Harry's request came to confirm an intention whose execution I had continually put off to a more convenient season. I gave him my promise gladly, and determined to begin while he was still with me, that I might have the pleasure of reading over at least the first pages with him. Dr. Borrow likes to spend two hours or so after breakfast in arranging and labelling his pressed flowers; Harry is pleased to have some active work in his day. It was agreed between us that he should give that time to helping Karl and Fritz, and that I should take it for writing. I resolved within myself, though, that I would not wait for the morning. Dr. Borrow was not in talking vein that evening. We broke up early. As soon as I found myself in my room, I took out my portfolio and began. It happened to me, however,—as it has often happened to me,—that what I wrote was not what I had meant to write.
Friday, April 12, 1844.
I was to tell the story of the Finding of Guinea. But let us leave the land of mystery and promise still lying in shadow, until we have first informed ourselves a little concerning the world with which the Portuguese explorers are to bring it into relation,—the civilized and Christian world, which is about to rush into the opened road, proposing, in exchange for dominion and gold, to share with its intended tributaries its own moral and spiritual wealth, and to endow them with the fruits of its social and political wisdom.
We must be content to receive our accounts of Africa from Europeans: let us try to look at Europe with the eyes of an African.
Let us suppose that the Moorish traders, whose golden legends drew the eyes of Europe southward, have excited in a Ialof or Fulah prince a desire to see the wonders of the North. Or rather, let the traveller be a Mandingo; for that people is as remarkable for good judgment as for truthfulness, and our observer of Christian manners must be one who will not easily commit injustice. We will give him about a three-years' tour,—more time than most travellers allow themselves for forming an opinion of a quarter of the globe. It is the year 1415 schemes of African expedition are germinating in the brains of the Portuguese Infants. The Mandingo has heard of Portugal from the Moors, and of the young prince who has questioned them of Africa with so keen an interest. Portugal, then, attracts him first. We may take it for granted that the representative of Africa is well received. We may suppose him to be entertained with the superb hospitality that Bemoy, the Ialof prince, actually met with at the Portuguese court something more than half a century later. All its magnificence is displayed for his admiration; and its most delightful entertainments, such as bull-baiting, feats of dogs, tricks of buffoons, and the like, are put in requisition for him as for Bemoy.
The Mandingo traveller is, of course, very welcome to Prince Henry, as a living evidence of the existence of the hidden world he has dreamed of. The reports he receives of its resources, from so competent a witness, confirm his hopes and inflame his zeal. He expresses to the stranger his strong desire to see these interesting regions brought into communication with Europe, and discloses those projects of maritime adventure whose execution afterwards gained him the surname of the Navigator. The manners and conversation of Henry are very acceptable to his foreign guest, who is especially won by his disinterestedness: for this prince, and his young brother Ferdinand, not less ardent than himself, have the good of Africa as much at heart as that of their own country. They wish, so they tell him, to aid its advance in science and the arts; above all, they wish to carry there a religion which has been revealed to them, and which cannot but prove an inestimable blessing.
The Mandingo is surprised, and at first a little disturbed, by this last announcement; for the account he has heard of the religions of Europe is not such as to make him desire to see any of them transported to Africa. But he learns that he has been grossly misinformed: it is not true, as the Moors have reported, that the Europeans are ignorant of a Supreme Being and worship only idols: they do, indeed, pay homage to the images of tutelary divinities, whom they call saints; but they are perfectly aware that these are subordinate beings. The Africans themselves might, on the same evidence, be accused, by a superficial traveller, of a like deplorable ignorance. Neither is it true that many of the states of Europe worship an Evil Demon who delights in carnage and is propitiated by massacre. On the contrary, the Christian religion, which prevails in the greater part of Europe, teaches especially love to God and love to man; it is opposed to every form of violence, forbidding even retaliation, and requiring its followers to love not only friends and strangers, but even enemies. This account he receives from a good priest, who is appointed to give him instruction. He is greatly moved by the exposition of this sublime doctrine. Far from dreading, he now ardently desires to see the influences of the religion of Christendom extended to Africa. He has arrived at a favorable time for studying its precepts; for Portugal is at peace with itself and its neighbors: an unusual state of things, however, and not likely to last, as the stranger cannot but soon perceive,—for preparations unmistakably warlike are going on about him. He observes that the people are agitated by various apprehensions; he hears them murmur at their increased burdens, and at the prospect of having their sons taken from them to die in a foreign land. All this is very puzzling to our traveller. How reconcile it with the religion he was on the point of embracing? At the court he sees elation and mystery on the faces of the younger men; in those of the elder, grave concern. The people, he finds, are as ignorant as himself of the object of the military preparations: some saying that a new war with Castile is impending; others, that the king is about to aid the Father at Rome against the Father at Avignon. He is more and more perplexed; but, mindful of the reserve and delicacy becoming a stranger, he is sparing of questions, and waits for time and a wider experience to enlighten him.
In the mean time, he turns his attention to what seems to concern himself more nearly. He believes that Henry, whom he perceives to be as resolute as adventurous, will one day carry out his schemes of maritime enterprise, and that he will thus exercise an influence on the destinies of Africa. Will this influence be exerted for good or evil? He sets himself to study the character of the young prince more carefully, makes diligent inquiry concerning his deportment in childhood, and tries to collect information in regard to his lineage,—for this is a point much considered among the Mandingos. He is so fortunate as to make the acquaintance of an ancient nobleman, versed in the history and traditions of the country, as well as in those of the royal court, and fond of telling what he knows, when he has a safe opportunity,—for he is a man of experience, and does not make either the past or the future a topic of conversation with his brother-courtiers. To him the African addresses his questions, and not in vain. The old man knew the present king when he was only Grand Master of the Order of Avis, and the Infant Henry has grown up under his very eyes. All that the traveller learns in regard to Henry himself is satisfactory; and he finds that King John, his father, is regarded as a just and wise sovereign. But, on nearer inquiry, he discovers that this great king is, in fact, a usurper; for, in Portugal, the successor to the crown must be the son of his father's principal wife, and King John had not this advantage. He learns, with yet more regret, that this sovereign is of a family in which filial impiety is hereditary. The first of the dynasty, King Alphonso, made war against his own mother, and imprisoned her in a fortress, where she died, having first, as the Mandingo heard with horror, bestowed her malediction on her son and his line. She foretold that he should be great, but not happy; that his posterity should live in domestic strife and unnatural hatred; that success should only bring them sorrow, and even their just enterprises should turn to evil.