Su patriottu Sardu a sos feudatarios [Procurad' e moderare]
Francesco Ignazio MannuLa 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. |