Lingua   

Su patriottu Sardu a sos feudatarios [Procurad' e moderare]

Francesco Ignazio Mannu
Pagina della canzone con tutte le versioni


La versione inglese di John Warre Tyndale, da The Island of Sardinia,...
Procurade de moderare 
Barones, sa tirannia 
Chi si no, pro vida mia 
Torrades a pe' in terra! 
Declarada est già sa gherra 
Contra de sa prepotenzia, 
E cominza sa passienzia 
In su pobulu a mancare.

Mirade ch'est azzendende 
Contra de 'ois su fogu; 
Mirade chi no è giogu 
Chi sa cosa andat 'e veras. 
Mirade chi sas aeras 
Minettana temporale; 
Zente consizzada male, 
Iscultade sa 'oghe mia.

Procurad'e moderare, barones, sa tirannia,
Procurad'e moderare, barones, sa tirannia.

Su pobulu chi in profundu 
Letargu fi' sepultadu, 
Finalmente despertadu 
S'abbizza' ch'est in cadena, 
Ch'ista' suffrende sa pena 
De s'indolenzia antiga: 
Feudu, legge inimiga 
A bona filosofia. 

Deghe o doighi familias 
S'han partidu sa Sardigna, 
De una manera indigna, 
Si nde sun fattas pobiddas.
Divididu s'han sas biddas 
In sa zega antighidade, 
Però sa presente edade 
Lu pensat rimediare. 

Procurad'e moderare, barones, sa tirannia,
Procurad'e moderare, barones, sa tirannia, 
Procurad'e moderare, barones, sa tirannia,
Procurad'e moderare, barones, sa tirannia. 

Issos dae custa terra 
Ch'hana 'ogadu miliones. 
Malaitu cuddu logu, 
Chi creia' tale zenia! 

Procurad'e moderare
Barones, sa tirannia
Chi si no, pro vida mia
Torrades a pe' in terra!
Declarada est già sa gherra
Contra de sa prepotenzia,
E cominza sa passienzia
In su pobulu a mancare.

Barones, sa tirannia,
Barones, sa tirannia,
Barones, sa tirannia,
Barones, sa tirannia.
Procurad'e moderare, barones, sa tirannia, 
Procurad'e moderare, barones, sa tirannia,
Procurad'e moderare, barones, sa tirannia, 
Procurad'e moderare, barones, sa tirannia...

[THE SARDINIAN PATRIOTE'S HYMN TO THE FEUDATORIES]

Endeavor to moderate,
Oh barons! your tyranny ;
For if not, upon my life.
You will be humbled to the ground.
War is e'en now decliired
Against oppressive power,
And patience in the people
Is beginning to give way.

Look to it — there is a fire
Kindling against you all :
Look to it — 'tis no light matter.
But the thing is serious truth;
Look to it — for the heavens
Are menacing a storm.
Oh ! race most ill-advised
Listen to my voice.

Do not apply the spur
To your poor weary steed.
Lest in the middle of your course
He should resist you and rebel.
See him so meagre and [stunted ?]
That he can endure no more ;
At length in dire confusion
He will upset his burden.

The people which in profound
Lethargy was buried,
Finally awakened
Perceives itself in chains.
And suffering the penalty
Of ancient indolence :
Feudality ! a law opposed
To all sound wisdom.

As though they were a vine,
A field, or an inclosure.
The villages they have given
As gifts, or sold for gain :
And like a herd
Of cattle, and flocks of sheep.
They have sold men and women
With their unborn babes.

For a few thousand livres,
And sometimes for nothing,
Are enslaved eternally
Whole populations :
And thousands of persons
Serve a single tyrant :
Poor human species !
Poor Sardinian race !

Ten or twelve families
Have divided all Sardinia ;
By unworthy means
They have become its masters :
They apportioned its [villages]
In remote ages ;
But the present day
Will seek to remedy it.

The Sardinian is born [subject]
To a thousand hard commands;
Tributes and exactions
To be paid to his lord
In cattle or in labor,
In money or in produce ;
He both pays for pasturage.
And pays for sowing it.

Long before feudality
The villagers existed;
They were then the lords
Of the woods and cultured lands:
How then to you, oh Barons !
Could the [wealth ?] of others pass?
Whosoever gave it you
Had not the power to give it.

It is not to be presumed
That of their own free will
The poor folks should have yielded
To exactions such as these :
The title then in fact
Is from their infeudation,
And the villages have a right
To call it into question.

Your taxes in the beginning
Were exacted within limits,
But soon they went onward
Every day augmenting ;
In proportion as increasing
Your luxury increased,
In proportion as in spending
You left off all economy.

It will not serve you to [allege]
Your ancient possession ;
But by menacing with prison
With punishment and penalties
With cords and with chains,
The poor and ignorant,
You have forced them to pay
Your exorbitant demands.

If at least you did employ it
In the maintenance of justice.
Punishing the wickedness
Of bad men in your district ;
Or if the good at least
Could [enjoy] tranquillity ;
If they could come and go
In safety on the roads :

This is the only end
Of every tax and power ;
That in security and quiet
Men should live under the law :
Of this end we are deprived
By the avarice of the Baron ;
For in affairs of justice only
He becomes economical

The first who presents himself
Is appointed "offissiale" (*) ;
He may do well, he may do ill,
But he must ask no salary .
Procurator, or notary,
Or valet, or even lackey,
Be he grey, or be he brown,
He is good, enough to govern.

Enough that he lend a hand
To help increase the rents ;
Enough that he replenish
The purse of the noble lord.
That he give all aid to the
[ ... ] )(**)

[ Sometimes illegally ? ] (***)
The chaplain governs
The village with one hand,
With the other the disbursements.
Oh feudal chiefs ! reflect
That you do not hold your [vassals]
Merely to increase your wealth.
Merely that you may fleece them. (****)

To defend your patrimony
And your life, the peasant
Must remain night and dayt
With arms in his hands :
If this is to be,
Wherefore all this tribute 1
If there is to be no benefit
It is madness then to pay.

If the Baron does not
Fulfil his obligation,
Thou, vassal ! on thy part
To nothing art obliged ;
The taxes he has extorted
In so many bygone years
Are monies robbed from thee,
Which he should render back.

His rentals only serve
To entertain mistresses.
For carriages, for liveries,
For useless servants,
For encouragement to vice,
For gambling at Faro:
[ ... ] (*****)

To enable him to have
Some twenty dishes on his table;
To enable the Marchesa
To go always in her chair :
Her narrow shoes, poor thing !
Compel her to go limping ;
The stones are much too hard.
She cannot go on foot.

For one single letter
The wretched vassal
Has days of journey
On foot, without being paid.
Half barefoot, half unclothed
Exposed to all inclemencies ;
Still he must be patient.
Still he must hold his peace. (******)

[ Oh ! poor ones of the Village,
Toil away ! toil away !
To maintain in the city
So many pampered steeds,
To you is left the straw.
They have gathered in the grain.
And think of nothing day or night
But of their self-indulgence.

My Lord the Baron
Rises at eleven ;
From his bed he goes to dinner,
From dinner to the gaming table,
From thence to pass the time
He goes off to making love ;
And night beginning to approach
To balls, the theatre and gaieties.

How differently does
The vassal pass his hours !
Before the morning dawn
He is already in the fields ;
[Wind and snow are on] the mountain,
In the plain a burning sun :
Oh ! wretched man ! and how
Art thou to endure all this !

He toils the whole day long
With the spade and with the plough :
At the hour of middle day
He banquets on a crust :
The Baron's dog in the town
Is much better fed
If it be one of that race
Which they carry on their knees. ]

Fearing reformation
In disorders so extreme.
By [manoeuvres] and intrigues
The Cortes have prevented it ;
They have striven to put down
The most zealous of the patriots;
Saying they are outrageous
And enemies to monarchy.

To those who have spoken out
In favor of their country,
Or have unsheathed their sword
In the common cause,
Either around their throats
A rope they would have twisted,
Or, as Jacobins,
They would have had them massacred.

Nevertheless heaven visibly
Has defended the upright ;
Has brought low the powerful.
And exalted the humble :
God, who has declared himself
For this our country
Will certainly protect us
From all your treacheries.

Perfidious Feudal Baron !
For private interest
The avowed protector
Are you of the Piedmontese !
With him you associate
Without any scruple ;
You — to live with him in the town,
He— with you in the village. .
Sardinia to the Piedmonteise
Was as a golden land,

What Spain found in the Indies
They discovered here :
Even a Piedmontese valet
Might elevate his voice,
To which plebeian or cavalier
Was obliged to humble himself.

They from out this land
Have exported millions ;
They came in without hose,
And left it all embroidered ;
Would they had never entered
To light this firebrand I
May that place be cursed
Which gives life to such a race.

They have here contracted
Advantageous marriages ;
For them were all emplo3rments,
For them were all distinctions
The greatest dignities
Of the Church, the Robe, and Sword :
To the Sarde was left
A rope to hang himself.

The worthless were sent us t
For punishment and correction.
With stipend and with pension,
With office, and diploma ;
In Russia such people
Are sent into Siberia
To die of misery,—
But not to govern.

Meanwhile in our island
A numerous youth
Of talent and of virtue
Were left unheeded ;
Or if any were employed
They selected the most dull,
For it turned to their account
To deal with blinded folks.

If to some subaltern employment
A Sardinian had attained,
One half of his salary
Could not suffice for gifts ;
It was needful he should send
Blood horses to Turin,
And good butts of wine
" Cannonau " and " Malvasia ".

To draw into Piedmont
Our silver and our gold.
Was in their government
A fundamental maxim :
The kingdom might go well or ill.
To them it mattered not ;
On the contrary it was inexpedient
To allow it to prosper.

The island has been ruined
By this race of bastards;
They have taken to themselves
The privileges of Sardes
From the archives they have robbed
The most important charters,
And then as worthless paper
They have caused them to be burnt

From this scourge in part
God has delivered us ;
The Sarde has expelled
His injurious enemy :
And thou wouldst be his friend,
Oh ! unworthy Sardinian Baron!
And thou art seeking means
To bring them back again.

For this unblushingly
You praise up Piedmont ;
Traitor! who bearest on thy brow
The brand of treason !
Your daughters shew
Great honor to the foreigner ;
And descend to all dishonor
If it be not with a Sarde.

If by chance you go to Turin,
There you must kiss
The foot of the minister,
And more too you understand ;
To obtain what you aspire to
You sell your native land,
And strive perhaps in secret
To vilify Sardinians.

Your purse you leave there,
And in return receive
A cross upon your breast,
A key upon your back.
Your family is ruined
That you may serve your time at [ ? ]
And you have [gained] the title
Of traitor and of spy.

Heaven will not always
Let mischief be triumphant ;
The world is now reforming
Things that are going in ;
The system of Feudality
Cannot last much more ;
The sale of man for money
Must very soon cease.

Man who has been deceived
And is long degraded
Now seems to raise himself
To his former position ;
It seems that humanity
Again asserts her rights.
My Sardinians ! rouse yourselves
And follow this your guide.

This, Oh People, is the hour
To eradicate abuses ;
Down with all evil customs !
Down with despotic power !
War ! war to selfishness !
And war to the oppressor !
It is time to humble now
All these petty, tyrants.

If not some day in morsels
You will bite your fingers [ ? ];
Now that the thread is spun
Is the time to weave the cloth ;
Beware that your repentance
Do not come too late ;
When the wind is in your [harbour ?]
Is the proper time to winnow.



Pagina della canzone con tutte le versioni

Pagina principale CCG


hosted by inventati.org