Transformed into Green Wood:
Authoring the Beloved in Petrarch’s Canzoniere In his Canzoniere,
Renaissance Italian poet Francesco Petrarcha traverses the relationship
In his Canzoniere, Renaissance Italian poet Francesco Petrarcha traverses the relationshipbetween a poetic subject and the language employed to represent it. He uses a series of poems to express love for his poetic subject, Laura, but in narrativizing his beloved ultimately claims authorship of her, and in doing so inadvertently obscures the line between whether it is his subject or his own language that he reveres.
Petrarch states that his Canzoniere is an exercise in devotion toward Laura, and requests compassion from his reader when he discloses the torment love for her has brought him. He hopes “anyone who knows love through its trials,/ in them, may I find pity and forgiveness” (I, 7-8). Here, Petrarch engages his reader by supposing a kind of relatability, and predicts that “pity and forgiveness” will be rewarded him at the end of his Canzoniere, because the work will methodically relay “love through its trials.”
However, the opening line of this sonnet, in which Petrarch addresses the reader, “O you who hear within these scattered verses/ the sound of sighs with which I fed my heart” (I, 1-2), contradicts that sentiment. Though the “sighs” here undoubtedly reference the sadness caused by what he later refers to as a “punish[ing]” love (II, 2), they also take on another meaning, as the sighs are situated within “scattered verses.” Thus, Petrarch describes a torturous love that requires “pity,” while also disclosing that it “fed [his] heart” when overtly within the “scattered verses” in question; so the sighs here described may function additionally as poetic words. From the outset, then, it is unclear whether it is Petrarch’s love or his verses that are the subject of his torment and his desire, and thus the subject of the Canzoniere.
In later poems, Petrarch speaks directly about Laura. He states “to ‘LAUd’ and to ‘REvere’ the word/ itself instructs whenever someone calls you,/ O lady worthy of all praise and honour” (V, 8-10). It seems at first as though Petrarch is describing Laura herself as a “lady worthy of all praise and honour,” yet he qualifies his statement as one that actually characterizes the “word” Laura, itself. To verify his consideration of Laura as a “word,” Petrarch even plays on the words “Laud” and “Revere” spelling “Laure” within them, and thus inferring that Laura may be more of an object of desire than an individual; her name a homonym that divides into characteristics, as opposed to representing a singular being.
Indeed, perhaps most relevant in understanding the tension between Petrarch’s love for Laura and his love for his language of her is the fact that he refers to Laura as a “word.” He appends his characterization of Laura as a “lady worthy of all praise and honor” with a warning that “perhaps, Apollo be incensed/ that ‘morTAl’ tongue be so presumptuous/ to speak of his eternally green boughs” (V, 11-13). Here, Petrarch presents a counterpoint to his praise of Laura when alluding to the Greek myth in which the god Apollo turns Daphne into a laurel tree to preserve her as the object of his desire.
However, while Petrarch introduces the perils of preserving the beloved through language, he also makes the beloved and language difficult to distinguish between. The “green boughs” that Petrarch references alone take on a double meaning, since they might just as easily refer to Daphne’s final state as they could the Laurel Crown that is used by a medieval academic as a signifier of his position as a poet. Thus, Petrarch describes Laura and his own language as the interchangeable definition of the final lines of his sonnet; it is just as likely that Petrarch is speaking of his Laurel Crown as it is his laurel tree.
Later, Petrarch seems to become aware of his error in claiming authorship of Laura. He laments:
Could I be with her at the fading sun
and seen by no one, only by the stars,
for just one night,
to never see the dawn,
and she not be transformed into green wood” (XXII, 30-36).
Here, Petrarch admits the extent to which poeticizing Laura changes the essence of her, and inevitably “transform[s her] into green wood,” (or Apollo’s laurel tree), after they spend a night together. He goes on to explain that “Apollo had pursued her here on earth!” (XXII, 38), and through that infers that his intention in turning Laura into the poetic subject is not dissimilar to Apollos’ stripping Daphne of her humanity and transforming her into a lifeless object.
Petrarch continues to describe the contradictory nature of an object of poetic desire, when he explains, “I have been consumed/ by fire of the living stone I cling to” (L, 77-78). By describing himself as a “living stone,” Petrarch relates two words that are antithetical to one another; what is living cannot also be stone, just as Laura the laurel crown cannot also be the Laura with a “sweet smile” (CXXVI, 56), and “lovely eyes” (LXI, 4). By shrouding her within his own language, then, Petrarch has transformed Laura into something of a formless object that cannot be defined; for which he suffers all the more. Petrarch even admits that his Laura is the Laura his poetry has brought into existence, when he states, “My song, if being with me/ from morning to night/ has made you join my party” (L, 70-72). By insisting that he bring his beloved into his “party” through his “song,” Petrarch changes Laura’s meaning and realizes that he no longer understands her true nature.
Indeed, a lack of definition calls for a more marked sense of unattainability. Petrarch asks:
Why day and night must my eyes still be wet? Oh what I did that time
when I fixed them upon
the beauty of her face
to carve it in my heart’s imagination
whence neither by coercion nor by art
could it be moved--not till I am the prey
of he who all does part! (L, 61-69).
Here, Petrarch attempts to understand why his “eyes still [are] wet,” and suggests it may be a result of fixing them “upon the beauty of her face” and “carv[ing] it in [his] heart’s imagination.” Though he seems here to posit that the cause of his misery is recalling a moment in time that has already passed, it seems, too, that this sorrow comes from the adoration of a fixed image, as poetry can crystallize a certain Laura, but the Laura in that poem is not the Laura. Indeed, Petrarch is dissatisfied with the poetic version of Laura. He laments that “neither by coercion nor by art could it be moved,” thereby suggesting that his poetic will has overwhelmed his romantic will.
Laura’s fixed image prompts idolatrous behaviour from Petrarch. He describes that she “so divided me/ from the true image/ that I would sigh and say: ‘How and when did I come here?’” (CXXVI, 57-59). In being “divided” from the “true image,” (God), Petrarch infers that he has fallen victim to worshipping the mortal Laura, instead of him. He then imagines himself “Thinking I was in Heaven, not where I was;/ and since then I have loved/ this bank of grass and find peace nowhere else” (CXXVI, 63-66). Laura’s role in Petrarch’s life, then, has become deceptive due to his objectifying of her through language. Momentarily, he believes he is in Heaven, and then resigns so “lov[ing] this bank of grass” near which she once “would rest her lovely body” (CXXVI, 3), thereby trapping himself within the prism of memory, just as his poetry does.
Much of the Canzoniere conforms to the sonnet style, in which the first half must pose a “proposition” that is resolved subsequent to a volta that changes the poem’s intention. The progression of Petrarch’s relationship to Laura is expressed in conforming to these rules; and it seems as though, perhaps, as the language changes her form, it is in part the volta of the sonnet that does so. Petrarch states the proposition of one sonnet: “blessèd be the first sweet agony/ I felt when I found myself bound to Love” (LXI, 5-6). The issue that is here waiting to be resolved is the “agony” of love, and Petrarch’s downfall is perhaps that he feels inclined to do so through his poetry; whereas, other medieval heroes may simply accept the torment as a product of love.
Thus, he attempts to resolve the problem: “And blessèd be all of the poetry/ I scattered, calling out my lady’s name” (LXI, 10-11). Petrarch’s resolution to the “agony” of love and of Laura seems to be detached from Laura herself. When declaring “blessèd be all of the poetry,” Petrarch admits that it is through his words that he understands his beloved, “calling out my lady’s name,” and yet it is not Laura that he understands, but rather the words he has written of her.
Petrarch states that his Canzoniere is an exercise in devotion toward Laura, and requests compassion from his reader when he discloses the torment love for her has brought him. He hopes “anyone who knows love through its trials,/ in them, may I find pity and forgiveness” (I, 7-8). Here, Petrarch engages his reader by supposing a kind of relatability, and predicts that “pity and forgiveness” will be rewarded him at the end of his Canzoniere, because the work will methodically relay “love through its trials.”
However, the opening line of this sonnet, in which Petrarch addresses the reader, “O you who hear within these scattered verses/ the sound of sighs with which I fed my heart” (I, 1-2), contradicts that sentiment. Though the “sighs” here undoubtedly reference the sadness caused by what he later refers to as a “punish[ing]” love (II, 2), they also take on another meaning, as the sighs are situated within “scattered verses.” Thus, Petrarch describes a torturous love that requires “pity,” while also disclosing that it “fed [his] heart” when overtly within the “scattered verses” in question; so the sighs here described may function additionally as poetic words. From the outset, then, it is unclear whether it is Petrarch’s love or his verses that are the subject of his torment and his desire, and thus the subject of the Canzoniere.
In later poems, Petrarch speaks directly about Laura. He states “to ‘LAUd’ and to ‘REvere’ the word/ itself instructs whenever someone calls you,/ O lady worthy of all praise and honour” (V, 8-10). It seems at first as though Petrarch is describing Laura herself as a “lady worthy of all praise and honour,” yet he qualifies his statement as one that actually characterizes the “word” Laura, itself. To verify his consideration of Laura as a “word,” Petrarch even plays on the words “Laud” and “Revere” spelling “Laure” within them, and thus inferring that Laura may be more of an object of desire than an individual; her name a homonym that divides into characteristics, as opposed to representing a singular being.
Indeed, perhaps most relevant in understanding the tension between Petrarch’s love for Laura and his love for his language of her is the fact that he refers to Laura as a “word.” He appends his characterization of Laura as a “lady worthy of all praise and honor” with a warning that “perhaps, Apollo be incensed/ that ‘morTAl’ tongue be so presumptuous/ to speak of his eternally green boughs” (V, 11-13). Here, Petrarch presents a counterpoint to his praise of Laura when alluding to the Greek myth in which the god Apollo turns Daphne into a laurel tree to preserve her as the object of his desire.
However, while Petrarch introduces the perils of preserving the beloved through language, he also makes the beloved and language difficult to distinguish between. The “green boughs” that Petrarch references alone take on a double meaning, since they might just as easily refer to Daphne’s final state as they could the Laurel Crown that is used by a medieval academic as a signifier of his position as a poet. Thus, Petrarch describes Laura and his own language as the interchangeable definition of the final lines of his sonnet; it is just as likely that Petrarch is speaking of his Laurel Crown as it is his laurel tree.
Later, Petrarch seems to become aware of his error in claiming authorship of Laura. He laments:
Could I be with her at the fading sun
and seen by no one, only by the stars,
for just one night,
to never see the dawn,
and she not be transformed into green wood” (XXII, 30-36).
Here, Petrarch admits the extent to which poeticizing Laura changes the essence of her, and inevitably “transform[s her] into green wood,” (or Apollo’s laurel tree), after they spend a night together. He goes on to explain that “Apollo had pursued her here on earth!” (XXII, 38), and through that infers that his intention in turning Laura into the poetic subject is not dissimilar to Apollos’ stripping Daphne of her humanity and transforming her into a lifeless object.
Petrarch continues to describe the contradictory nature of an object of poetic desire, when he explains, “I have been consumed/ by fire of the living stone I cling to” (L, 77-78). By describing himself as a “living stone,” Petrarch relates two words that are antithetical to one another; what is living cannot also be stone, just as Laura the laurel crown cannot also be the Laura with a “sweet smile” (CXXVI, 56), and “lovely eyes” (LXI, 4). By shrouding her within his own language, then, Petrarch has transformed Laura into something of a formless object that cannot be defined; for which he suffers all the more. Petrarch even admits that his Laura is the Laura his poetry has brought into existence, when he states, “My song, if being with me/ from morning to night/ has made you join my party” (L, 70-72). By insisting that he bring his beloved into his “party” through his “song,” Petrarch changes Laura’s meaning and realizes that he no longer understands her true nature.
Indeed, a lack of definition calls for a more marked sense of unattainability. Petrarch asks:
Why day and night must my eyes still be wet? Oh what I did that time
when I fixed them upon
the beauty of her face
to carve it in my heart’s imagination
whence neither by coercion nor by art
could it be moved--not till I am the prey
of he who all does part! (L, 61-69).
Here, Petrarch attempts to understand why his “eyes still [are] wet,” and suggests it may be a result of fixing them “upon the beauty of her face” and “carv[ing] it in [his] heart’s imagination.” Though he seems here to posit that the cause of his misery is recalling a moment in time that has already passed, it seems, too, that this sorrow comes from the adoration of a fixed image, as poetry can crystallize a certain Laura, but the Laura in that poem is not the Laura. Indeed, Petrarch is dissatisfied with the poetic version of Laura. He laments that “neither by coercion nor by art could it be moved,” thereby suggesting that his poetic will has overwhelmed his romantic will.
Laura’s fixed image prompts idolatrous behaviour from Petrarch. He describes that she “so divided me/ from the true image/ that I would sigh and say: ‘How and when did I come here?’” (CXXVI, 57-59). In being “divided” from the “true image,” (God), Petrarch infers that he has fallen victim to worshipping the mortal Laura, instead of him. He then imagines himself “Thinking I was in Heaven, not where I was;/ and since then I have loved/ this bank of grass and find peace nowhere else” (CXXVI, 63-66). Laura’s role in Petrarch’s life, then, has become deceptive due to his objectifying of her through language. Momentarily, he believes he is in Heaven, and then resigns so “lov[ing] this bank of grass” near which she once “would rest her lovely body” (CXXVI, 3), thereby trapping himself within the prism of memory, just as his poetry does.
Much of the Canzoniere conforms to the sonnet style, in which the first half must pose a “proposition” that is resolved subsequent to a volta that changes the poem’s intention. The progression of Petrarch’s relationship to Laura is expressed in conforming to these rules; and it seems as though, perhaps, as the language changes her form, it is in part the volta of the sonnet that does so. Petrarch states the proposition of one sonnet: “blessèd be the first sweet agony/ I felt when I found myself bound to Love” (LXI, 5-6). The issue that is here waiting to be resolved is the “agony” of love, and Petrarch’s downfall is perhaps that he feels inclined to do so through his poetry; whereas, other medieval heroes may simply accept the torment as a product of love.
Thus, he attempts to resolve the problem: “And blessèd be all of the poetry/ I scattered, calling out my lady’s name” (LXI, 10-11). Petrarch’s resolution to the “agony” of love and of Laura seems to be detached from Laura herself. When declaring “blessèd be all of the poetry,” Petrarch admits that it is through his words that he understands his beloved, “calling out my lady’s name,” and yet it is not Laura that he understands, but rather the words he has written of her.