Like the light leaf, by the mighty wind hurried off,
So is this life, by the darkness soon carried off.
Nothing is thine which thy spirit may lose again—
What this world gave it intendeth to choose again;
Lift up thy thought where the heart hath its treasure-house—
Happy art thou to despise this Earth’s pleasure-house!
We are not to imagine that these stirring verses, whether in Latin or in Italian, went unnoticed. In the various productions of his muse the humble monk enjoyed a popularity like that of Abelard. Numerous manuscripts of his writings were scattered through Italy, France, and Spain, and translations in these different languages helped to increase his fame. Between the fifteenth and seventeenth centuries at least eight editions appeared. But for critical purposes they are not so valuable as might be supposed, since there are interpolations by other hands which confuse and deter the investigator. They were supplemented in 1819 by the publication of a number hitherto unknown, which were edited by Alessandro da Mortara.
Of the Latin poetry ascribed to him the Jesu dulcis memoria is certainly Bernard’s, for Morel discovered it in an Einsiedeln MS. “older than 1288.” There are two hymns—Crux te, te volo conqueri and Ave regis angelorum—of which we merely know the opening lines and have no accessible originals. The Verbum caro factum est, the Ave fuit prima salus, and the Cur mundus militat are doubtless his own. The Mater Speciosa I take the liberty to discredit because of its gross Latinity—a point which Ozanam concedes in spite of his belief in its genuine character. The Mater Dolorosa itself has not escaped question, for Benedict XIV. declared it to be the work of Innocent III., to whom, with about the same amount of truth, has also been attributed the Veni, Sancte Spiritus.
In the year 1306, after imprisonment and excommunication had both passed over his head and spent their force harmlessly, the aged Jacoponus drew near his end. His companions urged him to ask for the final sacrament, but he was in no haste. He would wait, he said, for John of Alvernia, his true friend, and from his hands only would he receive it. They considered this another proof of his untamed and rebellious nature, and loudly lamented around his bed. But the dying man gave no heed to their weakness. He raised himself upon his arm and with lifted face began to chant the Anima benedetta—the song of a blessed soul. Scarcely had his voice uttered the closing words ere two men were seen hastening across the field. One was that very John of Alvernia, moved by some strange presentiment to visit his friend. He entered the room and greeted Jacoponus with a kiss of peace. Then he administered the sacrament of the Eucharist. And thereupon the failing singer, his desire being at last fulfilled, sang the Jesu nostra fidanza and relapsed into silence for a time. Then he exhorted those about him to live holy lives, and, lifting his hands toward heaven, gently expired. It was on Christmas eve and, in the neighboring church, the choir had just begun to chant the Gloria in Excelsis.
Two hundred and ninety years after his death his tombstone and its inscription were placed. The words, when rendered from Latin into English, are these: