National Epics by Kate Milner Rabb

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The Lusiad is divided into ten cantos, containing one thousand one hundred
and two stanzas. Its metre is the heroic iambic, in rhymed octave stanzas.

The Lusiad is marred by its mythological allusions in imitation of Homer
and Virgil, but these are forgotten when the poet sings in impassioned
strains of his country's past glory.

The Lusiad is simple in style; its subject is prosaic; it is a constant
wonder that out of such unpromising materials Camoens could construct a
poem of such interest. He could not have done so had he not been so great
a poet, so impassioned a patriot.

Camoens was in one sense of the word a practical man, like Ariosto; he had
governed a province, and governed it successfully. But he had also taken
up arms for his country, and after suffering all the slights that could be
put upon him by an ungrateful and forgetful monarch, still loved his
native land, loved it the more, perhaps, that he had suffered for it and
was by it neglected. He foresaw, also, as did no one else, the future ruin
of his country, and loved it the more intensely, as a parent lavishes the
fondest, most despairing affection on a child he knows doomed to early
death.

The Lusiad is sometimes called the epic of commerce; it could be called
far more appropriately the epic of patriotism.

BIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE LUSIAD.

J. Adamson's Memoirs of Life and Writing of Camoens, 2 vols., 1820 (vol.
2, account of works of Camoens in Portuguese and other languages, and of
the works founded on his life or suggested by his writings);

R. F. Burton's Camoens, his Life and his Lusiad, 2 vols., 1881;

M. W. Shelley's Lives of the most Eminent Literary and Scientific Men of
Italy, Spain, and Portugal, vol. 3;

F. Bouterwek's History of Spanish and Portuguese Literature, 1823 (Tr. by
T. Ross);

Chambers's Repository, no. 32, Spirit of Camoens's Lusiad;
W. T. Dobson's Classic Poets, pp. 240-278;

Montgomery's Men of Italy, iii., 295;

Sismondi's Literature of the South of Europe, ii., 475-528;

Southey's Sketch of Portuguese Literature in vol. i. of Quarterly Review,
1809;

Fortnightly Review, i., 184;

Quarterly, i., 235;

Monthly Review, clx., 505;

Edinburgh Review, 1805, vi., 43;

New England Magazine, liii., 542;

Revue de Deux Mondes, 1832, vi., 145.

STANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE LUSIAD. The Lusiad, Tr. by J. J.

Aubertin, 2 vols., 1881 (Portuguese text and English Tr., in verse);

The Lusiad, Englished by R. F. Burton, 2 vols., 1881;

The Lusiad, Tr. into Spenserian verse by R. F. Duff, 1880;

The Lusiad, Tr. by Sir Richard Fanshawe, 1655;

The Lusiad, Tr. by W. J. Mickle, 3 vols., Ed. 5, 1807;

The Lusiad, Tr. by T. M. Musgrave (blank verse), 1826;

The Lusiad, Tr. by Edward Quillinan, with notes by John Adamson, 1853.

THE STORY OF THE LUSIAD.

When Jupiter, looking down from Olympus, saw the Lusitanian fleet sailing
over the heretofore untravelled seas, he called the gods together, and
reviewing the past glory of the Portuguese, their victories over the
Castilians, their stand against the Romans, under their shepherd-hero
Viriatus, and their conquest of Africa, he foretold their future glories
and their discovery and conquest of India.

Bacchus, who had long since made conquests in India, fearful lest his
ancient honors should be forgotten, bitterly opposed the scheme of the
Portuguese; Venus, however, was favorable to them, and Mars interceded,
counselling Jove not to heed Bacchus, but to permit the Lusitanians to
reach India's shore in safety.

When the council of the gods was dismissed, Mercury was sent to guide the
Armada, which made its first landing at Mozambique. Canoes with curious
palm-leaf sails, laden with dark-skinned natives, swarmed round the ships
and were hailed with joy by Gama and his men, who invited them on board. A
feast was spread for them, and to them Gama declared his intention of
seeking India. Among them was a Moor who had at first thought the
Portuguese Moors, on account of their dark skins. Feigning cordiality
while plotting their ruin, he offered them a pilot to Quiloa, where, he
assured them, they would find a Christian colony. He and his friends also
laid a plot to place some soldiers in ambush to attack Gama's men when
they landed next day to get water; in this way many would be destroyed,
and certain death awaited the survivors at Quiloa, whither the promised
pilot would conduct them. But the Moors had not counted on the strength of
the Portuguese. Gama's vengeance was swift and certain. The thunder of his
guns terrified the Moors, and the regent implored his pardon, and with
make-believe tears insisted on his receiving at his hands the promised
pilot.

Many questions were asked by Gama concerning the spicy shores of India, of
the African coasts, and of the island to the north. "Quiloa, that,"
replied the Moor, "where from ancient times, the natives have worshipped
the blood-stained image of the Christ." He knew how the Moorish
inhabitants hated the Christians, and was secretly delighted when Gama
directed him to steer thither.

A storm swept the fleet past Quiloa, but the pilot, still determined on
revenge, pointed out the island town of Mombaca, as a stronghold of the
Christians, and steering the fleet thither, anchored just outside the bar.
Bacchus, now intent on the destruction of the Lusitanians, assumed the
character of a priest to deceive the heralds sent ashore by Gama, who
assured their commander that they saw a Christian priest performing divine
rites at an altar above which fluttered the banner of the Holy Ghost. In a
few moments the Christian fleet would have been at the mercy of the Moors,
but Cytherea, beholding from above the peril of her favorites, hastily
descended, gathered together her nymphs, and formed an obstruction, past
which the vessels strove in vain to pass. As Gama, standing high on the
poop, saw the huge rock in the channel, he cried out, and the Moorish
pilots, thinking their treason discovered, leaped into the waves.

Warned in a dream by Mercury that the Moors were preparing to cut his
cables, De Gama roused his fleet and set sail for Melinda, whose monarch,
Mercury had told him, was both powerful and good.

The fleet, decorated with purple streamers and gold and scarlet tapestry
in honor of Ascension Day sailed with drums beating and trumpets sounding,
into the harbor of Melinda, where they were welcomed by the kind and
truthful people. The fame of the Lusitanians had reached Melinda, and the
monarch gladly welcomed them to his land. His herald entreated them to
remain with him, and brought them sheep, fowls, and the fruits of the
earth, welcome gifts to the mariners. Gama had vowed not to leave the ship
until he could step on Indian ground, so the next day the king and the
commander, clad in their most splendid vestments, met in barges, and the
monarch of Melinda asked Gama to tell him of the Lusian race, its origin
and climate, and of all his adventures up to the time of his arrival at
Melinda.

"O king," said Gama, "between the zones of endless winter and eternal
summer lies beautiful Europe, surrounded by the sea. To the north are the
bold Swede, the Prussian, and the Dane; on her south-eastern line dwelt
the Grecian heroes, world-renowned, and farther south are the ruins of
proud Rome. Among the beauteous landscapes of Italy lies proud Venice,
queen of the sea, and north of her tower the lofty Alps. The olive groves
and vineyards of fair Gallia next greet the eye, and then the valorous
fields of Spain, Aragon, Granada, and--the pride of Spain--Castile. On the
west, a crown to it, lies Lusitania, on whom last smiles the setting
sun,--against whose shores roll the waves of the western sea.

"Noble are the heroes of my country. They were the first to rise against
the Moors and expel them from the kingdom. The forces of Rome were routed
by our shepherd-hero, Viriatus. After his death our country languished
until Alonzo of Spain arose, whose renown spread far and wide because of
his battles against the Moors.

"Alonzo rewarded generously the heroes who fought under him, and to Prince
Henry of Hungaria he gave the fields through which the Tagus flows and the
hand of his daughter. To them was born a son, Alfonso, the founder of the
Lusian throne. After the death of his father Henry, Alfonso's mother
became regent, and ere long wedded her minister Perez and plotted to
deprive her young son of his inheritance. The eighteen year old son arose,
won the nobility to his side, and defeated his guilty mother and her
husband in the battle of Guimaraens. Forgetful of the reverence due to
parents, he cruelly imprisoned his mother, whose father, the king of
Spain, indignant at such treatment of his daughter, now marched against
the young prince and defeated him. As he lay in prison, his faithful
guardian Egas knelt before the king, and vowed that his master, if
released, would pay homage to him. Well he knew that his master would
never bow his proud head to pay homage to Castile. So when the day
arrived, Egas, and all his family, clad in gowns of white like sentenced
felons, with unshod feet, and with the halter around their necks, sought
Castile. 'O king, take us as a sacrifice for my perjured honor. Turn in
friendship to the prince thy grandson, and wreak thy vengeance on us
alone.'

"Fortunately Alonzo was noble enough to release the self-sacrificing Egas,
and to forgive his grandson.

"The young Alfonso, pardoned by his grandfather, proceeded to Ourique,
whither marched five Moorish kings. Over his head appeared the sacred
cross; but he prayed heaven to show it to his army instead, that they
might be inspired with the hope of victory. Filled with joy at the token,
the Portuguese defeated the Moors, and on the bloody battle-field Alfonso
was proclaimed King of Portugal, and from that day placed on his hitherto
unadorned buckler five azure shields, arranged as a cross. He continued
the wars with the Moors until, wounded and taken prisoner at Badajoz, he
resigned the throne to his son, Don Sancho, who in turn won many
victories. Alfonso II., Sancho II., Alfonso III., and Alfonso the Brave
succeeded him. At the court of the latter was a beautiful maiden, Inez de
Castro, whom Alfonso's son Don Pedro had married secretly. The courtiers,
fearful lest Pedro should show favor to the Castilians because Inez was
the daughter of a Castilian, told the king of his son's amour. In the
absence of Pedro, Inez was led before the king, bringing with her her
children, to help her to plead for mercy. But the king was merciless, his
counsellors, brutal, and at his signal they stabbed her. Pedro never
recovered from the shock given him by the fate of his beautiful wife, and
after his succession to the throne, as a partial atonement for her
suffering, he had her body taken from the grave and crowned Queen of
Portugal.

"The weak Fernando, who took his wife Eleanora from her lawful husband,
succeeded Pedro, and their daughter Beatrice not being recognized by the
Portuguese, at his death Don John, a natural brother, came to the throne.
In the mean time a Spanish prince had married Beatrice and invaded
Portugal, claiming it as his right. The Portuguese were divided until Nuno
Alvarez Pereyra came forward. 'Has one weak reign so corrupted you?' he
cried. 'Have you so soon forgotten our brave sires? Fernando was weak, but
John, our godlike king, is strong. Come, follow him! Or, if you stay, I
myself will go alone; never will I yield to a vassal's yoke; my native
land shall remain unconquered, and my monarch's foes, Castilian or
Portuguese, shall heap the plain!'

"Inspired by Nuno's eloquence the Lusians took the field and defeated the
Spanish in the battle of Aljubarota. Still dissatisfied, Nuno pressed into
Spain and dictated the terms of peace at Seville. Having established
himself upon the throne of Portugal, John carried the war into Africa,
which wars were continued after his death by his son Edward. While laying
siege to Tangier, Edward and his brother Fernando were taken prisoners,
and were allowed to return home only on promise to surrender Ceuta. Don
Fernando remained as the hostage they demanded. The Portuguese would not
agree to surrender Ceuta, and Don Fernando was forced to languish in
captivity, since the Moors would accept no other ransom. He was a
patriotic prince than whom were none greater in the annals of Lusitania.

"Alfonso V., victorious over the Moors, dreamed of conquering Castile, but
was defeated, and on his death was succeeded by John II., who designed to
gain immortal fame in a way tried by no other king. His sailors sought a
path to India, but 'though enriched with knowledge' they perished at the
mouth of the Indus. To his successor, Emmanuel, in a dream appeared the
rivers Ganges and Indus, hoary fathers, rustic in aspect, yet with a
majestic grace of bearing, their long, uncombed beards dripping with
water, their heads wreathed with strange flowers, and proclaimed to him
that their countries were ordained by fate to yield to him; that the fight
would be great, and the fields would stream with blood, but that at last
their shoulders would bend beneath the yoke. Overjoyed at this dream,
Emmanuel proclaimed it to his people. I, O king, felt my bosom burn, for
long had I aspired to this work. Me the king singled out, to me the dread
toil he gave of seeking unknown seas. Such zeal felt I and my youths as
inspired the Mynian youths when they ventured into unknown seas in the
Argo, in search of the golden fleece.

"On the shore was reared a sacred fane, and there at the holy shrine my
comrades and I knelt and joined in the solemn rites. Prostrate we lay
before the shrine until morning dawned; then, accompanied by the 'woful,
weeping, melancholy throng' that came pressing from the gates of the city,
we sought our ships.

"Then began the tears to flow; then the shrieks of mothers, sisters, and
wives rent the air, and as we waved farewell an ancient man cried out to
us on the thirst for honor and for fame that led us to undertake such a
voyage.

"Soon our native mountains mingled with the skies, and the last dim speck
of land having faded, we set our eyes to scan the waste of sea before us.
From Madeira's fair groves we passed barren Masilia, the Cape of Green,
the Happy Isles, Jago, Jalofo, and vast Mandinga, the hated shore of the
Gorgades, the jutting cape called by us the Cape of Palms, and southward
sailed through the wild waves until the stars changed and we saw
Callisto's star no longer, but fixed our eyes on another pole star that
rises nightly over the waves. The shining cross we beheld each night in
the heavens was to us a good omen.

"While thus struggling through the untried waves, and battling with the
tempests, now viewing with terror the waterspouts, and the frightful
lightnings, now comforted by the sight of mysterious fire upon our masts,
we came in sight of land, and gave to the trembling negro who came to us
some brass and bells. Five days after this event, as we sailed through the
unknown seas, a sudden darkness o'erspread the sky, unlighted by moon or
star. Questioning what this portent might mean, I saw a mighty phantom
rise through the air. His aspect was sullen, his cheeks were pale, his
withered hair stood erect, his yellow teeth gnashed; his whole aspect
spoke of revenge and horror.

"'Bold are you,' cried he, 'to venture hither, but you shall suffer for
it. The next proud fleet that comes this way shall perish on my coast, and
he who first beheld me shall float on the tide a corpse. Often, O Lusus,
shall your children mourn because of me!' 'Who art thou?' I cried. 'The
Spirit of the Cape,' he replied, 'oft called the Cape of Tempests.'"

The king of Melinda interrupted Gama. He had often heard traditions among
his people of the Spirit of the Cape. He was one of the race of Titans who
loved Thetis, and was punished by Jove by being transformed into this
promontory.

Gama continued: "Again we set forth, and stopped at a pleasant coast to
clean our barks of the shell-fish. At this place we left behind many
victims of the scurvy in their lonely graves. Of the treason we met with
at Mozambique and the miracle that saved us at Quiloa and Mombas, you know
already, as well as of your own bounty."

Charmed with the recital of Gama, the King of Melinda had forgotten how
the hours passed away. After the story was told the company whiled away
the hours with dance, song, the chase, and the banquet, until Gama
declared that he must go on to India, and was furnished with a pilot by
the friendly king.

Bacchus, enraged at seeing the voyage so nearly completed, descended to
the palace of Neptune, with crystal towers, lofty turrets, roofs of gold,
and beautiful pillars inwrought with pearls. The sculptured walls were
adorned with old Chaos's troubled face, the four fair elements, and many
scenes in the history of the earth. Roused by Bacchus, the gods of the sea
consented to let loose the winds and the waves against the Portuguese.

During the night, the Lusians spent the time in relating stories of their
country. As they talked, the storm came upon them, and the vessels rose
upon the giant waves, so that the sailors saw the bottom of the sea swept
almost bare by the violence of the storm. But the watchful Venus perceived
the peril of her Lusians, and calling her nymphs together, beguiled the
storm gods until the storm ceased. While the sailors congratulated
themselves on the returning calm, the cry of "Land!" was heard, and the
pilot announced to Gama that Calicut was near.

Hail to the Lusian heroes who have won such honors, who have forced their
way through untravelled seas to the shores of India! Other nations of
Europe have wasted their time in a vain search for luxury and fame instead
of reclaiming to the faith its enemies! Italy, how fallen, how lost art
thou! and England and Gaul, miscalled "most Christian!" While ye have
slept, the Lusians, though their realms are small, have crushed the
Moslems and made their name resound throughout Africa, even to the shores
of Asia.

At dawn Gama sent a herald to the monarch; in the mean time, a friendly
Moor, Moncaide, boarded the vessel, delighted to hear his own tongue once
more. Born at Tangiers, he considered himself a neighbor of the Lusians;
well he knew their valorous deeds, and although a Moor, he now allied
himself to them as a friend. He described India to the eager Gama: its
religions, its idolaters, the Mohammedans, the Buddhists, the Brahmins. At
Calicut, queen of India, lived the Zamorin, lord of India, to whom all
subject kings paid their tribute.

His arrival having been announced, Gama, adorned in his most splendid
garments, and accompanied by his train, also in bright array, entered the
gilded barges and rowed to the shore, where stood the Catual, the
Zamorin's minister. Moncaide acted as an interpreter. The company passed
through a temple on their way to the palace, in which the Christians were
horrified at the graven images there worshipped. On the palace walls were
the most splendid pictures, relating the history of India. One wall,
however, bore no sculptures; the Brahmins had foretold that a foreign foe
would at some time conquer India, and that space was reserved for scenes
from those wars.

Into the splendid hall adorned with tapestries of cloth of gold and
carpets of velvet, Gama passed, and stood before the couch on which sat
the mighty monarch. The room blazed with gems and gold; the monarch's
mantle was of cloth of gold, and his turban shone with gems. His manner
was majestic and dignified; he received Gama in silence, only nodding to
him to tell his story.

Gama proclaimed that he came in friendship from a valorous nation that
wished to unite its shores with his by commerce. The monarch responded
that he and his council would weigh the proposal, and in the mean time
Gama should remain and feast with them.

The next day the Indians visited the fleet, and after the banquet Gama
displayed to his guests a series of banners on which were told the history
of Portugal and her heroes. First came Lusus, the friend of Bacchus, the
hero-shepherd Viriatus, the first Alonzo, the self-sacrificing Egas, the
valiant Fuaz, every hero who had strengthened Lusitania and driven out her
foes, down to the gallant Pedro and the glorious Henry.

Awed and wondering at the deeds of the mighty heroes, the Indians returned
home. In the night Bacchus appeared to the king, warning him against the
Lusians and urging him to destroy them while in his power. The Moors
bought the Catual with their gold. They also told the king that they would
leave his city as soon as he allied himself with the odious strangers.
When Gama was next summoned before the king he was received with a frown.

"You are a pirate! Your first words were lies. Confess it; then you may
stay with me and be my captain."

"I know the Moors," replied Gama. "I know their lies that have poisoned
your ears. Am I mad that I should voluntarily leave my pleasant home and
dare the terrors of an unknown sea? Ah, monarch, you know not the Lusian
race! Bold, dauntless, the king commands, and we obey. Past the dread Cape
of Storms have I ventured, bearing no gift save friendly peace, and that
noblest gift of all, the friendship of my king. I have spoken the truth.
Truth is everlasting!"

A day passed and still Gama was detained by the power of the Catual, who
ordered him to call his fleets ashore if his voyage was really one of
friendship.

"Never!" exclaimed Gama. "My fleet is free, though I am chained, and they
shall carry to Lisbon the news of my discovery."

As he spoke, at a sign from the Catual, hostile ships were seen
surrounding the Lusian vessels. "Not one shall tell on Lisbon's shores
your fate."

Gama smiled scornfully, as the fleet swept on towards his vessels. Loud
sounded the drums, shrill the trumpets. The next moment sudden lightning
flashed from Gama's ships and the skies echoed with the thunder of the
guns.

No word fell from Gama's lips as, the battle over, they saw the sea
covered with the torn hulks and floating masts; but the populace raged
around the palace gates, demanding justice to the strangers.

The troubled king sought to make peace with Gama.

"My orders have been given. To-day, when the sun reaches its meridian,
India shall bleed and Calicut shall fall. The time is almost here. I make
no terms. You have deceived me once."

The Moors fell fainting on the floor; the monarch trembled. "What can save
us?" he cried.

"Convey me and my train to the fleet. Command at once; it is even now
noon."

Once more safe within his ship, with him the faithful Moncaide, who had
kept him informed of the treason of the Moors, his ships laden with
cinnamon, cloves, pepper, and gems, proofs of his visit, Gama, rejoicing,
set sail for home.

Venus saw the fleet setting out, and planned a resting-place for the weary
sailors, a floating isle with golden sands, bowers of laurel and myrtle,
beautiful flowers and luscious fruits. Here the sea nymphs gathered,
Thetis, the most beautiful, being reserved for Gama, and here days were
spent in joyance.

At the banquet the nymphs sang the future glories of the Lusians, and
taking Gama by the hand, led him and his men to a mountain height, whence
they could look upon a wondrous globe, the universe. The crystal spheres
whirled swiftly, making sweet music, and as they listened to this, they
saw the sun go by, the stars, Apollo, the Queen of Love, Diana, and the
"yellow earth, the centre of the whole." Asia and Africa were unrolled to
their sight, and the future of India, conquered by the Lusians, Cochin
China, China, Japan, Sumatra,--all these countries given to the world by
their voyage around the terrible cape.

"Spread thy sails!" cried the nymphs; "the time has come to go!"

The ships departed on their homeward way, and the heroes were received
with the wildest welcome by the dwellers on Tago's bosom.

SELECTIONS FROM THE LUSIAD.

INEZ DE CASTRO.

During the reign of Alfonso the Brave, his son Don Pedro secretly wedded
a beautiful maiden of the court, Inez de Castro. The courtiers, jealous
because Inez was a Castilian, betrayed Pedro's secret to the king, who, in
the absence of his son, had Inez brought before him and slain by hired
ruffians.

While glory, thus, Alonzo's name adorn'd,
To Lisbon's shores the happy chief return'd,
In glorious peace and well-deserv'd repose,
His course of fame, and honor'd age to close.
When now, O king, a damsel's fate severe,
A fate which ever claims the woful tear,
Disgraced his honors--On the nymph's 'lorn head
Relentless rage its bitterest rancor shed:
Yet, such the zeal her princely lover bore,
Her breathless corse the crown of Lisbon wore.
'Twas thou, O Love, whose dreaded shafts control
The hind's rude heart, and tear the hero's soul;
Thou, ruthless power, with bloodshed never cloy'd,
'Twas thou thy lovely votary destroy'd.
Thy thirst still burning for a deeper woe,
In vain to thee the tears of beauty flow;
The breast that feels thy purest flames divine,
With spouting gore must bathe thy cruel shrine.
Such thy dire triumphs!--Thou, O nymph, the while,
Prophetic of the god's unpitying guile,
In tender scenes by love-sick fancy wrought,
By fear oft shifted, as by fancy brought,
In sweet Mondego's ever-verdant bowers,
Languish'd away the slow and lonely hours:
While now, as terror wak'd thy boding fears,
The conscious stream receiv'd thy pearly tears;
And now, as hope reviv'd the brighter flame,
Each echo sigh'd thy princely lover's name.
Nor less could absence from thy prince remove
The dear remembrance of his distant love:
Thy looks, thy smiles, before him ever glow,
And o'er his melting heart endearing flow:
By night his slumbers bring thee to his arms,
By day his thoughts still wander o'er thy charms:
By night, by day, each thought thy loves employ,
Each thought the memory, or the hope, of joy.
Though fairest princely dames invok'd his love,
No princely dame his constant faith could move:
For thee, alone, his constant passion burn'd,
For thee the proffer'd royal maids he scorn'd.
Ah, hope of bliss too high--the princely dames
Refus'd, dread rage the father's breast inflames;
He, with an old man's wintry eye, surveys
The youth's fond love, and coldly with it weighs
The people's murmurs of his son's delay
To bless the nation with his nuptial day.
(Alas, the nuptial day was past unknown,
Which, but when crown'd, the prince could dare to own.)
And, with the fair one's blood, the vengeful sire
Resolves to quench his Pedro's faithful fire.
Oh, thou dread sword, oft stain'd with heroes' gore,
Thou awful terror of the prostrate Moor,
What rage could aim thee at a female breast,
Unarm'd, by softness and by love possess'd!

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