PathFinders

Pathfinders: Roy Campbell

Intro

Neha Antony Akkara brings to focus a poet, literary critic and satirist, who was instrumental in saving he works of St John of the Cross. 

Article

Those who cleanse themselves from the latter will be instruments for special purposes, made holy, useful to the Master and prepared to do any good work (2 Timothy 2:21).

In this article, we delve into the life of the renowned South African poet, Roy Campbell, and explore how his conversion to Catholicism ignited a fire that would eventually impact the literary and spiritual world.

Born in South Africa, Campbell eventually migrated to England, where he established himself as a bold new voice in literature. However, his early years were defined by England's ‘decadent underbelly’. Immersed in a world of artists and models, Campbell’s life was a whirlwind of hedonistic partying and excessive drinking. 

While Campbell is often associated as having CS Lewis cross swords with him, it was actually JRR Tolkien, a devout Catholic himself, who defended Campbell and used him as a partial inspiration for the character Strider (Aragorn) in The Lord of the Rings.

Despite his outward bravado, an internal shift was beginning. Campbell started to feel a profound discomfort with his lifestyle. He began to lash out against the atheist writers of his day, sensing a ‘solitary silence’ amidst the worldly noise – a silence that would eventually allow the voice of Christ to reach him.

Campbell’s search for peace eventually led him to Provence, and later to Spain, where he and his wife Mary fell in love with Christ and were received into the Catholic Church. Their timing, however, was harrowing.

Spain was on the brink of a brutal Civil War. By March 1936, bloodshed and riots were commonplace; priests and nuns were being massacred in the streets. Living in Toledo, the Campbells turned their home into a sanctuary, sheltering as many clergy members as they could.

As the violence escalated, the Carmelite Monastery in Toledo faced imminent destruction. The monks, fearing for their lives, entrusted Campbell with a heavy trunk containing the original archives of St John of the Cross. In the dead of night, Campbell smuggled these precious spiritual treasures into his home.

Days later, the monastery was butchered and its library set ablaze. From his window, Campbell watched the flames consume the history of the Church. When the horror subsided, he went out to personally bury the bodies of the martyred priests and nuns, an experience he later immortalised in his work, The Carmelites of Toledo.

The danger did not end with the fires. Revolutionary police searched Campbell’s home, looking for hidden priests. As they ransacked the house, Campbell’s daughter sat innocently upon the very trunk containing St John’s archives. In that moment of terror, Campbell made a vow: if his family were spared, he would translate the poetry of St John of the Cross into English.

The police found nothing. Campbell kept his word, and his translations of St John’s work are still considered some of the finest in the English language, earning him the prestigious Foyle Prize.

Throughout the rest of his life, Campbell spoke of a mystical connection to the Saint. Whenever, during the translation of the works, he felt his spirit flag or his pen grow stuck, he felt St John of the Cross smiling down at him, calling out, Arre burrico (Go, little donkey)! Upon hearing those words, Campbell felt he could keep trotting forward.

St John of the Cross’ message to Campbell is a beautiful reminder for every Christian. In Luke 19:31, Jesus instructs His disciples to untie a colt, saying simply, ‘The Lord needs it.’ Just as a humble donkey was chosen to carry the Saviour into Jerusalem, God had a plan to use a former hedonist to save the sacred writings of one of the Church’s greatest doctors.

This month, let us pray for the grace to be ‘The Master’s Donkey.’ Whether we feel stuck or unqualified, may we remember the phrase Arre Burrico!