixt dolor and delight?

Since prison and defeat allure me so,

It is not strange, if naked and alone,

I remain captive of an armèd knight.

The wordscavalier armatoare supposed to have referred to the aforesaid Cavalieri, a Roman youth whom Varchi describes as all that was beautiful and lovable. The highest male beauty seems to have had for Italians of the Renaissance, an attraction similar to that which it possessed for Athenians, a charm which our modern taste does not entirely comprehend. Thus the early death of Cecchino Bracchi had produced a great sensation; the epitaphs addressed to his memory by Michelangelo, who had never looked on his face, attest the sincerity of his own sentiment. For Cavalieri, whom the artist had known in 1533, he seems to have what can be described only as a passion; the three extant letters addressed to the young man breathe that timidity, sense of inferiority, and fear of misunderstanding which ordinarily belong only to sexual attachment. This emotion needs no apology other than that contained in a letter to this friend: “And if you are sure of my[74]affection, you ought to think and know that he who loveth remembereth, and can no more forget the things he fervently loves, than a hungry man the food that nourishes him; nay, much less may one forget beloved objects than the food on which man liveth; for they nourish both soul and body, the last with the greatest sobriety, and the first with tranquil felicity and the expectation of everlasting salvation.” (Lettere, No. 4, 16.) The susceptibility of Michelangelo toward external impressions is noted by Giannotti, who makes him affirm that as often as he set eyes on any person endowed with excellence he could not help becoming enamored of him in such manner that he surrendered himself to him as a prey. (Guasti, Rime, p.XXXI.) To the point is Michelangelo’s own estimate of his character expressed in a sonnet.

The heart of sulphur and the flesh of tow,The bones inflammable as tinder dried,The soul without a bridle, without guide,In liking prompt, toward joy o’erswift to go,The reason purblind, halting, lame, and slow,Tangled in nets wherewith the world doth teem,No marvel ’tis, if even in a gleam[75]I kindle up in flame that first doth glow.With that fair art endowed, whereby the mindFrom heaven that bringeth, Nature doth outvie,And with itself all being occupy,If I thereto was born nor deaf nor blind,Proportionate to heat that I desire,’Tis fault of him who made for me the fire.

The heart of sulphur and the flesh of tow,

The bones inflammable as tinder dried,

The soul without a bridle, without guide,

In liking prompt, toward joy o’erswift to go,

The reason purblind, halting, lame, and slow,

Tangled in nets wherewith the world doth teem,

No marvel ’tis, if even in a gleam

I kindle up in flame that first doth glow.

With that fair art endowed, whereby the mind

From heaven that bringeth, Nature doth outvie,

And with itself all being occupy,

If I thereto was born nor deaf nor blind,

Proportionate to heat that I desire,

’Tis fault of him who made for me the fire.

It is well to know that Cavalieri seems to have had a modest and noble nature, and that his personal attachment and artistic appreciation soothed the declining days of Michelangelo, at whose end he was present.

The mention of Michelangelo himself (Lettere, No. 466; Symonds, Life, vol. ii, p. 130) seems to prove that this sonnet was really composed for his young friend. But it is one thing to conclude that the piece was addressed to Cavalieri, quite another to suppose that it was inspired by him. The ideas are the same as those elsewhere appearing in reference to women. The composition does not appear to me one of the most original, and I should be disposed to regard it as ordinary love verse, into which, out of compliment, the writer had introduced the punning allusion. In any case, it is to be observed that in the Platonic compositions treating of male friendship, the whole argument is metaphorical, the comparisons being[76]borrowed from the earlier poetry of sexual love.

Fundamental is the question, What proportion of Michelangelo’s verse was intended to relate to men, and how far can such verse, if existent, be taken to imply that he had no separate way of feeling for women? The opinions of Mr. Symonds have already been cited (see note to No. 6 [XX]). In noticing Michelangelo’s use of the idiomatic Tuscan wordsignore, lord, as applied in the sonnets to female persons as well as male (the Englishliegemay similarly be used), he says, “But that Michelangelo by thesignorealways or frequently meant a woman can be disproved in many ways. I will only adduce the fragment of one sonnet” (No.LXXXIII). It is a pity that Mr. Symonds did not enter into detail; I am quite at a loss for any circumstances that can be held to warrant his declaration. For the word, the sonnets only afford information. No.XVI, containing the wordssignior mie car, is a variant of No.XV, expressly addressed to a lady. In No.XXII, no one will doubt that the reference is to a woman. In No.XXXVthe sex is shown by the epithetleggiadre, fair, applied to the arms (Mr. Symonds renders “fragile”). No.XXXVIIqualifiessignorbydonna. No.LVtreats of the shyness of a lady in presence of[77]her lover. In No.XL, instead ofsignior, the variant givesdonna. No.XLVIIseems obviously addressed to Vittoria Colonna. In No.XXXVI, the feminine application appears to be indicated by the description of the sovereign person as reigningnella casa d’amore. Thus in not a single instance can the suggestion of Mr. Symonds be accepted.

There remains the fragment mentioned, No.LXXXIII, a beautiful and interesting piece, unhappily imperfect. “Yonder it was that Love (amor; variant,signior), his mercy, took my heart, rather my life; here with beauteous eyes he promised me aid, and with the same took it away. Yonder he bound me, here he loosed me; here for myself I wept, and with infinite grief saw issue from this stone him who took me from myself, and of me would none.” It will be seen that the masculine pronoun is rendered necessary by the reference to personified Love, and that the allusion is clearly to sexual passion. Mr. Symonds has not entirely comprehended the scope of the fragment. The mystical description of Love as issuing from a stone (sasso) may probably be an application of the familiar sculpturesque metaphor.

As, in the instances considered, the opinion of Mr. Symonds appears void of foundation, so it is counter to the tenor of the poetry.[78]If No.XXXIreally was written for Cavalieri, the reference probably consisted of no more than the introduction, into the ordinary phrases of a love poem, of a complimentary play on words. As for the metaphor by which a lady is compared to an armed enemy, that was already commonplace in the day of Dante.

14 [XXXII] From pieces dealing with ideal affection we pass to one obviously biographic in its inspiration. The poem is written below a letter of 1532, addressed to the sculptor when in Rome. The artist seems to refer to his own impetuous nature, too liable to quarrel with friends. Analogous is the sonnet addressed to Luigi del Riccio. (See madrigal No. 3 [IV] note.) But this composition evidently relates to a lady, as is shown by the mention of thedorato strale, gilded dart of Love.

15 [XXXIII] As with all lyric poetry, so in the compositions of Michelangelo, it is not to be assumed that every expression of emotion of necessity corresponds to some particular experience. Yet the tenderness, melancholy, and gentle regret which inspire the verse evidently reflect the character and habitual manner of feeling of the author. Related in sentiment are the following sonnets:—

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By happiness as deep as agonyBelow the scaffold is the caitiff slain,When lost to hope, and ice in every vein,His pardon comes, his sudden liberty;So when, beyond thy wonted charity,My heaven overcast with many a painThy sovereign pity doth make clear again,More deep than anguish, pierceth ecstasy.Sweet news and cruel in so far agree,As either in a moment may destroyThe heart by grief, or sunder it through joy;If thou desirest that I live for thee,The rapture mete, for many a creature frailHath died of grace too free for its avail.

By happiness as deep as agony

Below the scaffold is the caitiff slain,

When lost to hope, and ice in every vein,

His pardon comes, his sudden liberty;

So when, beyond thy wonted charity,

My heaven overcast with many a pain

Thy sovereign pity doth make clear again,

More deep than anguish, pierceth ecstasy.

Sweet news and cruel in so far agree,

As either in a moment may destroy

The heart by grief, or sunder it through joy;

If thou desirest that I live for thee,

The rapture mete, for many a creature frail

Hath died of grace too free for its avail.

I See a face that in itself is cold,Yet lit with fire that burneth me afar;Two arms, that quiet and unmoving are,Whereby all else is moved and controlled;The vision of a beauty I behold,Immortal, yet pursuing me to death;[80]A power that free, my own envelopeth;Another’s balm, that may my hurt enfold.How can befall, that a fair countenanceHath power to cause effect so contrary,Creating what it doth now own? Perchance,The life that taketh my felicity,Yet doth itself deny, is like the sun,That yieldeth the world heat, yet heat hath none.

I See a face that in itself is cold,

Yet lit with fire that burneth me afar;

Two arms, that quiet and unmoving are,

Whereby all else is moved and controlled;

The vision of a beauty I behold,

Immortal, yet pursuing me to death;

A power that free, my own envelopeth;

Another’s balm, that may my hurt enfold.

How can befall, that a fair countenance

Hath power to cause effect so contrary,

Creating what it doth now own? Perchance,

The life that taketh my felicity,

Yet doth itself deny, is like the sun,

That yieldeth the world heat, yet heat hath none.

Ah give me back, or river thou or source,The turbid waters that enlarge thee so,That thy augmented current doth o’erflow,And hasten on an unaccustomed course;O laden air, whose gathered mists allayAnd temper heaven’s shining to these eyes,Return my weary heart her many sighs,And cloudless leave the countenance of day.Earth, render to my feet their steps again,Along the track they trod let grass grow green;Restore, deaf Echo, my petitions vain;And ye, alas! unmovèd eyes serene!Give mine their wasted looks, that they may seeSome kinder loveliness, disdained by thee!

Ah give me back, or river thou or source,

The turbid waters that enlarge thee so,

That thy augmented current doth o’erflow,

And hasten on an unaccustomed course;

O laden air, whose gathered mists allay

And temper heaven’s shining to these eyes,

Return my weary heart her many sighs,

And cloudless leave the countenance of day.

Earth, render to my feet their steps again,

Along the track they trod let grass grow green;

Restore, deaf Echo, my petitions vain;

And ye, alas! unmovèd eyes serene!

Give mine their wasted looks, that they may see

Some kinder loveliness, disdained by thee!

With these sonnets of ideal love may be compared one later in date, apparently more biographic in sentiment, and doubtless inspired by Vittoria Colonna.

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Had I believed, when first I met the glowOf this bright soul, my sun, that I might riseThrough fire renewed in such triumphal wiseAs doth the Phœnix from her ashes go,Like some fleet-footed creature, pard or roe,That seeks its joy and flieth from its fear,To meet the act, the smile, the accent dear,I would have leaped, now in my swiftness slow.Yet why indulge regret, the while I seeIn eyes of this glad angel, without cease,My calm repose and everlasting peace?More painful days, perchance, had dawned on me,If I had earlier met, yet been deniedThe wings she lendeth me to fly beside.

Had I believed, when first I met the glow

Of this bright soul, my sun, that I might rise

Through fire renewed in such triumphal wise

As doth the Phœnix from her ashes go,

Like some fleet-footed creature, pard or roe,

That seeks its joy and flieth from its fear,

To meet the act, the smile, the accent dear,

I would have leaped, now in my swiftness slow.

Yet why indulge regret, the while I see

In eyes of this glad angel, without cease,

My calm repose and everlasting peace?

More painful days, perchance, had dawned on me,

If I had earlier met, yet been denied

The wings she lendeth me to fly beside.

16 [XXXIX] The timid lover, who finds himself involved in the dangers of a hopeless passion, endeavors to withdraw from the perilous situation, but in so doing finds himself confronted by another danger, that of losing the affection which has become his life. As the vain desire will prove the death of the body, so the renunciation will be that of the soul; thus the suitor, according to the familiar metaphorical system furnished by plastic[82]art, is said to see his lady with a statue of Death on either hand.

The beautiful and mystic sonnet was written on a stray leaf bearing a memorandum of 1529, and was probably composed in that year. According to the statement of the nephew, Nos. 8 and 9 [XXIVandXXV] were also written on letters of that year; and these two poems correspond in sentiment with the present piece.

17 [XL] This most beautiful sonnet might conjecturally be referred to the same period as No. 12 [XXIX]. The spirit of the verse ought to be enough to satisfy any reader that it was composed with reference to a woman. (See note to No. 13 [XXX].)

18, 19 [XLIII,XLIV] These two pieces, containing respectively the dispraise and praise of night, are obviously intended to be counterparts, the first forming an introduction to the second. The consolations belonging to darkness and slumber have furnished themes to very many writers of verse; but among all such pieces Michelangelo’s tribute is entitled to preëminence. The emotion, deepening with the progress of the rhyme, ends in one of those outbursts which make the poetry a key to the character. Two other sonnets treating of the same subject do not appear to be connected.

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He who did erst from primal nothing bringTime, integral and property of none,To half, dividing, gave the distant sun,To half the moon, a lamp more neighboring.All in a moment, Destiny and ChanceBegan, and over mortals ruled with power;To me they gave the still and sober hour,As like to like, in birth and circumstance.As attribute in action is expressed,And darkness is the property of night,So e’en to be myself is sad to be;Yet is my troubled spirit soothed to rest,Remembering, its dusk may render brightThe sun that Fortune lent for friend to thee.

He who did erst from primal nothing bring

Time, integral and property of none,

To half, dividing, gave the distant sun,

To half the moon, a lamp more neighboring.

All in a moment, Destiny and Chance

Began, and over mortals ruled with power;

To me they gave the still and sober hour,

As like to like, in birth and circumstance.

As attribute in action is expressed,

And darkness is the property of night,

So e’en to be myself is sad to be;

Yet is my troubled spirit soothed to rest,

Remembering, its dusk may render bright

The sun that Fortune lent for friend to thee.

In No.XLIINight is lauded, as the shadow in which man is engendered, while in the day the soil is broken only for the seed of the corn; but the composition does not rival the sweetness and sublimity of No.XLIV.

20 [LII] This fine sonnet, belonging to the later period, may be set down as among those inspired by Vittoria Colonna. Thoroughly characteristic is the grand fifth line, in which the soul is said to have been created as God’s equal. The nephew, of course, diluted such daring conceptions into commonplace,[84]and his restoration altogether fails to convey the essential meaning of the piece. Wordsworth, unfortunately, knew only the emasculated version.

Similar in theme is another sonnet, No.LX, also rendered by Wordsworth, from a text more nearly representative. In this instance the English poet has transcended his source, and furnished a proof that on fortunate occasions a translation may belong to the very best poetry, and deserve that immortality which commonly belongs only to expressions of original genius.

Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,And I be undeluded, undismayed;For if of our affections none find graceIn sight of heaven, then wherefore hath God madeThe world which we inhabit? Better pleaLove cannot have, than that in loving theeGlory to that eternal peace is paid,Which such divinity to thee imparts,As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.His hope is treacherous only, whose love diesWith beauty, which is varying every hour;But in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the powerOf earthly change, there blooms a deathless flower,That breathes on earth the air of Paradise.

Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,

And I be undeluded, undismayed;

For if of our affections none find grace

In sight of heaven, then wherefore hath God made

The world which we inhabit? Better plea

Love cannot have, than that in loving thee

Glory to that eternal peace is paid,

Which such divinity to thee imparts,

As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.

His hope is treacherous only, whose love dies

With beauty, which is varying every hour;

But in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power

Of earthly change, there blooms a deathless flower,

That breathes on earth the air of Paradise.

[85]

21 [LVI] The sonnet is to be classed with the preceding. In a variant, the theologic metaphor is carried further: “From without, I know not whence, came that immortal part which separateth not from thy sacred breast, yet traverseth the entire world, healeth every intellect, and honoreth heaven.”

22 [LXI] As all tools used by man are formed by means of other tools, the archetypal tool must be that celestial instrument by which the world is fashioned. On earth, Vittoria Colonna had been the hammer (as we now say, the chisel) by which had been inspired the creative activity of the artist. By her death, this influence had been withdrawn to heaven, there to become united with the all-forming hammer of the eternal Maker; it is, therefore, only from on high that the artist can look for the completion of his own genius.

To the text, in the hand of Michelangelo, is added a sentence expressing his sense of the incomparable merit of Vittoria, as the divine instrument which none other is able to wield, and a prayer that his own hammer, as he metaphorically says, may also attain a reception in heaven.

The mystically expressed, but in reality simple and direct verse is crowded with ideas which strive for utterance. The sculptor[86]seems to have written prophetically; after the passing away of Vittoria, the last of his animating impulses appears to have been removed, and his life becomes that of a recluse, struggling with the infirmities of advancing age.

Several other pieces relate to the death of Vittoria.

When she who ministereth sighs, withdrewFrom the world’s sight, from her own self and mine,Nature, who made her in our eyes to shine,Remained abashed, and downcast all who knew.Yet be not Death of his loud vauntings rifeO’er the sun’s sun, as over others; LoveHath him subdued, and her endowed with lifeBoth here below, and with the pure above.Unjust and haughty Death did so engageTo hush her praises, and her soul bestowWhere it would seem less beautiful; and lo!Reverse effects illuminate Time’s page;On earth, more life than she in life possessed,While Heaven who wished her, now enjoyeth blest.

When she who ministereth sighs, withdrew

From the world’s sight, from her own self and mine,

Nature, who made her in our eyes to shine,

Remained abashed, and downcast all who knew.

Yet be not Death of his loud vauntings rife

O’er the sun’s sun, as over others; Love

Hath him subdued, and her endowed with life

Both here below, and with the pure above.

Unjust and haughty Death did so engage

To hush her praises, and her soul bestow

Where it would seem less beautiful; and lo!

Reverse effects illuminate Time’s page;

On earth, more life than she in life possessed,

While Heaven who wished her, now enjoyeth blest.

The thought, that Nature is disgraced in the loss of its best creation, is repeated in Michelangelo’s poetry. (See sonnet No. 4 [XVII], madrigal No. 9 [XIII].)

[87]

Two other sonnets, Nos.LXIIIandLXIV, breathe an atmosphere of the most gloomy despair. The first expresses a profound self-reproach; the time to soar heavenward was while the sun of life still shone; it is now too late. The second declares that the flame has expired, to leave only ashes without a spark.

I do not doubt that here also belongs another sonnet, placed by Guasti as if belonging to an earlier date.

Give me the day when free was cast the reinFor headlong ardor’s unreflecting race;Restore to me the calm angelic faceWherewith interred seems Virtue to remain;Give back the wanderings, the steps of pain,So slow to him by weary age oppressed;Give water to my eyes, fire to my breast,If thou wilt take thy fill of me again.If, Love, ’tis true, thou livest on no moreThan sighs and tears of lovers bitter-sweet,A weary age hath nought of thy desire;The soul already near the further shore,With shield of holier darts doth thine defeat,And the burned wood is proof against the fire.

Give me the day when free was cast the rein

For headlong ardor’s unreflecting race;

Restore to me the calm angelic face

Wherewith interred seems Virtue to remain;

Give back the wanderings, the steps of pain,

So slow to him by weary age oppressed;

Give water to my eyes, fire to my breast,

If thou wilt take thy fill of me again.

If, Love, ’tis true, thou livest on no more

Than sighs and tears of lovers bitter-sweet,

A weary age hath nought of thy desire;

The soul already near the further shore,

With shield of holier darts doth thine defeat,

And the burned wood is proof against the fire.

[88]

A madrigal relates to the same theme.

That perfectness of beauty free from peerMight be reclaimed and garnered without fail,Upon a lady excellently clearWas it bestowed beneath a shining veil;The heavenly boon had hardly been repaid,If scattered among all that Heaven had made.Now, from world unaware,In breathing of a sigh,Hath God who reigns on highResumed, and hid away his beauty fair.Yet, though the body die,Cherish shall memory stillSacred and sweet, her written legacy.Compassionate and stern, if Heaven’s willTo all had granted what to her alone,We all had died for making good the loan.

That perfectness of beauty free from peer

Might be reclaimed and garnered without fail,

Upon a lady excellently clear

Was it bestowed beneath a shining veil;

The heavenly boon had hardly been repaid,

If scattered among all that Heaven had made.

Now, from world unaware,

In breathing of a sigh,

Hath God who reigns on high

Resumed, and hid away his beauty fair.

Yet, though the body die,

Cherish shall memory still

Sacred and sweet, her written legacy.

Compassionate and stern, if Heaven’s will

To all had granted what to her alone,

We all had died for making good the loan.

The madrigal recites that deity had chosen to embody in a single life the sum of beauty, to the end that the celestial gift might be more easily resumed. Similarconcettiare to be found in the series of epitaphs composed on Cecchino Bracci, in 1544. Mr. Symonds very unjustly criticises the verse as constrained, affected, and exhibiting an absence of genuine grief.

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