Classic Poem

" IF you believe not ancient histories,
You may have proof from much more recent times
In new-fought battles excellent (that is,
As excellent as any fights can be).
Manfred, the king of Sicily, by force
And guile long peacefully held all the isle
Until at last the good Charles of Anjou,
Count of Provence, made war on him and won.
The latter still is king of Sicily
By providence divine; it is God's will,
For ever Charles observes the Christian faith.
He took away the lordship of that land,
And from the king his life, when on the field
Of the first battle, with well-tempered sword
Boldly he assailed and conquered him
Astride his war horse proudly he made boast:
" You're checked and mated by one simple move
Of vagrant pawn in the middle of the board."
" That other apt example need I cite
Of Conradin, his nephew, whom King Charles
Condemned to lose his head in spite of all
The German princes? Or the doleful fate
Of Henry, brother of the King of Spain,
Who, full of pride and treason, was condemned
To languish in a prison until death?
These two, like silly boys, lost rooks and knights
And pawns and bishops in their play, and last,
Fearing to lose themselves, resigned the game.
And yet, in fact, no mate need they have feared;
No check could have been given to either side
That fought without a king. The opposing force
In any chess game cannot check or mate,
Afoot or horseback, any pawn or knight,
Bishop or rook or queen. I tell the truth
As I recall the game. I'd not deceive
You if you knew it not. Most needful 'tis
That there should be a king to put in check
When all his force is captured, and alone
He stands with no refuge to which to flee,
Surrounded by victorious enemies
Who have reduced him to such poverty.
The miser and the prodigal both know,
As do all men, that there's no other way
To win at chess. This rule made Attalus,
Who by arithmetic devised the game;
And in the Polycraticus one reads
How good a game the author found in chess
As he by demonstration amply proved,
Digressing on the subject of this game
Instead of writing on arithmetic.
" However, fearing capture, these two fled.
Why say I capture? More they feared to die.
The game was badly played, at least by those
Who scorned their God and undertook the war
Against the fief of Holy Church. This doomed
Them to an opening without defense;
For by the first attack made in the game
The queen was taken, and the foolish king
Lost knights and bishops, castles, too, and pawns.
The queen was not, 'tis true, in person there,
But grieving wretchedly could not escape
Nor save herself, when finally she knew
That Manfred lay — head, feet, and hands all cold —
Mated and dead. Now when the good king heard
The other two had fled, he had them seized
And worked his will on them and many more
Copartners in their impious hardihood.
" This valiant king, whom men oft call a count,
Whose deeds I tell (may God defend and guard
And counsel him and his in body and soul
Each morn and evening, every day and night!)
Conquered the pride of all Marseilles, and took
The heads of all the greatest in the place
Ere he was given Sicily to rule,
Of which he's now crowned king, and vicar, too,
Of all the empire. But I'll say no more
Of him, for who would all his deeds recount
Must fill a ponderous volume with the work.
" You've seen these people who great honors had
And what their deeds have been. Is't not a fool
Who'd be assured of Fortune, when she thus
The foreheads of her favorites anoints
So fairly, and then stabs them from behind?
And you, who kissed the Rose and won such woe
As scarcely you are able to assuage,
Think you again to kiss, or ever have
Delight and ease? If so, you're insane, fool;
I swear it by my head. But, that this woe
No more may hold you, do but recollect
The tales of Manfred and of Conradin
And Henry; worse than Saracens they did,
Waging hot warfare 'gainst their mother church.
Recall the fate of dwellers in Marseilles,
Of Nero and of Croesus, mighty men
Of ancient times, who could not Fortune hold
For all the power they had. No freeborn man
Who prides himself upon his liberty
Should be unmindful of the sorry tale
Of how to slavery King Croesus came,
Of Hecuba's, the wife of Priam's, fate,
Of Sisigambis, mother of the king
Of Persia, great Darius — all these held
Kingdoms in their own right, and yet became
Mere slaves when Fortune was perverse to them.
" Besides, I count it shame that you, who know
What writing signifies, and how to learn,
For all your study have forgot the page
Of Homer. What's your education worth?
You put your time on books of history
And then by negligence forget it all.
From all your study what will be the gain
If at most need you fail to grasp its sense?
Ever in your remembrance hold the sage,
A wise man should so cherish in his heart
All words of wisdom that they'll ne'er escape
Until death seizes him; for whoso knows,
And holds forevermore fast in his mind,
And learns how to appreciate his lore,
Will never be weighed down by what occurs
But always will hold firm against all chance
Adventures good or bad or soft or hard.
Besides, this text applies most generally
To all that Fortune does, as any man
Of good intelligence each day perceives.
'Tis strange that you, who've taken so much care
To study, never should have grasped this point.
But your insensate love has turned your head.
I'll tell a tale to make my meaning clear.
" As Homer tells the story, Jupiter
Before the threshold of his mansion placed
Two tuns, filled full throughout the livelong year;
From one of these two tuns each person drinks
Who lives on earth — father or bachelor,
Maiden or mother, young, old, foul, or fair.
Fortune is hostess of the well-stocked inn,
Who draws absinthe or sugared wine in cups
And gives a drink to each one in the world;
To some the more, to some the less she grants.
No one there is who drinks not every day
From out these tuns a quart or pint or gill
Or many a gallon, as may please the jade,
Or but a palmful or the merest sip
That she may drop by drop put in their mouths,
Serving each well or ill as suits her mood.
" No thinking man can feel such happiness
That he'll not find in midst of greatest ease
Something to trouble him; nor in his woe
Will he find nothing that can comfort give.
If he considers well his state, he'll find
Something of credit done or to be wrought,
Unless he fall into that hopeless pass
Which is the bane of sinners, far beyond
The help of study of philosophy.
What use for you to grumble, grieve, or groan?
Pluck up good heart; accept most patiently
What Fortune offers — good, bad, foul, or fair.
'Twere vain to tell of Fortune's risky wheel
The many turns — a game of pile and cross
That she so plans that victims never know,
Before they start, whether they'll win or lose.
" Although I to the subject may return,
I'll pause a while to make you three requests,
For heartfelt wish comes crowding to my lips;
And if you shall refuse these honest prayers
Nothing prevents your bearing all the blame:
It's my desire that I may have your love,
That you henceforth the God of Love despise,
And that you trust in Fortune nevermore.
If you're too weak to bear this triple bond,
I'll lighten it to make it portable.
Fulfill my first request, and you shall be
Exempted from the others; if you well
My meaning comprehend, and are no fool,
Nor drunken, you should know and recollect
That whosoe'er conforms to Reason's law
Never will carnal love or Fortune prize.
Such was my true friend, Socrates — unmoved
By Fortune, and by Love ne'er set on fire.
Be like to him and wed your heart to mine;
It will suffice to fix it in my breast:
Observe how easy is my one demand;
Fulfill the first thing that I've asked of you
And I'll absolve you of the rest. No more
Keep your lips closed so tight. Respond! Will you do this? "