The
Soul’s Errand deserves to be remembered till her mission is accomplished in the
world.
(HTD, Sir Walter Raleigh)
“The well-known verses called ‘The Soul’s Errand,’ supposed, by some, to
have been written by Sir Walter Raleigh, when he was expecting to be executed
the following day, are at least worthy of such an origin, and are equally
applicable to the present case.”
Tal vida es útil
de contemplar pues sugiere que un hombre no debe ser medido por la virtud de
sus acciones descritas, o la sabiduría de sus pensamientos meramente
expresados, sino por el carácter libre que él es, y es percibido que es, bajo
todas las circunstancias. Incluso el talento es solo respetable cuando indica
una profundidad de carácter indomable. Seguramente es mejor que nuestra sabiduría
se muestre en el éxito constante de nuestros ánimos que en nuestro negocio o en
las máximas que caen meramente de nuestros labios. No queremos solo una
revelación, sino una naturaleza que la sostenga. Muchas vidas silenciosas, y
famosas, no han sido el resultado de ningún pensamiento ruin, aunque nunca
fuera concebido o expresado adecuadamente, y quizás la mente más iletrada y
antifilosófica puede acostumbrarse a pensar el alcance de la acción más noble. Todos
conocemos en nuestro propio círculo quienes hacen injusticia a su íntegro carácter
en su conversación y escritura, pero que, lanzados contra nosotros, no fallarían
en hacer una impresión de mayor sabiduría que la de muchos pensadores y
literatos.
(HTD,
Sir Walter Raleigh)
(…)
¿Pero qué es
la verdad? Lo que no conocemos. ¿Qué es la belleza? Lo que no vemos. ¿Qué es el
heroísmo? Lo que no somos. Es en vano colgar banderas en un día de júbilo-
colgantes frescos, brillantes y enteros; mejor los restos raídos y caídos que
han sido usados en las guerras
(HTD, Sir Walter Raleigh)
THE SOUL’S ERRAND
Di a los poderosos que viven
Actuando por medio de otros
Odiados a menos que den
Solo fuertes por sus fracciones
Si los poderosos contestan
Dales a los poderosos su mentira
Di a los hombres de alta condición,
Que rigen los asuntos del estado
Que su propósito es la ambición,
Su práctica solo odio;
Y si ellos contestan
Entonces dales a todos ellos su mentira
Ve alma, huésped del cuerpo
En tu periplo ingrato
No temas tocar lo mejor
La verdad será tu garantía
Ve puesto que yo debo morir
Y di la mentira del mundo
Ve, dile al tribunal que brilla
Y brilla como madera podrida
Ve di a la Iglesia que muestra
Lo que es bueno y no hace nada bueno
Si la Iglesia y el tribunal contestan
Entonces dales a ambos su mentira
Di al fanático que carece de devoción
Di al amor que es lascivo
Di al tiempo que es movimiento
Di a la carne que es polvo
Y deséales a todos que no contesten
Porque debes darles su mentira
Di a la edad que se consume a diario
Di al honor cómo se altera
Di a la belleza cómo se marchita
Di al favor como defrauda
Y si se atreven a contestar
Dales a todos su mentira
Di a la fortuna su ceguera
Di a la naturaleza su decaimiento
Di a la amistad su falta
Di a la justicia su retraso
Y si se atreven a contestar
Diles a todos su mentira
Y cuando tu hayas, como te he ordenado, terminado
tu parloteo
Aunque darles su mentira
No depare sino el apuñalamiento
Aun cuando te apuñalará quien quiera
Ningún puñal mata el alma
Cuando esté muerto
No dejes que el día sea registrado
Que ninguna campaña sea tañida
“El amor te recordará”
Cuando el odio se enfríe
This poem (also called The Lie and The Farewell) has been given as
written by Sir Walter Ralegh, the night before his execution, which was October
29, 1618; but it had already appeared in Davison's Rhapsody, in 1608; and it
is also to be found in a MS. collection of Poems in the British Museum, which
has the date of 1596. With the title, The Lie, it is printed by Davison with many variations
He may have been one to welcome the works of Tasso and
Montaigne to England, and when he looked about him he might have found such men
as Cervantes and Sidney, men of like pursuits and not altogether dissimilar
genius from himself, for his contemporaries, — a Drake to rival him on the sea,
and a Hudson in western adventure; a Halley, a Galileo, and a Kepler, for his
astronomers; a Bacon, a Behmen, and a Burton, for his philosophers; and a
Jonson, a Spenser, and a Shakespeare, his poets for refreshment and inspiration.
(…)
Raleigh seems to have regarded the Spaniards as his
natural enemies, and he was not backward to develop this part of his nature.
When England was threatened with foreign invasion, the Queen looked to him
especially for advice and assistance; and none was better able to give them
than he. We cannot but admire the tone in which he speaks of his island, and
how it is to be best defended, and the navy, its chief strength, maintained and
improved. He speaks from England as his castle, and his (as no other man’s) is
the voice of the state; for he does not assert the interests of an individual
but of a commonwealth, and we see in him revived a Roman patriotism.
(…)
“I know,” says he, “that it is forbidden to destroy
ourselves; but I trust it is forbidden in this sort, that we destroy not
ourselves despairing of God’s mercy.
(…)
We are told that the Spanish ambassador, on receiving
intelligence of his doings in that country, rushed into the presence of King
James, exclaiming “Piratas, piratas!” — “Pirates, pirates!” and the King, to
gratify his resentment, without bringing him to trial for this alleged new
offence, with characteristic meanness and pusillanimity caused him to be
executed upon the old sentence soon after his return to England.
(…)
Such a life is useful for us to contemplate as
suggesting that a man is not to be measured by the virtue of his described
actions, or the wisdom of his expressed thoughts merely, but by that free
character he is, and is felt to be, under all circumstances. Even talent is
respectable only when it indicates a depth of character unfathomed. Surely it
is better that our wisdom appear in the constant success of our spirits than in
our business, or the maxims which fall from our lips merely. We want not only a
revelation, but a nature behind to sustain it. Many silent, as well as famous,
lives have been the result of no mean thought, though it was never adequately
expressed nor conceived; and perhaps the most illiterate and unphilosophical
mind may yet be accustomed to think to the extent of the noblest action. We all
know those in our own circle who do injustice to their entire character in
their conversation and in writing, but who, if actually set over against us,
would not fail to make a wiser impression than many a wise thinker and speaker.
(…)
But, alas! What is Truth? That which we know not. What
is Beauty? That which we see not. What is Heroism? That which we are not. It is
in vain to hang out flags on a day of rejoicing — fresh bunting, bright and
whole; better the soiled and torn remnant which has been borne in the wars.
