Hawthorne Early Music editions: Canzoniere 359

Quando il soave mio fido conforto

Canzoniere #359 (CCCLIX)

Poetic form: canzone


Quando il soave mio fido conforto
per dar riposo a la mia vita stanca
ponsi del letto in su la sponda manca
con quel suo dolce ragionare accorto,
tutto di pietà et di paura smorto
dico:"Onde vien' tu ora, o felice alma?"
Un ramoscel di palma
et un di lauro trae del suo bel seno,
et dice:"Dal sereno
ciel empireo et di quelle sante parti
mi mossi et vengo sol per consolarti".

In atto et in parole la ringratio
humilmente, et poi demando:"Or donde
sai tu il mio stato?" Et ella: "Le triste onde
del pianto, di che mai tu non se' satio,
coll'aura de' sospir', per tanto spatio
passano al cielo, et turban la mia pace:
sì forte ti dispiace
che di questa miseria sia partita,
et giunta a miglior vita;
che piacer ti devria, se tu m'amasti
quanto in sembianti et ne' tuoi dir' mostrasti".

Rispondo: "Io non piango altro che me stesso
che son rimaso in tenebre e 'n martire,
certo sempre del tuo al ciel salire
come di cosa ch'uom vede da presso.
Come Dio et Natura avrebben messo
in un cor giovenil tanta vertute,
se l'eterna salute
non fusse destinata al tuo ben fare,
o de l'anime rare,
ch'altamente vivesti qui tra noi,
et che subito al ciel volasti poi?

Ma io che debbo altro che pianger sempre,
misero et sol, che senza te son nulla?
Ch'or fuss'io spento al latte et a la culla,
per non provar de l'amorose tempre!"_
Et ella: "A che pur piangi et ti distempre?
Quanto era meglio alzar da terra l'ali,
et le cose mortali
et queste dolci tue fallaci ciance
librar con giusta lance,
et seguir me, s'è ver che tanto m'ami,
cogliendo omai qualchun di questi rami!"

"I' volea demandar - respond'io allora - :
Che voglion importar quelle due frondi?"_
Et ella: "Tu medesmo ti rispondi,
tu la cui non penna tanto l'una honora:
palma è victoria, et io, giovene anchora,
vinsi il mondo, et me stessa; il lauro segna
triumpho, ond'io son degna,
mercé di quel Signor che mi die' forza.
Or tu, s'altri ti sforza,
a Lui ti volgi, a Lui chiedi soccorso,
sì che siam Seco al fine del tuo corso".

"Son questi i capei biondi, et l'aureo nodo,
- dich'io - ch'ancor mi stringe, et quei belli occhi
che fur mio sol? " "Non errar con li sciocchi,
né parlar - dice - o creder a lor modo.
Spirito ignudo sono, e 'n ciel mi godo:
quel che tu cerchi è terra, già molt'anni,
ma per trarti d'affanni
m'è dato a parer tale; et anchor quella
sarò, più che mai bella,
a te più cara, sì selvaggia et pia,
salvando inseme tua salute et mia".

I' piango; et ella il volto
co le sue man' m'asciuga, et poi sospira
dolcemente, et s'adira
con parole che i sassi romper ponno:
et dopo questo si parte ella, e 'l sonno.
 When my gentle faithful comforter
to grant some peace to my weary life,
settles herself on the left edge of my bed,
with her sweet wise reasoning,
I grow pale at her pity and my fear,
saying: 'O happy soul, where have you come from?'
She takes a little branch of palm
and one of laurel from her lovely breast,
and says: 'From the serene
heavenly empyrean and those sacred places
I moved, and came alone, to bring solace.'

I thank her humbly in words and manner,
and then ask: 'How did you know my state?'
And she replies: 'The sad waves of weeping
with which you never seem to be sated,
and the breeze of sighs, reach heaven
through all of space, and trouble my peace:
it displeases you so greatly
that I have left this misery,
and reached a better life:
it should please you, if you loved me,
as much as you professed in words and looks.'

I reply: 'I don't weep other than for myself
who am left behind in darkness and torment,
certain always that you have leapt to heaven,
as if it were something I had seen nearby.
Why would God and Nature have set
so much virtue in a youthful heart,
if the eternal welcome
were not destined for your good deeds,
O rare spirit,
who lived nobly amongst us here,
and then suddenly flew to heaven?


But what can I do other than weep for ever,
wretched and alone, who am nothing without you?
I wish I had died at the breast or in my cradle
in order not to prove the temper of love!'
And she: 'Why always weep and grieve yourself?
How much better to lift your wings from earth,
and weigh mortal things
more justly, and those sweet deceptive
words of yours,
and follow me, if you truly love me so,
pluck one of these branches today!'

Then I responded: 'I wish to ask,
what do those two branches signify?'
And she: 'You can answer that yourself,
you whose pen honours one more than others' do:
the palm is victory, and I, still young,
conquered myself and the world: the laurel
signifies triumph, of which I'm worthy,
by grace of that Lord who gave me strength.
Now you, if other things weary you,
turn to Him, pray to him for help,
so we may be with Him at the end of your path.'

I say: 'Is this the blonde hair, and the golden knot
that still ties me, and those lovely eyes
that were my sun?' She says: 'Don't err
like a fool, nor speak or think that way.
I am a naked spirit, and delight myself in heaven:
what you look for is dust, and for many years,
but it is given to me to seem such
as will draw you from your trouble: and still
will be so, lovelier than ever,
dearer to you, as cruel and kind,
gaining together your salvation and mine.'


I weep: and she dries my face
with her hand, and then she sighs
sweetly, and speaks
words that might shatter stone:
and afterwards departs, along with sleep.

360 'Quel'antiquo mio dolce empio signore'

That ancient sweet cruel lord of mine
being summoned before the queen
who holds the divine place
in our being, seated in the head,
there, I present myself blind with grief,
and fear and horror, like gold
being refined in the fire,
like a man who fears death and begs for justice:
and I begin: 'My lady, I set foot
when young in this kingdom,
in which I received only
anger and disdain: and the torments I suffered
here were such and so varied
that at last my infinite patience
was overcome, and I held life in contempt.

So that my life till now has been passed
in flame and pain: and how many worthy
honest roads I've scorned,
how many feasts, to serve this cruel flatterer!
And what wit has speech ready enough
to express my unhappy state,
and, since he is ungrateful to me,
so many grave and just complaints?
O little sweetness, much gall with him!
How much bitterness he added to my life
with his false sweetness
that drew me to the crowd of lovers!
So if I'm not mistaken, he was disposed
to raise me high above the earth:
and snatched away my peace and brought me war.

He has made me love God less
than I should, and care less for myself:
for a lady's sake equally
he has made me careless of every thought.
In this he is my only counsellor
always sharpening my youthful desire
with a wicked edge, so that
I long for rest from his cruel and bitter yoke.
Wretch, why did heaven give me
this bright high wit, and my other gifts?
So that my hair is altering,
but I can't alter my obstinate will:
so that this cruel one
I accuse robs me of my freedom,
and turns my bitter life to a sweet habit.

He has made me search out desert places,
fierce rapacious thieves, bristling thorns,
harsh peoples and customs,
and every error that traps the traveller,
hills, valleys, marshes, seas and rivers,
a thousand nets stretched out in every place:
winter in a strange month,
with present danger and fatigue:
neither he nor my other enemy
whom I fled, left me alone a single moment:
so if I've not yet met
a harsh and bitter death,
heavenly mercy has cared
for my salvation and not that tyrant
who feeds on my grief and my hurt.

So I have never had a peaceful hour from him,
nor hope to have, and sleep is banished
from my nights, and can't be won
by herbs or magic incantations.
By force and deception he has been made lord
over my spirit: and no hourly bell has sounded
wherever I've been, in whatever town,
that I've not heard. He knows I speak the truth:
and no woodworm's ever gnawed old wood
as he my heart, in which he nests,
and threatens me with death.
So the tears and suffering were born,
the words and sighs,
that weary me, and others too perhaps.
You judge, who know both me and him.'

My adversary speaks with bitterness,
saying; 'O lady, hear the other side,
so that the truth, this ungrateful one
deviates from, is heard complete.
In his youth this man was given to the art
of selling words, or rather lies:
nor seemed to feel any shame,
snatched from that harm to my delight,
complaining of me, who kept him pure and clean,
against his will that often wished him ill,
now he grieves,
in this sweet life that he calls misery:
he leapt to fame of sorts
purely through me, who inspired his intellect
which he could never have inspired himself.


He knows that Agamemnon and noble Achilles
and Hannibal, bitter foe to your country,
and Scipio, the brightest star of all
in valour and destiny,
like men of ordinary fortune,
allowed themselves to love lowly servants:
while from a thousand
choice women, of excellence, I selected one,
whose like will not be seen beneath the moon,
though Lucretia were to return to Rome:
and I gave her such
sweet speech, so soft a singing voice,
that base or heavy thought
could not last long before her.
These were all my tricks against him.

This was the wormwood, the anger and disdain,
sweeter yet than any other's all.
I gather evil fruit from good seed:
so are those who serve ingratitude rewarded.
I took him under my wing,
that ladies and knights were pleased with his words:
and made him rise
so high, that among keen and fervent wits
I made his name and his verses
celebrated, with delight, in every place:
who might have been a hoarse
mutterer now in this court, a common man:
I exalted him and made him known
for the things he learnt from her, and those I taught,
from her who was unique in this world.


And to explain my great service to him, complete,
I drew him back from a thousand dishonest actions,
he who could never now
be pleased with anything vile:
a reticent young man, modest in action
and thought, now he's made a man ruled
by her so that her noble
traits stamp his heart, and make him like her.
What he has of the pilgrim and the nobleman
came from her, and me, whom he blames.
No nocturnal phantom
was ever to us as full of error as him:
who ever since he's known us
has been blessed by God and man.
Of this the proud man laments and complains.

Yet, and this says it all, I gave him wings
to fly towards the heavens, by means
of those mortal things,
that are steps to the Maker, for he who values them:
and if he'd gazed intently at the number
and quality of virtues in that hope of his,
he could have been lifted by one
in another's guise to the high Primal Cause.
and that he has often said in his rhymes.
Now he's forgotten me, and that lady
who I gave him as a column
to support his fragile life.' - At this I raise
a tearful cry, and shouted:
'He gave me her, true, but took her back too soon.'
He replies: 'Not I, but He took her to Himself.'

At last both speak to the Judge's chair,
I with trembling, he with high cruel voice,
each concluding, for his part, with:
'Noble Lady, I await your judgement.'
Then smilingly she says:
'I am pleased to have heard your pleas,
but need more time for such a verdict.'


All translations copyrighted by A.S. Kline, and are used with explicit permission.

ComposerTitleSubtitleLanguagePartsFiles
Luca Marenzio (c.1553-1599) I' piango; et ella il volto italian 5 Score + parts