The Lusiads (Oxford World's Classics)

Home > Other > The Lusiads (Oxford World's Classics) > Page 11
The Lusiads (Oxford World's Classics) Page 11

by Luis Vaz de Camoes


  126 —‘If once upon a time brute animals,

  Naturally cruel from their birth,

  Or wild birds, whose only instinct

  Is hunting on the wind for their prey,

  If these could pity little children,*

  Such as Semiramis, reared

  By doves, or the gentle she-wolf famous

  For giving suck to Romulus and Remus,

  127 ‘Then you, with your human face and heart

  (If it can be human to slaughter

  A defenceless woman, solely for yielding

  Her heart to the prince who won her),

  You must feel for these tiny children

  If not for my unmerited death;

  Pity their plight and pity my anguish, since

  You are not troubled by my innocence.

  128 ‘If you knew how to kill with fire

  And sword when you defeated the Moors,

  Discover now how to be merciful

  To one whose death is undeserved;

  But, if my innocence must be punished,

  Put me in sad, perpetual exile,

  In the glaciers of Scythia, or placed

  Endlessly weeping in Libya’s burning waste;

  129 ‘Send me where ferocity belongs

  Among lions and tigers; and I will see

  If there exists among them that mercy

  Absent from the hearts of men.

  There, yearning with my whole soul

  For the one I truly love, these

  Whom you see before you, his creation,

  Will be their sad mother’s consolation.’

  130 The kindly king was moved by her speech

  And wished to have her pardoned,

  But the headstrong mob and her destiny

  (Which overruled) would not be denied.

  The men at hand for this fine deed

  Drew their swords of well-tempered steel,

  And take note, those who performed the butchery

  Were honourable knights, sworn to chivalry!

  131 As when the lovely girl, Polyxena,*

  Her aged parent’s one remaining joy,

  Was sentenced by the ghost of Achilles

  While harsh Pyrrhus prepared his sword;

  She, with eyes calm as the air

  As patient as a lamb, fixed them

  On her mother, and knowing Achilles’ price,

  Went uncomplaining to the sacrifice:

  132 So confronting Inês, the brute killers,

  In that neck of alabaster, which sustained

  The very features which transfixed

  The prince who afterwards made her queen,

  Plunged their swords, as the white

  Flowers she had watered with tears

  Weltered in blood, lost in their delirium

  To any thoughts of the punishment to come.

  133 Well might the sun have refused to dawn

  On this dreadful day, as when Apollo

  Turned from the grim table of Thyestes

  When Atreus* served him his own sons!

  Only the hollow valleys could hear

  Faintly from her bloodless lips,

  The name ‘Pedro’, the last thing she would say,

  Echoing, echoing, until it died away.

  134 Like a daisy, plucked before its time

  For its white and lovely petals,

  Maltreated in the frivolous hands

  Of a maiden weaving a chaplet,

  The scent fades and the colours wither:

  So it was with the pale maiden,

  So from her lovely face the roses fled,

  The bloom of life expired, she was dead.

  135 The nymphs of Mondego long remembered

  That dark death with mourning,

  And their tears were transformed

  To a fountain in eternal memory;

  Its name, ‘the Loves of Inês’,

  Who wandered there, still endures.

  Fortunate the flowers that bloom above

  Such waters, such tears, telling of Love!

  136 Little time passed before Pedro

  Was avenged* for this mortal injury,

  When ascending the kingdom’s throne

  He laid hands on the assassins,

  Helped by that other Pedro, the Cruel;

  Enemies together of human life,

  Their pact was as brutal as when Augustus

  Conspired with Antony and Lepidus.

  137 Known as the Chastiser, he came down hard

  On thieves, murderers, and adulterers;

  Fiery-tempered, his greatest pleasure

  Was imposing the severest punishments;

  But he protected the cities justly

  From all the arrogance of the nobles;

  He brought more thieves to harsher penalties,*

  Than Theseus did or wandering Hercules.

  138 From just and rigorous Pedro sprang

  (Witness Nature’s strange contradictions!)

  Gentle Fernando,* lazy and negligent,

  Who left the borders defenceless;

  At which the King of Castile, seeing

  The land unguarded and exposed,

  Brought it close to complete devastation;

  So a weak king weakens the strongest nation.

  139 This was either clear punishment

  For the sin of seizing Leonor Teles

  From her husband, and marrying her

  Deluded by her appearance;

  Or perhaps it was that the heart

  Given over to lust gets its deserts,

  Becoming pliable—they are not wrong

  Who claim rutting emasculates the strong.

  140 Lust always has the consequences*

  God has dealt out to so many:

  Such as those who stole the lovely Helen,

  Or Appius, as Tarquinius witnessed.

  For what else was King David condemned?

  Or for what else the illustrious tribe

  Of Benjamin? What schooling could be plainer?

  For Sarah, Pharaoh, Shechem, for Dinah.

  141 And to show how an infatuation

  Makes idiots of the mightiest,

  Take Hercules, turned transvestite

  While his Omphale wore his skin and club.

  Mark Antony’s fame was overshadowed

  By his obsession with Cleopatra,

  And you, too, Hannibal when you betrayed

  Your lust for the Apulian peasant maid.

  142 Yet what man could for long avoid

  The gentle web which love spins,

  Between human roses and driven snow,

  Gold hair and translucent alabaster?

  Or who be unmoved by the pilgrim beauty

  Of a face such as might be Medusa’s,

  Transfiguring every heart she inspires

  Not to stone but volcanic desires?

  143 Or take the case of a confident look,

  An open, gentle, angelic face,

  With the power to transform nature,

  Who could take arms against her?

  Rightly acquitted is Fernando

  By those experienced in love;

  While those who are the most disposed to blame

  Were never touched by fantasy or flame.

  Canto Four

  1 After the dark hours of tempest,

  Blank night, and the screaming wind,

  Morning dawns serene and clear

  With hopes of reaching harbour safely;

  Sunlight dissolves the thick gloom

  Dispelling every foreboding:

  So it happened, like the turning of the tide,

  For Portugal when King Fernando died.

  2 For if our people longed for a hero*

  To avenge the crimes and insolence

  Of those who had so much prospered

  From Fernando’s languor and neglect,

  Soon afterwards, they obtained him

  In João the First of the House of A
vis,

  Of distinction, with abilities to spare,

  And (though a bastard) Pedro’s rightful heir.

  3 This was ordained by Divine Heaven,

  Which spoke its will by many signs,

  As when in Évora an infant girl,*

  Too young for speech, uttered his name,

  Raising herself and her voice in the cradle,

  As the voice of the Heavenly Will,

  —‘Portugal, Portugal’, she lisped, lifting

  Her baby hand, ‘For Dom João! Our new king!’

  4 But warped by the hatreds of those days

  The people of the kingdom committed

  Absolute and outright cruelties,*

  Indiscriminately on all sides;

  They killed the friends and family

  Of the adulterous count, and of the queen

  Who, when Fernando died, turned even more

  Unashamedly and obviously a whore.

  5 The count at last was put to the sword

  Dishonourably, in her very presence,

  Many others joining him in death,

  For the fire, once lit, raged and spread;

  Lisbon’s bishop, despite his order,

  Was hurled, like Hector’s son, from a tower;

  He found in rank and sanctuary no retreat;

  His abused corpse was left naked in the street.

  6 It put in history’s long shadow

  The savagery which Rome witnessed,

  At the hands of cruel Marius*

  And ferocious Sulla after he had fled.

  For Leonor now revealed to the world

  Her infatuation with the dead count,

  And caused Portugal and Spain mutual slaughter

  By insisting the true heir was her daughter.

  7 Beatrice was the daughter married

  To Juan of Castile, who claimed the throne,

  And was said to be Fernando’s child,

  If that tale is to be believed.

  Castile upheld it, declaring roundly

  The daughter should succeed the father,

  And from all the different nations of Spain

  Assembled his troops* for this new campaign.

  8 They came from Burgos which (perhaps)

  Derives its name* from ancient Brigo,

  The land Fernán González and El Cid

  Won back from the Moorish occupation.

  Nor did fears dissuade those men

  Who spend laborious days hoeing

  The plains of León, and who in previous wars

  Had proved superb fighting against the Moors.

  9 Vandals,* confident in their ancient

  Valour, came together from Seville,

  That capital city of Andalusia

  Which is washed by the Guadalquivir.

  And that noble island also rallied,

  Once the Phoenicians’ home, their banners

  Woven with the pillars of Hercules,*

  Insignia of the city of Cadiz.

  10 They came, too, from the kingdom of Toledo,

  Noble and ancient city, where the Tagus,

  Descending from the hills of Cuenca,

  Makes a calm and reflective curve.

  Nor did danger deter those others,

  Galicia’s tough and pungent peasants,

  Taking up arms once more against a foe

  Whose staying power they sampled long ago.

  11 War’s black furies even infected

  The people of Biscay, who know nothing

  Of polite manners and who bear

  Remarks from strangers very ill;

  While men from Guipuzcoa and Asturias,

  Enriched by their iron mines,

  Brandishing to a man their iron swords,

  Went to war to assist their overlords.

  12 King João, whose strength grew from his heart

  As Jewish Samson’s did from his locks,

  Though his whole army looked very little,

  Made preparation with the little he had;

  He took opinion of his principal lords,

  Not because he lacked an opinion,

  But only to sound out his people’s thoughts,

  Divided as they were between the courts.

  13 Those who at heart opposed the common will

  Were furnished with their excuses;

  For their ancient fortitude had decayed

  To an untimely faithlessness,

  Putting cold, inert cowardice before

  That loyalty which is second nature;

  Denying king and country, and if enticed

  Would, like Peter, deny their very Christ.

  14 But never was this true of mighty

  Dom Nuno Álvares;* though he saw

  His own brothers in clear opposition

  He stood his ground and faced them,

  Harshly reproaching the inconstant

  Will of these vacillating people,

  Fist on sword, much angrier than eloquent,

  Barking at land and sea and firmament:

  15 —‘What? Of the illustrious Portuguese,

  Is there one who is not a patriot?

  What? In this province, princess

  Of warriors everywhere, is there

  Anyone who won’t defend it? Who lacks

  The faith, love, spirit, and skill

  Of the true Portuguese? Have you no pride,

  Letting your native land be occupied?

  16 ‘What? Do you call yourselves descendants

  Of those heroes, who under the banner

  Of the valiant and ferocious Henrique*

  Put to flight such a vast army?

  So many flags, so many nations

  Fled that day in such disgrace,

  Seven illustrious counts were brought to book,

  Not to mention all the booty they took.

  17 ‘These, with whom you now have to deal,

  Who are they but those regularly dispatched

  By sublime Dinis and his sublime son,

  Along with your fathers and grandfathers?

  But if pitiful Fernando, with his airs,

  Has so enfeebled the lot of you,

  Our brave new king will stiffen your backbone,

  If men change with whoever’s on the throne.

  18 ‘You have such a king! Had you courage

  To match the king you’ve raised up,

  You could conquer anyone you wished

  Beyond this one here, who’s already lost!

  And if this doesn’t rouse you

  From the terror oozing from your pores,

  If it’s fear makes you flabby and compliant,

  I’ll fight alone against the foreign tyrant.

  19 ‘I alone with my men and with this

  (At this, he half unsheathed his sword),

  Will protect from the pernicious enemy

  This land no other has conquered;

  In the name of my king and grieving country,

  And of the chivalry you now deny,

  I’ll send not just these Spaniards packing,

  But as many more as come against my king!’

  20 As when young Scipio* reassembled

  The young men who fled at Canusium,

  Tattered remnants of Cannae, resigned

  To surrender to Hannibal’s army;

  Scipio put spirit in the youths

  Making them swear on his drawn sword,

  Never to desert Rome while they drew breath

  Or when they died to die a soldier’s death:

  21 So Nuno put stomach in the people

  Who, hearing his last arguments,

  Shook off the chill, urgent fear

  That had gripped their hearts like ice.

  They took to their horses, charging

  Up and down the plain in excitement,

  Twirling their lances, shouting in high fever,

  —‘Viva the king! Viva liberty! Viva!’

  22 Among the commoners, pe
ople applauded

  The struggle to preserve the country;

  Others repaired and polished their weapons

  Long tarnished with the rust of peace;

  Each armed himself as he could, lining

  Helmets, trying on breastplates;

  In a thousand different styles they came clothed

  With emblems and tokens of their betrothed.

  23 In the midst of this dazzling company,

  João rode out from cool Abrantes,*

  Abrantes which delights in the fresh,

  Brimming waters of the Tagus.

  Leading the army’s vanguard was a man

  Equipped to command the powerful,

  Numberless armies of the Orient,

  Like that which Xerxes* led across the Hellespont.

  24 I speak of Dom Nuno Álvares,

  Scourge of the proud Castilians,

  As was fierce Attila* long ago

  First of the French, then the Romans.

  Leading the Portuguese right flank

  Was yet another famous knight,

  An accomplished commander, the zealous

  Mem Rodrigues, of the family Vasconcelos;

  25 And on the corresponding flank,

  Antão Vasques de Almada* was captain,

  Who was later made Count of Avranches,

  Commanding the army of the left side.

  Then, bringing the rear guard, could be seen

  The pennant with its shields and castles

  Of João of Avis, every inch a king,

  Making war’s burden seem a trivial thing.

  26 They thronged Abrantes’s city walls,

  Congealed as it were by a joyous fear,

  Mothers, sisters, wives, and sweethearts

  Vowing to fast, and make pilgrimage.

  Soon the martial squadrons arrived

  Before the hosts of the enemy,

  Who greeted them with a tremendous shout,

  Though not a man was not beset by doubt.

  27 Trumpets responded with the challenge,

  Piercing fifes and the timbrels;

  Standard-bearers unfurled the banners

  In all their myriad, contrasting colours.

  It was the season when, on the threshing-floors,

  Ceres rewards the workers with grain;

  The sun was in Virgo, the month August;

  Bacchus was trampling out the sweet must.

  28 The war trumpet of Castile sounded,

  Horrifying, savage, mighty, and ominous;

  Cape Ortegal* heard it, and the Guadiana

  Turned back upstream for fear;

  The Douro heard it and the Alentejo;

  The Tagus ran anxiously to the sea;

  And mothers clutched their little ones fast

  To their bosoms, hearing the dreadful blast.

  29 Many faces were drained of colour

  As their life blood rushed to the heart;

  In great danger, our apprehension

  Far exceeds the danger; or, if not,

  It seems so; for the actual fury

 

‹ Prev