COLUMBUS—[Rubbing his hands in ironic satisfaction.] They robbed it of my name, because they thought I did not know what I had found. They robbed me of my kingdom, because they thought I aspired to be a king. Because my eyes kept watch, they are dim.
CERVANTES—I shall tell you, friend, what I see.
COLUMBUS—Be careful of your eyes!
CERVANTES—A City of White Towers! The men who live in it are little motes. Yet they uphold these Towers! And in their hand, they wield a golden weapon making them the world’s master.
COLUMBUS—Look sharp.
CERVANTES—They are not masters of themselves. They are full of chaos——
COLUMBUS—Spain?
CERVANTES—Within this serried, glittering Order—Chaos! Chaos of races, traditions, dreams. They are uneasy. They build the Towers higher. The Towers are high, in order to enclose them safely from their chaos. Towers of stone, machines of subtle iron—to shut out bloods, dreams, words, making this Confusion which they hate.
COLUMBUS—[Smiling shrewdly.] Are you looking at America, or Spain?
CERVANTES—They have lost sight of the True God. Yet they are full of God-hunger, of God-search. To their own works they turn—and worship God in these.