Chapter L: To “corso”

BROTHER,

I have received yours of the 8th. That I should write to you at much length on the subject of your letter is not possible. You, however, will certainly not suppose that I evade the discussion, nor that I do not set a right value on your convictions, or do not care about them. No indeed; and you are mistaken in fancying that your frankness of speech could ever offend me. If you but knew how the religion of truth is the religion for me! and how much any real conviction inspires me with respect, if not assent! But this is not a question to be disposed of in a few letters; nor have I time, beset as I am by a thousand distractions through my dream of Italian initiative, to enter on a discussion. And, if I ever have time, I shall compose, I confess to you, a whole volume--but I shall never publish it, unless a Republican revolution should have broken out. For the present, I understand this latest reaction in favour of Christianity, and I see it to be necessary, and acknowledge it as useful. A true knowledge of Christianity--its nature, its mission--will follow from this study. Just as, in my view, _reform_ must naturally precede the securing of independence, liberty, and equality, in political dogma, so do I believe that the political synthesis, or at any rate a glimpse of this synthesis, must, in the new epoch, precede in renovated Europe the manifestation of the religious synthesis of the epoch. Rights were of yore individual; and it was natural that first the _individual_ should be emancipated, that the _instrument_ should be formed to acquire an application of those rights in the political department. At the present time the reverse is the case. The question is that of the _social_ synthesis. The _instrument_ is no longer the _individual_, but the people. Therefore the people, which is to secure the religious formula, requires to be _constituted_: therefore a political revolution before the religious one.

Only, you know what I have always said: like advanced scouts, secret sentinels of human nature, _intelligences_ must begin to proclaim that they descry the _new lands_ and the new law. And therefore I should have supposed you to be among them; and I still believe that you will be among them later on. Meanwhile, as you think that my efforts (and be it observed that I am doing nothing) are to subserve the triumph of Christianity, so do I think that yours are to subserve the triumph of the new synthesis, the _social_ synthesis, philosophy merged into religion: because--I do not deny it--my “harmonized dualism” is precisely this harmonizing of philosophy with religion--two things which hitherto have been at odds, and which will end by coalescing. Yours is, without your perceiving it, an eclecticism and no more. Your _quid tertium_, neither _catholic_ nor _primitive_ (two distinctions as to which I should have much to say), is an Utopia, or rather a chimera. You don’t perceive that that which you call _primitive_ is at bottom nothing except Christianity in the soul, not any social form; that the second epoch--_i.e._ Catholicism--is rightly the application of Christianity to society; and that the Reformation--a cynical movement, whatever you may say about it--came, in fact, to say of Christianity: “You are not susceptible of any social application, of any national unity, because you are an individualistic formula and no more: stay you in your proper sphere.”

You and I, I perceive, regard the Reformation, and all things, from different points of view.

And now see what is the outcome of the idea, “Christianity is an _eternal_ religion, an unique religious synthesis.” And what of mankind prior to Christianity? Oh in what sense do you understand God, if you admit that He gave the unique eternal synthesis some thousands of years after the race had been created? And the unity of the mind of God? A progressive law at the beginning, and an eternal synthesis later on? But no more of this; you go too far. Believing as I do, with yourself, in continuous progression, there ought to be between us only a question of time, but never a denial of a new synthesis when the time comes. _Christianity asserts its perfection and eternity as a fundamental principle: therefore you cannot, without destroying it, say that it is not the whole of truth._ But once again, no more of this. Christianity had to profess itself perfect and eternal, and I even admit that. But when did Christianity ever affect to be a social religion? _That_ is the question. Christianity is the formula of the individual, and as such is eternal and perfect to my thinking--for that formula is what no one can nullify. It means liberty and equality; and who can ever henceforth exclude those two bases of progress from the progress of the future? Christianity therefore will endure. Only, behind that formula one seeks for another--the social. Where is the contradiction?

Tell me, my Corso, with your hand on your heart. To the arguments which I scatter in my letters, hurried, unconnected, and almost sportive, the true fruit of profound convictions, and which you (permit me to say) shirk a little in your replies, have you anything to oppose? Do not some of the things which I say, if you think them over seriously, cast some doubts on your mind?

As to what you cite to me, regarding miracles, and the resurrection of Christ, etc., I will not discuss to-day; but I confess to you, it seems to me strange that you should regard those as being irrevocably proved in history.

I say it seriously, some one will come to furbish up my ideas, without knowing that I advocated them. I am more than likely to die without doing this, because I am conscious of my mission, and I know the duration of it--and I know that it is not I who will wage the war. Truth means to run her course, and she will do it; but I shall not lay the foundation-stone of the edifice--I have no future. I have discerned, but it is not given to me to do more; therefore I still devote these my days to a work very inferior to that which my longings would have sought for--the actual production of the instrument. I am neither more nor less than a political revolutionist, and to this I resign myself. Would that I may at least be that, and wrench this Italy that I love out of the mire in which she lies, set her freed face to face with her destinies, and say to her, “Now make them yours.”

As you see, I am writing to Gioberti. Writing thus to all and sundry begins to weigh upon me. I have moments of _spleen_, of individualism which rebels; and at those moments I seem to myself to be playing the prostitute, and making Italian liberty play the like part. For if you but knew how many letters, and these to intellects so-called, and all useless! But these are moments of irritation, arising out of what I have myself been suffering these three years, and this is more than you suppose, and you know it not, and never will know it. Then I return to myself; and, where I can see any little advantage, any symptom of duty, I submit and write.

Hand also the enclosed lines to Tommaseo, who, like others, does not understand me, and does not understand the situation in which we are.

Have you seen Libri? You will tell me that I am pertinacious; this is true. But all those who desert me, without any fault of mine against them, and without my being even able to guess the reason, cause me real pain.

If you know Malmusi, or can get at any one who knows him, don’t forget to tell him that for the love of God he should reassure me concerning the arrival of certain letters of mine: his silence troubles me.

Of politics I say nothing, as I do not mean to speak about them until the first half of the month of October; then I shall have data from which to speak. Meanwhile I repeat to you what I told you.

Did you ever see Buonarroti? Do you know where Bianco is? Of him I know nothing of late, and I am anxious to write to him. Do they ever write to you from Turin? What Italians are you acquainted with? Bozzelli?

Wish well to your
STROZZI.

Put an envelope on the letter to Gioberti. Write to me what reception he gives it. Pray excuse.[102]

NO. 5.--SIX POEMS BY GABRIELE ROSSETTI

[I give here six specimens of my father’s powers as a poet. Setting aside _San Paolo in Malta_, which is only an improvise, it may be said that in all these instances the verses rank among his choice things; though many others could be quoted not inferior. The dates which I give may be regarded as correct, unless as to the final sonnet, regarding which I am uncertain.

The lyric, _Aurora del 21 Luglio del 1820_, was, as I have before said, extremely celebrated in its time; and the _Addio alla Patria_ has always been an admired piece. The _San Paolo in Malta_ is referred to at p. 61, and testifies to Rossetti’s uncommon power as an Improvisatore; being as it is in _terza rima_, each rhyme is triplicated, and thus the improvising effort was all the more arduous.

I leave these poems to the perusal of such readers as are acquainted with Italian. To try to translate them would be little else than to scheme deliberately to spoil them.]

A.

AD AMORE

Alato bambino,
Tiranno de’ cuori,
Ch’io segua il cammino
Che innanzi m’infiori?
Unendomi teco
Ch’io veggio sì cieco,
Oh quanto sarei
Più cieco di te!
Pur troppo gemei,
Fanciullo inumano!
Ma i lacci funesti
Che al piè mi cingesti
Del Tempo la mano
Mi sciolse dal piè.

A credulo cuore
Tu scaltro dispensi
Contento ed ardore
Che inebbriano i sensi:
Ma in mezzo al contento
Prepari il tormento;
L’ardor ti precede,
Ti segue il languor.
Nè l’alma si avvede
Del passo imprudente
Che quando a fuggire
Le manca l’ardire,
Che quando si sente
Già vinta dal cuor.

Quel dì che sul mondo
Vagisti bambino,
Un cenno iracondo
Del sordo Destino
Di face ferale
La destra immortale
Di penne funeste
Il dorso ti armò.
Le penne son queste,
O nume fallace,
Che a Pari infedele
Gonfiaron le vele,
E questa è la face
Che Troia bruciò.

Tu godi, o tiranno,
Di sparger la terra
Di gioia, d’affanno,
Di pace, di guerra;
Ma finta è la pace,
La guerra è verace,
L’affanno rimane,
La gioia sen va.
Insidie sì strane
Ci ordisci, ci tendi,
Che a render prigione
L’augusta Ragione,
Tuoi complici rendi
Ingegno e Beltà.

Chi crede a’ tuoi detti
Ne attenda la fine;
Le rose prometti
Per dargli le spine:
Ben sento che giova
Saperlo per prova;
Ma troppo al mio cuore
Tal prova costò.
La via del dolore
Io teco calcava;
Ma in mezzo del corso
Intesi il Rimorso
Che _ferma_, gridava,
Ma tardi gridò.

Quel giorno che il velo
Mi cadde dal ciglio,
Rimasi di gelo
Scorgendo il periglio:
Sul velo squarciato,
Sul laccio spezzato,
Il canto innalzai
Di mia libertà.
Ah libero omai
Dal giogo abborrito,
Sull’ara tua stessa
Crollata, depressa,
Innalzo pentito
L’altar d’Amistà.

1813.

B.

VERSI D’AMORE

Dal tuo leggiadro viso
Il mio destin dipende:
D’ugual desio mi accende
Il tuo desio.
Dal labbro tuo soltanto
Ha questo labbro il riso:
Ha dal tuo ciglio il pianto
Il ciglio mio.

1814.