The Lusiads (Oxford World's Classics)
Page 20
Bidding him collect his scattered army
And march back to the field just quit;
The youth turns, with the old man,
And the defeated become the victors:
That fierce old man is Egas Moniz,
The paragon of ancient fealties.
14 ‘Watch him surrender with his sons,
A noose on his neck, his silks discarded,
Because the young king would not submit
To Castile, as the old man pledged.
With prudence and foresight, he raised
The siege, by then all but forfeit;
His sons and his wife will pay the cost:
To redeem his liege lord, he must be lost.
15 ‘Consul Postumius* did not match this,
Caught by surprise in the Caudine Forks,
And compelled to bow the head beneath
The triumphal arch of the Samnites.
With his army facing catastrophe,
Steadfast and true, he surrendered himself;
But Egas stood to forfeit more than life,
Pledging himself, his sons, and his blameless wife.
16 ‘Do you see this one, sallying from ambush
To fall on the king besieging the fort?
He takes the king and the town is relieved:
An exploit worthy of Mars!
Here you see him again, this time at sea
With the fleet, overwhelming the Moors,
Capturing their galleys, claiming the glory
Of Portugal’s first naval victory:
17 ‘It is Dom Fuas Roupinho,* who on land
And sea was equally resplendent,
When, under the heights of Ceuta itself,
Fires rose from the Moorish galleys.
See how in so just and holy a war
He is content to die fighting;
And so his soul, dispatched by Muslim arms,
Triumphs in heaven with a victor’s palms.
18 ‘Do you see this band in foreign armour*
Disembarking from a powerful fleet
To support our first king in the battle
For Lisbon, and so fulfil their crusade?
Look at Heinrich, famous German knight,
With the palm springing next to his tomb!
So with a miracle, God determines
The great faith of the martyred Germans.
19 ‘Now a priest, look, brandishing a sword
Against Arronches, which he captures
In revenge for Leiria, taken by those
Who bloody their lances for Mohammed.
He is Prior Teotónio.* Now study
Santarém under siege, and observe
The courage of the first to scale the wall
Raising the five-shield flag of Portugal.
20 ‘See him again, in Sancho’s campaign
Against the Moors of Andalusia,
Shattering the enemy, killing the ensign,
And trampling the pennant of Seville:
It is Mem Moniz,* whose valour copied
That buried with his father’s bones;
He earned those standards, for he never failed
Trampling the enemy’s while his own prevailed.
21 ‘Watch this one, shinning down his lance
Back to the ambush, with the heads
Of the two watchmen, and so captures
Évora with subterfuge and daring;
That city has taken for its armorial
That warrior with the two heads
Cold in his hand (unique and chilling sight!):
Gerald the Fearless* is that fearful knight.
22 ‘Do you see this Castilian?* He quarrelled
With Afonso the Ninth over his feud
With the house of Lara, and joined
The Moors to become Portugal’s enemy.
Here, with the infidels in his train,
He seizes the town of Abrantes,
But observe! A Portuguese with a small
Detachment, captures him and routs them all!
23 ‘Martim Lopes is that knight’s name
Who stole the Castilians’ palm and laurel.
Now watch this warrior Bishop* change
His gold crosier for a steel lance:
See him among the waverers, resolute
In taking battle to the brave Moors;
Behold God’s sign, manifest overhead,
Putting heart into the scant troops he led.
24 ‘See the kings of Córdoba and Seville
Routed, and two others at a stroke.
Routed? Killed rather: a miracle
Wrought by God, not human hand!
See also the town of Alcácer, humbled
Despite its defences and walls of steel;
Lisbon’s Dom Mateus, is that fighter,
Adding a crown of palms to his mitre.
25 ‘Here a Portuguese Master of the Order
Of Santiago,* returns from Castile
To conquer the land of the Algarves,
Finding no one to withstand him;
With guile, courage, and fortune’s blessing,
See him capturing cities and castles.
See Tavira taken for the abuse
Of murdering Christians at a time of truce;
26 ‘See how cleverly he wins back Silves
Occupied by a host of Moors;
He is Dom Paio Correia, envied
By all for his skill and courage.
And do not miss these three knights,*
Perpetually famous for leaving behind
Trophies of their prowess with sword and lance
In jousts and tourneys throughout Spain and France.
27 ‘Observe them descending on Castile,
Preceded by reputation, and lifting
Every prize in the serious game
Of war, with great harm to some;
See lying dead the proud knights
Who challenged the chief of the three,
Gonçalo Ribeiro, a name that will live on,
Conquering Lethe’s rule of oblivion.
28 ‘But now attend, for here is a man*
Fame prefers beyond all the ancients;
When the fatherland hung by a thread
He sustained it on his strong shoulders.
Do you see him, red with anger, rebuking
The people for their leaden distrust,
Goading them to accept the gentle rein
Of their true king, and not a king from Spain?
29 ‘Then observe how, with prudence and daring,
Guided in his destiny only by God,
Alone he did what seemed impossible:
He defeated the might of Castile.
Here you see fresh havoc, new victories
Won by toil, strength, and valour,
Against the countless people of Andalusia,
Between the Guadiana and Guadalquivir.
30 ‘Can you not see a Portuguese army
On the verge of defeat, all because
The devout captain has withdrawn in prayer
To invoke the blessed Trinity?
Look how his men pursue him in panic,
Saying there is no resisting
Such numbers, and pleading with him to act
To restore them the fortitude they lacked.
31 ‘Watch how, with saintly assurance, he
Answers: “It is not yet the moment”,
As one relying wholly on God
For the victory He would shortly grant.
So Pompilius,* learning with what forces
The enemy were overrunning the land,
Replied to those who brought such dire advice,
“Now is the time for prayer and sacrifice.”
32 ‘Should you wish to discover his name
Who dares so much, with such faith in God,
“Portugal’s Scipio” he could be called,
But Dom Nuno Álvares is the greater title.
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br /> Happy the fatherland with such a son,
Or better, father; for while there exist
Land or sea to shed its warmth upon,
The sun itself will yearn for such a son.
33 ‘Here in the same war, gathering booty
Is another captain* with a small band;
He defeats the commanders of two orders
Retrieving the cattle they plundered;
Witness his lance dipped yet again
In Castilian blood, to liberate
His captive friend, captive through being loyal;
He is Pero Rodrigues do Landroal.
34 ‘Note Paio Rodrigues* and how he paid
For his treachery and foul deceit;
Gil Fernandes from Elvas defeated him
And exacted the supreme penalty;
The fields of Jerez were saturated
With the blood of their Castilian lords;
While Rui Pereira, there in the tide race,
Held off the galleys with his very face.
35 ‘And here you see seventeen Portuguese*
Holding this hill, and mounting defence
Against four hundred Castilians
Who encircle them, but cannot take them;
Soon they find, to their cost, such men
Can more than defend, they can attack:
An action fit to be forever known
As much in ancient times as in our own!
36 ‘We know in the past a mere three hundred
Battled against a thousand Romans,
In the days when the virile deeds
Of Viriathus* were so much on display
When, beyond gaining memorable
Victories, they left us this injunction,
That size and strength should never be equated,
As has a thousand times been demonstrated.
37 ‘Now behold two princes,* Pedro
And Henrique, the splendid sons of King João:
Pedro in Germany won for himself
The fame which eclipses death itself;
Henrique, the renowned Navigator,
Explored and charted oceans, starting
At Ceuta, pricking the Moors’ vanity,
Being the first to penetrate that city.
38 ‘Here is Count Pedro,* defending Ceuta
Twice against the might of Barbary;
And here Duarte, his son, for strength
And daring, a very Mars incarnate;
It was not enough that he protected
Alcácer-Ceguer from a mighty host,
For he saved his king’s life, which he cherished
More than his own, shielding him, and perished.
39 ‘And there are many others the artist
Might have elected to portray here,
But brush and colours were lacking, I mean
The rewards and favours which nourish art.
It is the fault of their descendants
Who have, beyond a doubt, abandoned
Their forefathers’ gallantry and lustre,
As vain in their tastes as in their bluster.
40 ‘Those famous ancestors, from whom derive
The lineages which bear their names,
Founded by virtue of their virtues
The houses which descend from them.
How short-sighted they were! For though
Their own deeds and their fame endure,
They leave their descendants in obscurity,
Heirs to indifference and apathy.
41 ‘There are others among the rich and powerful
Undistinguished in their lineage:
Kings are to blame, rewarding favourites
Many times more than valour and wisdom.
Such do not wish their fathers painted
For the colours would not be flattering;
While nothing in nature so provokes their hate
As painting with words, the poet’s fate.
42 ‘I do not deny there exist offspring
Of these noble lines and rich houses,
Whose worthy, blameless conduct
Sustains the name they have inherited;
And if the torch of their ancestors
Does not blaze as it did formerly,
It has, at least, not completely died away,
But the painter finds too few of them today.’
43 So da Gama expounded the great deeds
Rendered there in different colours
By the skilled hand of the painter,
With such rare and convincing artifice.
The Catual’s eyes were spellbound
By history so well displayed:
He pressed hard upon our answers in his haste
To learn of battles so much to his taste.
44 But now in the divided light of dusk
As the sun’s great beacon sank
Slowly beneath the horizon, to dawn
In the antipodes with another day,
The Catual and the noble company
Of Nairs took leave of the warship,
Seeking that rest which furnishes respite
To weary creatures in the peace of night.
45 Meanwhile, the king’s soothsayers,
Always venerated by the superstitious
For reading in their false sacrifices
Diabolical clues to the future,
Were, at the king’s command, zealously
Practising their office and art
About the arrival of these strange men
From Iberia, a land not known till then.
46 The Devil, honest for once, revealed
The newcomers would indeed impose
A perpetual yoke, eternal bondage,
Destroying the people and their power.
Astonished, the augur rushed to the king,
With his terrifying interpretation
Of the dreadful portents he detected
In all the victims’ entrails inspected.
47 Allied to him was a priest, a devoted
Follower of the law of Mohammed,
Whose hatred for the supreme Faith
Was as new-found as it was extreme;
In the likeness of that false prophet,
Descended from the line of Ishmael,
To this priest, divine Bacchus, who kept
His own hatred warm, appeared as he slept.
48 And told him: ‘Be on your guard, my people,
Against the designs of this enemy
Who have travelled such watery highways
Before danger looms any closer.’
As he whispered, the Muslim
Awoke suddenly, shocked by his vision;
But then, thinking it but a dream, he went
Quietly back to sleep, calm and content.
49 Bacchus returned: ‘Do you not recognize.
The great lawgiver, Mohammed,
Who revealed to your fathers the faith
You obey, rather than be baptized?
I watch over you, peasant, yet you sleep on!
Understand that, through these upstarts,
The laws I gave to ignorant mankind
Will soon be desecrated and maligned.
50 ‘While they are still weak in number,
Oppose them in every way you can;
When the sun first rises, it is easy
To stare directly at its beams;
But when it is dazzling and incandescent,
The eyes are forced to turn aside
To avoid blindness: such will be the fruit
Of this business if not attacked at root.’
51 With these words, he and the vision vanished;
The Ishmaelite was aghast. Leaping
From bed, he called his servants for a lamp,
With the poison coursing through his veins.
As soon as dawn’s earliest light
Unveiled her serene, angelic face,
He summoned the priests of the unredeemed
> And gave a strict account of all he dreamed.
52 Many conflicting opinions were voiced
As each proposed what he thought;
Various plots, ingenious tactics,
And treacheries were elaborated;
But rejecting the more headstrong
Methods of destroying the Portuguese,
They took the option subtlety prescribes,
Suborning the king’s counsellors with bribes.
53 With bribes, of gold and other seductions,
They co-opted the country’s rulers,
And with sophistry persuaded them
Of the ruin the Portuguese would bring,
Declaring they were restless people
Who, spilling from the seas of the west,
Lived lawlessly by piracy and rapine,
Without king or country, human or divine.
54 To govern well, how much a monarch
Must guard that his counsellors and friends
Are men of rectitude and genuine
Honour and absolute devotion!
For placed as he is, elevated
On his throne of state, he knows
Little more of his kingdom or his court
Than what his ministers choose to report.
55 This is not to say he should take on trust
That all-too-apparent rectitude
Which wraps itself in a humble cloak,
Disguising, perhaps, ambition.
Even the truly righteous and saintly.
Give poor advice on worldly matters;
Such men, fixed wholly on what is holy,
Have little wit for human vice and folly.
56 And so these self-seeking Catuals
The Hindu peoples’ governors,
Were induced by those infernal priests
To prevaricate with the Portuguese.
But while the Muslims were conspiring,
Da Gama, having fulfilled his
Voyage, was preoccupied by one thing:
To carry the sure proof back to his king.
57 He worked only for this, well aware
That as soon evidence reached his hands,
Arms, ships, and people would be sent
By King Manuel, as supreme commander,
To reduce to his yoke and to Christ’s faith
The whole expanse of lands and ocean;
He, meanwhile, being merely a diligent
Explorer of the distant Orient.
58 He resolved to speak with the Samorin
And finish his business and go home,
For already he sensed a disposition
To oppose him in whatever he wished.
As for the king, from the lies and slurs,
One could guess why he was aghast,
For his trust in what his augurs had read
Was reinforced by all the Muslims said.
59 This fear chilled his ignoble heart;
Countering it was the power of greed
Which controlled his very nature,
A burning greed which raged insatiably;