Part 4

_“O blessed spirits, who in world’s release Are recompensed for tears it could not pay, Tell me if Love wage war on you alway, Or Death hath yonder made his quarrel cease?” “Our everlasting peace, All time beyond, here loveth unacquaint With mortal lovers’ sorrow and complaint.” “Then sad it is for me To linger, as you see, Loving and serving where my heart doth faint. If Heaven be lovers’ friend, And Earth their anguish lend, Need I live long? The thought doth cause me fear; To wistful lover minutes years appear.”_

XII

_Non pur la morte, ma ’l timor di quella Da donna iniqua e bella, Ch’ogn’or’ m’ancide, mi difende e scampa: E se tal’or m’avvampa Più, che ’l usato il foco in ch’io son corso, Non trovo altro soccorso Che l’imagin sua ferma in mezzo il core; Che dove è morte non s’appressa amore._

_Not Death alone, but his indwelling dread Doth succor and set free From sway of one unjust as cherishèd, Who constantly doth make assault on me; As oft as flameth with unwonted force The fire that folds me, I have no resource Save keep his image central in the heart; Where Death abides, Love hath not any part._

XIII

_S’egli è che ’l buon desio Porti dal mondo a Dio Alcuna cosa bella, Sol la mie donna è quella, A chi ha gli occhi fatti com’ho io. Ogni altra cosa oblio, E sol di tant’ho cura. Non è gran maraviglia, S’io l’amo e bramo e chiamo a tutte l’ore: N’è proprio valor mio, Se l’alma per natura S’appoggia a chi somiglia Ne gli occhi gli occhi, ond’ella scende fore; Se sente il primo Amore Come suo fin, per quel qua questa onora: Ch’amar diè ’l servo ch’el signore adora._

_If any beauteous thing Can human hope exalt to God on high, For one who hath the vision made as I, Alone my lady may like comfort bring; Wherefore it is not strange, If from the rest I range To love her, to pursue and supplicate; ’Tis Nature’s law, not mine, That bids the soul incline Toward eyes reminding of its first estate, Whereby it hath recourse To its own end and source, The primal Love, that her with beauty storeth; He loves the vassal, who the lord adoreth._

XIV

_Quantunche ver sia, che l’alta e divina Pietà qui mostri il tuo bel volto umano; Donna, il placer lontano M’è tardi sì, che dal tuo non mi parto: C’all’ alma pellegrina Gli è duro ogn’altro sentiero erto e arto. Ond’il tempo comparto, Per gli occhi il giorno e per la notte il core; A l’acque l’uno, a l’altro il foco ardente; Senz’intervallo alcun, ch’al cielo aspiri. Dal destinato parto Si mi ti dette amore, Ch’alzar non oso i mie’ ardenti desiri; Se ’l ver non è, che tiri La mente al ciel per grazia o per mercede: Tardi ama il cor quel l’occhio non vede._

_Though true it be, that Charity divine Show mirrored in yon lovely face of thine, Yet, lady, moves the distant hope so slow, That from thy beauty I lack power to go; The pilgrim soul, that would with thee delay, Finds rough and stern the strait and narrow way. My time I therefore part, To eyes give day, and darkness to the heart, To last the water, and to first the fire, No interval, toward heaven to aspire. A destiny of birth Enchained me to the earth In grant of thee, save mercy of the sky Please to descend, and lift my heart on high; Heart will not love what looks cannot espy._

XV

_A l’alta tuo lucente diadema Per la strada erta e lunga Non è, donna, chi giunga, S’umiltà non v’aggiugni e cortesia: Il montar cresce, e ’l mie valore scema; E la lena mi manca a mezza via. Che tuo beltà pur sia Superna, al cor par che diletto renda, Che d’ogni rara altezza è giotto e vago: Po’ per gioir della tuo leggiadria, Bramo pur che discenda La dov’aggiungo: e ’n tal pensier m’appago, Se ’l tuo sdegnio presago, Per basso amare e alto odiar tuo stato, A te stessa per dona il mie peccato._

_Thy lucent-crownèd beauty to attain Upon a narrow and laborious way, The pilgrim vainly maketh his essay, Save thy humility his feet forestall; The path aspireth while the strength doth wane, And midway on the road I pant and fall. Although thy loveliness celestiäl Be heaven’s thing, yet aye it doth delight The heart inclined toward stranger of the height; Wherefore thy sweetness full to comprehend, I long to have thee stoop, and condescend As low as I, of the idea content, If thy disdain severe and prescient Itself forgive for sinfulness of mine, To love thee lowly, and to hate divine._

XVI

_Deh! dimmi, amor, se l’alma di costei Fosse pietosa com’ha bell’il volto, S’alcun saria sì stolto Ch’a sè non si togliessi e dessi a lei? Et io che più potrei Servirla, amarla, se mi foss’amica; Che, sendomi nemica, L’amo più ch’allor far non doverrei?_

_Ah tell me, Love, had she a heart as kind As beauty that her feature doth partake, Could there be found the wretch so dull and blind, That would not choose himself from self to take, And give to her? Yet even if she grew My loving friend, what more could I bestow, When in her coldness, while she seems my foe, I love her better than I else could do?_

XVII

_Come può esser ch’io non sia più mio? O dio, o dio, o dio! Chi mi tolse a me stesso, Ch’a me fusse più presso, O più di me, che mi possa esser io? O dio, o dio, o dio! Come mi passa ’l core Chi non par che mi tocchi! Che cosa è questa, amore, Ch’al core entra per gli occhi; E s’avvien che trabocchi Per poco spazio, dentro par che cresca?_

_How came to pass that I am mine no more? Ah me! Who took myself from me To draw more close to me Than ever I could be, More dearly mine, than I myself before? Ah me! How reached he to the heart Touching no outward part? Who prithee may Love be, That entered at the eyes, And if in breathèd sighs He go abroad, increaseth inwardly?_

XVIII

_Ogni cosa ch’i’ veggio mi consiglia, E prega, e forza ch’io vi segua et ami; Chè quel che non e voi, non è il mio bene. Amor, che sprezza ogni altra maraviglia, Per mia salute vuol ch’io cerchi e brami Voi sole solo: e così l’alma tiene D’ogni alta spene e d’ogni valor priva; E vuol ch’io arda e viva Non sol di voi, ma chi di voi somiglia Degli occhi e delle ciglia alcuna parte. E chi da voi si parte, Occhi mia vita, non ha luce poi; Chè ’l ciel non è dove non sete voi._

_All Nature urgently doth me advise, Implore, compel, to follow thee, and cling To my sole blessed thing. Love, who doth other loveliness despise, To make me seek salvation only here, Doth in my heart destroy Desire of other joy, And only measure of delight allow In beauty semblant to thine eye and brow; Yet being no longer near To you, clear eyes, its light hath ceased to shine, For only where you dwell is heaven of mine._

XIX

_Chi è quel che per forza a te mi mena, Ohimè ohimè ohimè! Legato e stretto, e son libero e sciolto? Se tu ’ncateni altrui senza catena, E senza mani o braccia m’hai raccolto, Chi mi difenderà dal tuo bel volto?_

_Who theeward draws me, spite my striving vain? Ah woe is me! Am I at once imprisonèd and free? If thou dost chain me without any chain, And handless, armless, all my life embrace, Who shall defend me from thy lovely face?_

XX

_Se ’l commodo de gli occhi alcun constringe Con l’uso, parte insieme La ragion perde, e teme; Che più s’inganna quel ch’a sè più crede: Onde nel cor dipinge Per bello quel a picciol beltà cede. Ben vi fo, donna, fede Che ’l commodo nè ’l uso non m’ha preso, Sì di raro e mie’ veggion gli occhi vostri Circonstritti ov’a pena il desir vola. Un punto sol m’ha acceso; Nè più vi vidi ch’una volta sola._

_If habit of the eyes engender ease, Faint Reason on her way Feareth to go astray, Lest inwardly she taketh For beauty fair, what beauty quite forsaketh. Lady, it doth appear That ease and custom have not made you dear, For that my looks are foreign to your own, Toward whose confìne my wishes dare not soar; I was inflamèd in a breath alone; Your feature I have gazed on once, no more._

XXI

_Un uomo in una donna, anzi uno dio, Per la sua bocca parla: Ond’io per ascoltarla Son fatto tal, che ma’ più sarò mio. I’ credo ben, po’ ch’io A me da lei fu tolto, Fuor di me stesso aver di me pietate: Si sopra ’l van desio Mi sprona il suo bel volto, Ch’io veggio morte in ogn’altra beltate. O donna, che passate Per acqua e foco l’alme a’ lieti giorni, Deh fate ch’a me stesso più non torni!_

_Thoughts of a man, nay of a god alone, Her lips of woman render eloquent; Whence I, who listen purely with content, May nevermore depart and be mine own. Since she my life hath taken, And self have I forsaken, I pity self that I was wont to be. From wavering will astray Her fair face maketh free, Till other beauty death appears to me. Thou, who dost souls convey To Paradise through chastening fire and wave, Lest I to self return, dear lady, save!_

XXII

_Io dico che fra noi, potenti dei, Convien ch’ogni riverso si sopporti! Poi che sarete morti Di mille ’ngiurie e torti, Amando te com’or di lei tu ardi, Far ne potrai giustamente vendetta. Ahimè lasso chi pur tropp’aspetta Ch’i’ gionga a’ suoi conforti tanto tardi! Ancor, se ben riguardi, Un generoso alter’e nobil core Perdon’, e porta a chi l’offend’amore._

FLORENTINE EXILE

_O’er us, I think, divinities on high! Impendeth every shameful overthrow!_

MICHELANGELO

_Albeit thou underlie A thousand deaths of injury and woe, A period will be, When loved by her as she is loved by thee, Thou mayest the sweet of lawful vengeance know._

FLORENTINE EXILE

_Alas! for aye aweary doth he dwell, Who waiteth for his comfort coming slow! And perfect truth to tell, A generous heart, of proud nobility, Forgiveth, and doth love its enemy._

XXIII

_S’alcuna parte in donna è che sia bella, Benchè l’altre sian brutte, Debb’io amarle tutte Pel gran placer ch’io prendo sol di quella? La parte che s’appella, Mentre il gioir n’attrista, A la ragion, pur vuole Che l’innocente error si scusi e ami. Amor, che mi favella Della noiosa vista, Com’irato dir suole, Che nel suo regno non s’attenda o chiami. E ’l ciel pur vuol ch’io brami A quel che spiace non sia pietà vana; Chè ’l uso agli occhi ogni malfatto sana._

_If that she own a feature passing fair, While void of happy liking live the rest, Ought I affection toward the whole to bear, For sake of beauty by the one possessed? The lovely part, distrest, My praise doth deprecate, And sue to Reason for her sisters’ sake, That also they be cherished, and forgiven For fault they did not mean. Then Love, irate, Who thinketh but on pain that they have given, Saith, in his court there lieth no appeal. Yet Heaven willeth fondness that I feel, When toward her imperfection merciful, Time maketh her, for me, all beautiful._

XXIV

_Mestier non era all’alma tuo beltate Legarme vinto con alcuna corda; Che, se ben mi ricorda, Sol d’uno sguardo fui prigione e preda: C’alle gran doglie usate Forz’è c’un debil cor subito ceda. Ma chi fie ma’ che creda, Preso da’ tuo’ begli occhi in brevi giorni Un legnio secco e arso verde torni?_

_Thy sweetness had no need of cord or chain Its prisoner to bind; Too well I bear in mind, How I was conquered by a glance alone; The heart subdued by many an ancient pain Hath lost the fortitude it erst did own. Yet who hath ever known, That wakened by a look, in time so brief, A withered tree should kindle and bear leaf?_

XXV

_Amor, se tu se’ dio, Non puo’ ciò che tu vuoi? Deh fa’ per me, se puoi, Quel ch’io farei per te, s’amor fuss’io! Sconviensi al gran desio D’alta beltà la speme, Viepiù l’effetto, a chi è presso al morire. Pon nel tuo grado il mio: Dolce gli fie chi ’l preme? Chè grazia per poc’ or, doppia ’l martire. Ben ti voglio ancor dire: Che sarie morte, s’a’ miseri è dura, A chi muor giunto all’alta sua ventura?_

“_O love, thou art divine, A god to work thy will; Prithee, for me fulfil All I would do for thee, if deity were mine._” “_He were no friend of thine, Who hope of lofty beauty should bestow On one who presently must life forego; Come put thee in my place, Thy idle prayer retrace; Wilt thou implore a gain, That granted, only would enlarge the pain? Death hath a sober face; If even the unhappy find him rude, How stern to one arrived at full beatitude?_”

NOTES ON THE SONNETS EPIGRAMS AND MADRIGALS

[Illustration: (Decorative header)]

NOTES ON THE SONNETS

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

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 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.

[II]

QUANTE DIRNE SI DE’ NON SI PUÒ DIRE

_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 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, belonging to what I have called the earlier manner of the poet. The sonnet has been paraphrased by Emerson:--

_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 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 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_. “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.

[CII]

_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 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.

[XXI]

D’ALTRUI PIETOSO E SOL DI SÈ SPIETATO

_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!_