QVe farai fra Iacouone? sè uenuto al paragone
The Prisoner's Cell
Jacopone reflects on his imprisonment and the harsh, humiliating conditions of his confinement.
What are you going to do, Brother Jacopone? You've come to the test.1 You spent a year and a half under discipline at Mount Palestrina; you chose a miserable place, and now it's landed you in prison. A prebendary at the court of Rome—this is the burden I've brought home from it: all my good name has gone up in smoke, and all I've gained is a curse.23 I’ve ended up a prebendary, for my hood has been cut off—imprisoned for life and chained up with the lion. The prison they’ve put me in is an underground room; there’s a privy right next to it, and it certainly doesn’t smell like musk.45 No one is allowed to speak with me; only my attendant can do that, and he has to report what I say.6 I wear a hawk’s jesses that jingle when I move; anyone near my cell can hear this strange new dance.78 Once I’ve lain down, I turn over onto my other side; I’m tangled in irons, shackled with a heavy chain.9 I have a small basket hanging up, safe from the mice; as far as I can tell, it can hold five loaves.
The Ascetic's Mockery
A satirical description of the prisoner's meager provisions and the irony of his 'strict' monastic life.
The basket stays stocked with seven days’ provisions, an onion to whet my appetite—a noble beggar’s pantry. Once None has been sung, my table is set; every crust has been gathered up to fill my great big belly.10 The food is brought to me and heaped into my bowl; then, once the whole pile has gone down, I drink until my lungs are flooded.1112 So much sliced bread is set before me, along with a piglet weighing a full statera; behold the strict life I lead—a new Saint Hilarion! The kitchen is bustling: there's fish in pepper sauce, and I'm given an apple and what looks like a platter of sturgeon. While I eat, every now and then I’m overcome by a terrible chill; I get up and pace around, stamping beside my bench. Eight Our Fathers for a penny, to pay God the innkeeper, since I have no other treasure to settle my bill.
Critique of Clerical Ambition
Jacopone condemns the worldly ambitions of friars who seek high office rather than the poverty of Christ.
If the friars who’ve come to court to play the cuckold were given some of this, what a mouthful they’d get. If they had such a bit in their mouths, they wouldn’t talk that way; instead, they race ahead at full gallop to win high church office.1314 Poverty, so little loved, few have taken you as their bride; if a bishopric is offered, who will turn it down?15 Some lose the world; others leave it behind as if it were a dream; still others cast it into the depths. Their circumstances are different. Whoever loses the world is lost; whoever leaves it behind has repented; whoever drives it away when it is offered finds it abhorrent.16 One stays and holds them back, while the other two keep taking it up again. If shame dies out, you'll see who remains tied to the post. The order has a loophole that lets them slip out without disgrace; if that passage were sealed shut, they’d be stuck fast at the feeding trough.1718 I’ve gone around talking so much and currying favor with the court in Rome that, in the end, my presumption has earned me a ban.
The Champion of Hatred
The poet embraces his own self-contempt and suffering as a spiritual armor against the world.
Lie there, lie there in this sty like a pig being fattened! By Christmas I couldn't find anyone to take this great paunch off me. The community that took me in will curse the expense; nothing useful has come from keeping me shut away. Do whatever you like, brothers down below; you're only wasting your money here, because this prisoner isn't worth a thing. For I have plenty of capital, since I’m well practiced in evil, and punishment has no power against my champion.19 My champion is armed, shielded by my hatred; he can't be wounded while he wears that great shield around his neck. O my astonishing hatred, you rule over every pain; you don't take any injury as an insult, and shame is glory to you.20 You don't find anyone hostile to you; you count everyone as a friend. I alone know myself to be the enemy working against my salvation. For thirty years I’ve loved this suffering given to me; now the day of consolation has come.
The Fool for Christ
Jacopone reaffirms his identity as a beggar-friar and sends his message of defiance to the Roman court.
This order is nothing new to me, for I put on the long hood again; I find that I wore it for ten full years, going about as a great beggar-friar.21 I made folly my foundation, exposing myself to shame and ridicule; shame is nothing but wind from a boy’s bladder.2223 The troop is routed and shame is trampled underfoot; Jacopone and his band rush onto the field toward the banner.24 Once this troop is put to flight, let another come to its aid; if no other troop rises to help, then fall back to the pavilion. As for my reputation, I leave it to the braying donkey; may your place be beneath its tail, and may that be your reward. Go, my letter, and make it known: Jacopone, a prisoner, sends you to the court of Rome so that you may spread among every people, language, and nation. Tell them how I lie buried, imprisoned forever; at the court of Rome, I've earned myself such a fine benefice.
Read the original Latin
QVe farai fra Iacouone? sè uenuto al paragone.
Fusti al monte Pelestrina anno et mezo en disciplina; pigliasti loco malina, onde ài mo la pregione.
Prebendato en corte i Roma, tale n’ò reducta soma; omne fama mia s’afoma, tal n’aggio maledezone.
So aruenuto prebendato ché l capuccio m’è mozato, perpetuo encarcerato, encathenato co lione.
La pregione che m’è data, una casa soterrata; arescece una priuata, non fa fragar de moscone.
Nullo homo me pò parlare, chi me serue lo pò fare; ma èglie oporto confessare de la mia parlatione.
Porto getti de sparuire, sonagliando nel mio gire; noua danza ce pò udire chi sta presso a mia stazone.
Da poi ch’i’ me so colcato, reuoltome ne l’altro lato, ne i ferri so zampagliato, engauinato en catenone.
Agio un canestrello apeso, che dai sorci non sia offeso; cinque pani, al mio paruiso, pò tener lo mio cestone.
Lo cestone sta fornito sette de lo dì transito, cepolla per appetito, nobel tasca de paltone.
Po che la nona è cantata, la mia mensa apparecchiata; omne crosta è radunata per empir mio stomacone.
Rècamese la cocina, messa en una mia catina; puoi ch’abassa la ruina, beuo e nfondo el mio polmone.
Tanto pane enante afetto, che n’è statera un porchetto; ecco uita d’uomo strecto, nuouo sancto Hylarione.
La cocina manecata, ecco pesce en peuerata; una mela me c’è data et par taglier de storione.
Mentre mangio ad ura ad ura sostengno grande freddura, leuome a l’ambiadura stampiando el mio bancone.
Paternostri octo a denaro a pagar Dio tauernaro; ch’io non agio altro thesaro a pagar lo mio scottone.
Se ne fosser proueduti gli frati che son uenuti en corte pro argir cornuti, che n’auesser tal boccone.
Se n’auesser cotal morso, non farìen cotal discorso; en gualdana corre el corso per hauer prelatione.
Pouertate poco amata, pochi t’anno desponsata, se se porge uescouata, che ne faccia arnunzascione.
Alchun è che perde el monno, altri el lassa como a sonno, altri el caccia en profonno; diuersa han conditione.
Chi lo perde è perduto, chi lo lassa è pentuto, chi lo caccia al proferuto, èglie abominatione.
L’uno stando gli contenne, l’altri dui arprende arprende, se la uergogna se spenne, uederai chi sta al passone.
L’ordene sì ha un pertuso ch’a l’uscir non è confuso; se quel guado fusse archiuso, starìan fissi al magnadone.
Tanto so gito parlando, corte i Roma gir leccando, ch’ò ragionto alfin lo bando de la mia presumptione.
Iaci, iaci en esta stia come porco de grassìa! lo natal non trouerìa chi déme lieue paccone.
Maledicerà la spesa lo conuento che l’à presa; nulla utilità n’è scesa de la mia reclusione.
Faite, faite que uolite, frati che de sotto gite; cha le spese ce perdite, prezo nullo de prescione.
Ch’aio grande capitale, ché me so uso de male, et la pena non preuale contra lo mio campione.
Lo mio campion è armato, del mio odio scudato, non pò esser uulnerato mentre à collo lo scudone.
O mirabel odio mio, d’omne pena ài signorìo, nullo recepì engiurìo, uergogna t’è exaltatione.
Nullo te troui nemico, omnechiuegli ài per amico; io solo me so l’inico contra mia saluatione.
Questa pena che m’è data, trent’ann’è che l’agio amata; or è gionta la giornata de sta consolatione.
Questo non m’è orden nouo, che l capuccio longo arprouo; ch’anni diece enteri truouo ch’i’ l portai gir bizochone.
Loco feci el fondamento a uergogne & schirnimento; le uergogne so co uento de uessica de garzone.
Questa schiera è sbarattata, la uergogna è conculcata, Iacouon la sua masnata curre al campo al gonfalone.
Questa schiera mess’en fuga, uenga l’altra che succurga; se nul’altra non ne surga, ancho attende al padiglione.
Fama mia, t’aracomando al somier che ua raghiando, puo’ la coda sia l tuo stando et quel te sia per guidardone.
Carta mia ua, metti banda, Iacouon pregion te manda en corte i Roma, che se spanda en tribù, lengua & natione.
Et di’ co iaccio sotterrato, en perpetuo carcerato; en corte Roma ho guadagnato sì bon beneficione.
Notes
- 1 ↩Literally a touchstone or means of comparison; here it means a decisive test or trial.
- 2 ↩The dialectal phrase literally evokes carrying away such a load or burden; “brought home from it” preserves the sense of Rome’s bitter consequence.
- 3 ↩The rare dialectal verb “s’afoma” is understood as the speaker’s reputation vanishing like smoke.
- 4 ↩The archaic wording is uncertain; the translation takes it to mean that a privy stands beside or adjoins the underground cell.
- 5 ↩Literally, the privy does not give off the fragrance of musk—a grimly ironic way of saying that it stinks.
- 6 ↩Here “confessare” most likely means to report or disclose the prisoner’s conversation, rather than sacramental confession.
- 7 ↩The dialect phrase most plausibly refers to the leather jesses fastened to a trained hawk, here used as an image for the speaker’s restraints.
- 8 ↩Rendered as “my cell” from the imprisonment context; literally, it can mean the speaker’s place or station.
- 9 ↩An uncommon medieval form, rendered contextually as “tangled” or encumbered in the irons.
- 10 ↩“None” is the canonical hour traditionally prayed in midafternoon.
- 11 ↩The phrase is interpreted as the collapse or disappearance of the heap of food, continuing the speaker’s grotesque portrayal of gluttony.
- 12 ↩Literally, “I sink/flood my lung,” a deliberately exaggerated image of drinking to excess.
- 13 ↩The rare equestrian expression is rendered as “at full gallop”; the precise historical sense is uncertain.
- 14 ↩Refers to ecclesiastical preferment or the office of a prelate.
- 15 ↩Understood as an archaic form meaning “renunciation”; the line contrasts professed poverty with clerical ambition.
- 16 ↩The medieval Italian phrasing is difficult; this rendering understands it as rejecting the world when it is offered because it has become abhorrent to the person.
- 17 ↩The poem uses an opening or crossing as a metaphor for a convenient way out.
- 18 ↩A dialectal term associated with eating; rendered as “feeding trough” to preserve the satirical image, though its precise sense is uncertain.
- 19 ↩Literally “great capital”: a deliberately commercial image for the speaker’s accumulated store of wrongdoing or guilt.
- 20 ↩The speaker addresses his own self-hatred or contempt for self, personified as a champion against spiritual harm.
- 21 ↩The dialectal “bizochone” is understood as an augmentative form referring to a lay religious or mendicant devotee; “great beggar-friar” preserves its force, though the precise social label is uncertain.
- 22 ↩The medieval Umbrian wording is compressed; “loco” is understood as “foolishness” or the deliberate role of a fool.
- 23 ↩Literally, “wind from a boy’s bladder,” a deliberately crude image dismissing shame as empty air.
- 24 ↩The medieval Italian “masnata” means a band or company of followers, here continuing the poem’s military imagery.
Lauds companion
A prayer for every moment, already on your phone
Chosen Portion puts a curated historic prayer in front of you each day — so the words are there before the moment arrives.
Chosen Portion is the digital descendant of the carried prayer book: the short daily prayers this collection preserves, delivered one a day to your pocket.
- One short, memorable prayer delivered daily — build your repertoire a card at a time
- Prayers matched to real situations: fear, gratitude, decisions, grief, sleep
- Save favourites into your personal pocket collection you can open anywhere