Ruth M. Wilson
Religion
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(excerpts taken from p. 112)
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Tis thou, O God, by faith who dost reveal
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Mysterious wonders to our senses weak;
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When thou dost speak to hearts that deeply feel,
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And humbly hear when thou dost
deign
to speak,
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Oh, when the
mantle
of thy peace descends,
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How the soul then
exults
in her
attire
!
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The
garb
of grace of ev’ry thought extends,
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And wraps reflection in
seraphic
fire.
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In thee, I find all purity and peace,
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All truth and goodness, wisdom far above
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All worldly wisdom, might beyond increase,
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And yet surpassing these, unbounded love,
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Oh, that its light were shed on those whose deeds
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Belie the
doctrines
of the church they claim;
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Whose impious tongues
profane
their father’s
creeds,
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And
sanction
wrong, e’en in religion’s name.
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Oh, God of mercy, throned in glory high,
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O’er earth and all its miseries, look down!
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Behold the
wretched,
hear the captives’ cry.
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And call thy
exiled
children round thy throne!
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There I
fain
in
contemplation
gaze,
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On thy eternal beauty, and would make
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Of love one lasting
canticle
of praise,
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And ev’ry
theme
but that, henceforth
forsake.
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-
italized words may be used for vocabulary enrichment)
The New Coin
This narrative provides a clear example of the capricious whims of the Marquesa. Juan describes his thoughtless act of exchanging a coin, his fright and confusion and the end results for this insignificant childish act.
Don Nicolas gave me a peseta of the old coin one night; next morning there came at the door a beggar, my mistress gave me a peseta of the new coin for him, which calling my attention, and having the other in my pocket, one is as much worth as the other, muttered I to myself, and changing pesetas. I gave to the beggar the old one; after I went to my usual place in the antechamber, I sat down in the corner, and taking the new coin out of my pocket, began like a monkey turning it over and over again, when escaping through my fingers it fell down on the floor, making a rattling noise; at its sound my mistress came out of her chamber, made me pick it up; she looked at it, and her face reddened, she bid me go into her chamber, sit in a corner, and wait there; of course, my peseta remained in her possession, she recognized it as the same she gave me for the beggar two minutes before; with such proofs my fate was decided.
Suddenly I sprang and ran to the Marquis who was always very kind to me. When I arrived at his room, he said, “What have you done now?” In my confusion I related my case so confusedly, that he understanding that I stole the peseta, said in an angry tone, “You are a knave, why did you steal the peseta?”
For this, I was shut up in a dungeon four whole days, without any food, except what my brother could put through a little opening at the bottom of the door. At the fifth day I was taken out, dressed with a coarse linen dress and tied with a rope. They were sending me with the baggage of the family to another estate.
The Writing Lesson
This episode takes place when Juan is pressed into the service of Don Nicolas, son of the Marquesa. Having been treated inhumanely, Juan is now with a kind, gentle master who is the complete opposite of his old “evil” mistress.
Sometime later I was appointed to the service of young Don Nicolas, the Marquesa’s son, who esteemed me not as a slave, but as a son. In his company the sadness of my soul began to disappear. As soon as day dawned, I use to get up, prepare his table, armchair and books, and I adapted myself so well to his customs, and manners that I began to give myself up to study. From his book of rhetoric I learned by heart a lesson everyday, which I use to recite like a parrot, without knowing the meaning. But being tired of it, I determined to do something more useful, and that was to learn to write. I bought ink, pens, and penknife, and some very fine paper; then taking some of the bits of written paper thrown away by my master, I put a piece of them between my fine sheets, and traced the characters underneath, in order to accustom my hand to make letters.
Extremely pleased with myself, I employed the hours from five to ten every evening, exercising my hand to write, and in daytime I use to copy the inscriptions at the bottom of pictures hung on the walls. I could imitate the best handwriting. My master was told how I spent my evenings, but he only advised me to drop that pastime, as not adapted to my situation in life, and that it would be more useful to me to employ my time in needle work. In vain was I forbidden to write, for when everybody went to bed, I use to light a candle, and in at my leisure I copied the best verses, thinking that if I could imitate these, I would become a poet. Once one of my sonnets fell into one of my friend’s hands and Doctor Coronado was the first to foretell that I would be a great poet; he encouraged me, saying, that many of the great poets began in the same way.
The Lantern
This incidence takes place one evening after Juan has had an unusually hard day and is now accompanying the Marquessa back from town in her volante which is similar to a carriage. Juan’s job is to hold on to the lantern outside the volante to light the way. Unfortunately from lack of rest, he falls asleep and drops the lantern. He recounts what happens for his negligence.
We were returning from town late one night, when the volante was going very fast, and I was seated as usual, with one hand holding the bar, and having the lantern in the other, I fell asleep, and it fell out of my hand; on awaking, I missed the lantern, and jumped down to get it, but such was my terror, I was unable to catch up with the carriage. I followed, well knowing what was to come, but when I came close to the house, I was seized by Don Sylvester, the young overseer. Leading me to the stocks, we met my mother, on seeing me, she attempted to inquire what I had done, but the overseer ordered her to be silent. Then raised his hand and struck my mother with the whip. I felt the blow in my own heart and became all at once like a raging lion and with all my strength I fell on him with teeth and hands, and it may be imagined how many cuffs, kicks and blows were given in the struggle that ensued.
My mother and myself were carried off and shut up in the same place. I suffered more punishment than was ordered, for my attack on the overseer. I asked them to have pity on my mother for God’s sake; but at the sound of the first lash, infuriated like a tiger, I flew at the overseer, and was near losing my life in his hands.
(note: teacher may use her discretion when selecting specific vocabulary to be presented before reading each selection.)
Canto I: The Sugar Estate
by Richard Madden
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No more of rapine and its wasted plains,
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Its stolen victims and unshallowed gains,
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It’s christians merchants and brigands bold
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Who wage their wars and do their work for gold.
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No more horrors sickening to the heart,
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Commercial murders and the crowded mart;
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The living cargoes and the constant trace
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Of pain and anguish in each shrunken face!
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Far from the city and its tainted breath,
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Its moral plaque and atmosphere of death;
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The grave of freedom, honesty, and truth,
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The haunt of folly and its shoals for youth.
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Its empty churches and its crowded jails,
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Its grasping dealers and its human sales,
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Its gambling nobles and its spendthrift crowd.
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Profuse, rapacious, indolent, and proud.
Canto II: The Sugar Estate
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We stall our Negroes as we pen our sheep,
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And hold them fast as good stone walls can keep
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A Negro gang, and every night you’ll find
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The “spell” released, in yonder square confined,
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We have no doubt, our runaways at times,
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And flight, you know, we count the worst crimes.
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Slaves who are flogged and worked in chains by day,
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Left in the stocks all night ... you think would stay
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On the estate as soon as they’re set free
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And yet the fools again will dare to flee.
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As to food you may be sure we give
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Enough to let the wretched creatures live;
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The diet is somewhat slender, there’s no doubt,
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It would not do, to let them grow to stout;
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Nor is it here, nor on estates around,
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That fat and saucy Negroes may be found.
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‘Tis not the scourge, or shackle, plaque or pest,
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That wears the Negro out—but lack of rest.
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Night after night in constant labor past,
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Will break down nature, and its strength at last.
(excerpts from The Slave Trade p. 46 by Richard Madden)
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They’re only Negroes—true, they count not here,
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Perhaps, their cries, and groans may count elsewhere.
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How can they dare to advocate this trade,
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Or call the scared scriptures to its aid.
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How can they have the boldness to lay claim,
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And boast their title to the christian name,
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Or yet pretend to walk in reason’s light,
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And wage eternal war with humor right.
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The pen does all the business of the sword,
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On Congo’s shore, the Cuban merchant’s sword
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Serves to send forth a thousand brigands bold,
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“To make prey,” and fill another hold;
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To ravage distant nations at his ease,
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By written order, just to please.
(excerpts from The Slave Trade p. 49)
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The Cuban merchant prosecutes his trade
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Without qualm, or approach being made;
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Sits at his desk, and with composure sends
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A formal order to his Gold-Coast friends
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For some five hundred “buttos” of effect,
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And bids them ship “the goods” as he directs.
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That human cargo, to its fullest mount,
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Is duly brought and shipped on his account;
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Stowed to the best advantages in the bold,
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And limb to limb in chains, as you behold;
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On every beast the well-written brand, J. G.
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In letters bold, engraved on flesh you see.
(The Sugar Estate p. 68)
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The deaths they tell you of the slaves, are here
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Some ten percent, and sometimes twelve a year.
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A fair consumption to of human life,
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Where wholesale slaughter shows no marital strife.
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But then, perhaps, the births are in excess;
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Alas! the births each year are less and less.
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Three in the last twelve months, and two of these
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Had died, because the mothers did not please
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To rear up slaves; and they preferred to see
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Their children dead before their face, ere they
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Would give their young “nigritos” to the kind
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Indulgent masters which they are said to find.
MANZANO’S POEM IN THE ORIGINAL SPANISH
Mis Treinta A–os
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Cuando miro el espacio que he corrido
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desde la cuna haste el presente d’a,
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tiemblo y saludo á la fortune mia
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más de terror que de atención movida.
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Sorpréndeme la lucha que he podido
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sostener contra suerte tan imp’a,
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si tal llamarse puede la por’a
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de mi infelice sér al mal nacido.
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treinta a–os ha que conoc’ la tierra;
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treinta a–os ha que en gemidor estado
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triste infortunio por doquier me asalta;
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mas nada es pare mi la crude guerra
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que en vano suspirar he suportado,
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si la comparo, ¡ oh Dios!, con lo que falta.
(This poem may be translated by your Hispanic students if they so choose. It would be quite interesting to have them compare this poem to the one which has been translated in the
Lesson Plan Section
of unit.)