Chapter 5

_Di morte certo._

My death must come; but when, I do not know: Life's short, and little life remains for me: Fain would my flesh abide; my soul would flee Heavenward, for still she calls on me to go.

Blind is the world; and evil here below O'erwhelms and triumphs over honesty: The light is quenched; quenched too is bravery: Lies reign, and truth hath ceased her face to show.

When will that day dawn, Lord, for which he waits Who trusts in Thee? Lo, this prolonged delay Destroys all hope and robs the soul of life.

Why streams the light from those celestial gates, If death prevent the day of grace, and stay Our souls for ever in the toils of strife?

LXX.

_A PRAYER FOR STRENGTH._

_Carico d'anni._

Burdened with years and full of sinfulness, With evil custom grown inveterate, Both deaths I dread that close before me wait, Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less.

No strength I find in mine own feebleness To change or life or love or use or fate, Unless Thy heavenly guidance come, though late, Which only helps and stays our nothingness.

'Tis not enough, dear Lord, to make me yearn For that celestial home, where yet my soul May be new made, and not, as erst, of nought:

Nay, ere Thou strip her mortal vestment, turn My steps toward the steep ascent, that whole And pure before Thy face she may be brought.

LXXI.

_A PRAYER FOR PURIFICATION._

_Forse perchè d' altrui._

Perchance that I might learn what pity is, That I might laugh at erring men no more, Secure in my own strength as heretofore, My soul hath fallen from her state of bliss: Nor know I under any flag but this How fighting I may 'scape those perils sore, Or how survive the rout and horrid roar Of adverse hosts, if I Thy succour miss. O flesh! O blood! O cross! O pain extreme! By you may those foul sins be purified, Wherein my fathers were, and I was born! Lo, Thou alone art good: let Thy supreme Pity my state of evil cleanse and hide-- So near to death, so far from God, forlorn.

LXXII.

_A PRAYER FOR AID._

_Deh fammiti vedere._

Oh, make me see Thee, Lord, where'er I go! If mortal beauty sets my soul on fire, That flame when near to Thine must needs expire, And I with love of only Thee shall glow. Dear Lord, Thy help I seek against this woe, These torments that my spirit vex and tire; Thou only with new strength canst re-inspire My will, my sense, my courage faint and low. Thou gavest me on earth this soul divine; And Thou within this body weak and frail Didst prison it--how sadly there to live! How can I make its lot less vile than mine? Without Thee, Lord, all goodness seems to fail. To alter fate is God's prerogative.

LXXIII.

_AT THE FOOT OF THE CROSS._

_Scarco d' un' importuna._

Freed from a burden sore and grievous band, Dear Lord, and from this wearying world untied, Like a frail bark I turn me to Thy side, As from a fierce storm to a tranquil land. Thy thorns, Thy nails, and either bleeding hand, With Thy mild gentle piteous face, provide Promise of help and mercies multiplied, And hope that yet my soul secure may stand. Let not Thy holy eyes be just to see My evil past, Thy chastened ears to hear And stretch the arm of judgment to my crime: Let Thy blood only lave and succour me, Yielding more perfect pardon, better cheer, As older still I grow with lengthening time.

LXXIV.

FIRST READING.

_A PRAYER FOR GRACE IN DEATH._

_S' avvien che spesso._

What though strong love of life doth flatter me With hope of yet more years on earth to stay, Death none the less draws nearer day by day, Who to sad souls alone comes lingeringly. Yet why desire long life and jollity, If in our griefs alone to God we pray? Glad fortune, length of days, and pleasure slay The soul that trusts to their felicity. Then if at any hour through grace divine The fiery shafts of love and faith that cheer And fortify the soul, my heart assail, Since nought achieve these mortal powers of mine, Straight may I wing my way to heaven; for here With lengthening days good thoughts and wishes fail.

LXXIV.

SECOND READING.

_A PRAYER FOR GRACE IN DEATH._

_Parmi che spesso._

Ofttimes my great desire doth flatter me With hope on earth yet many years to stay: Still Death, the more I love it, day by day Takes from the life I love so tenderly. What better time for that dread change could be, If in our griefs alone to God we pray? Oh, lead me, Lord, oh, lead me far away From every thought that lures my soul from Thee! Yea, if at any hour, through grace of Thine, The fervent zeal of love and faith that cheer And fortify the soul, my heart assail. Since nought achieve these mortal powers of mine, Plant, like a saint in heaven, that virtue here; For, lacking Thee, all good must faint and fail.

LXXV.

_HEART-COLDNESS._

_Vorrei voler, Signior._

Fain would I wish what my heart cannot will: Between it and the fire a veil of ice Deadens the fire, so that I deal in lies; My words and actions are discordant still. I love Thee with my tongue, then mourn my fill; For love warms not my heart, nor can I rise, Or ope the doors of Grace, who from the skies Might flood my soul, and pride and passion kill. Rend Thou the veil, dear Lord! Break Thou that wall Which with its stubbornness retards the rays Of that bright sun this earth hath dulled for me! Send down Thy promised light to cheer and fall On Thy fair spouse, that I with love may blaze, And, free from doubt, my heart feel only Thee!

LXXVI.

_THE DEATH OF CHRIST._

_Non fur men lieti._

Not less elate than smitten with wild woe To see not them but Thee by death undone, Were those blest souls, when Thou above the sun Didst raise, by dying, men that lay so low: Elate, since freedom from all ills that flow From their first fault for Adam's race was won; Sore smitten, since in torment fierce God's son Served servants on the cruel cross below. Heaven showed she knew Thee, who Thou wert and whence, Veiling her eyes above the riven earth; The mountains trembled and the seas were troubled. He took the Fathers from hell's darkness dense: The torments of the damnéd fiends redoubled: Man only joyed, who gained baptismal birth.

LXXVII.

_THE BLOOD OF CHRIST._

_Mentre m' attrista._

Mid weariness and woe I find some cheer In thinking of the past, when I recall My weakness and my sins, and reckon all The vain expense of days that disappear: This cheers by making, ere I die, more clear The frailty of what men delight miscall; But saddens me to think how rarely fall God's grace and mercies in life's latest year. For though Thy promises our faith compel, Yet, Lord, what man shall venture to maintain That pity will condone our long neglect? Still from Thy blood poured forth we know full well How without measure was Thy martyr's pain, How measureless the gifts we dare expect.

THE SONNETS OF TOMMASO CAMPANELLA

I.

_THE PROEM._

_Io che nacqui dal Senno._

Born of God's Wisdom and Philosophy, Keen lover of true beauty and true good, I call the vain self-traitorous multitude Back to my mother's milk; for it is she, Faithful to God her spouse, who nourished me, Making me quick and active to intrude Within the inmost veil, where I have viewed And handled all things in eternity. If the whole world's our home where we may run, Up, friends, forsake those secondary schools Which give grains, units, inches for the whole! If facts surpass mere words, melt pride of soul, And pain, and ignorance that hardens fools, Here in the fire I've stolen from the Sun!

II.

_TO THE POETS._

_In superbia il valor._

Valour to pride hath turned; grave holiness To vile hypocrisy; all gentle ways To empty forms; sound sense to idle lays; Pure love to heat; beauty to paint and dress:-- Thanks to you, Poets! you who sing the praise Of fabled knights, foul fires, lies, nullities; Not virtue, nor the wrapped sublimities Of God, as bards were wont in those old days. How far more wondrous than your phantasies Are Nature's works, how far more sweet to sing! Thus taught, the soul falsehood and truth descries. That tale alone is worth the pondering, Which hath not smothered history in lies, And arms the soul against each sinful thing.

III.

_THE UNIVERSE._

_Il mondo è un animal._

The world's a living creature, whole and great, God's image, praising God whose type it is; We are imperfect worms, vile families, That in its belly have our low estate. If we know not its love, its intellect, Neither the worm within my belly seeks To know me, but his petty mischief wreaks:-- Thus it behoves us to be circumspect. Again, the earth is a great animal, Within the greatest; we are like the lice Upon its body, doing harm as they. Proud men, lift up your eyes; on you I call: Measure each being's worth; and thence be wise; Learning what part in the great scheme you play!

IV.

_THE SOUL._

_Dentro un pugno di cervel._

A handful of brain holds me: I consume So much that all the books the world contains, Cannot allay my furious famine-pains:-- What feasts were mine! Yet hunger is my doom. With one world Aristarchus fed my greed; This finished, others Metrodorus gave; Yet, stirred by restless yearning, still I crave: The more I know, the more to learn I need. Thus I'm an image of that Sire in whom All beings are, like fishes in the sea; That one true object of the loving mind. Reasoning may reach Him, like a shaft shot home; The Church may guide; but only blest is he Who loses self in God, God's self to find.

V.

_THE BOOK OF NATURE._

_Il mondo è il libro._

The world's the book where the eternal Sense Wrote his own thoughts; the living temple where, Painting his very self, with figures fair He filled the whole immense circumference. Here then should each man read, and gazing find Both how to live and govern, and beware Of godlessness; and, seeing God all-where, Be bold to grasp the universal mind. But we tied down to books and temples dead, Copied with countless errors from the life,-- These nobler than that school sublime we call. O may our senseless souls at length be led To truth by pain, grief, anguish, trouble, strife! Turn we to read the one original!

VI.

_AN EXHORTATION TO MANKIND._

_Abitator del mondo._

Ye dwellers on this world, to the first Mind Exalt your eyes; and ye shall see how low Vile Tyranny, wearing the glorious show Of nobleness and worth, keeps you confined. Then look at proud Hypocrisy, entwined With lies and snares, who once taught men to know The fear of God. Next to the Sophists go, Traitors to thought and reason, jugglers blind. Keen Socrates to quell the Sophists came: To quell the Tyrants, Cato just and rough: To quell the Hypocrites, Christ, heaven's own flame. But to unmask fraud, sacrilege, and lies, Or boldly rush on death, is not enough; Unless we all taste God, made inly wise.

VII.

_THE BROOD OF IGNORANCE._

_Io nacqui a debellar._

To quell three Titan evils I was made,-- Tyranny, Sophistry, Hypocrisy; Whence I perceive with what wise harmony Themis on me Love, Power, and Wisdom laid. These are the basements firm whereon is stayed, Supreme and strong, our new philosophy; The antidotes against that trinal lie Wherewith the burdened world groaning is weighed. Famine, war, pestilence, fraud, envy, pride, Injustice, idleness, lust, fury, fear, Beneath these three great plagues securely hide. Grounded on blind self-love, the offspring dear Of Ignorance, they flourish and abide:-- Wherefore to root up Ignorance I'm here!

VIII.

_SELF-LOVE._

_Credulo il proprio amor._

Self-love fools man with false opinion That earth, air, water, fire, the stars we see, Though stronger and more beautiful than we, Feel nought, love not, but move for us alone. Then all the tribes of earth except his own Seem to him senseless, rude--God lets them be: To kith and kin next shrinks his sympathy, Till in the end loves only self each one. Learning he shuns that he may live at ease; And since the world is little to his mind, God and God's ruling Forethought he denies. Craft he calls wisdom; and, perversely blind, Seeking to reign, erects new deities: At last 'I make the Universe!' he cries.

IX.

_LOVE OF SELF AND GOD._

_Questo amor singolar._

This love of self sinks man in sinful sloth: Yet, if he seek to live, he needs must feign Sense, goodness, courage. Thus he dwells in pain, A sphinx, twy-souled, a false self-stunted growth. Honours, applause, and wealth these torments soothe; Till jealousy, contrasting his foul stain With virtues eminent, by spur and rein Drives him to slay, steal, poison, break his oath. But he who loves our common Father, hath All men for brothers, and with God doth joy In whatsoever worketh for their bliss. Good Francis called the birds upon his path Brethren; to him the fishes were not coy.-- Oh, blest is he who comprehendeth this!

X.

_EARTHLY AND DIVINE LOVE._

_Se Dio ci dà la vita._

God gives us life, and God our life preserves; Nay, all our happiness on Him doth rest: Why then should love of God inflame man's breast Less than his lady and the lord he serves? Through mean and wanton ignorance he swerves, And worships a false Good, divinely dressed; Love cannot soar to what it never guessed, But stoops its flight, and the thralled soul unnerves. Here too is man deceived. He yields his own To spend on others. Yet in vile delight God's splendour still shines through love's earthliness. But we embrace the loss, the lure alone Love fools us with. That glimpse of heavenly light, That foretaste of eternal Good, we miss.

XI.

_THE PHILOSOPHER._

_Gran fortuna è 'l saper._

Wisdom is riches great and great estate, Far above wealth; nor are the wise unblest If born of lineage vile or race oppressed: These by their doom sublime they illustrate.

They have their griefs for guerdon, to dilate Their name and glory; nay, the cross, the sword Make them to be like saints or God adored; And gladness greets them in the frowns of fate:

For joys and sorrows are their dear delight; Even as a lover takes the weal and woe Felt for his lady. Such is wisdom's might.

But wealth still vexes fools; more vile they grow By being noble; and their luckless light With each new misadventure burns more low.

XII.

_A PARABLE OF WISE MEN AND THE WORLD._

_Gli astrologi antevista._

Once on a time the astronomers foresaw The coming of a star to madden men: Thus warned they fled the land, thinking that when The folk were crazed, they'd hold the reins of law

When they returned the realm to overawe, They prayed those maniacs to quit cave and den, And use their old good customs once again; But these made answer with fist, tooth, and claw:

So that the wise men were obliged to rule Themselves like lunatics to shun grim death, Seeing the biggest maniac now was king.

Stifling their sense, they lived, aping the fool, In public praising act and word and thing Just as the whims of madmen swayed their breath.

XIII.

_THE WORLD'S A STAGE._

_Nel teatro del mondo._

The world's a theatre: age after age, Souls masked and muffled in their fleshly gear Before the supreme audience appear, As Nature, God's own Art, appoints the stage.

Each plays the part that is his heritage; From choir to choir they pass, from sphere to sphere, And deck themselves with joy or sorry cheer, As Fate the comic playwright fills the page.

None do or suffer, be they cursed or blest, Aught otherwise than the great Wisdom wrote To gladden each and all who gave Him mirth,

When we at last to sea or air or earth Yielding these masks that weal or woe denote, In God shall see who spoke and acted best.

XIV.

_THE HUMAN COMEDY._

_Natura dal Signor._

Nature, by God directed, formed in space The universal comedy we see; Wherein each star, each man, each entity, Each living creature, hath its part and place:

And when the play is over, it shall be That God will judge with justice and with grace.-- Aping this art divine, the human race Plans for itself on earth a comedy:

It makes kings, priests, slaves, heroes for the eyes Of vulgar folk; and gives them masks to play Their several parts--not wisely, as we see;

For impious men too oft we canonise, And kill the saints; while spurious lords array Their hosts against the real nobility.

XV.

_THE TRUE KINGS._

_Neron fu Re._

Nero was king by accident in show; But Socrates by nature in good sooth; By right of both Augustus; luck and truth Less perfectly were blent in Scipio.

The spurious prince still seeks to extirpate The seed of natures born imperial-- Like Herod, Caiaphas, Meletus, all Who by bad acts sustain their stolen state.

Slaves whose souls tell them that they are but slaves, Strike those whose native kinghood all can see: Martyrdom is the stamp of royalty.

Dead though they be, these govern from their graves: The tyrants fall, nor can their laws remain; While Paul and Peter rise o'er Rome to reign.

XVI.

_WHAT MAKES A KING._

_Chi pennelli have e colori._

He who hath brush and colours, and chance-wise Doth daub, befouling walls and canvases, Is not a painter; but, unhelped by these, He who in art is masterful and wise. Cowls and the tonsure do not make a friar; Nor make a king wide realms and pompous wars; But he who is all Jesus, Pallas, Mars, Though he be slave or base-born, wears the tiar. Man is not born crowned like the natural king Of beasts, for beasts by this investiture Have need to know the head they must obey; Wherefore a commonwealth fits men, I say, Or else a prince whose worth is tried and sure, Not proved by sloth or false imagining.

XVII.

_TO JESUS CHRIST._

_I tuo' seguaci._

Thy followers to-day are less like Thee, The crucified, than those who made Thee die, Good Jesus, wandering all ways awry From rules prescribed in Thy wise charity. The saints now most esteemed love lying lips, Lust, strife, injustice; sweet to them the cry Drawn forth by monstrous pangs from men that die: So many plagues hath not the Apocalypse As these wherewith they smite Thy friends ignored-- Even as I am; search my heart, and know; My life, my sufferings bear Thy stamp and sign. If Thou return to earth, come armed; for lo, Thy foes prepare fresh crosses for Thee, Lord! Not Turks, not Jews, but they who call them Thine.

XVIII.

_TO DEATH._

_Morte, stipendio della colpa._

O Death, the wage of our first father's blame, Daughter of envy and nonentity, Serf of the serpent, and his harlotry, Thou beast most arrogant and void of shame! Thy last great conquest dost thou dare proclaim, Crying that all things are subdued to thee, Against the Almighty raised almightily?-- The proofs that prop thy pride of state are lame. Not to serve thee, but to make thee serve Him, He stoops to Hell. The choice of arms was thine; Yet art thou scoffed at by the crucified! He lives--thy loss. He dies--from every limb, Mangled by thee, lightnings of godhead shine, From which thy darkness hath not where to hide.

XIX.

_ON THE SEPULCHRE OF CHRIST._

No. I.

_O tu ch' ami la parte._

O you who love the part more than the whole, And love yourself more than all human kind, Who persecute good men with prudence blind Because they combat your malign control, See Scribes and Pharisees, each impious school, Each sect profane, o'erthrown by his great mind, Whose best our good to Deity refined, The while they thought Death triumphed o'er his soul. Deem you that only you have thought and sense, While heaven and all its wonders, sun and earth, Scorned in your dullness, lack intelligence? Fool! what produced you? These things gave you birth: So have they mind and God. Repent; be wise! Man fights but ill with Him who rules the skies.

XX.

_ON THE SEPULCHRE OF CHRIST._

No. 2.

_Quinci impara a stupirti._

Here bend in boundless wonder; bow your head: Think how God's deathless Mind, that men might be Robed in celestial immortality (O Love divine!), in flesh was raimented: How He was killed and buried; from the dead How He arose to life with victory, And reigned in heaven; how all of us shall be Glorious like Him whose hearts to His are wed: How they who die for love of reason, give Hypocrites, tyrants, sophists--all who sell Their neighbours ill for holiness--to hell: How the dead saint condemns the bad who live; How all he does becomes a law for men; How he at last to judge shall come again!

XXI.

_THE RESURRECTION._

_Se sol sei ore._

If Christ was only six hours crucified After few years of toil and misery, Which for mankind He suffered willingly, While heaven was won for ever when He died; Why should He still be shown on every side, Painted and preached, in nought but agony, Whose pains were light matched with His victory, When the world's power to harm Him was defied? Why rather speak and write not of the realm He rules in heaven, and soon will bring below Unto the praise and glory of His name? Ah foolish crowd! This world's thick vapours whelm Your eyes unworthy of that glorious show, Blind to His splendour, bent upon His shame.

XXII.

_IDEAL LOVE._

_Il vero amante._

He who loves truly, grows in force and might; For beauty and the image of his love Expand his spirit: whence he burns to prove Adventures high, and holds all perils light. If thus a lady's love dilate the knight, What glories and what joy all joys above Shall not the heavenly splendour, joined by love Unto our flesh-imprisoned soul, excite? Once freed, she would become one sphere immense Of love, power, wisdom, filled with Deity, Elate with wonders of the eternal Sense. But we like sheep and wolves war ceaselessly: That love we never seek, that light intense, Which would exalt us to infinity.

XXIII.

_THE MODERN CUPID._

_Son tremil' anni._

Through full three thousand years the world reveres Blind Love that bears the quiver and hath wings: Now too he's deaf, and to the sufferings Of folk in anguish turns impiteous ears. Of gold he's greedy, and dark raiment wears; A child no more, that naked sports and sings, But a sly greybeard; no gold shaft he flings, Now that fire-arms have cursed these latter years. Charcoal and sulphur, thunder, lead, and smoke, That leave the flesh with plagues of hell diseased, And drive the craving spirit deaf and blind, These are his weapons. But my bell hath broke Her silence. Yield, thou deaf, blind, tainted beast, To the wise fervour of a blameless mind!

XXIV.

_TRUE AND FALSE NOBILITY._

_In noi dal senno._