Gods, Saints & Men By Eugene Lee-Hamilton ... With Ten Full-Page Illustartions Designed by Enrico Mazzanti |
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THE WITNESS. |
 | Gods, Saints & Men |  |
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THE WITNESS.
The rising sun, the setting sun, was Spanish.
It was the time when Spain at length had clutched
Those phantom islands which would loom and vanish,
Where western skies the western billows touched.
It was the time when Spain's o'er restless souls
Were made the lords of undiscovered realms;
And Spanish ships that boldly turned their helms,
Towards Fancy's ports and Dreamland's airy goals,
Would reach instead some strange substantial shore.
It was the time when old and wrinkled creatures,
Seeking in Florida the fount of youth,
Would taste each spring, and then survey their features
Reflected in its surface, where the truth
Too harshly told, but made them search the more;
It was the time when every hungry scholar,
With gaping elbows and with ragged collar,
Might dream of foot-prints left in sands of gold,
And Indian streams whose waters rubies rolled;
Of monstrous gems in Aztec temples stored;
And sell his books to buy himself a sword.
It was the time when Spain at length had clutched
Those phantom islands which would loom and vanish,
Where western skies the western billows touched.
It was the time when Spain's o'er restless souls
Were made the lords of undiscovered realms;
And Spanish ships that boldly turned their helms,
Towards Fancy's ports and Dreamland's airy goals,
Would reach instead some strange substantial shore.
It was the time when old and wrinkled creatures,
Seeking in Florida the fount of youth,
Would taste each spring, and then survey their features
Reflected in its surface, where the truth
Too harshly told, but made them search the more;
It was the time when every hungry scholar,
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Might dream of foot-prints left in sands of gold,
And Indian streams whose waters rubies rolled;
Of monstrous gems in Aztec temples stored;
And sell his books to buy himself a sword.
Just such a scholar, full of restless dreams,
Dwelt in a city where the Tagus streams;
Which city I forget; it little matters:
It had grandees, and crowds in rags and tatters;
And tattered was young Blas, although in truth
Nature had shaped him for a handsome youth;
And had his body been less gaunt and lean,
And his apparel less unstitched and mean,
He might have hoped to captivate a queen.
As matters stood, he had transfixed the heart
Of no one save a sempstress; but the dart
Had firmly lodged, for in Teresa's eyes
There was no leanness in him—only beauty.
Dwelt in a city where the Tagus streams;
Which city I forget; it little matters:
It had grandees, and crowds in rags and tatters;
And tattered was young Blas, although in truth
Nature had shaped him for a handsome youth;
And had his body been less gaunt and lean,
And his apparel less unstitched and mean,
He might have hoped to captivate a queen.
As matters stood, he had transfixed the heart
Of no one save a sempstress; but the dart
Had firmly lodged, for in Teresa's eyes
There was no leanness in him—only beauty.
She was a patient girl, who loved to rise
At break of day and shirked no irksome duty.
Her dearest wish—the day-dream of her life—
Was to become this shabby scholar's wife.
She long had hoped, with their united earnings,
To reach this end, the goal of all her yearnings,
And laboured hard with courage and with skill
To save a little; work was paid but ill.
But not a rap the hungry scholar earned,
And oft she lent him what he ne'er returned.
He loathed his books, he loathed his three-legged stool,
And thought each learned teacher but a fool.
What, work all day, to be a lawyer's drudge,
And dull and fameless to an office trudge;
When valiant captains on the coast unfurled
Their daring banners for the new-found world!
What, drive a quill, and copy by the hour,
When rapid paths led on to fame and power!
Not he, not he. And so one day he told
Teresa he was leaving, and had sold
His books to buy an outfit, and would leave
To seek his fortune o'er the western seas;
That he would soon return; she must not grieve,
But bow her head to Heaven's wise decrees.
Why should she sob and wildly wring her hands,
For her alone he sought those distant lands.
He would return enriched, no longer needy
As now he was—the road to wealth was speedy—
And then they should get married, for he knew
That she would wait with patience and be true.
At break of day and shirked no irksome duty.
Her dearest wish—the day-dream of her life—
Was to become this shabby scholar's wife.
She long had hoped, with their united earnings,
To reach this end, the goal of all her yearnings,
And laboured hard with courage and with skill
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But not a rap the hungry scholar earned,
And oft she lent him what he ne'er returned.
He loathed his books, he loathed his three-legged stool,
And thought each learned teacher but a fool.
What, work all day, to be a lawyer's drudge,
And dull and fameless to an office trudge;
When valiant captains on the coast unfurled
Their daring banners for the new-found world!
What, drive a quill, and copy by the hour,
When rapid paths led on to fame and power!
Not he, not he. And so one day he told
Teresa he was leaving, and had sold
His books to buy an outfit, and would leave
To seek his fortune o'er the western seas;
That he would soon return; she must not grieve,
But bow her head to Heaven's wise decrees.
Why should she sob and wildly wring her hands,
For her alone he sought those distant lands.
He would return enriched, no longer needy
As now he was—the road to wealth was speedy—
And then they should get married, for he knew
That she would wait with patience and be true.
It chanced that, when he told her, they were walking
In the old gothic cloisters, where their talking
Had no observers. 'Twas a fair retreat
Where hollow echoes from beneath their feet
Revealed the dwellings of eternal sleepers;
While through the gothic lace-work might be seen
The waving leaves, and tendrils fresh and green,
Of o'er-luxuriant and intrusive creepers.
The scholar and the maiden were alone;
The only thing which human shape possessed
Was the Redeemer's figure, looking down
With half closed lids, as if by pain oppressed,
From a great Cross. And, as the couple passed
Before this Cross, the scholar stopped, and said,
While on the holy form a look he cast:
“I will return and thee alone will wed,
Nay, even by this crucifix I swear it,
And from my heart I call on Christ to hear it.”
In the old gothic cloisters, where their talking
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Where hollow echoes from beneath their feet
Revealed the dwellings of eternal sleepers;
While through the gothic lace-work might be seen
The waving leaves, and tendrils fresh and green,
Of o'er-luxuriant and intrusive creepers.
The scholar and the maiden were alone;
The only thing which human shape possessed
Was the Redeemer's figure, looking down
With half closed lids, as if by pain oppressed,
From a great Cross. And, as the couple passed
Before this Cross, the scholar stopped, and said,
While on the holy form a look he cast:
“I will return and thee alone will wed,
Nay, even by this crucifix I swear it,
And from my heart I call on Christ to hear it.”
And so young Blas, the hungry scholar, started
Upon his journey, all the more light-hearted
That in his knapsack lay Teresa's savings.
When he set off it was the close of day,
The setting sun appeared to point the way
To those far shores, the object of his cravings;
But for Teresa, as she lingered still,
When he was out of sight upon the hill,
The evening's many shadows seemed to fall
Upon her heart like a funeral pall.
Through distant mists, its fatal journey done,
Large, round, and rayless, slowly sank the sun.
It touched the plain; she watched its lobe diminish,
As if all gladness with its sight must finish.
For some few moments, after it had dipt,
Each passing cloud with crimson light was tipt;
Then all was grey, and distant sounds which fell
Upon her ear were like a faint farewell.
Upon his journey, all the more light-hearted
That in his knapsack lay Teresa's savings.
When he set off it was the close of day,
The setting sun appeared to point the way
To those far shores, the object of his cravings;
But for Teresa, as she lingered still,
When he was out of sight upon the hill,
The evening's many shadows seemed to fall
Upon her heart like a funeral pall.
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Large, round, and rayless, slowly sank the sun.
It touched the plain; she watched its lobe diminish,
As if all gladness with its sight must finish.
For some few moments, after it had dipt,
Each passing cloud with crimson light was tipt;
Then all was grey, and distant sounds which fell
Upon her ear were like a faint farewell.
Then one by one the tardy years went by,
Each like the last, nor brought they his returning.
The sempstress sat and sewed, and, with a sigh,
Counted the days in undiminished yearning.
Years eight; years nine; years ten, and still she waited,
Nor ceased to think that his return was fated.
She questioned many soldiers from Peru
And Mexico, but none her lover knew.
They told her of the dangers men must run
Who sought the countries of the setting sun;
How sudden fever made them lose their hold
Of long-sought gems and hardly-gotten gold;
How Indian slaves rose up against their lords,
Inventing deaths unpaintable by words;
How Christian soldiers turned upon each other,
And, for a bauble, brother murdered brother.
She shuddered as she listened, but she never
Allowed these tales the thread of hope to sever.
Each like the last, nor brought they his returning.
The sempstress sat and sewed, and, with a sigh,
Counted the days in undiminished yearning.
Years eight; years nine; years ten, and still she waited,
Nor ceased to think that his return was fated.
She questioned many soldiers from Peru
And Mexico, but none her lover knew.
They told her of the dangers men must run
Who sought the countries of the setting sun;
How sudden fever made them lose their hold
Of long-sought gems and hardly-gotten gold;
How Indian slaves rose up against their lords,
Inventing deaths unpaintable by words;
How Christian soldiers turned upon each other,
And, for a bauble, brother murdered brother.
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Allowed these tales the thread of hope to sever.
One day a soldier whom she thus had questioned
Told her a famous captain would arrive
Soon in that city, by whose good assistance
It might be learnt if Blas was still alive;
A man of note in Transatlantic lands,
Who knew the leaders of all Spanish bands,
The very man to help her; when he came
Let her apply, Rodriguez was his name.
Told her a famous captain would arrive
Soon in that city, by whose good assistance
It might be learnt if Blas was still alive;
A man of note in Transatlantic lands,
Who knew the leaders of all Spanish bands,
The very man to help her; when he came
Let her apply, Rodriguez was his name.
The great man came, she waited near his inn
With beating heart, as if it were a sin;
At last he sallied forth: his martial look,
His sword which clicked at every step he took,
His cloak of scarlet thrown across his shoulder,
Were little fit to make the suitor bolder;
But scarcely did her eyes his features scan,
Than with a shriek she wildly forward ran
And clutched his arm, for in that warlike man
She recogised her Blas. But with a wrench
He freed his arm—“What means,” he cried, “this wench,
What mean her words? I swear I know her not,”
And from his eyes a look of menace shot.
“Blas, Blas,” she cried in tones that cruelly faltered,
“Dost thou not know me? Am I wholly altered?”
But with a look that was more threat'ning still,
“Begone,” he cried, “or it shall fare thee ill!
Leave me in peace, I know thee not, I say,”
And with an oath he bade her pass her way,
While she, down sinking, clasped his knees in vain,
And all bewildered struggled to detain.
With beating heart, as if it were a sin;
At last he sallied forth: his martial look,
His sword which clicked at every step he took,
His cloak of scarlet thrown across his shoulder,
Were little fit to make the suitor bolder;
But scarcely did her eyes his features scan,
Than with a shriek she wildly forward ran
And clutched his arm, for in that warlike man
She recogised her Blas. But with a wrench
He freed his arm—“What means,” he cried, “this wench,
What mean her words? I swear I know her not,”
And from his eyes a look of menace shot.
“Blas, Blas,” she cried in tones that cruelly faltered,
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But with a look that was more threat'ning still,
“Begone,” he cried, “or it shall fare thee ill!
Leave me in peace, I know thee not, I say,”
And with an oath he bade her pass her way,
While she, down sinking, clasped his knees in vain,
And all bewildered struggled to detain.
A crowd had gathered, none in pity stared,
But at her cost nor gibe nor joke was spared;
Until Rodriguez, with a voice of thunder,
Ended the scene, and forced the throng asunder;
And she half senseless mid the ceaseless scoff,
Was roughly taken up, and carried off
To the Corregidor's.
But at her cost nor gibe nor joke was spared;
Until Rodriguez, with a voice of thunder,
Ended the scene, and forced the throng asunder;
And she half senseless mid the ceaseless scoff,
Was roughly taken up, and carried off
To the Corregidor's.
The stern old man,
Who held that weighty office in the city,
Was more renowned for justice than for pity;
And with a frown, to try the case began.
“Woman,” he said, “a grave offence is thine,
Which will be punished both by jail and fine,
Unless thou canst adduce good exculpation;
For thou art charged with wanton molestation,
And public outrage to a Cavalier;
So make thy best defence; explain away
What thou hast done, or for his pardon pray
In true repentance, so that all may hear.”
Who held that weighty office in the city,
Was more renowned for justice than for pity;
And with a frown, to try the case began.
“Woman,” he said, “a grave offence is thine,
Which will be punished both by jail and fine,
Unless thou canst adduce good exculpation;
For thou art charged with wanton molestation,
And public outrage to a Cavalier;
So make thy best defence; explain away
99
In true repentance, so that all may hear.”
Teresa raised her head and eyed the judge,
And then the crowd, and then the judge again;
And with that eloquence which God doth grudge
To none, however lowly, when in pain,
She poured a flood of words, and not in vain,
For all were forced to listen, even he
Who had most reason to detest her plea;
“A devil, oh, a devil's in his heart,”
She fiercely cried, “that steals away his honour,
And makes him lie, and play a villain's part
To her he loved, and heap up outrage on her.
He sought my love, he bound himself by oath,
Then sailed for riches, riches for us both;
And now he knows me not, and swears to Heaven
He ne'er hath seen me, nor hath pledges given.
I care not for his wealth, I want his love;
Nay less, a kindly look. But doth he move?
I know I now am plain, ten years have passed
Since he went off, and beauty fadeth fast;
The more so as I stinted and lived scant,
Lest when he came he should be still in want.
I claimed no right. If only he had said
‘I know thee well, and mind me of old times,
Thou art the woman that I swore to wed;
But I have prospered in those distant climes,
I now am rich and great, and thou art poor,’
I should have bowed my head and should have stood
Among the crowd of beggars at his door,
To see him pass; it would have done me good.
But to be cheated of a single nod,
To be denied the pittance of a smile,
To hear him say, and say again, O God,
That he ne'er saw my face, while all the while
I can read recognition in his eyes,
Which say distinctly what his tongue denies;
I've not the strength.”
And then the crowd, and then the judge again;
And with that eloquence which God doth grudge
To none, however lowly, when in pain,
She poured a flood of words, and not in vain,
For all were forced to listen, even he
Who had most reason to detest her plea;
“A devil, oh, a devil's in his heart,”
She fiercely cried, “that steals away his honour,
And makes him lie, and play a villain's part
To her he loved, and heap up outrage on her.
He sought my love, he bound himself by oath,
Then sailed for riches, riches for us both;
And now he knows me not, and swears to Heaven
He ne'er hath seen me, nor hath pledges given.
I care not for his wealth, I want his love;
Nay less, a kindly look. But doth he move?
I know I now am plain, ten years have passed
Since he went off, and beauty fadeth fast;
The more so as I stinted and lived scant,
Lest when he came he should be still in want.
I claimed no right. If only he had said
‘I know thee well, and mind me of old times,
Thou art the woman that I swore to wed;
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I now am rich and great, and thou art poor,’
I should have bowed my head and should have stood
Among the crowd of beggars at his door,
To see him pass; it would have done me good.
But to be cheated of a single nod,
To be denied the pittance of a smile,
To hear him say, and say again, O God,
That he ne'er saw my face, while all the while
I can read recognition in his eyes,
Which say distinctly what his tongue denies;
I've not the strength.”
The old Corregidor,
Whose rugged face a gentler aspect wore,
Reluctantly replied, “What can I say?
Thou hearest what he answers; That this day
He first beholds thy face; that thou art mad,
Or that from secret motives, base and bad,
Thou hast against him lifted up thy voice.
Between his word and thine I have no choice,
Thou hast adduced no proof, nor called a witness;
There yet is time, therefore bethink thee well;
Hast thou no friend? none whom thou canst compel
To speak? For if thou hast one, in all fitness
He must be heard.”
Whose rugged face a gentler aspect wore,
Reluctantly replied, “What can I say?
Thou hearest what he answers; That this day
He first beholds thy face; that thou art mad,
Or that from secret motives, base and bad,
Thou hast against him lifted up thy voice.
Between his word and thine I have no choice,
Thou hast adduced no proof, nor called a witness;
There yet is time, therefore bethink thee well;
Hast thou no friend? none whom thou canst compel
To speak? For if thou hast one, in all fitness
He must be heard.”
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Teresa shook her head.
“Alas,” she slowly and in sadness said,
“'Tis ten years back; and when this man did swear
One day to wed me, not a soul was there.
We were alone together, and the place
Was the old gothic cloister, lone and bare,
But wait, but wait”—and on the speaker's face
A strange and sudden inspiration shone,
“I have, I have, a witness! There is one
Who silently looked on, and must have heard
As we were talking, every single word!
You all must know the lofty cross which stands
Against the wall, where Christ with punctured hands
Hangs long, and lean and livid, looking down,
With blood drops trickling from his thorny crown;
Go seek this Christ, and take his deposition,
For something tells me that it will be given.
Go,” she repeated with a wild decision,
“Go seek him quick, for I appeal to Heaven!”
“Alas,” she slowly and in sadness said,
“'Tis ten years back; and when this man did swear
One day to wed me, not a soul was there.
We were alone together, and the place
Was the old gothic cloister, lone and bare,
But wait, but wait”—and on the speaker's face
A strange and sudden inspiration shone,
“I have, I have, a witness! There is one
Who silently looked on, and must have heard
As we were talking, every single word!
You all must know the lofty cross which stands
Against the wall, where Christ with punctured hands
Hangs long, and lean and livid, looking down,
With blood drops trickling from his thorny crown;
Go seek this Christ, and take his deposition,
For something tells me that it will be given.
Go,” she repeated with a wild decision,
“Go seek him quick, for I appeal to Heaven!”
A murmur of derision from the crowd, which filled the hall compactly,
Met at first her strange proposal, while the Captain burst
Into a laugh as angry as 'twas loud,
“Did I not say the woman's mad?” he cried,
“'Tis time, methinks, to let her hands be tied;”
But, with rebuking gesture of the hand,
The magistrate in tone of stern command
Bade all attend, and check unseemly mirth.
“There be,” he said, “strange things upon this earth,
Neither too rashly laugh, nor rashly scout,
For there be cases when, beyond a doubt,
This Christian country's most religious laws
Allow the parties to transfer their cause
To better hands than man's, and to appeal
To miracle; not oft doth God reveal
The truth directly, but at times he doth,
And then it profits Faith and Morals both.
I therefore mean, without a moment's loss,
To send my scribe and guard of halberdiers
To crave this attestation from the Cross
In due and legal form. For it appears
(At least to my frail reason), most unfit,
That I, an earthly Judge, should judging sit
In presence of the effigy of Him
Who raised the Dead and on the waters trod,
And can throw light where all for man is dim;
With such a witness none may judge but God.”
Met at first her strange proposal, while the Captain burst
Into a laugh as angry as 'twas loud,
“Did I not say the woman's mad?” he cried,
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But, with rebuking gesture of the hand,
The magistrate in tone of stern command
Bade all attend, and check unseemly mirth.
“There be,” he said, “strange things upon this earth,
Neither too rashly laugh, nor rashly scout,
For there be cases when, beyond a doubt,
This Christian country's most religious laws
Allow the parties to transfer their cause
To better hands than man's, and to appeal
To miracle; not oft doth God reveal
The truth directly, but at times he doth,
And then it profits Faith and Morals both.
I therefore mean, without a moment's loss,
To send my scribe and guard of halberdiers
To crave this attestation from the Cross
In due and legal form. For it appears
(At least to my frail reason), most unfit,
That I, an earthly Judge, should judging sit
In presence of the effigy of Him
Who raised the Dead and on the waters trod,
And can throw light where all for man is dim;
With such a witness none may judge but God.”
And so that summer evening, as the sun
To wane on the horizon had begun,
And in farewell dispatched a slanting ray
To kiss the cloisters, and their columns gray;
An unaccustomed sound of trampling feet
Disturbed the silence of the lone retreat.
With rapid steps the motley small procession,
Which sought the place for Heaven's intercession,
Made straight for the great Crucifix, on which
A flood of colour, warm and soft and rich,
Direct descended, making strangely vivid
The dead Redeemer's limbs, which now not livid,
But full of life appeared.
To wane on the horizon had begun,
And in farewell dispatched a slanting ray
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An unaccustomed sound of trampling feet
Disturbed the silence of the lone retreat.
With rapid steps the motley small procession,
Which sought the place for Heaven's intercession,
Made straight for the great Crucifix, on which
A flood of colour, warm and soft and rich,
Direct descended, making strangely vivid
The dead Redeemer's limbs, which now not livid,
But full of life appeared.
The halberdiers
First having in a circle taken station
Around the Cross, the scribe (as it appears
From ancient records), made devout prostration;
Then took his little ink-horn from his belt,
And with one knee upon the pavement knelt,
The while upon the other knee he rested
The legal form which was to be attested.
Upon his right the haughty captain stood
In sullen silence liking ill the jest;
While on his left, all muffled in her hood,
Teresa waited with a heaving breast.
“Jesus, the Son of God,” the scribe began
“Who to redeem men's sins becameth human,
Dost Thou bear solemn witness that this man
Did in Thy presence swear to wed this woman?”
There was a pause; all present fixed their eyes
Upon the Cross in breathless mute surmise,
Even the doubters in their very doubt.
And well they might, for wonder's sudden shout
From every mouth a mighty portent hailed—
The carved Redeemer suddenly unnailed
His arm from off the wood, and stretched it out
Like one who takes an oath; while some declared
That through his lifeless lips there passed a “Yes.”
First having in a circle taken station
Around the Cross, the scribe (as it appears
From ancient records), made devout prostration;
Then took his little ink-horn from his belt,
And with one knee upon the pavement knelt,
The while upon the other knee he rested
The legal form which was to be attested.
Upon his right the haughty captain stood
In sullen silence liking ill the jest;
While on his left, all muffled in her hood,
Teresa waited with a heaving breast.
“Jesus, the Son of God,” the scribe began
“Who to redeem men's sins becameth human,
Dost Thou bear solemn witness that this man
Did in Thy presence swear to wed this woman?”
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Upon the Cross in breathless mute surmise,
Even the doubters in their very doubt.
And well they might, for wonder's sudden shout
From every mouth a mighty portent hailed—
The carved Redeemer suddenly unnailed
His arm from off the wood, and stretched it out
Like one who takes an oath; while some declared
That through his lifeless lips there passed a “Yes.”
Upon the word I lay but little stress,
But this is certain that this selfsame Christ
Can still be seen by any that may care:
The arm is stretched as in the act of giving
An attestation; less has oft sufficed
In pious lands to keep a legend living.
But this is certain that this selfsame Christ
Can still be seen by any that may care:
The arm is stretched as in the act of giving
An attestation; less has oft sufficed
In pious lands to keep a legend living.
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