53. ‘Spirto gentil, che quelle membra reggi’

Gentle spirit, that rules those members

in which a pilgrim lives,

a brave lord, shrewd and wise,

now you have taken up the ivory sceptre

with which you punish Rome and her wrongdoers,

and recall her to her ancient ways,

I speak to you, because I see no other ray

of virtue that is quenched from the world,

nor do I find men ashamed of doing wrong.

I don’t know what Italy expects or hopes for,

she seems not to feel her trouble,

old, lazy, slow,

will she sleep forever, no one to wake her?

I should grasp her by the hair with my hand.

I’ve no hope she’ll ever move her head

in lazy slumber whatever noise men make,

so heavily is she oppressed and by such a sleep:

not without the destiny in your right hand,

that can shake her fiercely and waken her,

now the guide of our Rome.

Set your hand to her venerable locks

and scattered tresses with firmness,

so that this sluggard might escape the mire.

I who weep for her torment day and night,

place the greater part of my hopes in you:

for if the people of Mars

ever come to lift their eyes to true honour,

I think that grace will touch them in your days.

Those ancient walls the world still fears and loves

and trembles at, whenever it recalls

past times and looks around,

and those tombs that enclose the dust

of those who will never lack fame

until the universe itself first dissolves,

and all is involved in one great ruin,

trust in you to heal all their ills.

O famous Scipios, o loyal Brutus,

how pleased you must be, if the rumour has yet

reached you there, of this well-judged appointment!

I think indeed Fabricius

will be delighted to hear the news!

And will say: ‘My Rome will once more be beautiful!’

And if Heaven cares for anything down here,

the souls, that up there are citizens,

and have abandoned their bodies to earth,

pray you to put an end to civil hatred,

that means the people have no real safety:

so the way to their temples that once

were so frequented is blocked, and now

they have almost become thieves’ dens in this strife,

so that their doors are only closed against virtue,

and amongst the altars and the naked statues

they commit every savage act.

Ah what alien deeds!

And no assault begun without a peal of bells

that were hung on high in thanks to God.

Weeping women, the defenceless children

of tender years, and the wearied old

who hate themselves and their burdened life,

and the black friars, the grey and the white,

with a crowd of others troubled and infirm,

cry: ‘O Lord, help us, help us.’

And the poor citizens dismayed

show you their wounds, thousand on thousands,

that Hannibal, no less, would pity them.

And if you gaze at the mansion of God

that is all ablaze today, if you stamped out

a few sparks, the will would become calm,

that shows itself so inflamed,

then your work would be praised to the skies.

Bears, wolves, lions, eagles and serpents

commit atrocities against a great

marble column, and harm themselves by it.

Because this gentle lady grieves at it,

she calls to you that you may root out

those evil plants that will never flower.

For more than a thousand years now

she has lacked those gracious spirits

who had placed her where she was.

Ah, you new people, proud by any measure,

lacking in reverence for such and so great a mother!

You, be husband and father:

all help is looked for from your hands,

for the Holy Father attends to other things.

It rarely happens that injurious fortune

is not opposed to the highest enterprises,

when hostile fate is in tune with ill.

But now clearing the path you take,

she makes me pardon many other offences,

being out of sorts with herself:

so that in all the history of the world

the way was never so open to a mortal man

to achieve, as you can, immortal fame,

by helping a nobler monarchy, if I

am not mistaken, rise to its feet.

What glory will be yours, to hear:

‘Others helped her when she was young and strong:

this one saved her from death in her old age.’

On the Tarpeian Rock, my song, you’ll see

a knight, whom all Italy honours,

thinking of others more than of himself.

Say to him: ‘One who has not seen you close to,

and only loves you from your human fame,

tells you that all of Rome

with eyes wet and bathed with sorrow,

begs mercy of you from all her seven hills.’

Notes: The unknown addressee has received the senator’s ivory sceptre. Petrarch references the history of the Roman Republic. Brutus is one of the first consuls not Caesar’s assassin. The black, grey and white friars are the Dominicans, Franciscans and Carmelites. The column is a reference to the Colonna family. Petrarch dates Rome’s fall from Constantine’s transfer of the Empire to Byzantium (Constantinople) in AD330. The Holy Father is at Avignon in exile. The Tarpeian Rock is on the Capitoline Hill of Rome.

‘Triumph of Heraclius at Constantinople’ - Cassell's Illustrated Universal History (p77 vol 3, London 1893), Edmund Ollier, The British Library