Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 49

I on my horse, and Love on me, doth try
Our horsemanships, while by strange work I prove
A horseman to my horse, a horse to Love;
And now man’s wrongs in me, poor beast, descry.
The reins wherewith my rider doth me tie,
Are humbled thoughts, which bit of reverence move,
Curbed in with fear, but with gilt boss above
Of hope, which makes it seem fair to the eye.
The wand is will; thou, fancy, saddle art,
Girt fast by memory; and while I spur
My horse, he spurs with sharp desire my heart;
He sits me fast, however I do stir;
And now hath made me to his hand so right,
That in the manage myself takes delight.

I suggest you click here to open the sonnet in a separate window, so that you can refer directly to it as you read on through the analysis.

Sidney was of course a skilled horseman, and there is an echo here of Sonnet 41, and his day of triumph. But within the first three lines, the speaker has turned himself “by strange work” into a monster: horse and rider at the same time (because Love, or Cupid, rides him at the same time he rides his horse). And after a transition in Line 4, the remainder of the sonnet develops this conceit in terms of the speaker’s new-found empathy with his own “poor beast” for the treatment he suffers. The poem bears comparison with Wyatt’s “My Galley, Charged with Forgetfulness,” in which different parts of the speaker’s mental process become either parts of a ship or aspects of the storm that troubles it. The abstract qualities here—thoughts, reverence, fear, hope, will, fancy, memory, and desire—are similarly matched up with the physical aspects of horsemanship:

Thoughts = the reins
Reverence = the bit
Fear = the “curbs” on the bit
Hope = the ornamental gilt boss on the side of the bridle
Will = the “wand” or whip
Fancy = the saddle
Memory = the saddle-girth (which thus keeps fancy in control)
Desire = the spurs

I needn’t say too much more, I hope, about how all this works, except to point out that (as explicitly stated in Wyatt’s poem) Reason is nowhere in sight, and the speaker is being entirely “ridden” by Fancy, Desire, and so on.

As we would expect from Sidney, the conceit turns out to be particularly apt, since the final tercet describes the ideal horse-rider relationship that any horseman will recognize: horse and rider become as one (line 12) so that no superfluous movements break that unity; and (lines 13-14) the rider’s control is so complete that the horse actually “takes delight” in perfectly following orders. The speaker recognizes that he, likewise, finds a sort of self-destructive joy in being the utterly compliant slave to Love. An idea briefly alluded to in lines 7-8 of Sonnet 28 is given more elaborated treatment in this sonnet.

Next time (weekend of June 6): Sonnet 50
Jonathan Smith is Professor of English at Hanover College, Hanover, Indiana.

Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 41

Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance,
Guided so well, that I obtained the prize,
Both by the judgment of the English eyes
And of some sent from that sweet enemy, France;
Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance,
Town-folks my strength;  a daintier judge applies
His praise to sleight, which from good use doth rise;
Some lucky wits impute it but to chance;
Others, because of both sides I do take
My blood from them who did excel in this,
Think Nature me a man of arms did make.
How far they shoot awry!  The true cause is,
Stella looked on, and from her heavenly face
Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race.

I suggest you click here to open the sonnet in a separate window, so that you can refer directly to it as you read on through the analysis.

Reading note: in line 4 “enemy” is two syllables: en’my.

This sonnet has an 11-3 division, with one complex sentence occupying the first 11 lines, and then, following the fulcrum, a simpler response in the final three. Or, to break it down a bit more specifically, the first four lines form a dependent phrase, establishing the speaker’s success in a jousting tournament (and, like the last three lines of Sonnet 1, demonstrating that the “dangling modifier” was an unknown error to Sidney and his age); the next seven form the main sentence, a compound series which, like the last three feet of line 1, is an asyndeton in that it lacks a conjunction; it gives a series of explanations, of varying lengths, that other people have given for this success; and the final three reject all these explanations, and give the “true cause.”

Duncan-Jones’s note on this sonnet suggests that the real event referred to in Sidney’s life was probably a tournament at Whitehall on May 15 and 16, 1581, at which 500 French courtiers were in attendance, because of ongoing negotiations to arrange a marriage between Queen Elizabeth and the Duke of Alençon—a marriage which Sidney opposed, and delicately demonstrated against in the pageantry of symbolic flattery that accompanied the tournament; thus, perhaps, the reference to France as a “sweet enemy” in line 4 (though admittedly there were many historical and religious reasons to continue to see France as “enemy” even while entertaining its court as guests). An eyewitness account may be found in Duncan-Jones’s appendices, pages 299-311.

To explicate the “explanations”: fellow competitors who are chiefly “horsemen” maintain (“advance”) that his superior horsemanship was responsible—to a man with a hammer, everything looks like a nail—while the simple townsfolk who are spectators think it’s brute strength. These groups focus on what they can understand, while the “daintier,” or more refined, judge appreciates the finer points of the sport, the deftness (“sleight”) with lance that comes from practice (“good use”). The word “lucky” in line 8 seems to refer not so much to being fortunate as, more generally, to living by a philosophy that emphasizes luck more than skill or work; i.e., these “wits” are probably gamblers who attribute all wins and losses merely to “chance.” The final explanation forms the first half of the sestet, and is a specific autobiographical reference: Sidney’s father and grandfather were both tilters, as were his maternal uncles; so these “others” are attributing his victory to his pedigree on “both sides.”

The final tercet begins with an apt metaphor, converting these various theories to arrows that have missed their target. The true inspiration was of course that Stella looked on and, in keeping with her name, cast celestial light on his “race” or jousting contest.

Next time (weekend of February 7): Sonnet 42
Jonathan Smith is Professor of English at Hanover College, Hanover, Indiana.