Commissioned to plough the remotest seas,
To explore new regions, make discoveries.
77 For myself, though not knowing the outcome
If what I wanted should ever happen,
My heart had always whispered to me
Of some great enterprise of this kind;
Nor do I know for what intimation,
Or what confidence he placed in me,
Manuel the Fortunate laid in these very hands
The key to this pursuit of unknown lands.
78 And with entreaties and affectionate words
Which with kings are the more binding,
He said: ‘The price of heroic deeds
Is great effort and endurance;
To risk life to the point of losing it
Is the guarantee of glory;
The man who is not cowed by abject fears,
Though life be short, his fame survives the years.
79 ‘I have chosen you from among all others
For this enterprise which you well deserve,
And I know for mine and glory’s sake
You will bear the hazards and hardships.’
I could bear no more, but: ‘Small as it
Is to endure iron, fire, and snow,
The more it grieves me, O most noble king
My life should be so poor an offering.
80 ‘Command me to such vast labours*
As Eurystheus devised for Hercules:
The Cleonaean lion, the Stymphalian harpies,
The Erymanthian boar, and the Hydra,
Or to descend to the dark and empty shades
Where the Styx flows through Pluto’s fields;
The greater danger, the greater daring;
Spirit in this, and flesh, will be unsparing.’
81 The king thanked me with signal favours
And complimented my good will,
For virtue rewarded is redoubled,
And praise encourages great deeds.
On the instant, compelled by love
And comradeship as by desire for glory,
There offered to sail with me* none other
Than Paulo da Gama, my dear brother.
82 Nicolau Coelho also joined me,
A man to endure any labour,
And like my brother, valiant and wise
And a fierce and tested warrior.
I equipped myself with young people
All driven by a thirst for glory;
All spirited and, in fact, so appearing
Simply by the act of volunteering.
83 King Manuel rewarded them generously,
Giving greater zeal to their preparations,
And inspired them with noble words
For whatever hardships might come.
It was as when the Argonauts assembled
To battle for the Golden Fleece
In that prophetic ship, the first to be
Launched by man on the Black (or any) Sea.
84 So at last in Ulysses’ famous harbour*
With noble bustle and resolve
(Where the Tagus mingles its fresh water
And white sands with the salt sea),
The ships lay ready; and no misgivings
Subdued the youthful spirits
For the mariners’ and soldiers’ one desire
Was to follow me through tempest and fire.
85 The soldiers came along the margin
Clad in various colours and fashions,
And furnished equally in spirit
To explore new regions of the globe.
The powerful ships signalled quietly,
Their flags rippling in the gentle wind,
As if confident their tale would never die,
But live on like Argo in the night sky.*
86 Having done everything practical
To make ready for so long a voyage,
We prepared our souls to meet death
Which is always on a sailor’s horizon.
To God on high who alone sustains
The heavens with his loved presence,
We asked His favour that He should endorse
Our every enterprise and steer our course.
87 The holy chapel* from which we parted
Is built there on the very beach,
And takes its name, Belém, from the town
Where God was given to the world as flesh.
O King, I tell you, when I reflect
On how I parted from that shore,
Tormented by so many doubts and fears,
Even now it is hard to restrain my tears.
88 That day, a vast throng from the city
(As friends, as family, others
Only to watch), crowded the shore,
Their faces anxious and dismayed
Looking on, as in the holy company
Of a thousand zealous monks,
With heartfelt intercessions on our lips
We marched in solemn file towards the ships.
89 The people considered us already lost
On so long and uncertain a journey,
The women with piteous wailing,
The men with agonizing sighs;
Mothers, sweethearts, and sisters, made
Fretful by their love, heightened
The desolation and the arctic fear
We should not return for many a long year.
90 One such was saying: ‘O my dear son,
My only comfort and sweet support
In this my tottering old age, now
Doomed to end in grief and pain,
Why do you leave me wretched and indigent?
Why do you travel so far away,
To be lost at sea as your memorial,
And bloated fish your only burial?’
91 Or one bareheaded: ‘O dearest husband,
But for whose love I could not exist,
Why do you risk on the angry seas
That which belongs to me, not you?
Why, for so dubious a voyage, do you
Forget our so sweet affection?
Is our passion, our happiness so frail
As to scatter in the wind swelling the sail?’
92 As these piteous, loving speeches
Poured from gentle, human hearts,
The old and the children took them up
In the different manner of their years.
The nearest mountains echoed them,
As if stirred by deepest sympathy,
While tears as many as the grains of sand
Rained without ceasing on the white strand.
93 As for us, we dared not lift our faces
To our mothers and our wives, fearing
To be harrowed, or discouraged
From the enterprise so firmly begun,
And I decided we should all embark
Without the customary farewells,
For, though they may be love’s proper course,
They make the pain of separation worse.
94 But an old man* of venerable appearance
Standing among the crowd on the shore,
Fixed his eyes on us, disapproving,
And wagged his head three times,
Then raising a little his infirm voice
So we heard him clearly from the sea,
With a wisdom only experience could impart,
He uttered these words from a much-tried heart:
95 —‘O pride of power! O futile lust
For that vanity known as fame!
That hollow conceit which puffs itself up
And which popular cant calls honour!
What punishment, what poetic justice,
You exact on souls that pursue you!
To what deaths, what miseries you condemn
Your heroes! What pains you inflict on them!
96 ‘You wreck all peace of soul and body,
You promote separation and adultery;
Subtly, manifestly,
you consume
The wealth of kingdoms and empires!
They call distinction, they call honour
What deserves ridicule and contempt;
They talk of glory and eternal fame,
And men are driven frantic by a name!
97 ‘To what new catastrophes do you plan
To drag this kingdom and these people?
What perils, what deaths have you in store
Under what magniloquent title?
What visions of kingdoms and gold-mines
Will you guide them to infallibly?
What fame do you promise them? What stories?
What conquests and processions? What glories?
98 ‘And as for you, heirs of that madcap
Adam,* whose sin and disobedience
Not only drove us from paradise
Into this exile and sad absence,
But deprived us for ever of the divine
State of simple tranquillity,
That golden age of innocence, before
This age of iron experience and war:
99 ‘Already in this vainglorious business
Delusions are possessing you,
Already, ferocity and brute force
Are labelled strength and valour,
The heresy “Long live Death!” is already
Current among you, when life should always
Be cherished, as Christ in times gone by
Who gave us life was yet afraid to die.*
100 ‘Is not the Ishmaelite* close at hand,
With whom you have waged countless wars?
If a fresh crusade is your purpose,
Does he not bow to the faith of Arabia?
If it is land and riches you desire,
Does he not own a thousand cities?
Or if it’s fresh battle honours you covet,
Is he not still a formidable target?
101 ‘You ignore the enemy at the gate
In the search for another so far away,
Unpeopling the ancient kingdom,
Leaving it vulnerable and bereft!
You are lured by the dangers of the unknown,
So history will flatter you, as
“Seigneurs”* (or titles yet more copious),
India’s, Persia’s, Arabia’s, Ethiopia’s!
102 ‘The devil take the man who first put
Dry wood on the waves with a sail!
Hell’s fires are too good for him
If the laws I live by are righteous!
And may no solemn chronicler,
No sweet harpist nor eloquent poet*
Commend your deeds or celebrate your fame,
But let your folly vanish with your name!
103 ‘Prometheus* stole the fire from heaven
Which rages in every human heart,
Setting the world ablaze with arms,
With death and dishonour, and all for nothing!
How much better for us, Prometheus,
How much less harmful for the world,
Had you not breathed into your famous statue
The restlessness that goads mankind to match you!
104 ‘Unhappy Phaethon would not have crashed
Apollo’s car, nor craftsman Daedalus*
Dropped from the sky with his son, naming
The latter a sea, the former a river.
In what great or infamous undertaking,
Through fire, sword, water, heat, or cold,
Was Man’s ambition not the driving feature?
Wretched circumstance! Outlandish creature!’
Canto Five
1 As the honourable old man was uttering
These words, we spread our wings
To the serene and tranquil breezes
And departed from the loved harbour;
And, as is now the custom at sea,
The sails unfurled, we bellowed:
‘God speed!’, and the north winds as usual
Heard and responded, shifting the great hull.
2 The sun was in Leo,* the ferocious
Beast of Nemea, slain by Hercules,
And the world was in the sixth age
Of its decline since Christ’s birth,
Having witnessed, as custom has it,
Fourteen hundred journeys of the sun
Plus ninety-seven, the last still in motion
When our small armada turned to face the ocean.
3 Little by little our gaze was exiled
From the native hills we left behind;
There remained the dear Tagus and green
Sintra, and on those our sight long dwelt;
Our hearts, too, stayed behind us,
Lodged with their griefs in the loved land;
And when at last all faded from the eye,
Nothing was visible but sea and sky.
4 We were navigating waters only
Portuguese had sailed before us,
Seeing the islands and latitudes
Plotted by Henry,* our noble prince;
Off to our left were the mountains
And towns of Mauretania, once home
Of giant Antaeus,* while on the right hand
All was unknown, though rumour spoke of land.
5 We passed the fine island of Madeira*
Named for its great forests, and known
More for its name than its ancient past
For we were the first to people it;
Though had Venus known it existed,
Before we revealed it to the world,
Well might the goddess have forgotten Paphos,
Cythera, and Gnidus and even Cyprus.
6 We skirted the Numidian desert
Where the Berber people, who never enjoy
Cool water, nor green leaves, pasture
Their cattle, endlessly wandering:
This land, where ostriches digest
Iron in their stomachs, bestows no fruits;
It is a region of the harshest penury,
Dividing Ethiopia from Barbary.*
7 We crossed the northern limit of the sun’s
Heavenly course at the Tropic of Cancer,
Where live nations the youthful Phaethon
Deprived of the brightness of day;
Strange peoples bathe in the chill
Current of the dark Senegal River,
But Asinarius* is never heard
Since we christened it afresh as Cape Verde.
8 Having passed by now the Canary Islands*
Once called the Fortunate Isles,
We sailed on to the Hesperides
As the Cape Verde islands were known,
Islands from which our earlier fleets
Embarked to discover new marvels.
We made harbour, the winds remaining fair,
And went ashore to take provisions there.
9 Our landfall was at the island named
For the warrior saint, Santiago,*
Who helped the Spaniards to such purpose
In bringing catastrophe to the Moors.
From there, so favourable were the north
Winds, we headed straight for the open
Ocean, gratified by the interlude
Of harbour, sweet repose, and fresh food.
10 We crossed the broad gulf,* bypassing
That huge part of Africa to our east,
Leaving in our wake the Jalof province
With its various nations of black people;
Then Mandingo, that vast country,
Expert in all the arts of gold
Where the winding River Gambia reaches
Down at last to its Atlantic beaches.
11 We passed the islands of the Gorgons,
Where long ago lived those sisters
Who, being all but deprived of vision,
Had one eye which served all three.
Medusa was she whose locks entangled
Neptune and drove Athene to revenge,
&nbs
p; And whose head conveyed in Perseus’ hands
Dripped writhing adders on the burning sands!
12 So, with our prows pointing ever south,*
We thrust deeper into the Atlantic
Leaving Sierra Leone’s lion mountain
And the cape which we call Cape Palmas.
Off the River Niger, we distinctly heard
Breakers pounding on beaches that are ours,
Then São Tomé, named after him who trod
With Christ on earth and touched the side of God.
13 There, the mighty kingdom of the Congo*
Has been brought by us to faith in Christ,
Where the Zaire flows, immense and brimming,
A river never seen by the ancients.
From this open sea I looked my last
At the constellations of the north.
For we had by now crossed the burning line*
Which marks division in the earth’s design.
14 Our sailors had discovered long since,
In that new hemisphere, the Southern Cross,*
Though those who had not witnessed it
For a while doubted its existence.
We saw new heavens, less sparkling
And, for lack of stars, less beautiful
Nearing the pole, where no one comprehends
If a continent begins or the sea ends.
15 By now we had left behind both tropics*
Where Apollo’s chariot twice pauses,
Coursing from pole to pole, making
Its contrasting winters and summers;
At times becalmed, at times wracked
By storms whipped up by Aeolus,
We saw both Bears,* for all Juno taught us
Plunging headlong into Neptune’s waters.
16 To talk at length of the sea’s dangers
As though matters beyond ordinary men,
Sudden, catastrophic thunderstorms,
Bolts setting the atmosphere ablaze,
Black squalls, nights of pitch darkness,
Earth-splitting claps of thunder,
Would be wearisome and a grave error,
Even if my voice could inspire terror.
17 For I saw with my own eyes sights
Which rough sailors, whose only schooling
Is observation and long experience,
Take as knowledge, evident and sure,
And which those with higher intelligence
Who use their skills and learning
To penetrate earth’s secrets (if they could),
Dismiss as false or feebly understood.
18 I saw beyond question St Elmo’s Fire,*
Which the sailors hold to be sacred,
Manifest at a time of intractable winds,
Of dark tempest and sad wailing.
No less miraculous and astonishing
Was the spectacle of ocean
And cloud, joined by what could only be
A spout sucking up moisture from the sea.
19 I saw it distinctly (and do not presume
The Lusiads (Oxford World's Classics) Page 13
