To be able to call upon another age — in this case, one less secular than ours — to understand how religion can transmute itself into fanaticism, and yes (to use a rarely heard word these days) to blasphemy.
Verdi. Boito. Shakespeare’s Iago. With a bit of Goethe’s Mephisto thrown in for good measure.
I believe in a cruel God,
Who created me
Like himself, and whom in rage I invoke.
From a lowly germ or atom
I was born a vile thing.
Because I am human, I am wicked,
And I feel the primeval muck stirring in me.
Yes! This is my creed.
I believe with a firm heart, like a little pious widow in church,
That the evil that I conceive, and that proceeds from me —
It is my destiny to carry it through.
I believe that the virtuous man is just a sneering actor
In his face, in his heart,
Everything is false:
A tear, a kiss, a glance,
Sacrifice and honor.
And I believe that man
Is the plaything of malicious Fate
From the seed in the womb
To the worm in the tomb.
And after such a mockery comes Death.
And then? then? . . . Death is — Nothing,
And heaven just an old made-up story.
Credo in un Dio crudel che m’ha creato
simile a sè e che nell’ira io nomo.
Dalla viltà d’un germe o d’un atòmo
vile son nato.
Son scellerato
perchè son uomo;
e sento il fango originario in me.
Si! questa è la mia fè!
Credo con fermo cuor, siccome crede
la vedovella al tempio,
che il mal ch’io penso e che da me procede,
per il mio destino adempio.
Credo che il giusto è un istrion beffardo,
e nel viso e nel cuor,
che tutto è in lui bugiardo:
lagrima, bacio, sguardo,
sacrificio ed onor.
E credo l’uom gioco d’iniqua sorte
dal germe della culla
al verme dell’avel.
Vien dopo tanta irrision la Morte.
E poi? E poi? La Morte è’ il Nulla.
È vecchia fola il Ciel.
rcmauro says
Boito is public domain, translation is my own.