 | City Festivals |  |
IV.
Jones also celebrated, in a gastronomic way,
That lucky date for humankind he called “Discovery Day;”
He furnished every novel dish that money could command,
Each new discovery how to spoil the works of Nature's hand;
He sent his minions marching through the whole preceding year,
For any new development of cooking quaint and queer.
Each course a revelation was—loud greeted with surprise,
And palatal expectancy, and interested eyes.
That lucky date for humankind he called “Discovery Day;”
He furnished every novel dish that money could command,
Each new discovery how to spoil the works of Nature's hand;
He sent his minions marching through the whole preceding year,
For any new development of cooking quaint and queer.
Each course a revelation was—loud greeted with surprise,
And palatal expectancy, and interested eyes.
And once he turned unto their view a histrionic page:
Annexed unto his dining-room some scenery and a stage;
And when the rich unique dessert its place no longer knew,
The curtain rose, exhibiting a Spanish convent view;
With actors ready to begin a short historic play,
Full of material more or less appropriate to the day.
“These players are new aspirants, whom please do not condemn,”
He murmured to his smiling guests: “'fact, I discovered them.”
Annexed unto his dining-room some scenery and a stage;
And when the rich unique dessert its place no longer knew,
The curtain rose, exhibiting a Spanish convent view;
37
Full of material more or less appropriate to the day.
“These players are new aspirants, whom please do not condemn,”
He murmured to his smiling guests: “'fact, I discovered them.”
THREE SCENES IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS.
The Council at Salamanca, in 1486, to decide whether it was best to furnish Columbus with a few ships and men for the possible discovery of land in the Far West, was, all things considered, one of the most interesting to be found in history. The idea of this obscure and poverty-stricken mariner seems to have struck most of these wise men of Spain about as favorably as would a proposed colonization of the moon. Nearly all of them were at first piously but bitterly against him. Fernando de Talavera, who presided, was prior of the monastery of Prado, Confessor to Queen Isabella, and considered one of the best educated men of the time. He was prejudiced against the new enterprise. Diego de Deza, who appears in the Council as Columbus' friend, was at that time a professor of theology in the Convent of St. Stephen, and afterwards Archbishop of Seville. He was also a man of liberal education for those days, but had not permitted his common-sense and liberality of mind to become impaired in the process. As Irving says, with his combination of truth and elegance, he “was a man whose mind was above the narrow bigotry of bookish lore; one who could appreciate the value of wisdom, even when uttered by unlearned lips.” He assisted Columbus with his purse during days of poverty, and contributed toward the enterprise the jewels of his mind as lavishly as Isabella did those of her caskets. Had it not been for his help it is very doubtful whether the schemes of Columbus could have been pushed forward to success. The remainder of this Council, “professors of astronomy, geography, mathematics, and other branches of science, together with various dignitaries of the church and learned friars,” were most of them deeply prejudiced against the needy Italian adventurer.
The Council at Salamanca, in 1486, to decide whether it was best to furnish Columbus with a few ships and men for the possible discovery of land in the Far West, was, all things considered, one of the most interesting to be found in history. The idea of this obscure and poverty-stricken mariner seems to have struck most of these wise men of Spain about as favorably as would a proposed colonization of the moon. Nearly all of them were at first piously but bitterly against him. Fernando de Talavera, who presided, was prior of the monastery of Prado, Confessor to Queen Isabella, and considered one of the best educated men of the time. He was prejudiced against the new enterprise. Diego de Deza, who appears in the Council as Columbus' friend, was at that time a professor of theology in the Convent of St. Stephen, and afterwards Archbishop of Seville. He was also a man of liberal education for those days, but had not permitted his common-sense and liberality of mind to become impaired in the process. As Irving says, with his combination of truth and elegance, he “was a man whose mind was above the narrow bigotry of bookish lore; one who could appreciate the value of wisdom, even when uttered by unlearned lips.” He assisted Columbus with his purse during days of poverty, and contributed toward the enterprise the jewels of his mind as lavishly as Isabella did those of her caskets. Had it not been for his help it is very doubtful whether the schemes of Columbus could have been pushed forward to success. The remainder of this Council, “professors of astronomy, geography, mathematics, and other branches of science, together with various dignitaries of the church and learned friars,” were most of them deeply prejudiced against the needy Italian adventurer.
Scene I.
a hall in the Dominican Convent of Salamanca. Council of learned men assembled to pass judgment on the proposed enterprise of Columbus. Enter Talavera, who calls the Council to order.Talavera.
Best educated men of all this realm,
Best educated men of all this earth,
Accountants of the past, appraisers of
The present; you who have the trade
Of digging knowledge-nuggets from all times,
And carving them in jewels fit to wear,
Who know what's best and what's best not to know,
Whose learned breath upon thought-harvests thrown,
Whips chaff away and leaves the grain of truth:
You have been called together by the King,
Most potent Ferdinand, and by the Queen,
Most pious Isabel, to judge the claims
Of one Columbus; an Italian born,
Who asks of Spain her countenance and help
Through the great Western wilderness of waves,
While he discovers lands to you unknown.
First Scientist.
We need no foreigner to mend our maps.
Deza.
Soft, learnèd man, let learning teach you patience;
Pass not the judgment till the cause appears.
Let the man speak before you answer him.
Talavera.
'Tis well enough. Columbus, state your case;
Unroll your wares; exhibit us a wish.
38
(raising himself proudly).
I would complete the world!
First Scientist.
Irreverent clown!
Pity God did not rest another day,
And let you try your hand!
Deza.
Rest you instead.
Let him enlarge his daring epigram.
Columbus.
So with due modesty and sense I will.
[Unfolding a chart.
This world hath leagues that Europe knows not of;
Hath waves that Eastern ship did never cleave;
Hath rivers, forests, islands, continents,
Minds, hearts, and treasures now by distance hidden.
I would sail westward till I find those lands
Where the sun lifts to eastward-gazing eyes;
Would journey still unto the drooping sun,
Through regions of bewildering opulence,
And harvest all for God's own glory—He
Who planted it! I'd give the nation wealth
Greater by far than she has ever wished.
All this I guarantee, if only lent
Strong sails to spread, and crews to man my ships.
Talavera.
Here is a Grecian bearing gifts indeed!
Or rather an Italian, offering
To fetch them at our cost. These smooth designs
Brush us with velvet that may cover claws.
Question him, men of learning! Read his mind!
First Scientist.
What university may you be of,
Learnèd philosopher? What your degree?
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The ocean is my university;
My sole degree is that of Mariner,
Well tried and always true. Lectures I've heard,
Wherever sailing—'mid the ocean day,
And the dark, treacherous night. The travelled winds
Thundered their lessons at me. I have seen
Many discussions of the deep-voiced waves.
Each star that sees our whole world from the skies
Is a professor to me. I have learned
Much from my own long meditations; whence
A light flames up at last, by which I read
My Heaven-signed commission.
Talavera.
Well, well, well!
Here is a dreamer!
Deza.
Dreams ofttimes come true.
Second Scientist.
Nature of course hath schools; men all may read
From alphabets around them; but we hold
All observation naught, until confirmed
By others' words. Tell, then; what hast thou gleaned
From learnèd pens or voices?
Columbus.
I've conversed
Many a day and night with sea-taught men—
Old sages of the ocean—whose weird tales
Are full of half-hid meaning; they who teach
The classics of the ocean. All the flowers
And weeds of their romances root in truth,
However hidden far may be the soil.
Their tongues have graven these words upon my soul:
There's land to westward!
Third Scientist
(laughing).
Give him a degree!
Taught by illiterate sailors! Learned man!
40
Still, better than a college-branded fool.
Talavera.
Whence is your family, searcher after power?
Columbus.
Though not essential to this argument,
Yet I will answer; it is quickly said:
My father carded wool in Genoa.
Fourth Scientist.
A prince of sheep-pelts hath come here to pull
The wool across our eyes!
Deza.
Why bring to fore
Questions of birth? 'Tis not so many years,
Your father, herding asses in Castile,
Begot the longest-eared of all his flock.
Talavera.
Enough of breeds. Proceed, adventurer.
Columbus.
Call me adventurer then; and so I am,
And so were all accomplishers. No prize
Is won without adventuring. As for birth,
The time will come, when titled families
Will angle for my name, and fight to spread
The lie that I sprang from their mouldy roots.
My deeds be my escutcheon!
Talavera.
Cease your boasts,
And give performances—at least, in words.
Columbus.
From all that I have learned—seen—meditated—
All I have viewed with Inspiration's help,
41
I swear that on the farther side o' the earth,
Balancing that which we now know and walk,
Is land!—great continents of unknown land!
Which I can reach, with westward-pointed prow,
And through it Asia, with her wealth-crammed mines,
All to be thus for God's own glory gained.
Deza.
Bravo!—thrice bravo!—'tis a mingled voice
Of Heaven and Earth, that brings these words to us!
Fifth Scientist.
All hail to this discoverer of new lands—
This king of topsy-turvey, whose domains
Cling unto earth as do the barnacles
Sometimes upon the bottom of a ship!
Stand him upon his head and crown his heels!
Despatch him for his realms in ships capsized!
He shall send word of matters in his land,
In characters inverted; he shall tell
How rain falls upward; how the forest trees
Tower downward in the cellarage of space;
His subjects, taking lessons from the flies,
Shall creep along earth's ceiling dextrously,
Lest they might fall and strike against a star;
He shall write, “Have you any medicines
For rush of blood to th' head? If so, please send
Them quickly as you can!”
Deza.
If so there be
Medicaments that maybe might induce
A rush of brains to th' head, send you for them.
Columbus.
This world's a miracle, made by our God—
Himself Great Miracle of Miracles.
All things are relative; and it may be
42
Look downward as do we.
Sixth Scientist.
His head is turned.
But, mystic mariner, suppose you reach
Those far-off countries: how will you bring back
The ships and treasures that you took from us,
To say nought of the riches that you find?
How would you contract for a western gale
So strong that it will push you up the hill
That you have glided o'er so easily?
Seventh Scientist.
More miracles The whole thing shall be done
By miracle!
Eighth Scientist.
Since God's hand is besought
To help this project, it perchance were well
To ask Him His opinion of the same.
I have here fifty texts from sacred books,
Proving this scheme to be illusory,
Which, so it please the Council, I will read.
Deza.
Block not this pious project with the Bible!
Do you not know that in its mystery-depths
Are pearls whose gleam our weak eyes cannot see?
Columbus.
Little by little, as God gives us light,
We read the sacred cipher of His word;
Not only of His word, but of His works,
Doth He reveal Himself. He would have us
To know and do and conquer for ourselves.
43
And flout each other coldly—neither one
The other understanding—time may be
When they can dwell together. Then will come
Their wedding-day, and the world shall rejoice.
Talavera.
You should be pious—you who prophesy
So glibly of heaven-work. But what hear I
Of various indiscretions your wild soul
Has not escaped? Inform us fully, seer.
Columbus
(hanging his head).
I am not perfect. I have borne grave sins
That plague me sore. The very monk is here
To whom I have confessed.
Deza.
This Council, then,
Is a confessional, which seeks perfection?
Perfection then should rule it. Let him rise,
Whose morals have no flaw—who in his heart
(Which, we are told, can nothing hide from God)
Hath ne'er committed sin. If any one
Who'll stand my cross-examination for an hour
Be here, pray let him rise and quiz this man,
And summon Heaven to witness what he says.
[A strange and sudden interval of silence.
First Scientist.
I have friends that I must meet,
Waiting me in yonder street.
[Exit.
Second Scientist.
I must go and con a book
In yon cloister's quiet nook.
[Exit.
Third Scientist.
Leaving quickly I must be,
As my dinner waits for me.
[Exit.
44
I a map must finish soon,
Of the mountains of the moon.
[Exit.
Fifth Scientist.
I must teach a class of youth
First-class cosmographic truth.
[Exit.
[The Council breaks up in confusion.
Strange as it may now appear, these, and many other equally brilliant arguments, were advanced against Columbus' scheme by the so-called learned men of the time.
Scene II.
Court of Barcelona. Columbus, having returned from his successful and triumphant voyage, is enjoying a grand reception by the delighted monarchs, Isabella and Ferdinand. They seat him beside them.Ferdinand.
Grandest sailor of the zones,
Piercer of the storm-cloud's breast,
Finder of the lost unknowns,
Joiner of the East and West,
Julius Cæsar sent from Spain,
Conqueror of the setting sun,
Alexander of the main,
All the heroes fused in one,
Thou perchance hast made our lot
Regions such as Rome had not;
Thou wilt bring us splendors grand,
Such as Spain has never seen;
Thou wilt make our twofold land
Of this earth the treasurer-queen.
Thou, the king of storm and tide,
Now art welcome at our side;
Thou art worthy in the gleam
Of our jewelled crowns to beam;
Welcome to these hearts and hands,
Admiral of the Western lands!
[Te Deum Laudamus
Isabella.
Music not on earth is met,
Word hath not been written yet,
47
Worthy of God's praise to-day!
Nothing mind or heart can raise
Are sufficient for his praise.
He hath led our messenger,
Unappalled by mortal fear,
Through the forests of the waves,
Over luckless seamen's graves;
Climbing, on his mission strange,
Many an ocean mountain range,
Till he touched th' uncharted strand
Of a wealth-strewn pagan land.
'Mong new millions, that ne'er heard
Preaching of the Sacred Word,
He hath given us the glory
First to bear the Sacred Story;
Richest honors now confer
On this brave-souled messenger!
Columbus.
Sovereigns of the twofold reign,
Rulers of my heart and brain—
Insane Woman
(rushing into presence of sovereigns).
Give me my husband back! Give him to me, I say!
What do I care for his worlds? He took my world away!
What is your praise to Heaven, while Heaven your cruelty grieves?
I want my husband back! Give him to me, you thieves!
Oh, shake your diamond robes, dazzle my eyes as you may!
Crown this foreigner-villain that takes our husbands away!
Yes, he has brought you gold, robbed from good men's lives;
Yes, he has brought you Indians, stolen from others' wives;
Ingrate! where is the woman who loved and cherished you?
Why do you keep to yourself the part that is her due?
[She is dragged away by the guards, still struggling and screaming.
Columbus.
Sovereigns of the twofold reign,
Rulers of my heart and brain,
48
Sweeter, for the toil and danger,
Than I found—unwelcome stranger—
On the wide, mysterious sea.
Mariners of royal life,
You who sailed the waves of strife;
You who pressed the camp's rough pillows,
You who breasted war's red billows,
For the meed of sacred fame,
And Christ's holy sacred name,
Now in heathen lands His wraith
In that sepulchre still lies,
'Mid those hordes of pagan faith.
Sad and suffering are His eyes,
Drooping are His nail-scarred hands;
Can you hear His mild commands?
Can you hear His sacred moans?
“I am not among my own;
They received me not when living,
They protect me not when dead.
Must I suffer—still forgiving—
In a foeman-guarded bed?”
Sovereigns, I the vow have made
That this Western march of mine
Shall be first of a crusade
To that Eastern tomb divine.
When, through walls of darkest night,
First I saw that signal-light,
When, at far approach of day,
Ere the starlight sailed away,
There amid the twilight grand
Loomed the longed-for prize of land—
[Enter Rodrigo de Triana, a mariner, struggling through the guards.
Rodrigo.
Give me my velvet doublet, and my pension!
Columbus offered to whomever of his crew might first discover land a doublet of velvet. There had also been offered a pension by Ferdinand and Isabella. About ten o'clock one evening Columbus thought he saw a light in the distance which might proceed from some torch or lantern upon the land. He called a witness to view it with him, but they saw only occasional flashes of it afterwards. They were not considered at the time as indicating land by any one except Columbus, who evidently exhibited, at this time as at others, the superiority of his judgement over those who associated with him. At two the next morning land was discovered by Roger de Triana, a common sailor, who claimed the doublet and the pension; but the rewards were given to Columbus, on account of his having perceived the lights. The historical enemies of Columbus, of whom there are many, have loudly denounced the action of Columbus in thus taking away the pension from a poor sailor, some of them asserting that he did it “to increase his revenue;” but it is likely that he cared more for the honor of the achievement than for any financial benefit to be derived from it. The poor mariner Triana is said to have been so disgusted at the decision against him that he renounced his country and his religious faith, went to Africa, and became a Mohammedan.
Ferdinand.
Hush, mariner! your tongue makes scars within
Our solemn festival.
49
No wonder, king!
This Christ you fight for, did not He denounce
Injustice? Shall this Christless Christian, then,
Pose in His name? 'Twas I who first found land!
He saw a light, he says, in the black west.
Is fire, then, land? Or, “'twas a fisherman,
Whose torch arose and fell upon the waves!”
Is a boat land? Boats are for lack of land.
If boats are land, we carried land with us.
Or who can tell what boat the light was of?
Perchance some other member of our fleet.
Why should, then, this white-polled Italian rogue—
Laden from hold to deck with honors—try
To steal a sailor's hammock? Say I still,
Give me my velvet doublet and my pension!
Ferdinand.
How's this, Columbus?
Columbus.
Nothing care I, King,
For doublet or for pension; only still
To hold the honor first t' have sighted land.
Isabella.
But one admitted, they must go together.
Columbus
(firmly).
Then I claim all.—
Rodrigo.
And lose your lie-gashed soul.—
Forger of log-books—swindler of your crews—
Wear on your crest an honest sailor's curse!
May all your glory rust to iron chains
That drag you through disgrace! I pray to God
That when I found those isles, I found your grave!
May others steal your credit and your fame!
May e'en your name be blotted from that land
You claim you have discovered!
50
Guards, he raves;
Tear him away.
Rodrigo
(struggling as he is borne along).
I'll to another land,
And try Mahomet's justice. Farewell, thief!
Columbus.
Perchance he knows where still are other worlds,
And can lead other sailors there, as I
Led him to that.
Isabella.
Mind not these summer clouds
That flit before your glory. You shall now
Give us in detail all that you have seen
In yonder land of wonders. Who comes here?
[Enter First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh Scientists.
The term “Scientist” is employed in this poem as with no idea of reproach toward the scientists of the present day, who, it is needless to say, are of an entirely different class from those of the time of Columbus, and generally at the lead of all discovery and progress.
First Scientist.
Grand Confirmer of my views,
Welcome, with thy dazzling news!
Second Scientist.
Learning's true and valiant knight,
Well I knew that thou wast right!
Third Scientist.
All opposing voice be stilled!
My predictions are fulfilled!
Fourth Scientist.
Heaven in mercy hath devised
That my hopes be realized!
Fifth Scientist.
Brother of our learnèd band,
Let me shake thy hardy hand!
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What can courage not display,
When we scholars lead the way?
Seventh Scientist.
Tracer of our well-mapped sea,
We must give you a degree!
Deza.
Scholars, call him, if you please,
Brave Bewilderer of Degrees,
Grand Extinguisher of Schools.
Taught by educated fools;
Give Columbus this degree:
Famous Foe of Pedantry.
Scene III.
a humble room in the city of Valladolid. Columbus dying. He speaks to his servant.
Lift me down softly—softly!—this crushed form
Is dying old—old even beyond its years.
Is this my prayer-book? I have grown half-blind.
Hunting for worlds. Now once more must I search
And find my future home, where, maybe, I
Can serve beneath a king who will be just.
My breath drags anchor.—Ah! and so the Queen
Has abdicated for a higher throne,
And sleeps on beds of marble. I would fain
Have kissed once more that warm and shapely hand,
And drank again her blue eyes' sympathy,
And felt the heart-help of her soft, sweet voice.
Christ grant we heav'n together! Paradise
Would be a lonely port without my Queen.
Ah, Pain! Pain! Pain! how you are mocking me!
Is 't what I have done brings these agonies,
Or good left undone? Yes, I've much of both
T' account for; but my steps meant to be true.
Ah! 'twas a glorious dream—that grand crusade
Westward—to win Christ's Empire in the East!
Th' accomplishing of it might have been enough
T' have saved me now from dying poor—alone—
Nor son nor brother near me. 'Tis my fate;
Whatever Christ ordains—that be my fate;
It may be 'tis for needful discipline:
All purgatories are not after death.
Is dying old—old even beyond its years.
Is this my prayer-book? I have grown half-blind.
Hunting for worlds. Now once more must I search
And find my future home, where, maybe, I
Can serve beneath a king who will be just.
My breath drags anchor.—Ah! and so the Queen
Has abdicated for a higher throne,
And sleeps on beds of marble. I would fain
Have kissed once more that warm and shapely hand,
And drank again her blue eyes' sympathy,
And felt the heart-help of her soft, sweet voice.
Christ grant we heav'n together! Paradise
Would be a lonely port without my Queen.
Ah, Pain! Pain! Pain! how you are mocking me!
Is 't what I have done brings these agonies,
Or good left undone? Yes, I've much of both
T' account for; but my steps meant to be true.
52
Westward—to win Christ's Empire in the East!
Th' accomplishing of it might have been enough
T' have saved me now from dying poor—alone—
Nor son nor brother near me. 'Tis my fate;
Whatever Christ ordains—that be my fate;
It may be 'tis for needful discipline:
All purgatories are not after death.
Ah, that October morning! 'Twas a life—
'Twas twenty—fifty—nay, a thousand lives
Of days and nights eventless—when, behold,
My first land smiled upon me from the West!
It was a fairy dream come over-true;
It was a score of prostrate, plodding years
Turned upright toward the skies! It was my word
Shown to be gold 'mong the black dust of scorn
That covered it for tedious nights and days!
“Land! Land! Land! Land!” the happy sailors cried:
“You are a god!” they shouted: “You tore down
The key to Heaven's far secret! You are blessed
By all the saints!” They crawled and kissed my feet;
They begged for favors in my new domains;
They prayed for pardons of past mutinies;
But all that was as nothing. Came a voice,
Out of some unknown regions of my soul:
“You have found fame that ne'er can be forgot!
You are the greatest conqueror history knows!
A new, grand kind of conqueror—one who finds
The lands he subjugates!”—My God! my God!
Will nothing still this pain? It murders me!
'Twas twenty—fifty—nay, a thousand lives
Of days and nights eventless—when, behold,
My first land smiled upon me from the West!
It was a fairy dream come over-true;
It was a score of prostrate, plodding years
Turned upright toward the skies! It was my word
Shown to be gold 'mong the black dust of scorn
That covered it for tedious nights and days!
“Land! Land! Land! Land!” the happy sailors cried:
“You are a god!” they shouted: “You tore down
The key to Heaven's far secret! You are blessed
By all the saints!” They crawled and kissed my feet;
They begged for favors in my new domains;
They prayed for pardons of past mutinies;
But all that was as nothing. Came a voice,
Out of some unknown regions of my soul:
“You have found fame that ne'er can be forgot!
You are the greatest conqueror history knows!
A new, grand kind of conqueror—one who finds
The lands he subjugates!”—My God! my God!
Will nothing still this pain? It murders me!
Then my return! That bright land-voyage from
Seville to Barcelona! Surging waves
Of loud applause broke swiftly o'er my bark,
And gales of acclamation swept me on.
No more I tossed in Poverty's canoe;
My land-cruise was a fleet of brigantines,
With Victory's flag far flowing from the mast!
Ah, that rich April day, when the brave Queen
At Barcelona drew me to her throne!
When the wool-comber's tardily-honored son
Rode, king-like, through the flag-trimmed, shouting streets,
Escorted by Spain's grandest cavaliers,
Wherein proud generations stored their blood—
Whereon a thousand victory-jewels gleamed!
That was a life—a thousand lives in one!
My painted Indians walked along the street,
Like prisoners in a Roman triumph. Though
Some tears they shed, brewed by their home-sick hearts,
Some sighs they wafted toward the dreamy West,
Some pangs they suffered for their absent loves;
'Twas but required to heap my glory full;
My triumph's throne must needs foundation find
On some one's woe (all earthly honors crush
Beneath their feet the hopes of some who fail);
Women raved at me for their husbands, dead;
(All victories flaunt their banners over graves!)
Old Rodrigo deemed he discovered first
The land I brought him to:—well, every prize
Is grudged by those who lose it. 'Twas too sad
To see the poor, sour, disappointed man
Dive to the depths of infidelity!
Better, perhaps, t' have given him the boon,
Than see him lose that greatest boon—his soul!
Seville to Barcelona! Surging waves
Of loud applause broke swiftly o'er my bark,
And gales of acclamation swept me on.
No more I tossed in Poverty's canoe;
My land-cruise was a fleet of brigantines,
With Victory's flag far flowing from the mast!
53
At Barcelona drew me to her throne!
When the wool-comber's tardily-honored son
Rode, king-like, through the flag-trimmed, shouting streets,
Escorted by Spain's grandest cavaliers,
Wherein proud generations stored their blood—
Whereon a thousand victory-jewels gleamed!
That was a life—a thousand lives in one!
My painted Indians walked along the street,
Like prisoners in a Roman triumph. Though
Some tears they shed, brewed by their home-sick hearts,
Some sighs they wafted toward the dreamy West,
Some pangs they suffered for their absent loves;
'Twas but required to heap my glory full;
My triumph's throne must needs foundation find
On some one's woe (all earthly honors crush
Beneath their feet the hopes of some who fail);
Women raved at me for their husbands, dead;
(All victories flaunt their banners over graves!)
Old Rodrigo deemed he discovered first
The land I brought him to:—well, every prize
Is grudged by those who lose it. 'Twas too sad
To see the poor, sour, disappointed man
Dive to the depths of infidelity!
Better, perhaps, t' have given him the boon,
Than see him lose that greatest boon—his soul!
My second voyage! That September morn
I sailed from Cadiz! No more humbleness!
How they all fawned upon me! “Here he comes!”
The great Columbus! Ah, no one like me!
I was an angel! (One, be't understood,
That could endure all hardships for their sakes,
An angel with earth-favors he could grant.)
I walked among the cringing, common clay,
An Alexander without stature's lack,
For I towered head and shoulders 'bove them all!
How like a sailor-king I looked and felt!
'Twas a great day! And even then there came
(As always may—a cloud to every sky)
A bent and withered crone close to my side,
And whispered shrilly upward in my ear:
“Give credit to the pilot and his crew
Who lent you log and charts at Terceras;
Then died within your house and told no tales!”
I pushed the hag away, but not the lie:
It clung to me, and formed a dingy stain
On my renown, and always will be told.
Heaven rest the poor old pilot; I even had
To lend him charts with which to seek for heaven!
How little did he think to mar my fame!
I sailed from Cadiz! No more humbleness!
How they all fawned upon me! “Here he comes!”
The great Columbus! Ah, no one like me!
I was an angel! (One, be't understood,
That could endure all hardships for their sakes,
An angel with earth-favors he could grant.)
I walked among the cringing, common clay,
An Alexander without stature's lack,
For I towered head and shoulders 'bove them all!
How like a sailor-king I looked and felt!
'Twas a great day! And even then there came
54
A bent and withered crone close to my side,
And whispered shrilly upward in my ear:
“Give credit to the pilot and his crew
Who lent you log and charts at Terceras;
Then died within your house and told no tales!”
Alluding to the story that Columbus received his first ideas of land to westward from an old pilot who, in 1484, eight years previous to the voyage from Palos, had died in his house at Terceras, and left him all his charts and log-books, containing an account of his having been driven westward upon a recent voyage until he found an island (claimed to have been the present San Domingo). This story has been exploded again and again, but is still brought up to the discredit of Columbus, and will probably always be, according to the (fictitious) hag's prophecy.
I pushed the hag away, but not the lie:
It clung to me, and formed a dingy stain
On my renown, and always will be told.
Heaven rest the poor old pilot; I even had
To lend him charts with which to seek for heaven!
How little did he think to mar my fame!
Ah, that sad voyage homeward, decked in chains!
When Bobadilla—proud, religious knave—
Judge and attorney both—condemning me
From his ship's deck—before he reached my land!
Then, Espinosa—menial, scullion, slave—
A creature I had lifted from sad depths—
Hammered the fetters on my storm-scarred wrists.
So, with such jewels, I re-entered Spain;
So different from the glory-spangled day
When I brought back an empire in my hands!
The golden age of my career!—and this—
The grim iron age; yet no less proud was I,
Bearing sore envy's heavy metal gibes,
Than its unwilling plaudits.
Then those years
Through which I tarried to have justice done;
Nor lingered in the anteroom of sloth
(Waiting, with idleness, breeds agony),
But sailed for other crowns to give my Queen.
Even my old age toiled for this land of Spain
(Adopted by me—rich-brained foreigner—
And left a legacy of priceless worth)
As faithful as my prime. Oh, how they surge
And dash against my memory's dreary shore—
Those days and nights of age-resisted toil!
Days that I should have passed in glorious ease,
Nights that I should have slept on silken beds,
Surrounded by the splendors I had earned.
When Bobadilla—proud, religious knave—
Judge and attorney both—condemning me
From his ship's deck—before he reached my land!
Then, Espinosa—menial, scullion, slave—
A creature I had lifted from sad depths—
Hammered the fetters on my storm-scarred wrists.
So, with such jewels, I re-entered Spain;
So different from the glory-spangled day
When I brought back an empire in my hands!
The golden age of my career!—and this—
The grim iron age; yet no less proud was I,
Bearing sore envy's heavy metal gibes,
Than its unwilling plaudits.
Then those years
Through which I tarried to have justice done;
Nor lingered in the anteroom of sloth
(Waiting, with idleness, breeds agony),
But sailed for other crowns to give my Queen.
Even my old age toiled for this land of Spain
(Adopted by me—rich-brained foreigner—
And left a legacy of priceless worth)
As faithful as my prime. Oh, how they surge
And dash against my memory's dreary shore—
Those days and nights of age-resisted toil!
Days that I should have passed in glorious ease,
55
Surrounded by the splendors I had earned.
And here I die, attended by no crowd
Of waiting messengers, to tell the world
That it has lost a hero. Well, 'tis well!
I perish here as poor as I was born;
But so do all. The grave is Death's frontier,
Impassable; and even if 'twere not,
The living seize the wealth of th' dying ones.
A worthless, poor old mariner I die;
And so do all; launching on unknown seas,
And landing where—they can but only hope.
With all earth's living heroes far from me,
I die; and still cannot forego to think
That great discoveries may make glad this voyage,
Of such as each soul must make for itself;
That all the sailors of that farther shore
Will meet me when I land, and hail me chief.
Of waiting messengers, to tell the world
That it has lost a hero. Well, 'tis well!
I perish here as poor as I was born;
But so do all. The grave is Death's frontier,
Impassable; and even if 'twere not,
The living seize the wealth of th' dying ones.
A worthless, poor old mariner I die;
And so do all; launching on unknown seas,
And landing where—they can but only hope.
With all earth's living heroes far from me,
I die; and still cannot forego to think
That great discoveries may make glad this voyage,
Of such as each soul must make for itself;
That all the sailors of that farther shore
Will meet me when I land, and hail me chief.
[He dies.
[Enter the spirits of Freedom and Progress.
Spirit of Freedom.
Thou who foundst the free-born West,
Enter, strong, free soul, to rest.
Thou hast opened wide the door
Into refuge evermore,
Of those who, with longings high,
Cringe beneath an eastern sky.
Thou shalt always honored be,
By the Empire of the Free:
By that land across the main,
Which will far out-dazzle Spain;
Which, within the centuries bright,
That shall follow these of night,
Will disperse its beams afar,
As sometimes the morning-star
Sheds an earth-detected ray
In the glaring Summer day.
Rest, thou search-light of the sea,
Homeward thou didst guide the free!
56
Hero, rest, but not for long:
All the brave and true and strong
Who possess the Hidden Land,
Soon will come to press thy hand.
Thou hadst flaws: thy gleaming brain
Bore some rust from Error's chain;
Thy fault-flecked but generous heart
From earth-passions could not part;
But if ever pain and grief
Out of glory snatched relief,
If the quarried gold can shine
When uncovered in the mine,
If the darkness can take flight
When appears the morning light,
All thy woes shall be redressed,
Patient Finder of the West;
All thy earth-born faults condoned,
Though by cavillers bemoaned;
Thy wrongs shall be made a theme
Of the true historian's choice,
And the poet's waking dream,
And the marble's silent voice.
When that late-born western land
Shall be rich and great and grand,
It will show its treasures vast—
It will celebrate its fame—
With a pageant unsurpassed—
Bearing thy illustrious name.
Long as Humankind believe
That 'tis duty to achieve;
Long as Faith can struggle free
For what she cannot yet see;
Long as Toil aspires to gain
Glory from fatigue and pain;
Long as Earth keeps on its way,
Marching, marching every day,
The Columbus still shall not
Be neglected or forgot.
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