The Lusiad; Or, The Discovery of India, an Epic Poem
says,[5] of Fanshaw's version, that "its language is antiquated, and in
many instances it travesties the original, and seldom long sustains the
tone of epic gravity suited to the poem. It is, however," says he, "more
faithful than the translation of Mickle, but it would be ungenerous," he
adds, "to dwell on the paraphrastic licences which abound in Mickle's
performance, and on its many interpolations and omissions. Mr. Mickle
thought, no doubt," says Musgrave, "that by this process he should
produce a poem which in its perusal might afford a higher gratification.
Nor am I prepared to say that by all readers this would be deemed a
miscalculation. Let it not be supposed, however, that I wish to detract
from the intrinsic merit of his translation. It is but an act of justice
to admit, that it contains many passages of exquisite beauty, and that
it is a performance which discovers much genius, a cultivated taste, and
a brilliant imagination. Many parts of the original are rendered with
great facility, elegance, and fidelity. In poetical elegance I presume
not to enter into competition with him."
For his own performance Musgrave claims the merit of greater fidelity to
the original; but in respect of harmony, in true poetic grace, and
sublimity of diction, his translation will bear no comparison with
Mickle's version; for even Southey, in the article before quoted, though
very hard upon his interpolations, admits that, "Mickle was a man of
genius ... a man whom we admire and respect; whose memory is without a
spot, and whose name will live among the English poets." (_Quarterly
Review_, liii. p. 29.)
It only remains for me to say, that in order to place the reader in a
position to judge of the merits of this sublime effort of genius, I have
distinguished Mickle's longer interpolations by printing them in Bk. i.
p. 24, in _Italics_, and in the first 300 lines of Bk. ix. by calling
the attention of the reader to the interpolation by means of a
foot-note. The notes are, in general, left as written by the translator,
except in some cases where it seemed advisable to curtail them. Original
notes are indicated by the abbreviation "_Ed._"
THE EDITOR.
LONDON, 1877.
THE LIFE OF CAMOËNS,
BY WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.
When the glory of the arms of Portugal had reached its meridian
splendour, Nature, as if in pity of the literary rudeness of that
nation, produced a great poet to record the numberless actions of high
spirit performed by his countrymen. Except Osorius, the historians of
Portugal are little better than dry journalists. But it is not their
inelegance which rendered the poet necessary. It is the peculiar nature
of poetry to give a colouring to heroic actions, and to express
indignation against breaches of honour, in a spirit which at once seizes
the heart of the man of feeling, and carries with it instantaneous
conviction. The brilliant actions of the Portuguese form the great hinge
which opened the door to the most important alterations in the civil
history of mankind. And to place these actions in the light and
enthusiasm of poetry--that enthusiasm which particularly assimilates the
youthful breast to its own fires--was Luis de Camoëns the poet of
Portugal, born.
Different cities have claimed the honour of his birth. But according to
N. Antonio, and Manuel Correa, his intimate friend, this event happened
at Lisbon in 1517.[6] His family was of considerable note, and
originally Spanish. In 1370 Vasco Perez de Caamans, disgusted at the
court of Castile, fled to that of Lisbon, where King Ferdinand
immediately admitted him into his council, and gave him the lordships of
Sardoal, Punnete, Marano, Amendo, and other considerable lands; a
certain proof of the eminence of his rank and abilities. In the war for
the succession, which broke out on the death of Ferdinand, Caamans
sided with the King of Castile, and was killed in the battle of
Aljabarota. But though John I., the victor, seized a great part of his
estate, his widow, the daughter of Gonsalo Tereyro, grand master of the
Order of Christ, and general of the Portuguese army, was not reduced
beneath her rank. She had three sons, who took the name of Camoëns. The
family of the eldest intermarried with the first nobility of Portugal,
and even, according to Castera, with the blood royal. But the family of
the second brother, whose fortune was slender, had the superior honour
to produce the author of the Lusiad.
Early in life the misfortunes of the poet began. In his infancy, Simon
Vaz de Camoëns, his father, commander of a vessel, was shipwrecked at
Goa, where, with his life, the greatest part of his fortune was lost.
His mother, however, Anne de Macedo of Santarem, provided for the
education of her son Luis, at the University of Coimbra. What he
acquired there his works discover; an intimacy with the classics, equal
to that of a Scaliger, but directed by the taste of a Milton or a Pope.
When he left the university he appeared at court. He was a polished
scholar and very handsome,[7] possessing a most engaging mien and
address, with the finest complexion, which, added to the natural ardour
and gay vivacity of his deposition, rendered him an accomplished
gentleman. Courts are the scenes of intrigue, and intrigue was
fashionable at Lisbon. But the particulars of the amours of Camoëns rest
unknown. This only appears: he had aspired above his rank, for he was
banished from the court; and in several of his sonnets he ascribes this
misfortune to love.
He now retired to his mother's friends at Santarem. Here he renewed his
studies, and began his poem on the discovery of India. John III. at this
time prepared an armament against Africa. Camoëns, tired of his
inactive, obscure life, went to Ceuta in this expedition, and greatly
distinguished his valour in several _rencontres_. In a naval engagement
with the Moors in the Straits of Gibraltar, Camoëns, in the conflict of
boarding, where he was among the foremost, lost his right eye. Yet
neither the hurry of actual service, nor the dissipation of the camp,
could stifle his genius. He continued his _Lusiadas_; and several of his
most beautiful sonnets were written in Africa, while, as he expresses
it,
"One hand the pen, and ant the sword employ'd."
The fame of his valour had now reached the Court, and he obtained
permission to return to Lisbon. But while he solicited an establishment
which he had merited in the ranks of battle, the malignity of evil
tongues (as he calls it in one of his letters) was injuriously poured
upon him. Though the bloom of his early youth was effaced by several
years residence under the scorching sky of Africa, and though altered by
the loss of an eye, his presence gave uneasiness to the gentlemen of
some families of the first rank where he had formerly visited. Jealousy
is the characteristic of the Spanish and Portuguese; its resentment
knows no bounds, and Camoëns now found it prudent to banish himself from
his native country. Accordingly, in 1553 he hailed for India, with a
resolution never to return. As the ship left the Tagus he exclaimed, in
the words of the sepulchral monument of Scipio Africanus, "_Ingrata
patria, non possidebis ossa mea!_" (Ungrateful country, thou shalt not
possess my bones!) But he knew not what evils in the East would awaken
the remembrance of his native fields.
When Camoëns arrived in India, an expedition was ready to sail to
revenge the King of Cochin on the King of Pimenta. Without any rest on
shore after his long voyage, he joined this armament, and, in the
conquest of the Alagada Islands, displayed his usual bravery. But his
modesty, perhaps, is his greatest praise. In a sonnet he mentions this
expedition: "We went to punish the King of Pimenta," says he, "_e
succedeones bem_" (and we succeeded well). When it is considered that
the poet bore no inconsiderable share in the victory, no ode can
conclude more elegantly, more happily than this.
In the year following, he attended Manuel de Vasconcello in an
expedition to the Red Sea. Here, says Faria, as Camoëns had no use for
his sword, he employed his pen. Nor was his activity confined to the
fleet or camp. He visited Mount Felix, and the adjacent inhospitable
regions of Africa, which he so strongly pictures in the Lusiad, and in
one of his little pieces, where he laments the absence of his mistress.
When he returned to Goa, he enjoyed a tranquility which enabled him to
bestow his attention on his epic poem. But this serenity was
interrupted, perhaps by his own imprudence. He wrote some satires which
gave offence, and by order of the viceroy, Francisco Barreto, he was
banished to China.
Men of poor abilities are more conscious of their embarrassment and
errors than is commonly believed. When men of this kind are in power,
they affect great solemnity; and every expression of the most distant
tendency to lessen their dignity is held as the greatest of crimes.
Conscious, also, how severely the man of genius can hurt their interest,
they bear an instinctive antipathy against him, are uneasy even in his
company, and, on the slightest pretence, are happy to drive him from
them. Camoëns was thus situated at Goa; and never was there a fairer
field for satire than the rulers of India at that time afforded. Yet,
whatever esteem the prudence of Camoëns may lose in our idea, the
nobleness of his disposition will doubly gain. And, so conscious was he
of his real integrity and innocence, that in one of his sonnets he
wishes no other revenge on Barreto than that the cruelty of his exile
should ever be remembered.[8]
The accomplishments and manners of Camoëns soon found him friends,
though under the disgrace of banishment. He was appointed Commissary of
the estates of deceased persons, in the island of Macao, a Portuguese
settlement on the coast of China. Here he continued his Lusiad; and
here, also, after five years residence, he acquired a fortune, though
small, yet equal to his wishes. Don Constantine de Braganza was now
Viceroy of India; and Camoëns, desirous to return to Goa, resigned his
charge. In a ship, freighted by himself, he set sail, but was
shipwrecked in the gulf near the mouth of the river Meekhaun, in Cochin
China. All he had acquired was lost in the waves: his poems, which he
held in one hand, while he swam with the other, were all he found
himself possessed of when he stood friendless on the unknown shore. But
the natives gave him a most humane reception; this he has immortalized
in the prophetic song in the tenth Lusiad;[9] and in the seventh he
tells us that here he lost the wealth which satisfied his wishes.
_Agora da esperança ja adquirida, etc._
"Now blest with all the wealth fond hope could crave,
Soon I beheld that wealth beneath the wave
For ever lost;----
My life like Judah's Heaven-doom'd king of yore
By miracle prolong'd."
On the banks of the Meekhaun, he wrote his beautiful paraphrase of the
137th Psalm, where the Jews, in the finest strain of poetry, are
represented as hanging their harps on the willows by the rivers of
Babylon, and weeping their exile from their native country. Here Camoëns
continued some time, till an opportunity offered to carry him to Goa.
When he arrived at that city, Don Constantine de Braganza, the viceroy,
whose characteristic was politeness, admitted him into intimate
friendship, and Camoëns was happy till Count Redondo assumed the
government. Those who had formerly procured the banishment of the
satirist were silent while Constantine was in power. But now they
exerted all their arts against him. Redondo, when he entered on office,
pretended to be the friend of Camoëns; yet, with the most unfeeling
indifference, he suffered the innocent man to be thrown into the common