Precious is the dream, more precious than life itself;
The promise of glory that leads men to their deaths,
Venturing ever further into the perilous unknown.
Bartering their souls, their lives, for great fortune.
El Dorado! The Earthly Paradise lures its pilgrims on,
Through deserts, over mountains, across rivers and seas,
Gold-dazzled, hope-scourged, striving beyond the possible
To be crowned kings, immortals, gods among men.
Once a huge meteorite fell from heaven’s height,
And buried itself in the desolate páramo, excavating
An awesome hole that the rain filled with shine;
Holy chalice of the sun, Lake Guatavita ignited
In dawn’s first light, high on the frigid windy altiplano,
Land of the Chibcha, farmers, warriors, and craftsmen,
Who adorned themselves with the sun-stuff bartered
From their neighbours, since their own domain
Was rich in other treasures, in emeralds and salt;
Salt, not gold, was their true treasure, their sustainer.
In homage to the sun, the all-knowing,
They sacrificed even children at his bidding,
And fought savage wars with their neighbours,
Sometimes cannibalising the flesh of their captives;
And carried their golden chief on a ceremonial litter,
All his ornaments, arms and furniture made of gold.
No golden city was their home, but wooden huts
In humble villages, where they dwelt in Spartan fashion,
In a barefoot world, unlettered and perishable.
In Lake Guatavita’s depths dwells the puissant god
Who consecrated each new Chibcha chief, as his people
Encircle the lakeshore, laden with golden offerings,
Hope and awe in their eyes; smearing their bodies
With red achiote, they process to the shore, blowing
On panpipes and conch shells, and calling on the gods
To empower their ritual; the chief stands naked there,
His whole body anointed with sap, from top to toe,
Onto which gold dust is blown, till he stands
Resplendent, gilded avatar of the sun, then mounts
His ceremonial raft, and bids his servants row him
To the centre of the lake, and there, rapt in prayer,
Plunges in, and submerges himself in the freezing water,
That washes him clean and pure, bleseed and reborn,
Then out he climbs again, shining in the joyous day,
And sails back to shore, his majesty confirmed,
While the joyful crowds, shouting thanks and acclamation,
Cast their golden tribute into the lake’s embrace.
Foreign witnesses beheld this ceremony, and marvelled,
Then carried the tale of the Golden Man far abroad,
Forever growing and changing, exaggerated in wonder,
Till the Spaniards heard it, and lost their minds, bewitched;
Somewhere in Venezuela’s interior, it was said,
Lived a people so rich in gold and emeralds,
That such treasure was mere baubles and trinkets to them,
A magnificent ciivilstaion, remote from the world;
Surely it was God’s will that such unworthy heathens
Should also yield proper tribute to their rightful masters,
The noble race of Spaniards, whose every endeavour
Was ordained by the Creator, and assured of success?
Soldiers, scholars, adventurers, noblemen and rogues
All saddled their horses and set out to find their dream,
Audacity their watchword, honour their professed belief,
In whose name they wreaked havoc and destruction;
Forsaking home and comfort, daring fate’s decree,
Driven mad by the sun, where no tree cast a shadow,
Scorched by furnace winds, drenched by monsoons,
Stumbling into swamps and chasms, leaving their bones
As warning to the next fool, they perished in oblivion,
Stricken by Indians’ poisoned arrows, by starvation
And disease, incinerated and frozen, attacked
By hunger, thirst and despair, following mere rumours
And legends, in lands where no white man has trod,
Ignorant of destination, without maps or guides,
Tricked by hostile natives, doomed to false trails,
Yet they struggled on, and the greater the adversity
The stronger their conviction that somewhere near
Must lie the fabulous kingdom, whose limitless riches
Would yield themselves to him who had travelled
Most, and suffered most, and sacrificed all he had.
Everywhere they ventured, they admonished the Indians
To renounce their heathenism and accept the true God,
Else suffer his wrath; thus, they razed hostile villages,
And slaughtered and enslaved the rebellious,
And instead of glory they found misery, madness and death,
But still the myth seemed reality, and the least encouragement
Revived hope and energy, and drove them on again,
Immensity forever extending beyond another horizon,
Meagre facts transmogrified by fierce imagination,
Till only the impossible sufficed to keep them alive,
And miracles and marvels bewitched them at every turn.
When at last the Spaniards came upon the Chibchas,
They reckoned them a miserable worthless people,
And within months they had massacred thousands
And conquered and looted their realms, disgusted
To find no Golden City, no fantastic riches,
And, peering into Lake Guatavita, looking for gold,
They saw only the sky’s reflection, and the clouds,
And turned away, back into the emptiness.
No comments:
Post a Comment