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Title: Eminent literary and scientific men of Italy, Spain, and Portugal Vol. 3 (of 3)
Author: Montgomery, James
Language: English
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MEN OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL VOL. 3 (OF 3) ***
THE
CABINET OF BIOGRAPHY.
CONDUCTED BY THE
REV. DIONYSIUS LARDNER, LL.D. F.R.S. L. & E.
M.R.I.A. F.R.A.S. F.L.S. F.Z.S. Hon. F.C.P.S. &c. &c.
ASSISTED BY
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
EMINENT
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN AND PORTUGAL.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR
LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,
PATERNOSTER-ROW;
AND JOHN TAYLOR,
UPPER GOWER STREET.
1837.
CONTENTS
TABLE, ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL, TO THE FIRST VOLUME OF
LIVES OF EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
TABLE, ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL, TO THE SECOND VOLUME OF
LIVES OF EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
TABLE, ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL, TO THE THIRD VOLUME OF
LIVES OF EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
INTRODUCTION
MOSEN JORDI
THE CANCIONEROS
ALPHONSO X. AND HIS COURT
ALPHONSO XI. AND HIS COURT
JUAN DE MENA
JUAN DE ENZINA
BOSCAN
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA
DIEGO HURTADO DE MENDOZA
LUIS DE LEON
HERRERA
JORGE DE MONTEMAYOR
CASTILLEJO
THE EARLY DRAMATISTS
ERCILLA
CERVANTES
LOPE DE VEGA
VICENTE ESPINEL--ESTEBAN DE VILLEGAS
GONGORA
QUEVEDO
CALDERON
EARLY POETS OF PORTUGAL
RIBEYRA
SAA DE MIRANDA
GIL VICENTE
FERREIRA
CAMOENS
INDEX
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE FIRST VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
DANTE ALEGHIERI.
A. D.
His Descent 1
1265. His Birth 2
His Mother's Dream 3
Brunetto Latini 4
Story of his early Love for Beatrice 6
1290. Her Death 7
"Vita Nuova" 7
Uncertain Traditions concerning the early Part of Dante's Life 9
His Marriage with Madonna Gemma 10
The Guelfs and Ghibelines 13
1289. The Battle of Campaldino 14
Dante serves in the Cavalry 14
Extract from his Inferno, Canto XXII., giving an Account, of
this Conflict 15
He again takes the Field at the Siege of Caprona 15
Extract from the Inferno, Canto XXI. 15
He is chosen chief Prior of his native City 16
Origin of the Schism between the Bianchi and the Neri 17
The Cerchi and the Donati 18
Banishment of the principal Instigators of the Neri and the
Bianchi 19
Dante suspected of favouring the Bianchi Party 20
He vindicates himself 20
Entrance of Charles into Florence 20
The Recal of the Neri 20
Six Hundred of the Bianchi driven into Exile 21
Embassy of Dante to Rome 21
Boccaccio accuses him of Self-confidence and Disparagement of
others 21
Confiscation of Dante's Property 22
His Banishment 22
He joins the Confederates of the Bianchi at Arezzo 23
Their unfortunate Expedition against Florence 23
Pietro Petracco 23
Dante quits the Confederacy 23
His personal Humiliation 24
Extract from his "Purgatorio" 24
1308. Henry of Luxembourg raised to the Throne of Germany 26
Dante professes himself a Ghibeline 26
1313. Henry of Luxembourg poisoned 26
Dante dedicates his "De Monarchia" 26
He wanders from one petty Court to another 27
Busone da Gubbio affords him shelter at Arezzo 27
Anecdote of him while at Verona 28
Guido Novello da Polenta, Lord of Ravenna 29
Mental Sufferings of Dante 30
His Letter to a Friend who had obtained Leave for him to
return to his Country 31
Extracts from his "Paradiso" 32
His Residence at Ravenna 32
1321. His Death 33
A Copy of his "Divina Commedia" embellished by Michael
Angelo 34
Dante--his Tomb at Ravenna 35
Restoration of his Property to his Family 35
The "De Monarchia" publicly burnt at Rome, by Order of the
Pope 35
Description of Dante by Boccaccio 36
Musical Talents of Dante 37
Extract from his "Purgatorio" 37
His two Sons the first Commentators 39
Lyrics of Dante 41
Origin of the "Divina Commedia" 43
Observations on the Title of the "Divina Commedia" 44
Extracts from the "Inferno" 46
Strictures on it 51
And on the "Inferno" 53
PETRARCH.
1302. His Progenitors 61
Their Banishment from Florence 61
1305. Petrarch and his Mother return from Banishment 62
1312. They remove to Pisa 62
They proceed to Avignon 62
1315. They quit this for Carpentras, where Petrarch becomes
acquainted with Settimo 63
1319. He enters the University of Montpelier 63
His Father destines him for the Law 63
His Aversion to it 64
1323. He goes to Bologna 64
His Recal to France, on the Death of his Father; he
abandons the Law 64
He resides with his Brother at Avignon; he becomes a
Favourite with the Nobles 65
His Person 65
His Friendship for John of Florence 65
Giacomo Colonna; his illustrious Descent 66
His Friendship for Petrarch 67
Character of Petrarch 68
1327. (April 6th.) His Acquaintance with Laura 68
His Devotion to her 70
His poetic Life commences 71
His Patriotism 72
1330. Giacomo Colonna made Bishop of Lombes; Petrarch
accompanies him to his Bishoprick 72
His Friendship for Lello and Louis 72
1331. He makes the Tour of France, Flanders, and Brabant 73
He meets with a Disappointment at Lyons 75
His Arrival at Rome 76
(August 6th.) He returns to Avignon 76
His Excursion to Mont Ventoux 76
His Letter to Father Dionisio Robertis 77
His Retirement to the Valley of Vaucluse 78
A Description of it 78
Version of one of Petrarch's Canzoni, by Lady Dacre 80
Criticisms on Petrarch's Italian Poetry 81
Philip de Cabassoles, Bishop of Cavaillon, becomes the Intimate
of Petrarch 83
Letter of Petrarch to Giacomo Colonna 84
1340. Petrarch receives Letters from Rome and Paris, inviting him
to accept the Crown of Poetry; he accepts the former 85
1341. His Reception at the Court of King Robert of Naples 86
(April 17th.) His Coronation 86
He leaves Rome and arrives at Parma 87
He meets Azzo Correggio 87
Death of Giacomo Colonna 87
Early Death of Thomas of Messina 87
Petrarch's Grief for the Loss of these Friends 88
He and Rienzi sent on an Embassy to Rome, on the Accession
of Pope Clement VI. 89
He meets Laura at Avignon 89
His Confidants 90
1343. Death of Robert, King of Naples 91
He is succeeded by his Daughter Giovanna 91
Mission of Petrarch to Queen Giovanna 92
1345. Nicola di Rienzi seizes upon the Government of Rome, and
assumes the Name of Tribune 92
Change produced by him in the State of the Country 92
Petrarch offered a Bishoprick, which he refuses 93
1347. He leaves Avignon, and repairs to Parma 94
Downfal of Rienzi 94
1348. The Plague in Italy 94
(January 25th.) An Earthquake 94
(April 6th.) Death of Laura 94
Petrarch's Account of it 94
1350. He visits Rome on Occasion of the Jubilee 98
Assassination of Giacomo da Carrara, Lord of Padua 98
1351. Restitution of Petrarch's paternal Property 99
Arrival of Petrarch at Avignon 100
His Letter to Pope Clement VI. on the Choice of a Physician 100
He revisits Vaucluse 100
1352. Death of Pope Clement VI. 100
Petrarch visits the Carthusian Convent 101
His Treatise "On Solitary Life" 101
1353. He crosses the Alps, and visits Milan 101
1354. Is invited by Charles, Emperor of Germany, to visit Mantua 102
He exhorts Charles to deliver Italy 102
1355. Petrarch at Milan 103
He is sent on two Missions--one to Venice, the other to Prague 103
1360. Invasion of France by the English 103
Petrarch sent to congratulate King John on his Return from
Imprisonment 103
He returns to Italy 104
His Letter to Settimo 104
1361. Italy again visited by the Plague 105
Death of Petrarch's Son 105
Marriage of Francesco, Daughter of Petrarch 106
The Poetry of Dante and Petrarch compared 106
"The Triumph of Death" 107
Petrarch's Description of Laura's Death 107
1363. Boccaccio, his Attachment for Petrarch 110
Leonzio Pilato's Death 110
1367. Petrarch's Letter to Pope Urban V. 110
His Reply 110
1369. Petrarch suffers from Fever 110
1372. (January.) His Letter to a Friend who had asked him, "how
he was" 112
1374. His Opinion of the Decameron of Boccaccio 113
His Death 114
His Will 114
BOCCACCIO.
Origin of his Family 115
1313. His Birth 116
1329. He enters on the Study of the Canonical Law 117
1333. His Dislike for this Study 117
He goes to Naples 117
1338. He visits the Tomb of Virgil 118
A Description of it 118
Boccaccio--his Admiration of it 119
1341. Another Circumstance occurs which confirms his Predilection
for Literature 120
Commencement of his Attachment for Lady Mary 121
Some Account of her 121
Her Person 122
His first Book, "Filocopo" 123
The Story of it 123
His Style 124
1342. His Recal to Florence on the Death of his Father 125
His "Ameto" 126
1344. He returns to Naples 126
Death of King Robert 126
Queen Jane and her Court 126
"Filostrato," of Boccaccio 126
His "Amorosa Fiammetta" and "Amorosa Visione" 127
1348. He writes "The Decameron" 127
The Preface 127
Description of the Plague in Florence 128
Critique on the "Decameron" 130
1497. Burning of the "Decameron" 130
1527. The "Ventisettana" and "Delphin" edition of the
"Decameron" published 130
1350. Return of Boccaccio to Florence 131
His various Embassies 131
1351. He visits Petrarch at Padua 132
He is sent to Bohemia to Louis of Bavaria 133
1354. Again sent on a Mission to Avignon 133
His violent Party Feelings 133
His Letter to Petrarch 133
Petrarch's Answer 134
Boccaccio--his enthusiastic Love for the Study of the Ancients 135
His celebrated Copy of Dante 136
He visits Petrarch at Milan 137
Moral Change in him 137
1361. A singular Circumstance occurs which achieves this moral Work 139
He communicates this Circumstance to Petrarch 140
Petrarch's Letter in Answer 140
1363. Power and Influence of Acciajuolo, Seneschal of Naples 142
He invites Boccaccio to his Palace 142
His unworthy Treatment of Boccaccio 143
He removes from his Palace in consequence 143
He returns to Florence 143
His Residence at Certaldo 144
His Work, "De Casibus Virorum et Færainarum Illustrium" 145
1355. His Embassy to Pope Urban V. 145
He projects a Visit to Venice 145
His Letter to Petrarch, whom he missed seeing 145
1370. His Visit to Niccolo di Montefalcone, Abbot of the Carthusian
Monastery of San Stefano, in Calabria 147
1372. He visits Naples 147
1373. He returns to his Retreat at Certaldo 147
His Work on "The Genealogy of the Gods" 147
The Professorship for the Public Explanation of the "Divina
Commedie" conferred on him 148
1374. Petrarch's Death 149
Grief of Boccaccio 149
1375. (December 21st.) Death of Boccaccio 149
LORENZO DE' MEDICI.
Ficino, Pico Della Mirandola, Politian, the Pulci, &c. 151
1438. Platonic Doctrines in Italy 151
Gemisthus Pletho 151
The Medicean Library founded by Cosmo 152
1464. His Death 152
Lorenzo de' Medici succeeds to his Father's Wealth and Influence 152
1478. The Pazzi Conspiracy 152
1479. Pope Sixtus VI. leagues all Italy against Florence 152
1480. Lorenzo de' Medici--his Firmness and Talents 152
He induces the King of Naples to conclude a Treaty with
Florence 153
A Yearly Anniversary of Plato's Death instituted 153
Lorenzo de' Medici--his Commentary on his first Sonnet 155
Extract of a Translation of one of his Sonnets 156
His "Nencia da Barbarino" 157
And another, "Canzoni Carnaleschi" 157
His descriptive Poems 158
1492. His Death 159
MARSIGLIO FICINO.
1433. His Birth 159
He is adopted by Lorenzo de' Medici 160
His "Platonic Institutions" 160
His "Treatise on the Origin of the World" 160
1468. He assumes the Clerical Profession 160
1475. He obtains the Cure of two Churches and Cathedral of Florence 160
1499. (October 1st.) His Death 161
GIOVANNI PICO DELLA MIRANDOLA.
1463. His Birth 161
His Parentage 161
He visits Rome 161
His 900 Propositions published 162
1494. His Persecution and Death 162
ANGELO POLIZIANO.
1454. (July 24th.) His Birth 162
In Florence, he attracts the Attention of Lorenzo de' Medici 163
He engages him as Tutor to his Children 164
He obtains the Professorship of Greek and Latin in the
University of Florence 165
1492. His Letter to Jacopo Antiquario 165
Disasters which befell the Medici 166
Politian's Monody on Lorenzo 166
1494. (September 24th.) Politian.--His Death 167
BERNARDO PULCI.
His Origin 167
His Works 167
LUCA FULCI.
His Works 167
LUIGI PULCI.
Author of the "Morgante Maggiore" 168
Critique on "Morgante Maggiore" 168
The Family of the Heroes of Romance 169
Extract from the "Morgante Maggiore" 171
The Subject of the Poem 172
CIECO DA FERRARA.
1509. Author of "Mambriano" 179
BURCHIELLO.
1448. His Death 180
BOJARDO.
Matteo Maria Bojardo; his Ancestors 181
1434. His Birth 181
His Parents 181
His Education 181
1469. He is sent out as one of the Noblemen to welcome Frederic III.
to Ferrara 181
1471. Borso, Marquess of Ferrara, created Duke 181
Bojardo accompanies him to Rome on his Investiture 181
1472. Marriage of Bojardo to Taddea 182
1473. Bojardo selected by the Duke of Ercole to escort his Wife to
Ferrara 182
1478. He is made Governor of Reggio 182
1494. His Death 182
His Lyrical Poetry 182
His Classical Works 182
An Extract from his "Orlando Innamorato" 183
BERNI.
Francesco Berni 188
His Birth 188
His early Life 188
The Vignaiuoli established at Rome by Oberto Strozzi 188
1526. Rome plundered by the Colonna 188
1536. (July 26th.) Death of Berni 189
Publication of his "Rifacimento" 189
Alterations made by Berni in "Orlando Innamorato" 192
His introductory Stanzas which he appended to each Canto 193
His Person and Disposition 193
An Extract as a Specimen of his Humour 194
Bernese Poetry 195
ARIOSTO.
1474. (September 8th.) Ludovico Ariosto, his Birth 196
His Lineage 196
His early Studies 197
Latin the universal Language of Writers 198
The Transmutation and Transfusion of the dead Languages
into modern Tongues 199
Death of Ariosto's Father 199
His pecuniary Difficulties in consequence 199
His filial and paternal Affection 200
His Brothers Gabriele and Galasso 200
His Sisters 200
A Quotation from his second Satire, alluding to his Mother 201
His Bagatelles 202
He composes his "Orlando Furioso" 203
His Answer to Cardinal Bembo, who advises him to write it in
Latin 204
The Duke of Ferrara threatened with the Thunders of the
Vatican 204
Ariosto sent as Ambassador to Rome on this Occasion 205
Julius II. enters into a League with the Venetians 205
The Papal Forces defeated at Ravenna 205
The Capture and Dispersion of the Republican Squadron on the
River Po 205
Ariosto, his gallant Conduct on this Occasion 205
His second Embassy to Rome 206
His uncourteous Reception by the Pontiff 206
Emperor Alfonso, his fruitless Negotiations with the implacable
Julius 207
And the perfidious Treatment he receives 207
The singular Manner in which he retaliates 207
1515. The first Edition of the "Orlando Furioso" 208
Succeeding Reprints and Variations of it 208
1532. The last Edition 208
Ariosto refuses to accompany Cardinal Hippolito to his Bishopric 208
Their consequent Estrangement 209
A Story of Hippolito, his natural Brother, and a Lady to whom
they both paid their Addresses; the infamous and unnatural
Conduct of the Cardinal 209
Independence of Ariosto 210
Ease, Freedom, and Independence necessary to the Life of a
Poet 210
Letter of Ariosto to his Brother Alessandro 212
Ariosto enters the Service of Duke Alfonso 217
Discomforts and Mortifications of his precarious Circumstances 218
His Reasons for not taking Orders 219
Pope Leo X. issues a Bull in favour of the "Orlando Furioso" 219
What Claims had Ariosto on the Bounty of Leo X.? 220
Extracts from his Satires 221
The Dignity and Ease he enjoys at the Court of Alfonso 226
His Government of Graffagnana 226
His Rencontre with some of his uncouth Neighbours 227
Baretti, his Version of this Anecdote 228
Extract from his Satires 229
He is invited to accept a third Embassy to Rome 230
His Answer to Bonaventura Pistolfo 230
His Release from his Government 232
He perfects his "Orlando;" his Dramatic Works 232
A curious Anecdote of him when a Child 232
Remarks on his Writings 234
1532. Ariosto, his last Illness 234
Apocryphal Traditions of him 235
His Person 235
His Character 236
His Sons 237
His Elegies, Sonnets, and Madrigals 237
A Translation of one of his Sonnets 238
Difficulty of translating his Works 239
English Versions of his "Orlando Furioso" 239
His Recitation 240
Anecdote of him 240
His whimsical Peculiarities; his Habits 241
His Reveries 242
His last Hours 243
His Monument 244
Sketch of the Outline of the "Orlando Furioso" 245
Critical Remarks on it 247
A Sequel and Imitation of it 250
MACHIAVELLI.
850. Origin of his Family 256
1469. (February 3d.) His Birth 257
His Parentage 257
Nothing known of his Childhood and Education 257
Paul Jovius 257
1494. Machiavelli Secretary under Marcellus Virgil 257
1497. Florence agitated by the Prophet Salvanorola 258
Marcellus Virgil elected High Chancellor 258
1498. Machiavelli made Chancellor of the Second Court 258
Is Secretary of the Council of Ten 259
His Missions to various Sovereigns and States 259
1492. Italy convulsed by foreign Armies and domestic Quarrels 259
Ludovico Sforza invites Charles VIII. of France into Italy,
instigating him to assert his Right to the Neapolitan Crown 260
1493. Entrance of the French into Italy; causes great Commotion in
Florence; the Overthrow and Exile of the Medicean Family 260
Italy overrun by Charles 260
The Italian System of Warfare 260
1498. Death of Charles VIII. 261
Louis XII. succeeds him; his speedy Conquest of Milan 261
1501. Pisa, under the Rule of Florence, repines at its Servitude; they
implore Charles to restore their Independence 261
1500. Pisa besieged by the Florentines 262
Machiavelli and Francesco della Caza employed by the Republic
as Envoys to the French Court; curious Style of their Instructions 262
They fail in their Object, and return to Italy 263
Machiavelli, his Mission to Cæsar Borgia 263
Roderigo Borgia chosen Pope; he assumes the Name of
Alexander VI. 264
His Character 264
Cæsar Borgia raised to the Rank of Cardinal; his Dislike to the
Church 264
His Jealousy of his Brother, the Duke of Candia, whom he
causes to be waylaid and murdered 264
He abdicates the Cardinal's Hat, and obtains the Duchy of
Valence in France 265
He determines to form the Principality in Italy 265
His Encroachments supported by an Alliance with Louis XII. 265
His Attack on Bologna 266
Revolt of his chief Condottieri 266
Conspiracy of Magione 267
1502. Arrival of Machiavelli at Imola 268
His Interview with Caesar Borgia 268
His Opinion of him 268
Cæsar Borgia, his Method of defending himself 269
His Policy 269
Paolo Orsino, his Arrival at Imola 269
Machiavelli, his Letter to the Signoria of Florence 269
His Conversation with Cæsar Borgia 270
His Admiration of Borgia's Talents 271
Machiavelli solicits to be recalled 271
Treaty between Caesar Borgia and the Confederates 271
Letter of Machiavelli on this Subject 272
Borgia leaves Imola 273
Machiavelli follows the Court to Cesena 273
His Letter 273
He again writes from Cesena 274
The Confederates sent to Sinigaglia 275
Arrival of Borgia at Sinigaglia 275
He causes the Orsini and Vitellozzo to be taken Prisoners 275
Machiavelli, his Account of this Transaction 275
His Letter 275
Treacherous and cruel Revenge of Borgia on the Confederates 276
(January 8th.) Machiavelli, his Letter to the Republic 277
1503. His Recal to Florence 278
His Description of the Method used by the Valentian Duke in
putting to death Vitellozzo Vitelli 278
The "Decenal" 278
An Anecdote of Cæsar Borgia 279
Narrow Escape of Cæsar Borgia at Rome, it is supposed from
Poison 280
(August 28th.) Sudden Death of his Father, Pope Alexander 281
Accession of Pope Pius III. 281
Fall of the Fortunes of Cæsar Borgia 281
Machiavelli's Embassy to Rome to influence the Consultations
concerning the future Destination of Cæsar Borgia 281
Julius II. 281
Borgia sent to Romagna in the Name of the Holy See 282
Cardinal Volterra sent after him with a Requisition; Borgia
refuses to comply; he is arrested in consequence, and sent on
board a French Galley 283
He is brought back to the Vatican; he is liberated 283
He goes to Naples 283
He forms new Schemes, is again arrested, and confined in the
Fortress of Medina del Campo 284
1506. His Escape and Death 284
1504. Machiavelli leaves Rome, and goes to France 284
Peace between France and Spain 284
1506. Formation of a native Militia in Florence 285
Pope Julius II., his Projects 285
The Florentines delegate Machiavelli to the Court Militant at
Rome; his Letters 285
1507. Francesco Vettori treats with the Emperor Maximilian at
Trent 286
1508. Machiavelli sent with the Ultimatum of the Florentines to
Trent 286
On his Return, writes his "Account of Germany" 286
1509. Pisa besieged by the Florentines 286
Machiavelli sent to assist them 286
Enmity between Louis XII. and the Pope 287
1510. Machiavelli, his Mission to Louis; his Letters 287
His Audience with the King at Blois 288
1511. Pietro Soderini elected Doge of Florence 288
Louis determines to dethrone him; Florence offers him Pisa
for it 288
Terrified by the Menaces of the Pope, they send Machiavelli to
recal this Offer 288
Disastrous War, the Consequence 289
1512. Diet of Mantua 289
Overthrow of the existing Government of Florence 289
Restoration of the Medici 289
Machiavelli deprived of his Place 291
Conspiracy against the Medici 291
Machiavelli supposed to be implicated; is thrown into Prison
in consequence 291
He is included in an Amnesty of the new Pope, Leo X. 291
1513. His Letter to Francesco Vettori; his Liberation 291
Letter of Vettori to Machiavelli 292
His Letter in Reply 292
Vettori, his Endeavours in behalf of Machiavelli 293
Machiavelli, his Letter to Vittori 294
Analysis of his Work, called the "Prince" 297
Machiavelian Policy 300
His Essays on the first "Decade of Livy" 304
His "Art of War" 304
His "Belfegor" 304
His Comedies 304
1514. His Letter to Vettori 305
1519. Address of Pope Leo X. to Machiavelli; his Advice 306
Machiavelli, his Reply 306
His "Essay on the Reform of the Government of Florence" 306
1521. Machiavelli Ambassador to the Minor Friars at Carpi 306
Letter of Francesco Guicciardini on his Appointment;
Machiavelli, his Reply 307
1524. Cardinal Julius commissions him to write the History of
Florence 307
1526. Cardinal Julius becomes Pope Clement VII.; he makes
Machiavelli his Historiographer 308
Deplorable State of Italy 308
Constable Bourbon at Milan 308
Machiavelli sent by the Pope to inspect the Fortifications at
Florence 309
1527. Arrival of Bourbon at Bologna 309
A Truce concluded between Clement VII. and Charles V. 310
(6th of May.) Sack of Rome 310
Machiavelli assists the Italians in relieving the Pope, who is
besieged in the Castel Sant' Angelo 310
He returns to Florence 310
His Death 311
His Wife and Children 311
His Person and Character 311
1782. Complete Edition of his Works published 312
His Descendants 312
TABLE
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE SECOND VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
GALILEO.
A. D
1564. (15th of February.) His Birth 1
His Ancestors 2
His early Years 3
1581. A Scholar of Arts at the University of Pisa 3
Studies Medicine under Andrew Cæsalpinus 3
His Work on the Hydrostatical Balance 4
Guido Ubaldi engages him to investigate the Centre of Gravity
of solid Bodies 4
Appointed Lecturer of Mathematics at the University of Pisa 4
1600. Giordano Bruno burnt 4
Galileo attacks by Argument and Experiment the Aristotelian
Laws of Gravity 5
Opposition of the Aristotelians to his Discoveries 6
A Method of clearing out the Harbour of Leghorn proposed
by Don Giovanni de' Medici 6
Galileo opposes this Opinion; is persecuted in consequence 6
1592. He obtains the Professorship of Mathematics at the University
of Padua 6
1593. Account of his Conversion to the Copernican System 7
He meets with an Accident 9
He completes his first Engagement at Padua 9
1598. Is re-elected other six Years 9
Accusation brought against him with respect to Marina Gamba 10
1604. A new Star excites the Attention of Galileo 10
1606. Again re-elected to the Professorship of Padua 10
His increasing Popularity 10
His Examination of the Properties of the Loadstone 10
1500. Doctor Gilbert's Work, the "De Magnete," published 11
1603. His Death 11
Cosmo proposes to Galileo to return to Pisa 11
The Arrangements suggested by Galileo, and the Manner of
urging them 12
Dutch Telescopes 13
Galileo constructs his first Telescope 13
Interest which the Telescope excited in Venice 14
The Art of cleaning and polishing Lenses very imperfect 15
Results of the Observations of Galileo on the Moon 16
His Examination of the fixed Stars 16
1610. The Satellites of Jupiter discovered by Galileo 18
Galileo's Work, the "Sidereal Messenger," published 18
Reception which these Discoveries met with from Kepler 19
Horky; his Work against the Discoveries of Galileo 20
Simon Mayer 21
Discovery of new Satellites 21
First Enigma of Galileo published 23
His Observations on Saturn and Venus 23
1611. His Reception at Rome; he erects his Telescope in the Quirinal
Garden 24
(March.) He discovers the Solar Spots 24
1610. Thomas Harriot discovers the Solar Spots (in December) 25
Professor Scheiner; his Letters on the Subject of the Solar
Spots 26
These Letters answered by Galileo 26
Faculæ or Luculi discovered on the Sun's Disc, by Galileo 26
His Observations on Saturn 27
The Subject of floating Bridges discussed 28
Galileo "On Floating Bodies" 28
1613. His Letter to the Abbé Castelli 31
Caccini attacks Galileo from the Pulpit 31
Luigi Maraffi apologises to Galileo for this Conduct 31
Galileo, his Letter to the Grand Duchess Christian 31
1615. (26th of February.) Galileo appears before the Inquisition 31
He renounces his Opinions 33
The Copernican System condemned by the Inquisition 34
1616. Interview of Galileo with Pope Paul V. 34
Letter of Querenghi to the Cardinal D'Este 34
Negotiations of Galileo with Spain 35
1618. Three Comets appear 36
1619. Discourse on Comets by Marco Guiducci 36
"The Astronomical and Philosophical Balance" 37
1623. Galileo, his Work "Il Saggiatore" 37
Accession of Cardinal Barberini to the papal Throne 37
1624. Galileo, his Visit to Pope Urban VIII. 38
His Reception 38
1629. Death of Cosmo 39
Pecuniary Difficulties of Galileo 39
1630. Work of Galileo demonstrating the Copernican System 41
1632. "The System of the World of Galileo Galilei" 42
Influence of this Work on the public Mind 43
Galileo summoned to appear before the Inquisition 44
1633. (14th of February.) He arrives at Rome 45
Is visited by Cardinal Barberini; his Kindness to him 46
Trial of Galileo 47
(22d of June.) His Sentence 48
His Abjuration 49
What Excuse is there for his Humiliation and Abjuration? 50
Imprisonment of Galileo 52
He leaves Rome 52
He returns to Arcetri 52
Death of his Daughter 53
His Indisposition and Melancholy 53
1638. He obtains Permission of the Pope to return to Florence 53
Continued Kindness of the Grand Duke of Tuscany for him 54
His "Dialogues on Local Motion" 54
Discovery of the Moon's Libration 55
1637. Blindness of Galileo 56
He is visited by a Number of Strangers 58
1642. (8th of January.) His Death 58
His Epitaph and Monument 95
His House 60
His domestic Character 60
His Person 60
His scientific Character 61
GUICCIARDINI.
1482. (6th of March.) His Birth 63
His Parentage 63
His Education 64
He obtains the Degree of Doctor of Laws 64
His Marriage 64
Sent as Ambassador, by the Republic, to Ferdinand King
Aragon 65
He returns home 65
Leo X. visits Florence 65
Guicciardini sent to receive him at Cortona 65
He makes him Governor of Reggio and Modena 66
Death of Leo 66
Guicciardini, his memorable Defence of Parma 66
Made President of Romagna 67
His Administration 67
Made Lieutenant-general of the Pontifical Army 67
The Power of the Medici becomes odious in Florence 67
Dangers to which Clement VII. is exposed 67
The Palace of Government seized by the younger Nobility 67
Frederigo da Bozzole sent to treat for it 68
Guicciardini, his Zeal in the Cause of the Medici 69
Reconciliation between Charles V. and Pope Clement VII. 69
Their united Arms turned against Florence 69
Second Restoration of the Medici 70
Overthrow of the Liberties of Florence 70
The Office of Gonfaloniere established 70
Alessandro de' Medici named Duke 70
His disgraceful Birth 70
His Vices 71
Guicciardini resigns the Government of Romagna 71
Murder of the Duke Alexander by Lorenzino de' Medici 72
Cosmo raised to the supreme Power 72
Guicciardini retires to his Country Seat at Montici 72
1540. (27th of May.) His Death 74
VITTORIA COLONNA.
Women who aspired to literary Fame in Italy 75
1465. Cassandra Fidele born; Politian's Letter to her 76
1490. Vittoria Colonna, her Parentage 77
Her Marriage with the Marquess of Pescara 77
Pescara made General of the Army at Ravenna 77
His Testimony of Affection to his Wife 77
Her Answer 78
Death of Pescara 78
Vittoria Colonna, her Grief in consequence 79
Her Poetry 80
Her Friendship for Cardinal Pole and Michael Angelo 81
1547. Her Death 81
GUARINI.
1537. His Birth 82
Little known of his early Life 82
His Marriage 82
1565. His Embassy to Venice to congratulate the new Doge, Pietro
Loredano 83
1571. His Embassy to Rome to pay Homage to Gregory XIII. 83
1573. His Mission to Poland to congratulate Henry of Valois on his
Accession 83
On his Return made Chancellor and Secretary of State 83
His second Visit to Poland 83
1575. (25th of November). His Letter to his Wife during his Journey 83
His "Pastor Fido" 87
His Quarrel with Tasso 87
1582. He requests his Dismissal from the Duke; he retires to his
Villa 88
1585. His "Pastor Fido" acted at Turin 91
1586. Guarini returns to his Post at Court; is made Secretary of State 92
His Missions to Umbria and Milan 92
His Quarrel with his Son 92
1590. He leaves the Court of Alfonso and goes to that of Savoy 93
He leaves Savoy, and goes to Padua 93
1591. He loses his Wife 93
His Letter to Cardinal Gonzaga 93
His Visit to Urbino 94
He retires to Ferrara, deputed by the Citizens to congratulate
Paul Usur 95
1608. Nuptials of Gonzaga and Marguerite of Savoy 95
1612. (7th of October.) His Death 95
TORQUATO TASSO, SON OF BERNARDO TASSO.
Their Ancestors 98
1493. Bernardo Tasso appointed Secretary of State to Ferrante
Sanseverino, Prince of Salerno 99
His Marriage with Portia Rossi 100
1544. (11th of March.) Torquato Tasso, his Birth 101
Bernardo Tasso joins his Patron in the War 102
Infancy of Torquato 103
Return of Bernardo from the War 103
1552. The Prince of Salerno and his Adherents declared Rebels 104
Bernardo, his Exile 104
Torquato Tasso, his Separation from his Mother; Lines written
by him on this Occasion 105
He and Cowper compared 107
1556. Death of his Mother 108
Torquato Tasso at Rome with his Father 108
Is implicated in his reputed Treason 109
His Letter to Vittoria Colonna on the Marriage of his Sister
Cornelia 110
Letter of Bernardo to his Daughter 110
Bernardo flies to Ravenna 111
He is invited to Pesaro 111
Vicissitudes of Bernardo Tasso 112
Torquato Tasso, his Studies 114
Boileau 115
"Joan of Arc" 117
"Curiosities of Literature" 118
Torquato translates his Father's Poems and Letters 118
"Amadigi" 119
Torquato Tasso studies Jurisprudence at Padua 122
His "Rinaldo" 122
Epic Poetry 125
"Gerusalemme Liberata" 126
Torquato leaves the Study of the Law, and repairs to Bologna 127
He returns to Padua and establishes the Degli Eterei 128
His "Discourses on Heroic Poetry" 130
1564. He visits his Father at Mantua 130
His Illness 131
1569. Bernardo Tasso, his Death 131
Torquato Tasso appointed one of the personal Attendants
Cardinal D'Este 131
Zoilus 131
1565. Torquato Tasso at Ferrara, in the Service of Cardinal Luigi 132
Marriage of Alfonso Duke of Ferrara 132
Death of Pope Pius IV. 133
Torquato becomes acquainted with Lucretia and Leonora
Este 133
A quotation from his "Aminta" 134
1568. Marriage of the Princess Anna of Este with the Duke
Guise 136
Marriage of Lucretia D'Este with the Prince of Urbino 136
Torquato Tasso accompanies the Cardinal Luigi, as Legate,
the Court of France 138
Two or three Anecdotes related of him 139
1572. Arrival of Tasso at Rome 140
His Reception by Pope Pius V. 140
Admitted into the Service of the Duke Alfonso 140
His "Aminta" 141
His "Torindo" and "Torrismondo" 143
His Illness 144
His Escape to Rome, with the Duke Alfonso's Consent 146
He returns to Ferrara 146
An Incident occurs to him which establishes him a Hero 147
His Malady 148
Is confined as a Lunatic by the Duke Alfonso 148
Efforts of the Duke to calm his Mind 149
His Love for the Princess Leonora 149
He visits his Sister 150
1579. Committed as a Lunatic to St Anne's Hospital 152
His Letter to Scipio Gonzaga 152
1581. Death of the Princess Leonora 156
Its Effect on Tasso 156
1586. Liberation of Tasso 157
His Controversy with the Della Cruscan Academy 158
His last Work, "Sette Giornate" 158
He recovers his Mother's Dowry 158
The Pope grants him a Pension 158
Manso, his Account of his Interview with Tasso during
Time he supposed he was visited by a Spirit 159
1594. (25th of April.) Death of Tasso 161
His Works 161
CHIABRERA.
1552. His Birth 163
His Parentage 163
His Childhood 163
Enters the Service of Cardinal Comaro Camerlingo 164
His disastrous Residence at Rome 163
His Studies 164
His Style 165
His Elegiac Poems 166
A Quotation from Wordsworth's Translation 166
Generous Overtures of Charles Emanuel 167
He refuses 168
1637. His Death 168
TASSONI.
1565. His Birth 169
His early Life 169
1585. Obtains the Degree of Doctor of Laws at the University of
Bologna 169
1597. Visits Rome; enters the Service of Cardinal Colonna; sent by
him to obtain Permission of Pope Clement VIII. to accept
the Viceroyalty of Aragon; his Success 170
1622. His Works 171
1635. His Death 173
MARINI.
1569. (18th of October.) His Birth 174
He opposes his Father's Wishes to become a Lawyer;
turns him out in consequence 174
1589. Publishes his "Canzoni de' Baci" 174
Concerned in some youthful Scrapes 175
Accompanies Cardinal Aldobrandini to Turin 175
His literary Quarrels 175
Marini publishes his Poem on the Murder of the Innocents 176
He accepts the Invitation of Marguerite of France 176
Her Death before his Arrival 176
Is received by Mary de' Medici 176
1623. He publishes his "Adone" 177
He returns to Rome 178
1625. (25th of March.) His Death 179
FILICAJA.
1642. (30th of December.) His Birth 180
His Parentage 180
His Education 180
His Marriage 181
His Odes 181
Kindness and Liberality of Christina of Sweden to Filicaja 182
He is appointed Governor of Volterra 182
His Return to Florence; his Character: his "Ode to the
Virgin" 183
1717. His Death 184
METASTASIO.
His obscure Origin 185
1698. (13th of January.) His Birth; his Name 185
His Adoption by Vincenzo Gravina 185
His first Tragedy, "Giustino" 186
His Letter to Algarotti 187
His Letter to Don Saverio Mattei 188
Death of his adopted Father Gravina 189
His Studies 189
His Imprudence 189
Commences the Study of the Law at Naples 190
He composes his "Orti Esperidi" 190
He quits his Legal Studies 191
And resides at the House of the Prima Donna Marianna
Bulgarelli 191
He studies Music 192
1594. Operatic Dramas first introduced at Florence 192
1724. Metastasio composes his "Didone Abbandonato;" also his
"Siroe" 192
He accompanies the Prima Donna to Rome 193
1727. He writes his Drama of "Cato" 193
1729. He is invited to become the Court Poet of Vienna 193
Apostolo Zeno 194
1730. Metastasio fulfils his Engagement to the Roman Theatre 194
He enters on his Employments at Vienna; Success of his Dramas 194
Becomes Treasurer of the Province of Cosenza, in Naples 195
His Letters to Marianna Bulgarelli 196
1733. Her Death 198
Metastasio's Letters to his Brother on her Death 198
His Style 200
His "Attilio Regulo" 201
"Themistocles" and "Olimpiade:" his Dramas 202
His Canzonetti 203
1740. Death of the Emperor Charles VI. 203
1745. Francis I. elected Emperor 204
Several European Sovereigns invite Metastasio to their Court 204
His Malady 204
His Letters 205
His Letter to his Brother on the Death of his Father 205
1770. Death of his Brother Leopold 208
1737. Farinelli 208
1746. Death of Philip V. of Spain 209
1763. Accession of Charles III. 209
Physical Sufferings of Metastasio 209
Death of the Empress Maria Theresa 209
1772. Doctor Burney's Account of Metastasio 210
1782. (12th of April.) Death of Metastasio 211
GOLDONI.
1707. His Birth 213
His Origin 213
1712. Death of his Grandfather; Pecuniary Difficulties of his Family 214
Education of Goldoni 215
His Departure with his Family from Perugia 216
Carlo Goldoni studies at Rimini 216
His Parents embark for Chiozza 216
Description of Chiozza 216
Goldoni escapes from Rimini 217
He arrives at Chiozza 218
He studies the Law under his Uncle, at Venice 219
1723. His Success at the University of Pavia 220
His Expulsion, and the Cause of it 221
Returns to his Parents 221
He pursues his Legal Studies at Modena 222
He determines to become a Monk 223
Prudent Conduct of his Parents on this Occasion 223
Goldoni becomes Coadjutor to the Chancellor of Feltri 224
He falls in Love 224
1731. He joins his Father at Ravenna 225
Death of the elder Goldoni 225
Goldoni enters the Profession of Barrister, at Venice 225
An Incident occurs which destroys his Prospects 226
His Tragedy of "Amalassunta" 228
Its Fate 229
Buonafede Vitali 229
1733. Siege of Milan 230
Journey of Goldoni to Modena 230
Disasters which he met with 231
1734. His "Belisarius" acted at Vienna 232
Good Fortune which he meets with at Genoa 233
His Marriage 233
He attempts to reform the Italian Theatre 233
The old Comedy of Italy 234
Goldoni obtains the Genoese Consulship at Venice 235
He meets with a Ragusan Adventurer 235
1741. His Play on the Subject 235
His Life at Rimini 236
His Journey to Cattolica, and the Misfortune that befel him 237
He becomes a Pleader at the Pisan Bar 238
His Comedies 238
His Style 239
The Plot of his "Donne Puntigliose" 240
Story of the "Donna Prudente" 241
His "Pettegollezzi" 241
The Subject of "Villeggiatura" and the "Smanie della
Villeggiatura" 242
His other Comedies 243
1760. He receives an Offer from the French Court 245
1761. His Debûbt as an Author in the French Capital 246
1792. His Death 246
ALFIERI.
The Italian Poets of the early Ages 247
1749. (17th of January.) Birth of Vittorio Alfieri 250
His noble Origin 250
His Childhood 251
His Education 252
Account of the Academy of Turin 252
System of Education 253
Effect of Music on the Mind of Alfieri 255
Circumstances of his Life altered by the Death of his Uncle 256
1763. Change of his Situation in College 256
Effect of this on his Conduct 256
His Extravagance 257
His Confinement 257
1764. His Liberation on the Marriage of his Sister Julia 258
His Return to College 259
1765. His Journey to Genoa 259
1766. He enters the Provincial Army of Asti 260
His dislike of Military Discipline; he obtains Leave of
Absence 260
His Tour 261
His second Leave of Absence; his second Tour 265
His first Entrance into Paris 265
His enthusiastic Feelings on visiting England 266
He returns to Turin, and resides with his Sister 267
1769. He takes another Tour 268
His second Visit to England; his Love Adventure 269
He returns to Paris 271
His Quarrel with his Servant 271
1772. Returns to Turin, and becomes a Cavaliere Servente 272
1774. He determines to break off this disgraceful Intercourse 274
His first Attempt at Composition 274
1777. He enters into an Engagement with the Public to write
Tragedies 276
He visits Siena; his Friendship with Francesco Gori 278
He visits Florence 279
His Attachment for Louisa de Stolberg, Countess of Albany 280
He makes a Donation of his Property to his Sister Julia 280
The distinguishing Marks of his Dramas 282
Distinction between Shakspeare and other Dramatic Writers 283
Alfieri, his Tragedy of "Philip," its Subject 284
He continues the _Amico di Casa_ of the Countess of Albany 286
Cruel Conduct of her Husband 286
She is separated from him 286
Alfieri at Rome with the Countess 287
1782. He completes his fourteen Tragedies 288
His Intercourse with the Countess of Albany begins to excite
Censure 289
He goes into voluntary Exile in consequence of his Sufferings 290
1783. He visits England to purchase Horses 290
He returns to Italy 291
His Visit to the Countess of Albany at Alsatia 291
He composes his "Agis," "Sofonisba," and "Mirra" 291
Death of his Friend Gori 292
Returns to Siena 292
Countess of Albany visits Paris 293
She goes to Baden, where she is joined by Alfieri 293
Residence of Alfieri at Colmar 293
1787. His Illness; visited by his Friend the Abbate Caluso 293
The Countess at Paris; Alfieri joins her 293
Death of her Husband 294
Corrected Editions of Alfieri's Tragedies 294
1790. His Translation of the Comedies of Terence 294
His Treatise on "Princes and Literature;" Critique on his
Style 295
1791. He accompanies the Countess of Albany to England 296
They return to Paris 296
1792. (10th of August.) The French Revolution 296
Imprisonment of Louis XVI. 296
Departure of the Countess and Alfieri from Paris; their
Furniture, Horses, and Books confiscated 297
They return to Florence 297
The Tragedy of "Saul" acted, Alfieri performing the Part of
the King 298
He studies the Greek Language 299
Invasion of Italy by the French 299
Alfieri and the Countess leave Florence 299
French driven from Tuscany 299
Second Invasion of the French; Effect of these political Events
on the Mind of Alfieri 300
(8th of October.) His Death 301
His Tomb 301
MONTI.
Arcadian Poetry 303
1754. (19th of February.) His Birth 305
His Parentage 305
Italian Farmers 305
Early Boyhood of Monti 306
Anecdote of him 306
His Studies at Faenza 307
Destined by his Father to Agricultural Labour; his Dislike of
this Occupation 307
Ineffectual Attempts of his Father to overcome this 308
His first Italian Poem; he adopts Alighieri as his Model 308
His "Vision of Ezekiel" 308
Cardinal Borghese takes Monti under his Protection; he
accompanies the Cardinal to Rome 309
1780. The Arcadians of the Bosco Parrasio celebrate the Quinquenalli
of Pius VI. 309
Monti made Secretary to the Duke of Braschi 309
His want of political Integrity 310
His Ode on the Marriage of the Duke of Braschi 311
1779. His Ambition excited by the Emulation inspired by Alfieri 311
1787. His "Aristodemo" acted at Rome with great Success 312
Plot of this Tragedy 312
Marriage of Monti 313
Hugh Basseville 314
Sent by the French to spread their Revolutionary Tenets
beyond the Alps 314
His History of the French Revolution 315
1793. His Assassination 315
(January 19th.) Louis XVI. beheaded 315
Monti, his Poem, the "Basvilliana" 315
His Poem on the French Revolution 316
His Plagiarism 316
Spread of French Republicanism 317
Defeat of the Austrians 317
1797. (January 3d.) Cisalpine Republic erected 318
Monti meets General Marmont at Rome 318
He proceeds with him to Florence 318
Monti, his Admiration of Napoleon 318
Made Secretary of Foreign Affairs at Milan 319
He suffers Persecution 319
A Law passed by the Cisalpine Republic 319
Monti loses his Situation in consequence 319
His "Musogonia" 319
Subject of his Poem entitled "Prometeo" 320
He obtains the Professor's Chair of Belles Lettres in Brera 321
1799. Suvaroff and the Austrians drive the French from Italy 321
End of the Italian Republics 321
Deplorable Destitution of Monti during his Exile 321
Goes to Pans on the Invitation of Mareschalchi 322
He composes a Hymn and an Ode on the Victory of Marengo 322
He returns to Italy 323
His Poem, the "Mascheroniana" 323
His Tragedy, "Caius Gracchus" 325
1802. The Cisalpine Congress meet at Lyons 326
Bonaparte made President 326
Monti, his Ode to Napoleon in the Name of the Congress 326
He obtains a Professorship at Pavia 327
Goes to Milan, where a Number of Offices are conferred on him 327
1805. Napoleon crowned King of Italy 327
Monti commanded to celebrate the Event 327
He composes his "Il Benificio" 328
His "Spada di Federico" 329
His "Palingenesi" 329
His "Jerogamia" 331
Remarks on "the Winged Horse of Arsinoe" 332
Translation of the Iliad 332
Visconti, his Praise of Monti's Iliad 333
1814. Overthrow of Napoleon 333
Monti loses all his public Employments 333
Pensions bestowed on him by the Emperor of Austria 333
He composes the "Mistico Omaggio" 334
His other Works 335
1812. Marriage of his Daughter 335
Her Poem "On a Rose" 335
The Della Crusca Controversy 336
Different Dialects of Italy 336
Bocca Romana 337
Florentine Dialect 337
Dispute of Monti with the Tuscans 338
Extracts from his Letters to his Friend Mustoxidi 338
Monti resides at Milan 340
Beauty of his Recitation 341
Extract of his Letters to a Friend on the Classic and Romantic
Schools 341
1821-1822. Monti resides with his Daughter and Son-in-law, at
Pesaro 343
1821. Monti, his Letter to his Wife 343
Another Letter to his Wife 344
1822. His Letter, giving a Picture of Italian Manners 345
His Visit to Pesaro on the Death of his Son-in-law 347
His Letter to his Friend Mustoxidi 347
1823. His Illness 348
1828. (13th of October.) His Death 350
His Character 350
His Person 351
UGO FOSCOLO.
1778. His Birth 354
His Origin 354
The Ionian Islands 355
Foscolo studies at Padua under Cesarotti 355
1797. His Tragedy of "Thyestes" represented at Venice 357
Foscolo becomes a voluntary Exile 357
His "Letters of Jacopo Ortis" 357
His Opinion of Bonaparte 359
He visits Tuscany 360
And Florence 360
He goes to Milan; Description of the Cisalpine Republic 361
Foscolo becomes acquainted with Monti 361
Likeness between him and his imaginary Hero, Ortis 362
His unfortunate Attachment for a Pisan Lady 362
He joins the Lombard Legion 363
1800. Invasion of the Austrio-Russians 363
Foscolo joins the French Army at Genoa 363
Siege of Genoa 364
Foscolo, his Letter to Bonaparte 364
(June 4th.) Surrender of Genoa 365
Conveyance of the Garrison to France by the English Fleet;
Foscolo accompanies them 365
"Ortis" 366
Comparison between Goethe's "Werter" and "Ortis" 366
Person and Manners of Foscolo 369
1802. Meeting of a Congress at Lyons to reform the Cisalpine
Republic 370
Foscolo, his "Oration to Bonaparte" 370
Foscolo holds a Commission in the Italian Legion 372
His Translation of Sterne's "Sentimental Journey" 373
1805. He becomes intimate with General Caffarelli 375
The Brescians 375
Foscolo, his "Ode on Sepulchres" 375
1808. He is made Professor of Eloquence in the University of Pavia;
his Introductory Oration 377
He incurs the Displeasure of Bonaparte 378
Loses his Professorship, and retires to the Lake of Como 378
Description of the Lake 378
His Tragedy of "Ajax" 379
Its Politics found fault with; he is persecuted in consequence 380
He is exiled from Milan, and visits Tuscany 380
1813. Manifesto of Lord William Bentinek 382
Treaty of Fontainebleau 382
Foscolo, his Adherence to the Cause of Liberty 384
His Conversation with Pecchio 385
He resides in Italy 385
Lord Castlereagh 386
Arrival of Foscolo in England 386
His Retreat at St. John's Wood 387
1822. Pecchio visits him 387
Foscolo, his "Ricciarda" 388
The Story on which it is founded 388
Dedicated to Lord William Russell 388
1823. Lady Dacre interests herself in behalf of Foscolo 389
Description of Foscolo's House at South Bank 389
Imprudence of Foscolo; his pecuniary Difficulties 392
1827. (October 10th.) His Death 392
His Character 393
TABLE,
ANALYTICAL AND CHRONOLOGICAL,
TO THE THIRD VOLUME OF
LIVES OF
EMINENT LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
OF ITALY, SPAIN, AND PORTUGAL.
INTRODUCTION.
A.D.
Preliminary Remarks 1
Aborigines of Spain 2
Silius Italicus 2
Lucan 2
The Senecas 2
The Roman Power in Spain annihilated by the Visigoths 3
Anecdotes of the Goths 3
Conquest of Spain by the Moors 3
The University of Cordova founded by Abdorrhaman III. 4
Settlement of the Jews in Spain 4
Arabic Authors 5
The Romances Moriscos 5
Troubadours 5
Mosen Jordi de Sant Jordi 6
The Redondillas 7
The Cancionero general and the Romancero general 9
Quotation from Doctor Bowring's Translation of the
Redondillas 9
Romances of Chivalry 10
1325. Vasco Lobeira 10
Alphonso X., surnamed the Wise 11
The Cultivation which he bestowed on the Castilian Language 11
His Works 11
The Alphonsine Tables 11
Alphonso XI. 11
Spain desolated by Civil Wars 12
Juan Ruiz 12
1407. John II., his disastrous Reign 12
The Marquis of Villena institutes Floral Games 13
1434. His Death 13
Marquis of Santillana 13
Marcias, his melancholy Fate 13
1412. Juan de Mena, the Ennius of Spain 14
His Birth 14
His Origin 14
He studies at the University of Salamanca 14
His Works 15
1456. His Death 15
Quintano, his Opinion of the "Labyrinto" 15
Juan de Enzina, Author of the first Spanish Plays 17
His Birth 17
His Songs and Lyrics 18
His Name becomes proverbial in Spain by his Song of
Contraries or Absurdities 18
A Quotation from Doctor Bowring's Translation 18
Union of the Crowns of Castile and Arragon 19
Castilian adopted as the classic Language of the Country 20
BOSCAN.
The first Spanish Poet who introduced the Italian Style 21
1500. His Birth 21
His noble Descent 21
His Marriage 21
Chosen Governor to the Duke of Alva 22
1525. Andrea Navagero, the Venetian Ambassador 22
His Arrival at the Court of Charles V. at Toledo; he meets
with Boscan and Garcilaso 22
He induces them to quit their national Redondillas 22
This Circumstance referred to by Boscan in the Dedication of
his Poems to the Duchess of Soma 23
A Translation of one of Garcilaso's Poems 24
Translation of the Epistle of Boscan to Don Diego Hurtado de
Mendoza 26
1543. Petrarch and Boscan compared 34
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA.
His illustrious Descent 36
1503. His Birth 37
Accession of Charles V. 38
Death of Cardinal Ximenes 38
Election of Charles to the Imperial Crown, and his intended
Departure for Germany 38
Revolution in Spain in consequence 38
Garcilaso distinguishes himself at the Battle of Pavia 39
1528. His Marriage 39
1532. Invasion of Hungary by Solyman 39
Garcilaso falls into Disgrace at Court 39
His Exile 39
His Ode in Commemoration of his Imprisonment 40
Muley Hassan driven out of Algiers by Barbarossa, who
possesses himself of it 40
He fortifies the Citadel 41
Algiers invested by the Emperor Charles 41
Garcilaso serves in the Imperial Army; his Gallantry nearly
proves fatal to him 41
Return of Charles to Italy 41
Garcilaso, his Residence at Naples 41
Quotation from his Elegy to Boscan 42
1535. (5th of August.) Cardinal Bemboa, his Letter to a Friend in
Commendation of Garcilaso 42
His Letter to Garcilaso 44
Charles V. enters France; he recals Garcilaso, and confers on
him the Command over eleven Companies of Infantry 45
Epistle of Garcilaso to Boscan from Vaucluse 45
1536. Death of Garcilaso while attacking a Tower 46
His Character 47
His Children 47
His second Eclogue 47
Quotation from it 49
Translation of his Ode to the "Flower of Gnido" 53
MENDOZA.
His numerous Titles 58
1500. His Birth 58
His noble Extraction 58
Originality of his Genius 59
He studies Theology in the University of Salamanca 59
He leaves the Clerical Profession 59
Appointed Ambassador to Venice 59
1545. Deputed to attend the Council of Trent 60
1547. He is made Governor and Captain General of Siena 60
The Salvi 60
1545. A new Oligarchy erected in Siena 61
Revolt of Siena 61
Mendoza, his Government; he leaves Siena; on the Death of
Paul III. he repairs to Rome to watch the Progress of the
Conclave 62
The Sienese take Advantage of his Absence, and solicit the Aid
of the French King 63
Mendoza applies to the Pope for Assistance; he evades his
Request 63
1552. Loss of Siena to the Emperor 63
1554. Recal of Mendoza to Spain 64
1557. Battle of St. Quentin 65
Mendoza present at it; characteristic Adventure related of
him 65
He composes his Work on "The History of the War of the
Moriscos in Granada" 65
1776. A complete Edition of his Works published 67
1775. Death of Mendoza; his Character 67
Critique on his Poetry 68
LUIS DE LEON.
Preliminary Remarks 70
1527. His Birth 71
His Childhood 71
Becomes Doctor of Theology to the University of Salamanca 72
1561. His Election to the Chair of St. Thomas 72
His Enemies 72
1572. He translates the Song of Solomon into Spanish, for which he is
imprisoned by the Inquisition at Valladolid 72
His Odes to the Virgin written during his Imprisonment 73
1576. His Liberation 76
He visits Madrid 76
1591. He is elected Vicar-General of his Province 76
(23d of August.) His Death 76
His Person 76
His Character 77
His Theological Works 78
His Translations 78
A Quotation from one of his Odes, and a Translation of it 79
FERNANDO HERRERA.
An Account of him by Rodrigo Caro 83
Opinions of different Spanish Writers on his Poems 86
His "Ode to Sleep" 87
SAA DE MIRANDA.
1494. His Birth 88
Style of his Poetry 88
JORGE DE MONTEMAYER.
1520. His Birth 89
Origin of his Name 89
He emigrates to Castile 89
His Work "Diana," critical Remarks on it 89
1661. Supposed Time of his Death 92
CASTILLEJO.
1580. Fernando de Acuna 92
1550. Gil Polo 92
Cetina 93
1596. Cristoval Castillejo 93
His Satires 93
THE DRAMATISTS.
"Celestina, Tragicomedia de Calisto y Melibea" 95
The Plot of this Play 95
1515. A Translation of the Amphitryon of Plautus, printed, and
of the Electra of Sophocles 96
Perez de Oliva 96
Obscurity of the earliest regular Dramas written in Spanish 97
Bartolomé Torres Naharro, his Dramatic Writings 97
Lope de Rueda, his Birth 98
Account of him by Cervantes 98
His Plays 99
State of Literature under Charles V. 100
Originality the Distinctive of the Spanish Character 101
ERCILLA.
Preliminary Remarks 103
1533. (7th of March.) Don Alonso de Ercilla; his Birth 104
His Ancestors 104
His Education 104
He is made Page of Honour to Prince Philip 104
Ambition of Charles V. 105
Insurrection of the Araucanos in South America 105
The Charge of subduing them committed to Geronimo de
Alderete 105
Ercilla leaves the personal Service of the Prince, and follows
the Adelantado to the East 106
Expedition of Don Garcia against the Araucanos 106
Ercilla distinguishes himself in the Indian War 107
Philip II. succeeds to the Throne of Spain 108
Ercilla escapes an early and disastrous End 109
Cruelties committed by Lope de Aguirre on the Indians at
Venezuela 110
1562. Ercilla returns to Spain; his Marriage 111
He is appointed Chamberlain to Maximilian II. 112
1580. His Destitution and Abandonment 112
1595. The supposed Time of his Death 113
His Character 113
His "Araucana;" Analysis and partial Translation of it 115
Critique on it 116
CERVANTES.
Preliminary Remarks 120
1547. (9th of October.) His Birth 123
His Origin 123
His early Studies 123
1569. Death of Isabella of Valois, Wife of Philip II. 124
Lopez de Hoyos 124
Cervantes quits Madrid 125
1568. He enters the Service of the Cardinal Acquaviva 125
1569. He visits Rome 126
He enlists under General Antonio Colonna in the Campaign
against the Turks 126
1571. The combined Fleets of Venice, Spain, and the Pope assemble
at Messina 126
(7th of October.) Battle of Lepanto 127
Gallant Conduct of Cervantes 127
He is wounded, and remains in the Hospital at Messina six
Months 128
1572. Don John of Austria 128
Second Campaign against the Turks 128
The Spaniards alone prosecute the War 128
Attempted and unsuccessful Assault on the Castle of Navarino 128
1573. The Venetians sign a Peace with Selim 129
Cervantes enters Tunis with the Marquis de Santa Cruz, and
returns to Palermo with the Fleet 129
Cervantes obtains leave to return to Spain 129
The Galley he embarked in attacked by an Algerine 129
Squadron 129
He is taken Prisoner by the Arnaout Captain 130
Piracies carried on by the Algerine Corsairs 131
Their System 131
Interesting Details of the Captivity of Cervantes 131
His Tale of the "Captive" 131
1576. His first Attempt at Escape with some of his Companions 133
Its Failure 133
Gabrièl de Castañedo ransomed; he brings Letters from
Cervantes to his Father 133
1577. His Father unable to procure Money to ransom both him and
his Brother; Cervantes gives up his Share to secure the
Freedom of his Brother 134
He arranges another Plan of Escape 134
1578. He is purchased by Hassan Aga 137
1579. He concerts a new Plan of Escape with the Renegade
Abd-al-Rhamen 138
Is again betrayed 138
His Liberation 140
He refutes certain Calumnies, of which he was the Object 141
1581. Landing of Cervantes in Spain 142
He again enters the Army; he embarks in the Squadron of
Don Pedro 143
1582. He serves in a naval Battle under Santa Cruz 143
1583. Also at the Taking of Terceira 143
1584. He publishes his "Galatea" 145
His Marriage 145
1588. He accepts the Situation of Commissary to the Invincible
Armada 147
1593. His Office abolished 148
He manages the Affairs, and becomes the Friend, of Don
Hernando de Toledo 148
His two Sonnets 149
The Subject of the first 149
1598. A magnificent Catafalque erected in the Cathedral of Seville
on the Death of Philip II. 149
Sonnet of Cervantes to the Monument of the King at Seville 151
1594. Anecdote of a mercantile Casualty which happened to
Cervantes; financial Annoyance 151
1597. Another Anecdote 152
1603. He removes to Valladolid 153
He becomes the Victim of litigious Proceedings 154
He composes his "Don Quixote" 155
1604. He returns to Spain 156
A Story respecting the Dedication of "Don Quixote" to the
Duke of Bejar 157
1605. Disputes respecting the Existence of the "Buscapié" 158
Satires against "Don Quixote" 160
James I. of England sends Lord Howard to present a Treaty of
Peace to Philip III., and to congratulate him on the Birth of
his Son 161
An Account of these Festivities, written by Cervantes 161
An Event occurs by which Cervantes is greatly distressed 161
1606. He follows the Court to Madrid 163
Despotism and Bigotry extend their Influence over Spain 163
Kindness of Don Bernardo de Sandoval, Archbishop of Toledo,
to Cervantes 163
1610. Count of Lemos made Viceroy of Naples 164
The Argensolas, surnamed the Horaces of Spain 164
Disappointment of Cervantes at their Neglect 164
Anecdote of Philip III. 165
1615. The Censorship of "Don Quixote" intrusted to Francisco
Marquez Torres 166
His Account of the Neglect with which the Spaniards treated
Cervantes 166
1608. Preface to the "Twelve Tales" of Cervantes 167
1614. He publishes his "Voyage to Parnassus" 168
Preface to his Work, "Comedias y Entremeses" 169
1615. Poetic Games 170
The "Don Quixote" of Avellanada 170
Indignation of Cervantes on its Publication 171
Illness of Cervantes 172
1616. His Excursion from Esquivias to Madrid 172
His Adieu to the World 173
His Dedication to his Protector, the Count of Lemos 174
(23d of April.) His Death 174
His Will 174
His Character 175
His "Galatea" 175
His "Numantia;" the Plot of this Play 176
His Comedy of "A Life in Algiers" 178
Godwin's Opinion of "Don Quixote" 182
Remarks on "Don Quixote" 182
Extracts from "Voyage to Parnassus" 184
LOPE DE VEGA.
His Career and that of Cervantes compared 189
Epithets of Praise heaped on him 190
1562. His Birth 190
His Parentage 191
His Boyhood 191
An Adventure related of him while at School 192
He becomes the Protégé of Geronimo Manrique, the Grand
Inquisitor 193
He enters the University of Alcala 193
He enters the Service of the Duke of Alva 194
His "Arcadia;" a Detail of the Story 195
1598. Publication of the "Arcadia" 198
Lope de Vega leaves the Duke's Service 198
His Marriage 199
He is engaged in a Duel, which causes him to go to Valencia 199
He returns to Madrid; Death of his Wife 200
1588. He becomes a Soldier, and joins the Invincible Armada 200
His Eclogue to Claudio 200
1604. His Sonnets 200
A Translation of two of his Sonnets 202
Some Account of his "Dorotea" 204
Sanguine Expectations of the Invincible Armada 209
Piratical Expeditions of Drake and Hawkins excite the
Animosity and Vengeance of the Spaniards 209
An animated Description of the setting forth of the Invincible
Armada, by Lope de Vega 210
He composes "The Beauty of Angelica" 210
1590. He returns from the Armada, and enters the Service of Count
Lemos 211
His second Marriage 211
1620. His Work, "The True Lover" 212
Extracts from his Epistles 213
Uncertain Dates of the various Events of his Life 216
1598. Canonisation of St. Isidro 217
The Reputation of Lope de Vega awakens the Enmity of
Rivals and Critics 217
His War with Gongora 218
1616. His unexampled Popularity 219
1621. His Novel 219
His "Soliloquies on God" 220
His Poem on the Death of Mary Queen of Scots 220
Exaggerated Account of the Quantity of his Writings 220
Anecdote of him and Montalvan 221
Extract from his Poems 222
1635. His Presentiments of his approaching Dissolution 225
(18th of August) His Death 226
His Funeral 226
His Person 227
His Character 227
The "Dragon tea" 228
The "Jerusalem" 229
Difficulties of establishing the Theatre in Spain 230
Spanish Theatres 231
Analysis of the "Star of Seville," by Lord Holland 233
Sacred Dramas and Autos Sacramentales of Lope de Vega 235
Incongruities of his Plots 236
VICENTE ESPINEL. ESTEVAN DE VILLEGAS.
The Poetry of Spain 238
1544. Birth of Vicente Espinel 239
His Parentage 239
1634. His Death 240
1595. Birth of Estévan Manuel de Villégas, named the Anacreon of
Spain 240
His Parentage 240
1618. His original Anacreontics published 240
1626. His Marriage 241
1669. His Death 241
Translation of one of his Sapphics 242
GONGORA.
1561. (11th of July.) His Birth 243
His Parentage 243
A cursory Review of his Life 243
1627. (24th of May.) His Death 244
His Person and Disposition 245
His early Poetry 245
His Style 245
His "Song of Catherine of Arragon" 246
Extract from his Songs 247
His System 248
Quotations from Lope de Vega, showing the Absurdity of
Gongora's Style 248
The "Polyphemus" of Gongora 252
Extract from his "Solitudes" 252
QUEVEDO.
The Talent and Genius of the Spaniards during the fourteenth
and fifteenth Centuries 255
Their Energies and Genius blighted by the Infamy of the
Political Institutions 256
1580. (September.) Birth of Quevedo 256
His Parentage 256
He enters the University of Alcalà 256
A Circumstance occurs which obliges him to quit the Court 257
He takes refuge in Italy 258
Don Pedro Giron Duke of Osuna 258
His Character 258
The Court of Philip III. 258
Quevedo sent as Ambassador to Madrid 259
His Success; a Pension bestowed on him 259
Duke of Osuna advanced to the Viceroyalty of Naples; his
Victories over the Turks 259
The Spanish Power threatens to become omnipotent in Italy 260
Charles Emanuel endeavours to make head against it 260
The Duke of Osuna opposes the Venetians 260
The lawless and dishonourable Means he takes 260
He protects the Uscocchi against the Venetians 260
The Merchants of Naples and the French make Representations
at the Court of Madrid in consequence 260
Osuna ordered to suspend Hostilities 260
1618. The Bedmar Conspiracy 261
Quevedo and Osuna supposed to be implicated in the Plot 262
Quevedo escapes from Venice 262
Osuna continues Viceroy of Naples; he is suspected of
intending to arrogate Power independent of the King 263
He is ordered to return to Madrid 263
Cautious proceedings of the Court with respect to him 264
Cardinal Don Gaspar de Borgia is named his Successor 264
Return of Osuna to Spain 264
1624. His Imprisonment and Death 264
1620. Quevedo, his attachment to Osuna 264
He is suspected of participating in his treasonable Designs 265
His Imprisonment in consequence 265
His Liberation 265
1632. He is made Secretary to the King 266
1634. He leaves the Church, and marries 266
His Wife dies 266
His own Words, alluding to his evil Fate 267
1641. He is suspected of being the Author of certain Libels; is
arrested and imprisoned in Consequence 268
Two Letters of his 269
His Memorial to Count Olivarez 270
His Liberation 271
1647. (September 8th.) His Death 272
His Person 272
His Character 272
His Style 273
A singular Circumstance appertaining to his literary Career 274
Critique on his Prose Writings 275
His "Vision of Calvary" 276
His "Alguazil possessed" 277
CALDERON.
Misrule and Oppression destroy the Spirit and Intellect of Spain 278
Luzan 278
Moratin 278
1601. Birth of Calderon 279
His illustrious Descent 279
He enters the University of Salamanca 279
1620. He leaves Salamanca 280
1626. He enters the Military Service 280
He serves in the Milanese and Flanders 280
1637. He is recalled to Court 280
Innumerable Dramas appear under the patronage of Philip IV. 280
He summons Calderon to his Court 281
1650. Marriage of Philip VI. with Maria Ana of Austria 281
Calderon quits the military Career, and becomes a Priest 281
1654. He becomes Chaplain to the Royal Chapel at Toledo 282
1687. (May 29th.) His Death 282
His Character 282
Characteristics of his Plays 283
Character of his Poetry 285
THE EARLY POETS OF PORTUGAL
RIBEYRO--GIL VICENTE--SAA DE MIRANDA--FERREIRA.
Original Portuguese Tongue 288
Alphonso Henriquez, Founder of the Portuguese Monarchy 288
Portuguese Poetry 289
1487. Bartolomeo Diaz doubles the Cape of Good Hope 289
Vasco de Gama visits the Shores of India 289
A Portuguese Kingdom founded in Hindostan 290
Bernardim Ribeyro, the Ennius of Portugal 290
Saa de Miranda, Founder of Portuguese Poetry 291
Gil Vicente, the Portuguese Plautus 292
Antonio Ferreira, the Portuguese Horace 292
1569. His Death 293
His Style 293
CAMOENS.
Camoens and Cervantes, their Destiny similar in many Respects 295
1817. The "Lusiad," Translation of it 295
Origin of the Family of Camoens 295
Derivation of his Name 296
1370. Vasco Perez de Camoens takes the Part of Castile against
Portugal 297
1524. Birth of Camoens 298
1308. Foundation of the University of Coimbra by King Diniz 299
1537. Camoens enters the University of Coimbra 300
Extract from his fourth Canzone 301
Another Extract from another 301
1545. He leaves Coimbra 302
His Arrival at Court 302
He falls in Love; his Sonnet in Commemoration of this
Occasion 303
The Poetry of Camoens and Petrarch compared 304
Translations of Camoens' Sonnets, by Doctor Southey 306
Exile of Camoens from the Palace 306
Writes several of his Lyrics during his Banishment 307
Lord Strangford's Translation of an Elegy written at this
Time 307
1550. Bravery of Camoens while with the Troops at Ceuta 310
Loses one of his Eyes in a naval Engagement in the Straits of
Gibraltar 310
1553. He embarks for India 310
Don Alfonso de Noronha, Viceroy of Goa 312
Camoens joins the Armament sent from Goa against the King
of Cochin 312
Returns to Goa 312
Death of Antonio de Noronha 312
Camoens' Letter to a Friend, inclosing a Sonnet and Elegy on
his Death 313
1554. Dom Pedro Mascarenhas succeeds Noronha in the Viceroyalty
of Goa 315
Cruising of the Mahometans detrimental to the Portuguese 315
Expedition of de Vasconcellos to protect the Merchantmen 315
Camoens joins this Expedition 315
1555. Returns to Goa, and writes his ninth Canzone 315
Extortion and Tyranny of the Portuguese Government 316
Causes Camoens to write his Satire, "Follies of India" 316
1556. Departs from Goa in the Fleet which Barreto despatched to the
South 317
Is appointed Commissary 317
Description of Camoens' Grotto at Macao 318
He composes the "Lusiad" 318
On his Return to Goa he is wrecked on the River Mecon 319
Arrives at Goa; the Kindness with which he is received by the
new Governor, Dom Constantine de Braganza 320
Accused of Malversation in the Exercise of his Office at Macao 320
Extract from the "Lusiad" 320
Camoens pursues his military Career in India 321
He commemorates the Death of Dona Catarina de Atayde 322
Pedro Barreto appointed Governor of Sofala in the
Mozambique 323
Camoens accompanies him 323
His dependent State 323
Quarrels with Barreto 323
Arrival of his Indian Friends, who supply his Wants, and
invite him to accompany them 324
Barreto refuses to let him go until he paid 200 Ducats 324
He accompanies his Friends home 325
1569. Arrives at Lisbon 325
The Plague at Lisbon 325
Political State of the Kingdom disadvantageous to Camoens 325
1571. The "Lusiad" published 326
Melancholy Circumstances attending the last Days of
Camoens 327
1578. Defeat of Sebastian in Africa 328
Its Effect on Camoens 328
1579. Last Scene of Camoens' Life 328
His Tomb 329
His Person 329
A Review of his Life 330
Extract from the "Lusiad," and a Critique on it 332
LIVES
OF
EMINENT
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
INTRODUCTION
MOSEN JORDI.--CANCIONERO.--ALPHONSO X. AND HIS
COURT.--ALPHONSO XI. AND HIS COURT.--JUAN DE
MENA.
In every other country, to treat of its literary men is at the same time
to give a history of its literature. In Spain it is otherwise. We have
no trace of who the poets were who produced that vast collection of
ballads and romances, which, full of chivalry and adventure, love and
war, fascinate the imagination, and bestow immortality on heroes--some
real, some fictitious--who otherwise had never been known. To understand
the merits of the later writers, to know on what their style and spirit
was formed, it is necessary to give some account of the early, and also
of the anonymous, poetry of Spain. Nor will it be foreign to the
subject, nor uninteresting, slightly to trace the progress of literature
in the Peninsula from its earliest date. From a thousand causes Spain is
the land of romance. There never was any one who has travelled in that
country, whatever might be his political opinions, or his view of human
nature and society, but admired and loved the Spaniards. There is an
originality, an independence, an enthusiasm, in the Spanish character
that distinguishes them from every other people. Despotism and the
Inquisition, ignorance and superstition, have been unable to level the
noble altitude of their souls; and even while the manifestations of
genius have been crushed, genius has survived.
From early times Spain was the birthplace of men of eminence in
literature. We know little of the aborigines, and nothing of their
language, except that from the earliest times they appear to have been
gifted with that love of song that survives to this day. Silius Italicus
hears testimony to this taste, when with all the arrogance of assumed
superiority he speaks of the verses sung by the Gallicians in their
native dialect, "barbara nunc patriis ululantem carmina linguis," and
Strabo alludes to immemorial ballads sung by the inhabitants of Betica.
When the Spaniards shared the refinements and learning of the capital,
several names became distinguished. Lucan was a native of Cordova. We
can fancy that we trace the genuine Spanish spirit in this
poet--earnestness, enthusiasm, gaudiness, and an inveterate tendency to
diffuseness. The two Senecas were natives, also, of the same town.[1]
The Spaniards with fond pride collect other names which the tide of time
sweeping by, has cast on the shore, too obscure for fame, but
sufficiently known to prove that the Spanish nation was always prolific
in men who sought to distinguish themselves in literature.
These recollections, however, belong to another race. The Visigoths
swept over the land, annihilated the Roman power, and, as far as any
traces that have come down to us avouch, absorbed the aboriginal Iberian
in their invasion. Yet, though they conquered and reigned over the land,
it is to be doubted how far they actually amalgamated with the natives.
And it is conjectured that one of the causes why the Moors, after
conquering Don Roderick in battle, so soon possessed themselves of city
and district, and founded what at first was a sway as peaceful as
universal, was occasioned by the distinction still subsisting between
Iberian and Goth, which led the former the more readily to submit to new
masters.
The Goths were an illiterate people. There is an anecdote recorded in
proof of their barbarism on this point. Queen Amalasunta, who appears to
have possessed a more refined and exalted mind than the men of her time,
was eager to confer on her son Alaric the graces and accomplishments of
literature. The warriors of the land opposed her purpose,--"No," they
cried, "the idleness of study is unworthy of the Goth: high thoughts of
glory are not fed by books, but by deeds of valour. He is to be a king
whom all should dread. He shall not be compelled to fear his
instructors."[2]
Another proof of the ignorance and small influence of the Goths is their
having adopted the language of the conquered country. All that has come
down to us from them, with the exception of a few inscriptions, is in
the Latin language, and several poems were written in that tongue. Still
the Goths loved warlike songs and music. To their days some would trace
the redondilla, while it has also been conjectured that the peculiar
rhythm of these national ballads had its origin in the camp songs of the
Roman soldiers.[3]
At length the Gothic power fell--the Moors entered, overran, and
conquered Spain. At first the resistance they met was not at all
proportionate to what we should consider to have been the resources of
the Spanish nation. But a noble spirit of resistance was awakened.
Difference of religion kept alive what difference of language and habits
originated. The enthusiastic patriotism which had gathered as waters in
a mountain tarn, overflowed from the heights to which it had retreated,
and finally poured over the whole land. From the struggle that ensued a
thousand deeds of heroism had birth, and those circumstances were
developed, which became the subjects to be consecrated by those
beautiful ballads and songs, "in which," to use the appropriate language
of a modern critic, "truth wears the graceful garb of romance, and
romance appears the honest handmaid of truth."
Spain owed much to the Moor, however, from other causes. The Arabs were
a learned and refined race. They built cities, palaces, and mosques;
they founded universities, they encouraged learning. The most eminent
scholars came from the East to grace their schools, and introduced a
spirit of inquiry and a love of knowledge which survived their power.
Abdorrhaman III. founded the university at Cordova. He established
schools and collected a library, it is said, to the extent of six
hundred thousand volumes. The blessings of civilisation was fostered by
the Omajad dynasty. Mahometanism never flourished with such true glory
as under the Spanish caliphs.
One of the most remarkable circumstances of this era is, the prosperity
and learning of the Jews settled in Spain. Persecuted by the Goths[4],
this hapless nation doubtless welcomed the Moors gladly; and finding
toleration under their rule, and their schools open to them, they
flocked to the universities of Cordova and Toledo in such numbers, that
one Jewish writer tells us that there were twelve thousand Israelitish
students at Toledo; and they gave evidence of the perseverance,
sagacity, and talent which belong to that people, and which, fostered by
the blessed spirit of toleration, bore worthy fruit.
A succession of Hebrew scholars may be traced from the tenth to the
fifteenth centuries. De Castro gives an account of seven hundred
different works. Every Jew could read. The higher classes flourished in
glory and prosperity, so that many of the noblest Spanish families
include Jewish sprouts in the tree of their genealogy. Even to this day
the Jews' sons of those driven from Spain to this country remember their
Spanish renown, and have preserved a recollection of its language.
Of the Arabic authors of Spain the greater portion were natives of
Andalusia. The number of their poets was very considerable. Of the
_Romances Moriscos_ doubtless many originated in Arabic poetry. The old
Roman rhythm, the Gothic love of music, the Arab chivalry, and the noble
spirit generated by a generous love of freedom, were the sources of
these romances. Before we recur to them however, we will mention the
connection between the troubadour and Provençal poetry with the
Valentian. It is a singular anomaly, we may almost call it, in
literature, that a dialect become a written one, adorned by poets and
spoken through extensive provinces, should have become the dead tongue
of modern times. The French, Italian, and Castillian absorbed the genius
that once took form in a tongue which, whether it be called Provençal,
Limousin, or Valentian, is still the same, and in it were written the
earliest modern verses. Petrarch and Dante raised their native tongue in
opposition; but the poetry they studied as anterior to their own was the
Provençal. The peculiar tone of troubadour poetry; the refined and
somewhat abstract mode in which love is treated, was adopted by
Petrarch, and by Dante also, in his sonnets and canzoni. The rhythm and
the subjects were more artful and scientific than the songs of Castille,
and thus at one time it was held in higher regard by the Spanish
sovereigns who wished to introduce learning and poetry among their
subjects. John I. of Arragon invited many Provençal and Narbonne poets
to settle at Barcelona and Tortosa. He established an academy in the
former city for the cultivation of poetry. The Spanish troubadours
became celebrated; Mosen Jordi de Sant Jordi is one of the first and
best-known. Petrarch read and, perhaps, imitated him.[5]
Though protected and encouraged by the sovereigns of Arragon, and read
and lauded, and even imitated, by the nobles of their courts, the
Valentian never became the national poetry of Spain, and we turn from
poets who will find better place among the early French writers to the
genuine productions of Castille.
We have seen that it was during the Moorish wars, under the successors
of Don Pelayo, that these romances had birth. The kings of the various
provinces of Spain, ever at war with the Moors, were, of course, in a
state of great dependence on their warrior nobles. They needed their
subjects to form expeditions against the enemy or to resist their
encroachments. Often, also, the Spanish princes were at enmity with each
other; and civil discord, or the war of one Christian kingdom against
the other, caused temporary alliance with the Mahometans. This brought
the chivalry of the two nations into contact. The Spaniards learned the
arts of civilisation from their conquerors--they learned also the
language of love.
In the midst of these romantic wars, there sprung up a species of poetry
which in its simplicity and truth resembles the old English ballads, but
which, from the nature of the events it commemorates, is conceived in a
loftier and more chivalrous tone. The most ancient of these is a poem on
the Cid, written an hundred and fifty years before the time of Dante:
its versification is barbarous. It was written in the infancy of
language; but it displays touches of nature, and a vivacity of action,
that show it to have been the work of men of an heroic and virile age.
By degrees the romances or ballads of Spain assumed a lighter and more
tripping rhythm, fitter to be easily remembered and to be accompanied by
music. These metrical compositions were called _redondillas._[6]
Boutervek imagines that they may be considered as a relic of the songs
of the Roman soldiers. There was something singularly popular in their
freedom from constraint, and catching in their effect on the ear. The
sonorous harmony of the Spanish language gave them dignity; they were
easy to compose, easy to remember; they required only a subject, and the
words flowed, as it were, with the facility of a running stream.
There are several volumes, called the Cancionero general and Romancero
general, filled with these compositions. The most singular circumstance
is, that they are nearly all anonymous. No doubt, as language improved,
they were altered and amended from oral tradition, and no one had a
right to claim undivided authorship. Their subjects were love and war,
and came home to the heart of every Spaniard: the sentiments were
simple, yet heroic; the action was always impassioned, and sometimes
tragic.
Doctor Bowring, who has a happy facility in rendering the poetry of
foreign nations into our own, has been more felicitous than any other
author in translating these compositions. His volume is well known, and
we will not quote largely from it, as we are tempted. One poem, which
Boutervek pronounces to be untranslatable through its airiness and
lightness, we present as a specimen of that talent, so peculiar to the
redondilla, of catching and portraying a sentiment, as it were, by
sketches and hints, where the reader fills up the picture from his own
imagination, and is pleased by the very vagueness which incites him to
exert that faculty.
"'Lovely flow'ret, lovely flow'ret--
Oh! what thoughts your beauties move!
When I pressed thee to my bosom,
Little did I know of love;
Now that I have learnt to love thee.
Seeking thee in vain I rove.'
'But the fault was thine, young warrior,
Thine it was--it was not mine;
He who brought thy earliest letter,
Was a messenger of thine;
And he told me--graceless traitor--
Yes! he told me--lying one--
That thou wert already married
In the province of Leon;
Where thou hadst a lovely lady,
And, like flowers too, many a son.'
'Lady! he was but a traitor.
And his tale was all untrue,
In Castille I never entered--
From Leon too, I withdrew
When I was in early boyhood,
And of love I nothing knew.'"[7]
In addition to these ballads we must mention the romances of chivalry.
There is an undying discussion as to the nation in which these works
originated. According to Spanish writers, the real author of the first
or genuine Amadis was Vasco Lobeira, a native of Portugal, who
flourished at the end of the thirteenth century, and lived till the year
1325. Perverted as history and geography are in this and other similar
works, they are full of invention, and alive with human feeling. Heroic
deeds are blended with fairy machinery, borrowed from Arabian tales;
every thing is brought in to adorn and to exalt the character of the
knight, in war and in love. Even now Amadis preserves its charm; hew
great must have been its influence among nobles whose lives were
dedicated to the hardships of war, and whose own hearts were the
birthplace of passion, as sincere and vehement as any that warmed the
heart of fictitious cavalier.
Already, however, had various kings and nobles of Spain cultivated
letters. The first authors whose names appear were less of poets than
many whose works appear in the various Cancioneros. Elevated in rank,
they addicted themselves to study from a love of knowledge. Eagerly
curious about the secrets of nature, or observant of the philosophy of
life, they were desirous of instructing their countrymen. They deserve
infinite praise for their exertions, and the motives that animated them;
but their productions cannot have the same interest for us as the
genuine emanations of the feelings. The heart of man, its passions and
its emotions, endures for ever the same, and the poet who touches with
truth the simplest of its chords remains immortal; but our heads change
their fashion and furniture. We disregard obsolete knowledge as a ruin,
out of proportion and fallen to pieces; while the language of the
passions, like vegetation for ever growing, is always fresh. Alphonso
X., surnamed the Wise, loved learning. He rendered a great service to
his country by the cultivation he bestowed on the Castillian language.
His verses bear the marks of the attention he paid to correctness, and
by his command the Spanish language was substituted for Latin in public
instruments. Through him the Bible was translated into Castillian, and a
Chronicle of Spain was commenced under his directions. He favoured the
troubadours, and himself aspired to write verses. There is an entire
book of Cantigas or Letras, composed in the Gallician dialect, by him.
El Teroso is his principal work; it detailed his alchymical secrets, and
is written in Castillian, in versos de arte mayor: much of this work
remains still undeciphered. To him also is attributed a poem called Las
Querellas, of which two stanzas only are preserved, and those so
superior in versification to the Tesoro, that it is doubted whether they
can be the production of the same man and age. The most useful work that
owed its existence to his superintendence was the Alphonsine Tables,
containing calculations truly extraordinary for that period.
Alphonso XI. followed in his footsteps in the cultivation of the
Castillian language. He is said to have composed a General Chronicle of
Redondillas, which is lost.
It was in the time of Alphonso XI. that Don Juan Manuel wrote his Count
Lucanor, a series of tales put together somewhat in the style of the
"Seven Wise Masters." An inexperienced prince, when in any difficulty,
applies to his minister for advice, who replies by relating some tale or
fable, concluded by a maxim in verse, as the moral of the story. These
show his knowledge of the world; and one, in opposition to that of the
Grecian sage, who said, men were to treat their friends as if they were
one day to become their enemies, deserves to be recorded in honour of
the more noble-minded Castilian;
"Quien te conseja encobrir de tus amigos,
engañarte quiera assaz, y sin testigos."
"Whoever counsels you to be reserved with your friends, wishes to betray
you without witnesses." Count Lucanor is praised for the artless
simplicity of its style, joined to acuteness of observation. In
addition, Manuel composed a Chronicle of Spain, and other prose works,
as well as several poems.
The civil wars and rebellions that desolated Spain at this time checked
the literary spirit, and prevented the cultivation of learning. Juan
Ruiz, arch-priest of Hita, and Ayala, the historiographer, are almost
the only names we find in addition to those already mentioned. Juan Ruiz
wrote an allegorical satire in Castillian Alexandrines.
With John II., who reigned from 1407 to 1454, began a brighter æra.
Politically, his reign was disastrous and stormy. The monarchy was
threatened with destruction, and the king had not sufficient firmness to
make himself respected. His love of poetry and learning, sympathised in
by many of his nobles, secured him, however, the affections of his
adherents; and in the midst of civil commotion, despite his deficiency
of resolution, there gathered round him a court faithful to his cause,
and civilised by its love of letters. The marquess of Villena had
already distinguished himself; he was so celebrated for his acquirements
in natural and metaphysical knowledge that he came to be looked on as a
magician. He was admired also as a poet. He wrote an allegorical drama,
which was represented at court. He translated the Æneid, and extended
his patronage and protection to other poets by instituting floral games.
To instruct them, he wrote a sort of Art of Poetry, termed La Gaya
Ciencia. In it he praises, as Petrarch had done at the Neapolitan court,
the uses of poetry. "So great," he says, "are the benefits derived from
this science on civil life, banishing indolence and employing noble
minds in useful inquiries, that other nations have sought and
established among themselves schools for this art, so that it became
spread through various parts of the world." The zeal of this noble
elevated the art he protected; he inspired others, as well born as
himself, with equal enthusiasm, and was the patron of those less
fortunate in worldly advantages. He died at Madrid in 1434.
His friend and pupil, the marquess of Santillana, was a better poet.
Quintana remarks of him that "he was one of the most generous and
valiant knights that adorned his age. A learned man, an easy and sweet
love poet, just and serious in sentiment." His elegy on the death of the
marquess of Villena is the most celebrated of his poems. Other names
occur of less note. Jorge Manrique, who has left a fragment of poetry
more purely written than belongs to his age. Garci Sanchez of Badajos,
and Marcias. This last is less known for his poetry, of which we possess
only four songs, than for his melancholy death. He loved one who refused
to, or, disdaining, him, married another. But still he was unable to
conquer his fatal attachment. The husband obtained that he should be
thrown into prison; but this did not suffice for his vengeance, nor are
we surprised when we know the delicate sense of connubial honour
entertained by the Spaniards. He, the husband, concerted with the
alcaide of the tower in which Marcias was imprisoned, and found means to
throw his lance at him as he stood at a window. Marcias was at this
moment singing one of the songs he had composed upon the lady of his
love; the lance pierced him to the heart, and he died with the tale of
passion still hovering on his lips. These circumstances, and probably
the enthusiastic and amiable qualities of the poet, rendered him an
object of reverence and regret to his countrymen. He was surnamed the
Enemorado, and his name, grown into a proverb, is still the synonyme in
Spain for a martyr to devoted love. His contemporary, Juan de Mena, has
commemorated his death in some of the sweetest and most poetic verses of
his Labyrinto.
Juan de Mena is often called the Ennius of Spain. He is the most
renowned of the writers of that early age. He was born at Cordova in
about the year 1412. Cordova, the seat of the most famous Moorish
university, had just been recovered by the Christians. Juan de Mena was
sprung from a respectable though not noble family; at the age of
twenty-three he fulfilled some civil office in his native city, of which
in after times he spoke with affection, as we find these lines in one of
his poems:--
"Thou flower of wisdom and of chivalry,
Cordova, mother mine! forgive thy son,
If in the music of my lyre, no tone
Be sweet and loud enough to honour thee.
Models of wisdom and of bravery
I see reflected through thy annals bright.
I will not praise thee, praise thee though I might.
Lest I of flattery should suspected be."[8]
Juan de Mena studied, however, at the university of Salamanca, and,
induced by a love of inquiry and desire to gain knowledge, made a
journey to Rome. Sismondi says, "On becoming acquainted with the poetry
of Dante, his imagination received no inspiration, and his taste was
spoilt. His greatest work is called El Labyrinto, or Las Trescients
Coplas; it is an allegory, in tetradactyls, of human life." A man is
more likely to be incited by the spirit of his age than a single poem.
Dante and his contemporaries had most at heart the instructing of their
fellow-creatures. The great Tuscan poet, in his Divina Commedia, had the
design of comprehending all human knowledge; and the literary men of
those days considered visions the proper poetical mode of conveying the
secrets of nature and of morals. It is no wonder that Juan de Mena,
whose poetic genius was certainly not of the highest description (it
might be compared to that of Bruno Latini, the master of Dante), was
more led away by the theories and tenets he must have heard continually
discussed in conversation in Italy, and endeavoured, as his highest aim,
rather to instruct his countrymen in the mysteries of life and death,
nature and philosophy, than to express actions and feelings in such
harmonious numbers as he heard frequently carolled among the hills, or
sung at night beneath some beauty's window. The romances we now prize,
as the genuine and poetic expression of the passions of man, could not
in his eyes aspire to the height of the muse, whom he sought to gift
with the power of penetrating and explaining the mysteries of life and
death--the globe and all that it contains.
In this manner, however, he excited the respect of the patrons of
learning. King John and the marquess of Santillana both honoured and
loved him; he was named one of the king's historiographers, an
institution originating with Alphonso X., and those appointed to it were
expected to continue the national chronicles down to their own time.
Juan de Mena lived in high favour at the court of John II., and
constantly adhered to him. He died in 1456, at Guadalaxara in New
Castille, and the marquess of Santillana erected a monument to him.
Quintana speaks of the _Labyrinto_ as "the most interesting monument of
Spanish poetry in that age, which left all contemporary writers far
behind him." But after all, it is a mere specimen of the poetic art of
those days: not like Dante, could be put a human soul into his allegory,
which wins and enchants with ever renewing interest, nor adorn visible
objects with that truth and delicacy, and vividness of description, in
which art Dante has been unsurpassed by any poet of any age or country.
Juan de Mena's allegory is heavy, his details tiresome, the interest
absolutely null, and his poetical invention, such as it was, subordinate
to false learning.
He intends to sing of the vicissitudes of fortune, ruled, as they are,
by the seven planets, to whom Providence gives such power. He invokes
Apollo and Calliope, and then apostrophises Fortune, asking leave to
blame her when she may deserve censure. He then, in imitation of all
vision-writers, loses himself, when a lady of wonderful beauty appears,
and presents herself to him as his guide. The lady is Providence: she
bids him look, and he goes on to describe what he saw:--
Turning my eyes to where she bade me gaze,
Behold, three ponderous wheels I saw within;
And two were still--nor even moved their place;
The other swiftly, round and round, did spin.
Below them on the ground I saw the space
O'erspread by nations vast, who once had been,
And each upon the brow engraven wore
The name and fate the which on earth they bore.
And in one wheel that stood immoveable
I saw the gatherings of a future race;
And that, which to the ground was doomed to fall,
A dark veil cast upon the hideous place,
Covered with all her dead.--I was not able
The meaning of the sight I saw to trace;
So I implored my guide that she would show
The meaning of the vision there below.[9]
The wheels of course represent the past, present, and future, each
governed by the seven planets. Providence points out the various
personages distinguished in the wheel of the past and the present; and
the poet has thus occasion to make great display of knowledge on every
subject, and deduces from time to time maxims upon the conduct of life
and the government of nations; and thus, as Dante intended in his
Commedia, does Juan de Mena introduce instruction on all the sciences
then known. In common with every writer of his class, he thinks more of
what he has to say, than of the melody of his versification; sometimes
his subject suggests lines at once animated and sonorous; at other times
they are tame or turgid. He is not backward in giving moral lessons,
either to prince or people; yet Quintana regards this work probably with
too much partiality when he says that we shall always dip into it with
pleasure. We regard it with some curiosity, and more respect, and with
but little liking.
One other name we will mention, since it is connected with the Spanish
theatre; and dramatic writing became in progress of time the most truly
national as well as original and perfect form in which the genius of
Spanish poetry embodied itself. Juan de Enzina wrote the first Spanish
plays. It is true that Villena wrote an allegorical drama, which is
lost, and other compositions took the form of dialogue; but Enzina, who
was a musical composer, converted mere pastoral eclogues into real
dramas. He was born at Salamanca, in the reign of Isabella. He travelled
to Jerusalem, in company with the marquis de Tarifa, and he lived some
time at Rome, as maestro da capella, or director of music, to pope Leo
X. These travels and residences at a distance from his native country,
must have stored his mind with ideas; but though Italy had reached the
zenith of her poetic glory at that time, he became no pupil of hers.
Perhaps he found Spanish metres, and the Spanish poetic diction did not
lend itself to any but the Spanish style; and he never dreamt, as Boscan
afterwards so admirably succeeded in doing, of enlarging the sphere of
Spanish poetry by introducing Italian modes of rhythm: his songs and
lyrics are in the style of the cancioneros; and the very quips and
cranks in which he indulged have the rough humour and extravagant
imagination of Castile, not the pointed wit or airy lightness of Italy.
Among other things, he published a song of contraries, or absurdities,
(_disparates_,) which has made his name proverbial in Spain. He
converted Virgil's eclogues into ballads, and applied to the sovereigns
and nobles of Spain the compliments Virgil addressed to the emperor
Augustus. His sacred and profane eclogues were acted at court at
Christmas-eve and carnival: these are lost. Some of his songs,
calculated to become popular from their spirit, and the tone they
seized, which was suited to the hour, remain. There is one translated by
Dr. Bowring, which is a Farewell to the Carnival (Antruejo), which, in
the Spanish at least, has all the zest and animation of a drinking
song:--
"Come let us eat and drink to-day.
And sing, and laugh, and banish sorrow,
For we must part to-morrow.
In Antruejo's honour--fill
The laughing cup with wine and glee,
And feast and dance with eager will,
And crowd the hours with revelry,
For that is wisdom's counsel still--
To day be gay, and banish sorrow,
For we must part to-morrow.
Honour the saint--the morning ray
Will introduce the monster death;
There's breathing space for joy to-day,
To-morrow ye shall gasp for breath;
So now be frolicsome and gay,
And tread joy's round and banish sorrow,
For we must part to-morrow."[10]
Meanwhile the state of Spain had wholly changed. The struggle with the
Moors had ended, and its civil dissentions were no more. The union of
the crowns of Aragon and Castile under Ferdinand and Isabella placed the
country under one sovereign; and the conquest of Granada put an end to
the last Moorish kingdom. The Spaniards, with their constitutional
Cortes, made a noble struggle for civil liberty at the beginning of the
reign of Charles V.; but they failed, and an absolute monarchy, guarded
by the most nefarious of all institutions, the inquisition, was
established; the vaunted privileges of the grandees of Spain became
matters of court etiquette, instead of lofty manifestations of their
equality with their sovereign; the conquest of America brought money to
the country, which was quickly drained from it by the wars in Italy;
while the Lutheran heresy again set alight those cruel fires which were
at first destined for aliens,--such Jews and Moors might be termed.
Liberty of thought, as well as of action, was destroyed; and though the
terrors of the inquisition were displayed more in Flanders than in the
Peninsula itself, that arose from the circumstance that in the one
country it was resisted, while in the other it was submitted to with a
prostration of soul unknown to any other country or age.
For a time, however, the energies of the nation were rather turned aside
than checked by these events. The noble spirit of Padilla existed in the
Spanish bosom, though turned from its elevated patriotism. The
achievements of Charles V. awoke enthusiastic loyalty; while his
enterprises gave birth to a series of warriors and heroes. Their vast
acquisitions in what they named the Indies, added to the splendour of
the Spanish name. Glory, if not liberty; pride, though not independence,
awoke in them a courageous and daring, though stern and cruel spirit,
which led to those successes which spread a lustre over their name and
age. But at the same time it must be observed, that these very wars and
conquests drained Spain of those ardent and enterprising spirits, who,
if they had not been so employed, had probably exerted themselves to
free their country, and to withstand those encroachments of royalty, and
the church, which, after the lapse of a few years, acted so
detrimentally on the prosperity of Spain.
The crown of Castile also rose in eminence over that of Aragon, and the
Castilian became the language of the court. Writers, in whatever
province their birthplace might be cast, adopted Castilian as the
classic language of the country.
Juan de Enzina, though he had sojourned in Italy, became imbued by none
of its spirit. It could not always be thus. The Neapolitan wars in the
time of Ferdinand caused numbers of Spaniards to visit Italy. From the
very beginning of the reign of Charles V., these wars increased in
importance, and the intercourse between the two countries became more
frequent and intimate. The time therefore was at hand when Spain would
learn from Italy that poetic art in which she was yet a child, though a
child of genius. At this epoch we commence the lives of the literary men
of Spain. They came out many at once, like a constellation. The first in
the list were born either quite at the end of the fifteenth, or at the
very commencement of the sixteenth century, and accordingly were
contemporaries of Charles V.
[Footnote 1: "Duosque Senecas, unicumque Lucanum,
Facunda loquitur Corduba."
_Martial_, ep. LXII. lib. I.
And Statius records the same fact:--
"Lucanum potes imputare terris.
Hoc plus quam Senecam dedisse mundo,
Aut dulcem geuerasse Gallionem.
Ut tollat refluos in astra fontes
Grajo nobilior Melete Bætis."
_Genethliacon._
--_Retrospective Review_, vol. III.]
[Footnote 2: Retrospective Review, vol. III.]
[Footnote 3: Boutervek.]
[Footnote 4: "Through the decree of the fifth council of Toledo, each
Gothic king swore, before he was crowned, to extirpate the Jews.
Ferdinand and Isabella renewed the nefarious oath, and thus generated
the spirit which caused Lope de Vega to recur with satisfaction to the
old Gothic law:--
"The sceptre was denied of yore, "Vedando el consilio Toledano,
To the elected king, until he swore tomar el cetro al rey sinque primero
With his own royal hand limpiase el verdadero
To purge the fertile land trigo con propria mano,
Of the vile tares that choke the de la cizana vil que le suprime
genuine grain, la Santa Ley en la corona inprime."
And write the holy law upon the
crown of Spain."
_Retrospective Review_, vol. III.]
[Footnote 5: In the Retrospective Review, vol. III., in the article on
the poetical literature of Spain, the whole of Sant Jordi's Song of
Contraries (Cancion de Opositos), is given, from which Petrarch adopted,
it is alleged, whole lines. Nothing is less derogatory to a poet of the
highest genius than the fact that he picked up here and there lines and
ideas, amalgamating them with his own, and adorning them with alien
splendour. It is honourable, however, to Sant Jordi, to be stolen from
the spirit of the two poems is different and the lines scattered and
disconnected. Those of Petrarch are--and they are some of his finest--
"Pace non trovo e non ho da far guerra,
E volo sopra 'l cielo, e giaceio in terra,
E nulla stringo e tutto il mondo abraccio,
E ho in odio me stesso e amo altrui,
Se non e amor, cosé dunque ch'io sento?"
Sant Jordi, describing the struggles of his mind, has these
similar lines:--
"E no strench res, e tot lo mon abras,
vol sovel cel, e nom movi de terra."
And both Italian and Provençal bear the same translation.
I nothing grasp--and yet the world embrace:
I fly o'er highest heaven, though bound to earth.
As also--
"Hoy he de mi, e vull altra gran he."
I hate myself--others are dear to me.
And
"E no he pace--e no tench gium ganeig."
I'm not at peace, but cannot war declare.
Petrarch's poem describes a lover's struggles; Sant Jordi's, the combats
of an inquisitive, troubled mind--something of a Faustus spirit, though
he sums up all, not by selling himself to the devil, but concluding
piously,--
But right oft flows from darkness-covered wrong,
And good may spring from seeming evil here.]
[Footnote 6: "All verses consisting of four trochaic feet appear to have
been originally comprehended under the name of _redondilla_, which,
however, came at length to be in preference usually applied to one
particular species of this description of verse. It is difficult to
suppose that the redondillas have been formed in imitation of bisected
hexameters, as some Spanish authors have imagined; they may with more
probability be considered a relic of the songs of the Roman soldiers. In
such verses every individual could, without restraint, pour forth the
feelings which love or gallantry dictated, accompanied by his guitar, as
little attention was paid to correctness in the distinction of long or
short syllables, as in the rhyme. When one of the poetic narratives,
distinguished by the name of romances was sung, line followed line
without constraint, the expression flowing with careless freedom, as
feeling gave it birth. When, however, romantic sentiments were to be
clothed in a popular lyric dress, to exhibit the playful turns of ideas
under still more pleasing forms, it was found advantageous to introduce
divisions and periods, which gave rise to regular strophes (_estancias_
and _coplas_). Lines, for the sake of variety, were shortened by halving
them; and thus the tender and impressive melody of the rhythm was
sometimes considerably heightened. Seduced by the example of the Arabs,
something excellent was supposed to be accomplished when a single
sonorous and unvarying rhyme was rendered prominent throughout all the
verses of a long romance. Through other romances, however, pairs of
rhymeless verses were allowed to glide amidst a variety of rhymed ones.
At length, at a later period, it was observed that, in point of
elegance, the _redondilla_ was improved by the change, when, instead of
perfect rhymes, imperfect ones, or sounds echoing vowels but not
consonants, were heard in the terminating syllables. Hence arose the
distinction between consonant and assonant verses, which has been
converted into a rhythmical beauty unknown to other nations. The period
of the invention of the redondillas was also nearly that of the dactylic
stanzas called _versos de arte mayor_, because their composition was
considered an art of a superior order. As the inventors of these stanzas
were ignorant of the true principles of prosody, the attention paid to
purity in the rhythm of the dactyles was even less than in the rhymes of
the redondillas. This may account for these verses falling into disuse,
as the progressive improvement of taste, which allowed the redondillas
to maintain their original consideration, was not reconcileable with the
half-dancing half-hobbling rhymed lines of the _versos de arte
mayor._"--_Boutervek_, Introduction. (Translation.)
Lord Holland observes, in the Appendix No. 3. to his "Life of Lope de
Vega:"--"Of rhymes the Spaniards have two sorts; the consonante or full
rhyme, which is nearly the same as the Italian; and the asonante, which
the ear of a foreigner would not immediately distinguish from a blank
termination. An asonante is a word that resembles another in the vowel
on which the last accent falls, as well as the vowel or vowels that
follow; but every consonant after the accented vowel must be different
from that in the corresponding syllable. Thus, tòs and _amor_, _pecho_,
fuego, _alamo_, paxaro, are all asonantes. In modern compositions, where
the asonante is used, every alternate verse is blank, but the poet is
not allowed to change the asonante till the poem is concluded. The old
writers, I believe, were no such restriction."
M. Gunins, a German annotator, followed by Mr. Lockhart, expresses his
opinion that "the stanza was composed in reality of two long lines, and
that these have been subsequently cut in four, exactly as we know to
have been the case in regard to another old English ballad stanza." See
Mr. Lockhart's Introduction to his Ancient Spanish Ballads.
Thus, instead of printing it, as is usual,--
"Fizo hazer al Rey Alfonso
el cid un solene juro,
delante de muchos grandes,
que se hallaron en Brugos"--
this ought to run--
"Fizo hazer al Rey Alfonso, el cid un solene juro,
delante de muchos grandes, que se hallaron en Brugos."
The u, in the penultimate syllable of juro, and in Brugos, makes the
assonance of the redondilla. We need not mention to the Spanish reader
the peculiar mode of printing Spanish poetry without the distinction of
capitals at the beginning of lines; nor the peculiar punctuation--a note
of interrogation reversed invariably being placed at the beginning of
the sentence that ends with one; necessary to the otherwise obscure
construction of the Spanish: as for instance,--
"¿Buelas al fin, y al fin te vas llorando?"]
[Footnote 7: "'Rosa fresca, Rosa fresca,
tan garrida y con amor,
cuando os tiene en mis brazos
no vos sabia servir no,
y agora que vos serviria
no vos puedo yo haber no.'
Vuestra fué la culpa, amigo
vuestra fué, que mia no,
enviastes me una carta
con un vuestro servidor,
y en lugar de recaudar
el digera otra razon,
que erades casado, amigo,
alia en tierras de León,
que teneis muger hermosa
y hijos como una flor.'
'Quien os lo dijo, Señora,
no vos dija verdad, no--
que yo nunca entré in Castilla
ni en las tierras de León,
sino cuando era pequeño
que no sabia de amor.'"]
[Footnote 8: "O flor de saber y cabelleria,
Cordoba madre, tu hijo perdona,
si en los cantares, que agora pregona
no divulgré tu sabiduria.
De sabios, valientes loarte podria
qui fueron espejo muy maravilloso;
por ser de ti mismo, seré sopechoso,
dirán que los pinto mejor que debia."
_Wiffen's Life of Garcilaso._]
[Footnote 9: "Bolviendo los ojos a do me mandava,
vi mas adentro muy grandes tres ruedas,
las dos gran firmes, immotas y quedas
mas la del medio boltar no cessava.
Vi que debaxo de todos estava
caida por tierra grand gente infinita,
que avia en la fronte cada qual escrita,
el mombre y la suerte por donde passava.
Y vi que en la una que no se movia,
la gente que en ella avia de ser,
y la que debaxo esperava caer
con turbido velo sumorte cubria.
Y yo que de aquello muy poco sentia,
fiz de mi dubda complida palabra;
a mi guiadora, rogando que me abra
aquesta figura que yo no entendia."]
[Footnote 10: "Hoy comamos y bebamos,
y cantemos y holguemos
que mañana ayunaremos.
Por honra de San Antruejo
paremonos hoy bien anchos,
embutamos estos panchos,
recalquemos el pellejo
que costumbre es de concejo
que todo hoy nos hartemos,
pues manana ayunaremos.
Honremos a tan buen santo
que mañana viene la muerte,
comamos, bebemos huerte
que mañana habra quebranto
comamos, bebamos tanto
hasta que nos reventemos,
pues mañana ayunaremos."]
BOSCAN
1500-1543.
The first Spanish poet who introduced the Italian style was Mosen Juan
Boscan Almogaver. He was a man of mild and contemplative disposition,
and thus fitted to receive the shackles of rules of taste from others,
at the same time that, being a genuine poet, he could animate the
harmony and grace of his versification with earnest sentiments and
original thought. Restrain himself as he would, the genius of the
Spanish language and early association, forced him into greater
vividness and simplicity of expression than his Italian prototypes; and
at the same time, being a Catalonian, the very language of Castile,
which, as having become the classic language of his country, he adopted,
was to a certain degree a foreign tongue, and he could more easily
abandon the peculiar rhythm of its national poetry for versification,
such as was to be found in the productions of the Provençal poets, to
which his native country and dialect were akin.
Little is known of the life of Boscan beyond its mere outline. He was
born at Barcelona at the close of the fifteenth century, of a noble and
ancient family. He followed the career of arms in his youth, and
travelled during a few years. He married donna Ana Giron de Rebolledo, a
lady of distinguished birth; and he commemorates their domestic
happiness in his verses, dwelling on the detail with all the fondness
and pride that springs from a thankful enjoyment of a tranquil life.
After his marriage he resided almost constantly at his native town of
Barcelona, though sometimes he attended the court of the emperor Charles
V., where he was held in high consideration. At one time, strange to
say, he filled the office of governor to the youthful duke of Alva,
whose cruelties have gained for him such ill renown. That he was so, is
rather a blot in his character with us; among his countrymen it is
otherwise. Spanish writers regard the duke of Alva as a hero. His crimes
had place in a distant land--in his own he was distinguished for his
magnificence and his talents, while his very bigotry was considered a
virtue. When, therefore. Sedano mentions this circumstance, he speaks of
it with pride, saying, "Boscan's rank, joined to his blameless manners
and his talents, caused him to be chosen governor to the great duke of
Alva, don Fernando, which office he filled with success, as is proved by
the heroic virtues that adorned the soul of his pupil, which were the
result of Boscan's education."
From early youth Boscan was a poet; at first he wrote in the old Spanish
style; but he was still young when his attention was called to the
classic productions of Italy, and he was incited to adopt the Italian
versification and elegiac style, so to enlarge the sphere of Spanish
poetry. It was in the pear 1525 that Andrea Navagero came as ambassador
from Venice to the court of the emperor Charles V. at Toledo. The
Venetian was of noble birth, and so addicted to study as to injure his
health by the severity of his application.[11] A state of melancholy
ensued, only to be alleviated by travel. He was familiar with Greek and
Latin literature, and cultivated a refined taste that could scarcely be
satisfied by the most finished productions of his native land, while he
exercised the severest judgment, even to the destruction of his own. At
Toledo he fell in with Boscan and Garcilaso. Their tastes, their love of
poetry and of the classics, were the same; and the superior learning of
the Italian led him to act the preceptor to his younger friends. Through
his arguments they were led to quit the composition of their national
redondillas, and to aspire to introduce more elegance and a wider scope
of ideas into their native poetry. Boscan, in his dedication of a volume
of his poems, which included several of Garcilaso's, to the duchess of
Soma, thus mentions the circumstances that led them to contemplate this
change: "Conversing one day on literary subjects with Navagero the
Venetian ambassador (whom I wish to mention to your ladyship as a man of
great celebrity in these days), and particularly upon the different
genius of various languages, he inquired of me why, in Castilian, we
never attempted sonnets and other kinds of composition used by the best
writers in Italy; he not only said this, but urged me to set the
example. A few days after I departed home, and musing on a variety of
things during a long and solitary journey, frequently reflected on
Navagero's advice, and thus at length began the attempt. I found at
first some difficulty, as this kind of versification is extremely
complex, and has many peculiarities different from ours; but afterwards,
from the partiality we naturally entertain towards our own productions,
I thought I had succeeded well, and gradually grew warm and eager in the
pursuit. This, however, would not have been sufficient to stimulate me
to proceed, had not Garcilaso encouraged me, whose judgment, not only in
my opinion, but in that of the whole world, is esteemed a certain rule.
Praising uniformly my essays, and giving me the highest possible mark of
approbation in following himself my example, he induced me to devote
myself exclusively to the undertaking.
Every thing combines to give us the idea of Boscan as a good and a happy
man, enjoying so much of prosperity and rank as would make him feel
satisfied and complacent, and endowed with such talents as rendered
poetry a pleasing occupation, and the fame he acquired delightful.
Blessed with a mild and affectionate disposition, happily married,
living contented, he possessed advantages that must have added greatly
to his happiness, through the good fortune which gave him accomplished
and noble friends, addicted to the same studies, delighting in the same
pursuits, sympathising in his views, and affording him the assistance of
their applause and imitation. What we know of Boscan, indeed, is
principally through the mention made of him by his friends. Garcilaso de
la Vega, superior to his friend as a poet, was one of those gallant
spirits whose existence is a poem, and was closely allied to him in
friendship. It was through Garcilaso's advice and encouragement that
Boscan translated Castiglione's _Libro del Cortigiano_,--a book then
just published, and which enjoyed the highest repute in Italy. The
translation was accompanied by a dedication written by Garcilaso, which
Sedano praises as "an exquisite piece of eloquence," in which he speaks
of his friend with the fond praise which genuine affection inspires.
Several of Garcilaso's sonnets, an epistle, and an elegy, are addressed
to Boscan, and all breathe a mixture of friendship and esteem delightful
to contemplate. He mentions him also in his second eclogue. When
describing the sculpture on a vase of the God of the river Tormes, he
describes don Fernando, duke of Alva, as being depicted among other
heroes of the age, and Boscan, in attendance, as his preceptor. It must
be remembered, that when this elegy was written, the duke was in the
bloom of youth, and regarded as the man of promise of his age; while his
life was yet unstained by the crimes that render him hateful in our
eyes. It is a sage named Severo who is gazing on the urn of old Tormes.
"Next as his looks along the sculptures glanced,
A youth with Phœbus hand in hand advanced;
Courteous his air, from his ingenuous face,
Inform'd with wisdom, modesty, and grace,
And every mild affection, at a scan
The passer-by would mark him for a man,
Perfect in all gentilities of mind
That sweeten life and harmonise mankind.
The form which lively thus the sculptor drew,
Assured Severo in an instant knew,
For him who had by careful culture shown
Fernando's spirit, lovely as his own;
Had given him grace, sincerity, and ease,
The pure politeness that aspires to please,
The candid virtues that disdain pretence,
And martial manliness, and sprightly sense,
With all the generous courtesies enshrined
In the fair temple of Fernando's mind.
When well surveyed his name Severo read,
'Boscan!' whose genius o'er the world is spread,
In whose illumined aspect shines the fire
That, stream'd from Delphos, lights him to the lyre,
And warms those songs which with mankind shall stay
Whilst endless ages roll unfelt away."[12]
Besides Garcilaso, Boscan enjoyed the friendship of a man, far different
in the qualities of his mind, but of high powers of intellect, and of a
noble though arrogant and proud disposition. The epistles in verse that
passed between Boscan and don Diego Hurtado de Mendoza prove the
friendship that subsisted between them, and the esteem in which Boscan
was held; at the same time they present a delightful picture of the
tranquil happiness which the poet enjoyed. Mendoza's epistle is imitated
from Horace; it is written in praise of a tranquil life. At the
conclusion it describes the delights of a rural seclusion, ornamented by
all the charms of nature; and he introduces his friend as enjoying these
in perfection, attended on by his wife, who plucks for him the rarest
grapes and ripe fruit,--the fresh and sweet gifts of summer,--waiting on
him with diligence and joy, proud and happy in her task. Boscan, in his
reply, dilates on the subject, and fills up the picture with a thousand
graces and refinements of feeling drawn from nature, and which coming
warm from the heart, reach our own.
I am tempted to introduce a portion of this epistle. The fault of the
Spaniards in their literature is diffuseness; I have therefore
endeavoured in some degree to compress the rambling of the poet, while I
suppress no sentiment, nor introduce a new idea. Little used to
versification, my translation wants smoothness; but presenting, as it
does, a picture of domestic life, such as was passed at a distant age
and in a distant land, yet resembling so nearly our own notions of the
pleasures of home, I think it cannot fail to interest the reader.
Boscan commences, in imitation of Horace, by commending the tranquillity
enjoyed in a middle station of life. He then goes on to adorn his
canvass with a picture of conjugal attachment and happiness:--
'Tis peace that makes a happy life;[13]
And that is mine through my sweet wife;
Beginning of my soul and end,
I've gain'd new being from this friend,--
She fills each thought, and each desire,
Up to the height I would aspire.
This bliss is never found by ranging;
Regret still springs from saddest changing;
Such loves and their beguiling pleasures,
Are falser still than magic treasures,
Which gleam at eve with golden colour,
And change to ashes ere the morrow.
But now each good that I possess,
Rooted in truth and faithfulness,
Imparts delight to every sense;
For erst they were a mere pretence,
And long before enjoy'd they were,
They changed their smiles to grizly care.
Now pleasures please--love being single--
Evils with its delights ne'er mingle.
My bed's become a place of rest,
Two souls repose on one soft breast;
And still in peace my simple board
Is spread, and tranquil feasts afford.
Before, to eat I scarce was able,
Some harpy hover'd o'er my table,
Spoiling each dish when I would dine,
And mingling gall with gladsome wine
Now the content that foolish I
Still miss'll in my philosophy.
My wife with tender smiles bestows,
And makes me triumph o'er my woes;
While with her finger she effaces
Of my past folly all the traces,
And graving pleasant thoughts instead,
Bids me rejoice that I am wed.
* * * *
And thus, by moderation bounded,
I live by my own goods surrounded.
Among my friends, my table spread
With viands we may eat nor dread;
And at my side my sweetest wife,
Whose gentleness admits no strife,--
Except of jealousy the fear,
Whose soft reproaches more endear.
Our darling children round us gather,
Children who will make me grandfather.
And thus we pass in town our days,
Till the confinement something weighs;
Then to our village haunt we fly,
Taking some pleasant company--
While those we love not never come
Anear our rustic leafy home;
For better 'tis t' philosophise,
And learn a lesson truly wise,
From lowing herd and bleating flock.
Than from some men of vulgar stock;
And rustics, as they hold the plough,
May often good advice bestow.
Of love, too, we may have the joy--
For Phœbus as a shepherd boy
Wander'd once among the clover,
Of some fair shepherdess the lover;
And Venus wept in rustic bower,
Adonis turn'd to purple flower;
And Bacchus midst the mountains derar,
Forgot the pangs of jealous fear;
And nymphs that in the waters play,
('Tis thus that ancient fables say),
And dryads fair among the trees,
Fain the sprightly fawns would please.
So in their footsteps follow we,
My wife and I,--as fond and free,--
Love in our thoughts and in our talk,
Direct we slow our saunt'ring walk,
To some near murm'ring rivulet;
Where 'neath a shady beech we sit,
Hand clasp'd in hand, and side by side,
With some sweet kisses too beside,
Contending there, in combat kind,
Which best can love with constant mind.
As the stream flows among the grass,
Thus life's clear stream with us does pass:
We take no count of day nor night.
While, minist'ring to our delight,
Nightingales all sweetly sing,
And loving doves, with folded wing,
Above our heads are heard to coo;
And far's the ill-betiding crow.
We do not think of cities then.
Nor envy the resorts of men,--
Of Italy, the softer pleasures,
Of Asia too, the golden treasures,
All these are nothing in our eyes;
The while a book beside us lies,
Which tells the tales of olden time,
Of gods and men the hests sublime,--
Æneas' voyage by Virgil told,
Or song divine of Homer old,
Achilles' wrath and all his glory,
Or wandering Ulysses' story,
Propertius too, who well indites,
And the soft plaints Catullus writes;
These will remind me of past grief,
Till, thinking of the sweet relief
My wedded state confers on me,
My bygone 'scapes I careless eye.
O what are all those struggles past,
The fiery pangs which did not last,
Now that I live secure for aye,
In my dear wife's sweet company?
I have no reason to repine--
My joys are her's, and her's are mine;
Our tranquil hearts their feelings share,
And all our pleasures mutual are.
Our eyes drink in the shady light
Of wood, and vale, and grassy height;
We hear the waters as they stray,
And from the mountains wend their way,
Leaping all lightly down the steep,
Till at our feet they murm'ring creep;
And fanning us, the evening breeze,
Plays gamesomely among the trees;
While bleating flocks, as day grows cold,
Gladly seek their shelt'ring fold.
And when the sun is on the hill,
And shadows vast the valleys fill,
And waning day, grown near its close,
Sends tired men to their repose;
We to our villa saunt'ring walk,
And of the things we see we talk,
Our friends come out in gayest cheer,
To welcome us--and fain would hear,
If my sweet wife be tired--and smile--
Inviting us to rest the while.
Then to sup we take our seat,
Our table plentiful and neat,
Our viands without sauces drest,
Good appetite the healthy zest
To fruits we've pluck'd in our own bowers,
And gaily deck'd with od'rous flowers.
And rustic dainties,--many a one.
When this is o'er and supper done,
The evening passes swift along,
In converse gay and sweetest song;
Till slumber, stealing to the eye,
Bids us to our couches hie.
I will not tell what there we do,
Even, dearest friend, to you;
Enough that lovers ever share
Delights when they together are.
Thus our village life we live,
And day by day such joys receive;
Till, to change the homely scene,
Lest it pall while too serene,
To the gay city we remove,
Where other things there are to love;
And graced by novelty we find
The city's concourse to our mind.
While our new coming gives a joy,
Which ever staying might destroy,
We spare all tedious compliment--
Yet courtesy with kind intent,
Which savage tongues alone abuse,
Will often the same language use.
Thus in content we thankful live,
And for one ill for which we grieve,
How much of good our dear home blesses;
Mortals must ever find distresses,
But sorrow loses half its weight--
And every moment has its freight
Of joy--which our dear friends impart,
And with their kindness cheer my heart,
While, never weary us to visit,
They seek our house when we are in it:
If we are out it gives them pain,
And on the morrow come again.
Noble Dural can cure our sadness,
With the infection of his gladness:
Augustin too--well read in pages,
Productions of the ancient sages,
And the romances of our Spain--
Will give us back our smiles again;
While he with a noble gravity,
Adorned by the gentlest suavity,
Recounts us many a tale or fable,
Which well to tell he is most able;
Serious, mingled with jokes and glee,
The which as light and shade agree.
And Monleon, our dearest guest,
Will raise our mirth by many a jest;
For while his laughter rings again,
Can we to echo it refrain?
And other merriment is ours,
To gild with joy the lightsome hours.
But all too trivial would it look,
Written down gravely in a book:
And it is time to say adieu,
Though more I have to write to you.
Another letter this shall tell,
So now, my dearest friend, farewell!
Thus lived Boscan, enjoying all that human nature can conceive of
happiness. One of his tasks, after the lamented death of Garcilaso, was
to collect his poems, and to publish several in a volume with his own.
The date of his death is uncertain: it took place, however, before the
year 1543; so that he died comparatively young. In person he was
handsome; his physiognomy attractive from the mildness and benevolence
it expressed; and his manners distinguished by courtly urbanity and
elegance.
As a poet, he does not rank so high as his friend Garcilaso; he is less
of a poet, less ideal, less harmonious. His chief praise results from
his coming forward as the reformer of Spanish poetry: yet he cannot be
considered an imitator of the Italian style which he introduced. It is
true he adopted from the Italians their versification and subjects; but
nothing can be more essentially different in character and genius. The
tender flow of Petrarch, the inimitable mode in which he concentrates
his ideas, and presents them to us with a precision yet with grace and
ideality, find no competition in Boscan's poems. But there is more
simplicity, more of the nerve of aman; less enthusiasm but a plainer and
completer meaning in the Spaniard. He is less dreamy--to a certain
degree, more common place; but then all is true, heartfelt, and living.
We have not Petrarch's diction. Garcilaso de la Vega approached that
more nearly; but we have a full and earnest truth that carries us along
with it. Take for instance the most perfect of Petrarch's canzone,
"Chiare, fresche e dolci acque,"
and compare it with Boscan's
"Claros y frescos rios,"
written in imitation. The Italian poet invests his love with ideal
imagery that elevates its object into something ethereal and
goddess-like. How graceful, how full of true poetic fire and love's
enthusiasm is that inimitable stanza!--
Still dear to Memory! when, in odorous showers,
Scattering their balmy flowers
To summer airs, th' o'ershadowing branches bow'd,
The while, with humble state,
In all the pomp of tribute sweets she sate,
Wrapt in the roseate cloud!
Now clustering blossoms deck her vesture's hem,
Now her bright tresses gem
(In all that blissful day,
Like burnish'd gold, with orient pearls inwrought):
Some strew the turf, some on the waters float!
Some, fluttering, seem to say,
In wanton circlets tost, "Here Love holds sovereign sway."
Boscan's poem has nothing of the ideal creativeness which sheds a halo
round its object, making one feel as if Laura fed upon different food,
and had limbs of more celestial texture than other women: but Boscan's
sentiments are true to nature. His tenderness is that of a real and
fervent lover; without raising her whom he loves into an angel, he gives
us a lively and most sweet picture of how his heart was spent upon
thoughts of her; and when he tells us that during absence he meditates
on what she is doing, and whether she thinks of him, picturing her
gesture as she laughs, thinking her thought, while his heart tells him
how she may change from gay to sad, now sleeping and now awake, there
is, in the place of the ideal, sincerity,--in place of the wanderings of
fancy, the fixed earnestness of a fond and manly heart.
Boscan imitated Horace as well as Petrarch. In the epistle from which a
passage has been quoted, he abides by the unornamented style of the
Latin poet; but he wants his terseness, his epigrammatic turns, his keen
observation. His poem is descriptive, and sweetly so, of the best state
of man,--that of a happy marriage; but while he presents a faithful
picture of its tranquil virtuous pleasures, and imparts the deep serene
joy of his own heart, his hues are not stolen from the rainbow, nor his
music from the spheres: it is all calm, earthly, unidealised, though not
unimpassioned.
One fault Boscan possesses in common with almost all other Spanish
poets--he cannot compress: he runs on, one idea suggesting another, one
line the one to follow in artless unconstrained flow; but his poetry
wants concentration and energy. You read with pleasure, and follow the
meanders of his thoughts; they are not wild, but they are desultory; and
we are never startled as when reading Petrarch, by the rising, as it
were, amidst melodious sounds, of some structure of ideal and surpassing
beauty, which makes you pause, imbibe the whole conception of the poet,
and exclaim, This is perfection!
[Footnote 11: Widen's Life of Garcilaso de la Vega: who gives us
translations of some very pleasing Latin verses by Navagero.]
[Footnote 12: Wiffen's translation of Garcilaso's poems.]
[Footnote 13: Y asi yo por seguir aquesta via,
heme casado con una muger
que es principio y fin del alma mia.
Esta me ha dado luego un nuevo ser,
con tal felicidad que me sostiene
llena la voluntad y el entender.
Esta me hace ver que ella conviene
á mi, y las otras no me convenian;
á esta tengo yo, y ella me tiene.
En mi las otras iban y venian,
y a poder de mudanzas a montones
de mi puro dolor se mantenian.
Eran ya para mi sus galardones
como tesoros por encantamientos,
que luego se volvian en carbones.
Ahora son bienes que en mi siento
firmes, macizos, con verdad fundados,
y sabrosos en todo el sentimiento.
Solian mis placeres dar cuidados
y al tiempo que llegaban a gustarse
ya llegaban a mi casi dañados.
Ahora el bien es bien para gozarse,
y el placer es lo que es, que siempre place,
y el mal ya con el bien no ha de juntarse.
Al satisfecho todo satisface
y asi tambien a mi por lo que he hecho
quanto quiero y deseo se me hace.
el campo que era de batalla el lecho
ya es lecho para mí de paz durable
dos almas hay conformes en un pecho.
La mesa en otro tiempo abominable
y el triste pan que en ella yo comia,
y el vino que bebía lamentable:
infestandome siempre alguna harpia
que en mitad del deleyte mi vianda
con amargos potages envolvia.
Ahora el casto amor acude y manda
que todo se me haga muy sabroso,
andando siempre todo como anda.
De manera, Señor, que aquel reposo
que nunca alcance yo por mi ventura
con mi filosofar triste y penoso,
Una sola muger me le asegura,
y en perfeta sazon me da en las manos
vitoria general de mi tristura.
y aquellos pensamientos mios tan vanos
ella los va borrando con el dedo,
y escribe en lugar de ellos otros sanos.
* * * *
Dejenme estar contento entre mis cosas
comiendo en compañia mansamente
comidas que no sean sospechosas.
Conmigo y mi muger sabrosamente
esté, y alguna vez me pida celos
con tal que me los pida blandamente.
Comamos y bebamos sin recelos
la mesa de muchachos rodeada;
muchachos che nos hagan ser abuelos.
Pasarémos asi nuestra jornada
ahora en la ciudad, ahora en la Aldea,
porque la vida esté mas descansada.
Quando pesada la Ciudad nos sea
irémos al Lugar con la compaña
A donde el importuno no nos vea.
Alli se vivira con menos maña,
y no habrá el hombre tanto guardarse
del malo o del grosero que os engaña.
Alli podrá mejor filosafarse,
con los bueyes y cabras y ovejas
que con los que del vulgo han de tratarse.
Alli no serán malas las consejas
que contarán los simples labradores
viniendo de arrastrar las duras rejas.
¿Será pues malo alli tratar de amores
Viendo que Apolo con su gentileza
Anduvo enamorado entre pastores?
¿ y Venus no se vió en grande estrecheza
por Adonis vagando entre los prados?
según la antigüedad asi lo reza?
¿ y Baco no sintió fuertes cuidados
por la cuitada que quedó durmiendo
en mitad de los montes despoblados?
Las ninas por las aguas pareciendo,
y entre las arboledas las Driadas
se ven con los Faunos rebullendo.
Nosotros seguiremos sus pisadas;
digo yo y mi muger, nos andaremos
tratando alli las cosas namoradas.
A do corra algun rio nos iremos,
y a la sombra de alguna verde haya
a do estemos mejor nos sentaremos.
Tenderme ha alli la alda de su saya
y en regalos de amor habrá porfia
qual de entrambos hará mas alta raya.
El rio correrá por do es su via
nosotros correremos por la nuestra
sin pensar en el noche ni en la dia.
El ruiseñor nos cantara a la diestra
y vendrá sin el cuerbo la paloma
haciendo a su venida alegre muestra.
No tendremos envidia al que está en Roma
ni a los tesoros de los Asianos,
ni a quanto por acá de la India asoma.
Tendrémos nuestros libros en las manos
y no se cansaran de andar contando
los hechos celestiales y mundanos
Virgilio a Eneas estará cantando,
y Homero el corazón de Aquiles fiero,
y el navigar de Ulises rodeando.
Propercio vendrá alli por compañero
el qual dirá con dulces armonias
del arte que a su Cintia amo primero.
Catulo acudirá por otras vias,
y llorando de Lesbia los amores
sus trampas llorará y chocarrerias.
Esto me advertirá de mis dolores--
pero volviendo a mi placer presente
tendrè mis escarmientos por mejores.
Ganancia sacaré del accidente
que otro tiempo mi sentir turbava
trayendome perdido entre la gente.
¿ Que haré de acordarme qual estaba
viendome qual estoy, que estoy seguro
de nunca mas pasar lo que pasaba?
En mi fuerte estaré dentro en mi muro
sin locura de amor ni fantasia
que mi pueda vencer con su conjuro.
Como digo estarè en mi compañia
en todo me hara el camino llano
su alegria mezclando con la mia.
Su mano me dara dentro en mi mano,
y acudirán deleytes y blanduras
de un sano corazón en otro sano.
Los ojos holgarán con las verduras
de los montes y prados que verémos
y con las sombras de las espesuras.
El correr de las aguas oiremos
y su blando venir por las montañas
que a su paso vendrán donde estaremos
El ayre moverá las verdes cañas
y volveran entornes los ganados
balando por llegar á sus cabañas.
En esto ya que el sol por los collados
sus largas sombras andara encumbrando,
enviando reposo a los cansados,
nosotros nos irémos paseando
acia al lugar do está nuestra morada,
en cosas que veremos platicando.
La compaña saldrá regocijáda
a tomarnos entonces con gran fiesta
diciendo a mi muger si está cansada.
Veremos al entrar le mesa puesta,
y todo en buen concepto aparejado
como es uso de casa bien compuesta.
Despues que un poco habremos reposado
sin ver bullir, andar yendo y viniendo,
y a cenar non habremos asentado.
Nuestros mozos vendrán alli trayendo
viandas naturales y gustosas
que nuestro gusto esten todo moviendo.
Frutas pondrán maduras y sabrosas
por nosotros las mas de ellas cogidas,
embueltas en mil flores olorosas.
Las natas por los platas estendidas
acudirán y el blanco requeson,
y otras que dan cabras paridas.
Despues de esto vendrá el tierno lechon
con el conejo gordo, y gazapito,
y aquellos pollos que de pasto son.
vendrá también alli el nuevo cabrito
que a su madre jamas habrá seguido
por el tiempo de tierno y de chiquito.
Despues que todo esto haza venido,
y que nosotros descansadamente
en nuestra cena hayamos bien comido,
pasaremos la noche dulcemente
hasta venir el tiempo que la gana
del dormir toma al hombre comunmente.
Lo que desde este tiempo alla mañana
pasare, pase ahora sin contarse,
pues no cura mi pluma de ser vana:
basta saver que dos que tanto amarse
pudieron, no podran hallar momento
en que puedan dejar siempre de holgarse.
Pero tornando a proseguir el cuento,
nuestro vivir será de vida entera
viviendo en el aldea como cuento.
Tras esto ya que el corazón se quiera
desenfadar con variar la vida
tornando nuevo gusto en su manera,
a la ciudad será nuestra partida
a donde todo nos será placiente
con el nuevo placer de la venida.
Holgarèmos entones con la gente,
y con la novedad de haber llegado
trataremos con todos blandamente.
Y el cumplimiento que es siempre pesado
a lo menos aquel que de ser vano,
no es menos enojoso que escusado;
Alaballe estará muy en la mano,
y decir que por solo el cumplimiento
se conserva en el mundo el trato humano.
Nuestro vivir asi estará contento,
y alcanzaremos mil ratos gozosos
en recompensa de un desabrimiento.
Y aunque a veces no faltan enojos,
todavia entre nuestros conocidos
dulces serán mas y los sabrosos.
Pues ya con los amigos mas queridos
que será el alborozo y el placer
y el bullicio de ser recien venidos.
Que será el nunca hartarnos de nos ver,
y el buscarnos cada hora y cada punto
y el pesar de buscarse sin se ver.
Mosen Dural alli estera muy junto,
haciendo con su trato y su nobleza
sobre nuestro placer el contrapunto.
Y con su buen burlar y su llaneza
no sufrirà un momento tan ruin
que en nuestro gran placer muestre tristeza.
No faltera Geronimo Augustin
con su saber sabroso y agradable,
no menos que en romance en el latin:
el qual con gravidad mansa y tratable
Contando cosa bien por el notadas,
nuestro buen conversar hará durable.
Las burlas andaran por el mezeladas
con las veras asi con tal razon
que unas de otras serán bien ayudadas.
En esto acudira el buen Monleon
con el qual todos mucho holgarèmos,
y nosotros y quantos con el son.
El nos dirá, y nosotros gustaremos,
el reira, y hara que nos riamos,
Y en esto enfadarse ha de quanto harémos.
Otras cosa habrá que las callamos,
porque tan buenas son para hacerse
que pierden el valor si las hablamos.
Pero tiempo es en fin de recogerse,
porque haya mas para otro mensagero,
que si mi cuenta no ha de deshacerse
no será, y os prometo, este el postrero."]
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA
1503-1536.
A poet of higher merit, a more interesting man, a hero, both in love and
war, whose name seems to embody the perfect idea of Spanish chivalry,
was Boscan's friend, Garcilaso de la Vega. We possess a translation of
his poetry by Mr. Wiffen, who has appended an elaborate life, as
elaborate at least as the scanty materials that remain could afford; for
these are slight, and rather to be guessed at from slight allusions made
by historians, and expressions in his poems, than from certain
knowledge; as all that we really learn concerning him is, that he was a
gallant soldier and a poet, devoting the leisure he could snatch from
the hurry and alarm of war, to the study and composition of poetry, in
which art he attained the name of prince, and is, indeed, superior to
all the writers of his age in elegance, sweetness, and pathos.
Garcilaso de la Vega was sprung from one of the noblest families of
Toledo. His ancestry is illustrious in Spanish chronicles. They were
originally natives of the Asturias, and, possessing great wealth,
arrived at high honours under various sovereigns. One of them, by name
also Garcilaso, received the name of De la Vega, in commemoration of his
having slain a gigantic Moor on the Vega or plain of Granada.[14] The
miscreant having attached the Ave Maria to his horse's tail, all the
knights of Spain were eager to avenge the injury done to our lady.
Although a mere youth, Garcilaso triumphed, and was surnamed in
consequence De la Vega, and adopted for his device the Ave Maria in a
field d'or. The father of the poet, named also Garcilaso, was fourth
lord of Los Anos, grand commendary of Leon, a knight of the order of St.
James, one of the most distinguished gentlemen of the court of Ferdinand
and Isabella. His mother was donna Sancha de Toral, an heiress of a
large estate in Leon,--a demesne, it would seem, where the poet passed
his earlier days; for the fountain which ornaments it still goes by his
name, and is supposed to be described in his second eclogue.[15] These
eclogues were written at Naples; it may, therefore, be a piece of fond
patriotism in the Spaniard, that attributes this description to a
fountain in his native woods; but there is a pleasure in figuring the
boy-poet loitering beside its pure waters, and so filling his
imagination with images presented by its limpid waves and the
surrounding scenery, that, in after years and in a foreign country, he
could fondly dwell upon and reproduce them in his verse.
Garcilaso was born at Toledo in 1503, being a few years younger than the
emperor Charles V. When, on his accession to the throne, that prince
visited the Spain he was called by right of birth to reign over,
Garcilaso was only fifteen. We are told, however, that his skill in
martial and gymnastic exercises made him early a favourite with his
sovereign, and he soon entered on that warlike career destined to prove
fatal to him. His poetic tastes, also, were developed while still a
youth. He was passionately fond of music, and played with extreme
sweetness on the harp and guitar.
The accession of Charles V. was signalised in Spain by disaster. The
death of cardinal Ximenes deprived the youthful sovereign of his most
illustrious counsellor, though perhaps of one he would have neglected.
His Flemish courtiers attained undue influence, and a nefarious system
of peculation was carried on,--the treasures of Spain being exported to
Flanders, which the Spaniards regarded with alarm and indignation. The
election of Charles to the imperial crown and his intended departure for
Germany was the signal of resistance. This is the more deserving of
commemoration in these pages, as the elder brother of Garcilaso took a
distinguished part on the popular side.[16] He was candidate for the
distinction of captain-general of the Germanada or Brotherhood (an
association, at first sanctioned by Charles, for the purpose of
maintaining the privileges of the people), and even elected such, till a
popular revolt reversed his nomination in favour of the heroic Padilla.
Not less heroic, however, was don Pedro, and in the cortes he boldly
confronted the king, and declared that he would sooner be cut in pieces,
sooner lose his head, than yield the good of his country to the
sovereign's arbitrary will. Of such gallant stuff was the Spanish
courtier made, till Charles's wars drained the country of her most
valiant spirits, and the cruel share of the Inquisition ploughed up, and
as it were sowed with salt, the soil, originally so fertile in genius
and heroism. Don Pedro remained true to his cause to the last, though he
did not carry his views so far as Padilla; and thus escaped the
martyrdom of this generous patriot. The conduct of Charles in publishing
a general pardon, on his return to Spain, is among the few instances he
has given of magnanimity. His reply to a courtier who offered to inform
him where one of the rebels lay concealed, deserves repetition from the
grandeur of soul it expressed. "I have now no reason," he said, "to be
afraid of that man, but he has cause to shun me; you would do better,
therefore, in telling him that I am here, than in informing me of the
place of his retreat."
War being soon after declared against France, Italy became the seat of
the struggle. Garcilaso, though little more than eighteen, commenced his
career of arms in this campaign. He was present at the battle of Pavia,
and so distinguished himself, that he shortly after received the cross
of St. Jago from the emperor in reward of his valour.
It would appear, that after this battle Garcilaso returned for a time to
his native country. Since it was soon after, that Boscan, falling in
with Andrea Navagero, ambassador from Venice to the Spanish court, in
1525, resolved on imitating the Italian poetry--as is recorded in his
life,--and Garcilaso was his adviser and supporter. At the age of
four-and-twenty, in the year 1528, he married Doña Elena de Zuniga, a
lady of Arragon, maid of honour to Leonora, queen of France,--a happy
marriage--from which sprung three sons.
On the invasion of Hungary by Solyman, in 1532, the emperor repaired to
Vienna to undertake the war in person. The campaign was carried on
without any action of moment; but Garcilaso was engaged in various
skirmishes, and saw enough of war to fill him with horror at its
results.
At this time, however, he fell into disgrace at court. One of his
cousins, a son of don Pedro Lasso, aspired clandestinely to the hand of
donna Isabel, daughter of don Luis de la Cueva, maid of honour to the
empress. We are ignorant of the reason wherefore Charles was opposed to
this marriage, and the consequent necessity of carrying on the amour
secretly. Garcilaso befriended the lovers. The intrigue being
discovered, the emperor was highly incensed; he banished the cousin, and
exiled Garcilaso to an island of the Danube, an imprisonment which he
commemorates in an ode, of which we may quote some stanzas from Mr.
Wiffen's translation, which characterise the disposition of the man; no
courtier or man of the world he, repining at disgrace and
disappointment; but a poet, ready to find joy in solitude, and to adorn
adversity with the rainbow hues of the imagination.
"TO THE DANUBE.
With the mild sound of clear swift waves, the Danube's arms of foam
Circle a verdant isle which peace has made her chosen home;
Where the fond poet might repair from weariness and strife,
And in the sunshine of sweet song consume his happy life.
Here evermore the smiling spring goes scattering odorous flowers,
And nightingales and turtle doves, in depth of myrtle bowers,
Turn disappointment into hope, turn sadness to delight,
With magic of their fond laments, which cease not day nor night.
Here am I placed, or sooth to say, alone, 'neath foreign skies,
Forced in arrest, and easy 'tis in such a paradise
To force a meditative man, whose own desires would doom
Himself with pleasure to a world all redolence and bloom.
One thought alone distresses me, if I whilst banished sink
'Midst such misfortunes to the grave, lest haply they should think
It was my complicated ills that caused my death, while I
Know well that if I die 'twill be because I wish to die.
* * * * *
River divine, rich Danube! thou the bountiful and strong,
That through fierce nations roll'st thy waves rejoicingly along,
Since only but by rushing through thy drowning billows deep,
These scrolls can hence escape to tell the noble words I weep.
If wrecked in undeciphered loss on some far foreign land,
They should by any chance be found upon the desert sand,
Since they upon thy willowed shore must drift, where'er they are,
Their relics let the kind blue waves with murmured hymns inter.
Ode of my melancholy hours! last infant of my lyre!
Although in booming waves it be thy fortune to expire,
Grieve not, since I, howe'er from holy rites debarred,
Have seen to all that touches thee with catholic regard.
Less, less had been thy life, if thou hadst been but ranked among
Those without record, that have risen and died upon my tongue;
Whose utter want of sympathy, and haughtiness austere.
Has been the cause of this--from me thou very soon shalt hear."
It is not known how long his exile endured, but certainly not long; he
was recalled, and attended the emperor in his expedition against Tunis.
The son of a potter of Lesbos, turning corsair, raised himself to notice
and power under the name of Barbarossa. He possessed himself of Algiers
by treachery, and then, protected by the grand signor, he attacked
Tunis, and drove out the king Muley Hassan. Muley solicited the aid of
the emperor, and Charles, animated by a desire to punish a pirate whose
cruelties had desolated many a Christian family, put himself at the head
of an armament to invade Tunis. Barbarossa exerted himself to defend the
city, and, in particular, fortified the citadel, named Goletta, and
garrisoned it with 6000 Turks. Immediately on landing, the emperor
invested the city; sallies and skirmishes became frequent, in one of
which Garcilaso was wounded in the face and hand. Goletta fell, despite
the vigorous defence; but Barbarossa did not despair: he assembled an
army of 150,000 men, and, confiding in numbers, resolved to offer battle
to the Christians. Garcilaso served on this occasion in a division of
the imperial army, commanded by the marquis de Mondejar, a division at
first left as a rear guard, but ordered afterwards to advance to support
some newly raised Spanish regiments commanded by the duke of Alva. The
marquis de Mondejar was badly wounded and carried from the field;
Garcilaso, seeing the danger to which the troops were exposed in the
absence of the general, rushed forward to support them by the example of
his valour. His gallantry had nearly proved fatal: he was wounded and
surrounded, and must have been slain, but for a Neapolitan noble,
Federigo Carafa, who rescued him at the peril of his life. By great
efforts he succeeded in dispersing the multitude, and bore him back in
safety, half spent with toil, thirst, and loss of blood.[17] The day
ended in the defeat of Barbarossa; Muley Hassan was restored to his
throne; and Charles returned to Italy in triumph.
After this expedition, Garcilaso spent some time at Naples and Sicily.
During his residence there, he is said to have written his eclogues and
elegies, which are the most beautiful of his poems. There is something
so truly poetic in the site, the clime, the atmosphere of Naples, that
the most prosaic spirit must feel its influence. There Petrarch was
examined by king Robert, and declared worthy of the laurel crown; there
he delivered that oration on poetry that won the king to admire the
heretofore neglected art, and inspired the young Boccaccio with that
enthusiastic love for the Muses, which lasted to his dying day. There
(and Garcilaso seems to have felt deeply the influence of these poets)
Virgil and Sannazar wrote. The Spanish poet particularly loved and
admired Virgil. Imbued by his spirit, he emulated his elegance and
harmony, while he surpassed him in tender pathos.
One of his elegies to Boscan is dated from the foot of Etna. It does not
rank among the best of his poems; but it is agreeable to preserve proofs
of friendship between these gifted men. It a little jars, however, with
our feelings, that he in it alludes to some lady of his love, though he
was now married; however, there is a sort of poetic imaginative hue
thrown over this elegy, which permits us to attribute his love
complaints rather to the memory of past times and the poetic
temperament, than to inconstancy of disposition. Garcilaso's poetry is
refined and pure in all its sentiments, though full, at the same time,
of tenderness. I subjoin a few stanzas from the elegy in question, such
as give individuality and interest to the character of the poet:--
"Boscan! here where the Mantuan has inurned
Anchises' ashes to eternal fame,
We, Cæsar's hosts, from conquests are returned;
Some of their toils the promised fruit to claim--
Some to make virtue both the end and aim
Of action,--or would have the world suppose
And say so, loud in public to declaim
Against such selfishness; whilst yet heaven knows
They act in secret all the meanness they oppose.
For me, a happy medium I observe,
For never has it entered in my scheme,
To strive for much more silver than may serve
To lift me gracefully from each extreme
Of thrifty meanness, thriftless pride; I deem
The men contemptible that stoop to use
The one or other, that delight to seem
Too close, or inconsiderate in their views:
In error's moonlight maze their way both worthies find.
* * * *
Yet leave I not the Muses, but the more
For this perplexity with them commune,
And with the charm of their delicious love
Vary my life, and waste the summer noon;
Thus pass my hours beguiled; but out of tune
The lyre will sometimes be, when trials prove
The anxious lyrist: to the country soon
Of the sweet Siren shall I hence remove,
Yet, as of yore, the land of idlesse, ease, and love.
* * * *
But how, O how shall I be sure, that here
My evil genius, in the change I seek,
Is not still sworn against me? this strong fear
It is that chills my heart, and renders weak
The wish I feel to visit that antique
Italian city, whence my eyes derive
Such exquisite delight, with tears they speak
Of the contrasting griefs my heart that rive;
And with them up in arms against me here I strive.
O fierce--O rigorous--O remorseless Mars!
In diamond tunic garmented, and so
Steeled always in the harshness that debars
The soul from feeling! wherefore as a foe
Force the fond lover evermore to go
Onward from strife to strife, o'er land and sea?
Exerting all thy power to work me woe,
I am so far reduced, that death would be
At length a blessed boon, my refuge, fiend, from thee!
But my hard fate this blessing does deny;
I meet it not in battle; the strong spear,
Sharp sword, and piercing arrow pass me by,
Yet strike down others in their young career,
That I might pine away to see my dear
Sweet fruit engrossed by aliens, who deride
My vain distress; but whither does my fear
And grief transport me, without shame or pride?
Whither I dread to think, and grieve to have descried.
* * * *
But thou who in thy villa, blest with all
That heart can wish, look'st on the sweet sea-shore;
And, undistracted, listening to the fall
And swell of the loud waves that round thee roar,
Gatherest to thy already rich scrutoire
Fresh living verses for perpetual fame,
Rejoice! for fires more beauteous than of yore
Were kindled by the Dardan prince, inflame
Thy philosophic heart, and light thy laurelled name."
It may be supposed, that the learned Italians of those days welcomed a
spirit congenial to their own, and were proud of a poet who transferred
to another language that elegance of style and elevated purity of
thought, the original growth of their native land. Cardinal Bembo thus
writes of him to a friend, in a letter dated 15th of August,
1535:--"Signor Garcilaso is indeed a graceful poet, and his odes are all
in the highest degree pleasing to me, and merit peculiar admiration and
praise. In fine spirit he has far excelled all the writers of his
nation; and if he be not wanting to himself in diligent study, he will
no less excel other nations who are considered masters of poetry. I am
not surprised that the marquis del Vasto has wished to have him with
him, and that he holds him in great affection."
Among cardinal Bembo's Latin letters, there is one to Garcilaso, full of
compliments, which show the high esteem in which he was held. "From the
verses which you have sent me, I am happy to perceive, first, how much
you love me, since you are not one who would else flatter with
encomiums, nor call one dear to you whom you have never seen; and,
secondly, how much you excel in lyric compositions, in splendour of
genius, and sweetness of expression.--You have not only surpassed all
your fellow Spaniards, who have devoted themselves to Parnassus and the
Muses, but you supply incentives even to the Italians, and again and
again invite them to endeavour to be overcome in this contest and in
these studies by no one but yourself; which judgment of mine some other
of your writings sent to me from Naples have confirmed. For it is
impossible to meet in this age with compositions more classically pure,
more dignified in sentiment, or more elegant in style. In that you love
me, therefore, I most justly and sincerely rejoice; and that you are a
great and good man, I congratulate in the first place yourself, but most
of all, your country, in that she is thus about to receive so great an
increase of honour and glory.
"There is, however, another circumstance which greatly increases the
honour I have received; for lately, when the monk Onorato, whom I
perceive you know by reputation, entered into conversation with me, and,
amongst other topics, asked me what I thought of your poems, the opinion
I gave happened to coincide exactly with his own; and he is a man of
very acute perception, and extremely well versed in poetical pursuits.
He told me that his friends had written to him of your very many and
great virtues, of the urbanity of your manners, the integrity of your
life, and accomplishments of your mind; adding that it was a fact
confirmed by all Neapolitans that knew you, that no one had come from
Spain to their city in these times, wherein the greatest resort has been
made by your nation to Italy, whom they loved more affectionately than
yourself, or one on whom they would confer superior benefits."
Garcilaso did not, however, long enjoy the leisure that he so well
employed. Charles V., whose great ambition was to crush the power of
France, and to possess himself of a portion of that kingdom, was
resolved to take advantage of the disastrous issue of Francis I.'s
attempt upon the duchy of Milan, and rashly determined to invade a
country whose armies, however he might meet victoriously in other
fields, he could not hope to vanquish in their own. He entered France
from the south; and recalling Garcilaso, conferred on him an honourable
command over eleven companies of infantry. Leaving Naples to join this
expedition, he traversed Italy, and from Vaucluse wrote an epistle to
Boscan in a fighter and gayer style than is usual with him; while he
dwells with affectionate pleasure on the the of friendship that united
them, saying, among other things,--
"Whilst much reflecting on the sacred tie
Of our affection, which I hold so high,
The exchange of talent, taste, intelligence,
Shared gifts and multiplied delights which thence
Refresh our souls in their perpetual flow--
There nothing is that makes me value so
The sweetness of this compact of the heart,
Than the affection on my own warm part.
* * * *
Such were my thoughts. But oh! how shall I set
Fully to view my shame and my regret,
For having praised so at a single glance,
The roads, the dealings, and hotels of France.
Shame, that with reason thou may'st now pronounce
Myself a fabler, and my praise a bounce;
Regret, my time so much to have misused,
In rashly lauding what were best abused;
For here, all fibs apart, you find but jades
Of hacks, sour wines, and pilfering chambermaids,
Long ways, long bills, no silver, fleecing hosts.
And all the luxury of lumbering posts.
Arriving too from Naples by the way--
Naples--the choice, the brilliant, and the gay!
Embrace Dural for me--nor rate my muse;
October twelfth, given forth from sweet Vaucluse,
Where the fine flame of Petrarch had its birth,
And where its ashes yet irradiate earth."
To the period of this campaign Wiffen is inclined to attribute the
composition of his third eclogue which, in point of merit, is the
second, and which was avowedly written during a war--for, as he says,--
"'Midst arms--with scarce one pause from bloody toil,
When war's hoarse trumpet breaks the poet's dream,
Have I there moments stolen, oft claimed."
This expedition was disastrous in itself and fatal to the poet. An
invading army is necessarily abhorred by all; and while it inflicts,
also suffers the utmost horrors of war. The French general wisely acted
on the defensive, and, having laid the country waste, left famine and
disease to win the game. The emperor, unsuccessful in his attempts upon
Marseilles and Arles, was obliged to retreat through a country roused to
exasperation by the ills it had endured. His army, in consequence, was
exposed to a thousand disasters, while the very peasants, hanging on its
rear, or lying in ambush, cut off the stragglers, and disputed the
passage of every defile. On one occasion, at Muy near Frejus, the
imperialists were held in check by a party of fifty rustics, who, armed
with muskets, had thrown themselves into a tower, and harassed them on
their passage. The emperor ordered Garcilaso to attack and carry it with
his battalion. Eager in his obedience, Garcilaso led the way to scale
the tower. The peasants observing that he wore a gaily embroidered dress
over his armour, fancied that it was the emperor himself, and marked him
out for destruction. He was the first to mount the ladder; a block of
stone rolled from the battlements, struck him on the head and beat him
to the ground. He was carried to Nice; but no care could avail to save
him: he lingered for twenty days, and then died, November, 1536, at the
age only of thirty-three. He showed, we are told, no less the spirit of
a Christian in his death, than of a soldier in the hour of peril. His
death was universally lamented; and the emperor displayed his sense of
the loss he had sustained, by causing all the peasants who survived the
taking of the tower, twenty-eight in number, to be hanged. Such a token
of respect would scarcely soothe the ghost of the gentle poet; but it
was in accordance with the spirit of the times. The body was interred at
first in the church of Saint Dominique at Nice; but two years afterwards
was removed to the tomb of his ancestors in a chapel of the church of
San Pedro Martyr de Toledo.
Garcilaso is always represented as the model of a young and gallant
soldier, adorning his knightly accomplishments with the softer graces of
a poet; as an imaginative enthusiast, joining sentiment to passion, and
softening both by the elegancies of refinement. His tall figure was
symmetrical in its proportions, and his mien was dignified. There was a
mingled seriousness and mildness in the expression of his face,
enlivened by sparkling eyes, and dignified by an expansive forehead. He
was a favourite with the ladies, while he enjoyed the friendship and
esteem of many excellent men. Wiffen takes pleasure in adopting the idea
of doctor Nott, and likening him to our noble poet, lord Surrey. He
left, orphaned by his death, three sons and a daughter. His eldest son
incurred a similar fate with himself. He enjoyed the favour of the
emperor, but fell at the battle of Ulpiano, at the early age of
twenty-four. His second son, Francisco de Guzman, became a monk, and
enjoyed a reputation as a great theologian. The youngest Lorenzo de
Guzman, inherited a portion of his father's genius, and was esteemed for
his talent. He scarcely made a good use of it, since he was banished to
Oran for a lampoon, and died on the passage. The only daughter of the
poet, donna Sancha de Guzman, married D. Antonio Portocarrero de Vega.
We turn, however, to Garcilaso's poetry as his best memorial and highest
merit, at least that merit which gives him a place in these pages. When
we remember that he died at thirty-three, we must regard his productions
rather in the light of promise, than of performance. His muse might have
soared higher, and taken some new path: as it is, he ranks high as an
elegiac poet, and the first that Spain has produced. The most perfect of
his poems is his second eclogue. Mr. Wiffen has succeeded admirably in
transfusing, in some of the stanzas, a portion of the pathos and
softness of the original. Emulating Virgil in his refinement and
dignity, Garcilaso surpassed him in tenderness; and certainly the
expression of regret and grief was never more affectingly and sweetly
expressed than in the laments that compose this eclogue.
The poem commences with the poet speaking in his own person. He
introduces the personages of the eclogue: Salicio, who laments the
infidelity of his lady; and Nemeroso, who mourns the death of his. It is
supposed that, under the name of Salicio, Garcilaso personifies himself,
and commemorates the feelings which he experienced, when suffering from
the inconstancy of a lady whom he loved in his youth.
Nothing can exceed the living tenderness of the deserted shepherd's
complaints; and we feel as if the tone of fond grief could go no
further, till the interest becomes heightened by the more touching
nature of Nemoroso's laments: under this name it is said that Garcilaso
introduced Boscan. Boscan was a happy husband and father. In his epistle
to Mendoza, he mentions his former passions as a troubled dream, where
all seemed love, but was really hate; and he does not allude to the
death of any object of his affections. Mr. Wiffen, with the natural
fondness of a translator and an antiquarian, delights in putting
together the scattered and half lost fragments of his poet's life, and
to eke out the history of his mind by probable conjecture, and is
inclined to believe that Boscan was intended, and that being dear
friends, Garcilaso pleased his imagination and heart, in making them
brother shepherds in his verses. It is an agreeable idea, and not
improbable: the reader may believe according as his inclinations leads
him.
But not to linger longer on preliminary matter, we select the most
beautiful stanzas of the eclogue, which will confirm to the Spanish
reader the opinion that Garcilaso is the most harmonious, easy, elegant,
and tender poet Spain ever produced: soft and melancholy, he never errs,
except in sometimes following the fashion of his country in reasoning on
his feelings, instead of simply declaring them. Such fault, however, is
not to be found in the following verses, wherein Salicio complains of
his Galatea's inconstancy, recalling the while the dear images of her
former tenderness.
"Through thee the silence of the shaded glen,[18]
Through thee the horror of the lonely mountain,
Pleased me no less than the resort of men:
The breeze, the summer wood, the lucid fountain,
The purple rose, white lily of the lake,
Were sweet for thy sweet sake;
For thee, the fragrant primrose, dropt with dew,
Was wished when first it blew.
O how completely was I in all this
Myself deceiving! O the different part
That thou wert acting, covering with a kiss
Of seeming love, the traitor in thy heart!
This my severe misfortune, long ago,
Did the soothsaying raven, sailing by
On the black-storm, with hoarse sinister cry,
Clearly presage: in gentleness of woe
Flow forth, my tears! 't is meet that ye should flow.
How oft when slumbering in the forest brown,
(Deeming it fancy's mystical deceit)
Have I beheld my fate in dreams foreshown!
One day, methought that from the noontide heat
I drove my flocks to drink of Tagus' flood,
And, under the curtain of its bordering wood
Take my cool siesta; but, arrived, the stream,
I know not by what magic, changed its track,
And in new channels, by an unused way,
Rolled its warped waters back;
Whilst I, scorched, melting with the heat extreme,
Went ever following in their flight astray,
The wizard waves: in gentleness of woe,
Flow forth, my tears!'t is meet that ye should flow.
In the charmed ear of what beloved youth,
Sounds thy sweet voice? On whom revolvest thou
Thy beautiful blue eyes? On whose proved truth
Anchors thy broken faith? Who presses now
Thy laughing lip, and takes thy heaven of charms
Locked in the embraces of thy two white arms?
Say thou, for whom hast thou so rudely left
My love, or stolen, who triumphs in the theft?
I have not got a bosom so untrue
To feeling, nor a heart of stone, to view
My darling ivy, torn from me, take root
Against another wall, or prosperous pine,--
To see my virgin vine
Around another elm in marriage hang
Its curling tendrils and empurpled fruit,
Without the torture of a jealous pang,
Ev'n to the loss of life: in gentle woe,
Flow forth, my tears; 't is meet that ye should flow.
* * * *
Over my griefs the mossy stones relent
Their natural durity, and break; the trees
Bend down their weeping boughs without a breeze;
And full of tenderness the listening birds,
Warbling in different notes, with me lament.
And warbling prophesy my death; the herds
That in the green meads hang their heads at eve,
Wearied, and worn, and faint,
The necessary sweets of slumber leave,
And low, and listen to my wild complaint.
Thou only steel'st thy bosom to my cries,
Not even once turning thy angelic eyes
On him thy harshness kills: in gentle woe
Flow forth, my tears! 'tis meet that ye should flow.
But though thou wilt not come for my sad sake,
Leave not the landscape thou hast held so dear,
Thou may'st come freely now, without the fear
Of meeting me, for though my heart should break,
Where late forsaken, I will now forsake.
Come then, if this alone detain thee, here
Are meadows full of verdure, myrtles, bays,
Woodlands and lawns, and running waters clear,
Beloved in other days,
To which, bedewed with many a bitter tear,
I sing my last of lays.
These scenes, perhaps, when I am far removed,
At ease thou wilt frequent
With him who rifled me of all I loved:
Enough, my strength is spent;
And leaving thee in his desired embrace,
It is not much to leave him this sweet place."
The impatience natural to the resentment of inconstancy ruffles though
it does not distort these sweet stanzas. But there is more of soft
melancholy in Nemoroso, more of the entire melting of the heart in sad
unavailing regret.
"Smooth, sliding waters, pure and crystalline,[19]
Trees that reflect your image in their breast
Green pastures, full of fountains and fresh shades,
Birds, that here scatter your sweet serenades;
Mosses and reverend ivies serpentine,
That wreath your verdurous arms round beech and pine,
And, climbing, crown their crest!
Can I forget, ere grief my spirit changed,
With what delicious ease and pure content,
Your peace I wooed, your solitudes I ranged,
Enchanted and refreshed where'er I went!
How many blissful noons here I have spent
In luxury of slumber, couched on flowers,
And with my own fond fancies, from a boy,
Discoursed away the hours,
Discovering nought in your delightful bowers,
But golden dreams, and memories fraught with joy.
* * *
Where are those eloquent mild eyes, which drew
My heart where'er it wandered? where the hand,
White, delicate, and pure as melting dew,
Filled with the spoils, that proud of thy command,
My feelings paid in tribute? the bright hair
That paled the shining gold, that did contemn
The glorious opal as a meaner gem,
The bosom's ivory apples, where, ah! where?
Where now the neck to whiteness overwrought,
That like a column with genteelest scorn
Sustained the golden dome of virtuous thought?
Gone! ah, for ever gone,
To the chill desolate and dreary pall,
And mine the grief--the wormwood and the gall!
* * *
Poor, lost Eliza! of thy locks of gold,
One treasured ringlet in white silk I keep
For ever at my heart, which, when unrolled,
Fresh grief and pity o'er my spirit creep;
And my insatiate eyes, for hours untold.
O'er the dear pledge, will like an infant's, weep.
With sighs more warm than fire anon I dry
The tears from off it, number one by one
The radiant hairs, and with a love-knot tie;
Mine eyes, this duty done,
Give over weeping, and with slight relief
I taste a short forgetfulness of grief."
Although this quotation has run to a great lengthy I cannot refrain from
adding the ode to the Flower of Gnido. It is more fanciful and airy,
more original, yet more classic. Mr. Wiffen's translation also is very
correct and beautiful, failing only in not preserving all the exquisite
simplicity of the original; but that is a charm difficult indeed to
transfer from one language to another. Of the subject of the ode we
receive the following account from the commentators. "The title of this
ode is derived from a quarter of a city of Naples called Il Seggio di
Gnido, or the seat of Gnido, the favourite abode then of the people of
fashion, in which also the lady lived, to whom the ode was addressed.
This lady. Violante San Severino, a daughter of the duke of Soma, was
courted by Fabio Galeota, a friend of Garcilaso in whose behalf the poem
was written."
"TO THE FLOWER OF GNIDO.[20]
I.
Had I the sweet resounding lyre,
Whose voice could in a moment chain
The howling wind's ungoverned ire,
And movement of the raging main,
On savage hills the leopard rein,
The lion's fiery soul entrance,
And lead along with golden tones
The fascinated trees and stones
In voluntary dance;
II.
Think not, think not, fair Flower of Gnide,
It e'er should celebrate the scars,
Dust raised, blood shed, and laurels dyed
Beneath the gonfalon of Mars;
Or, borne sublime on festal cars,
The chiefs who to submission sank
The rebel German's soul of soul,
And forged the chains that now control
The frenzy of the Frank.
III.
No, no! its harmonies should ring,
In vaunt of glories all thine own,
A discord sometimes from the string
Struck forth to make thy harshness known.
The fingered chords should speak alone
Of Beauty's triumphs, Love's alarms,
And one who, made by thy disdain
Bale as a lily dipt in twain.
Bewails thy fatal charms.
IV.
Of that poor captive, too contemned,
I speak,--his doom you might deplore--
In Venus' galliot shell condemned
To strain for life the heavy oar.
Through thee, no longer as of yore,
He tames the unmanageable steed,
With curb of gold his pride restrains,
Or with pressed spurs and shaken reins
Torments him into speed.
V.
Not now he wields, for thy sweet sake,
The sword in his accomplished hand;
Nor grapples like a poisonous snake,
The wrestler on the yellow sand:
The old heroic harp his hand
Consults not now; it can but kiss
The amorous lute's dissolving strings.
Which murmur forth a thousand things
Of banishment from bliss.
VI.
Through thee, my dearest friend and best
Grows harsh, importunate, and grave;
Myself have been his port of rest,
From shipwreck on the yawning wave;
Yet now so high his passions rave
Above lost reason's conquered laws,
That not the traveller ere he slays
The asp, its sting, as he my face
So dreads, and so abhors.
VII.
In snows on rocks, sweet Flower of Gnide,
Thou wert not cradled, wert not born;
She who has not a fault beside,
Should ne'er be signalised for scorn;
Else tremble at the fate forlorn
Of Anaxarete, who spurned
The weeping Iphis from her gate;
Who, scoffing long, relenting late,
Was to a statue turned.
VIII.
Whilst yet soft pity she repelled,
Whilst yet she steeled her heart in pride,
From her friezed window she beheld,
Aghast, the lifeless suicide.
Around his lily neck was tied,
What freed his spirit from her chains,
And purchased with a few short sighs,
For her immortal agonies,
Imperishable pains.
IX.
Then first she felt her bosom bleed
With love and pity--vain distress!
O, what deep rigours must succeed
This first sole touch of tenderness!
Her eyes grow glazed and motionless,
Nailed on his wavering corse; each bone
Hardening in growth, invades her flesh,
Which late so rosy, warm, and fresh,
Now stagnates into stone.
X.
From limb to limb the frosts aspire,
Her vitals curdle with the cold;
The blood forgets its crimson fire,
The veins that e'er its motion rolled;
Till now the virgin's glorious mould
Was wholly into marble changed;
On which the Salaminians gazed,
Less at the prodigy amazed,
Than of the crime avenged.
XI.
Then tempt not thou Fate's angry arms,
By cruel frown, or icy taunt;
But let thy perfect deeds and charms
To poets' harps, Divinest, grant
Themes worthy their immortal vaunt;
Else must our weeping strings presume
To celebrate in strains of woe,
The justice of some signal blow,
That strikes thee to the tomb."
We have no room to multiply passages, and with this ode must conclude
our specimens. Garcilaso is a happy type of a Spanish poet; and when we
think that such men were the children of the old liberty of Spain, how
deeply we must regret the worse than iron rule that blasted the race;
while we view in any attempt to regain her ancient freedom, a promise of
a new people, to adorn the annals of mankind with all the virtues of
heroism and all the elevation of genius.
[Footnote 14: This anecdote is usually told as appertaining to the
father of the poet; but the name was assumed by the family at an earlier
date. There is a _romance_ introduced in the Guerras Civiles de Granada,
commemorating this action. Sedano and Wiffen are the authorities on
which this biography is grounded. Bouterwek tells only what Sedano had
done before him; in the earlier portion of his work, Sissingularymondi is
scarcely more than a rifacciamento of Bouterwek.]
[Footnote 15: "Temperate, when winter waves its snowy wing,
Is the sweet water of this sylvan spring;
And when the heats of summer scorch the grass,
More cold than snow: in your clear looking-glass,
Fair waves! the memory of that day returns,
With which my soul still shivers, melts, and burns;
Gazing on your clear depth and lustre pure,
My peace grows troubled and my joys obscure.
* * * *
This lucid fount, whose murmurs fill the mind,
The verdant forests waving with the wind,
The odours wafted from the mead, the flowers
In which the wild bee sits and sings for hours,
These might the moodiest misanthrope employ,
Make sound the sick, and turn distress to joy."]
[Footnote 16: Wiffen.]
[Footnote 17: Wiffen.]
[Footnote 18: "Por tí el silencio de la selva umbrosa,
por tí la esquividad y apartamiento
del solitario monte me agradava:
por tí la verde hierba, el fresco viento,
el blanco lirio y colorada rosa
y dulce primavera deseaba.
¡ Ay quanto me engañaba!
¡ Ay quan diferente era,
y quan de otra manera
lo que en tu falso pecho escondia!
bien claro con su voz me lo decia
la siniestra corneja, repitiendo
la desventura mia.
Salid sin duelo lágrimas corriendo.
¡ Quantas veces durmiendo en la floresta
(reputandolo yo por desvarío)
ví mi mal entre sueños desdichado!
Soñaba, que en el tiempo del estio
llevaba, por pasar alli la siesta,
á bever en el Tajo mi ganado;
y despues de llegado,
sin saber de quál arte,
por desusada parte
y por nuevo camino el agua se iba.
Ardiendo yo con la calor estiva,
el curso enagenado iba siguiendo
del agua fugitiva.
Salid sin duelo lágrimas corriendo.
¿ Tu dulce habla en cuya oreja suena?
¿ Tus claros ojos á quien los volviste?
¿ Por quien tan sin respeto me trocaste?
¿ Tu quebrantada fé dó la pusiste?
¿ Quál es el cuello, que como en cadena
de tus hermosos brazos añudaste?
No hay corazón que baste,
aunque fuese de piedra,
viendo mí amada yedra,
de mi arrancada, en otro muro asida,
y mi parra en otro olmo entretegida,
que no se esté con llanto deshaciendo
hasta acabar la vida.
Salid sin duelo lágrimas corriendo.
* * *
Con mi llorar las piedras enternecen
su natural dureza, y la quebrantan:
los arboles parece que se inclinan:
las aves, que me escuchan, quando cantan,
con diferente voz se condolecen,
y mi morir cantando me adivinan:
las fieras, que reclinan
in cuerpo fatigado,
dejan el sosegado
sueño por escuchar mi llanto triste.
Tu sola contra mí te endurciste,
los ojos aun siquiera no volviendo
á lo que tú hiciste.
Salid sin duelos lágrimas corriendo."]
[Footnote 19: "Mas ya que á soccorrerme aqui no vienes,
no dejes el lugar que tanto amaste;
que bien podrás venir de mí segura
yo dexaré el lugar dó me dejaste:
ven, si por solo este le detienes.
Ves aqui un prado lleno de verdura,
ves aqui una espesura,
ves aqui una agua clara,
en otro tiempo cara,
á quien de tí con lágrimas me quejo,
quiza aqui hallarás, pues yo me al ejo,
al que todo mi bien quitarme puede:
que pues el bien le dejo,
no es mucho que el lugar también le quede.
Corrientes aguas, puras, cristalinas:
árboles, que os estais mirando en ellas:
verde prado, de fresca sombra lleno:
aves, que aqui sembrais vuestras querellas:
yedra, que por los árboles caminas,
torciendo el paso por su verde seno;
yo me ví tan ageno
del grave mal que siento,
que de puro contento
con vuestra soledad me recreaba,
donde con dulce sueño reposaba:
ó con el pensamiento discurria,
por donde no hallaba
sino memorias llenas de alegria.
* * *
¿ Dó están agora aquellos claros ojos,
que lleveban tras sí como colgada
mi anima, dó quier que se volvian?
¿ Dó está la blanca mano delicada,
llena de vencimientos y despojos
que de mí mis sentidos la ofrecian?
Los cabellos, que vian
con gran desprecio al oro,
como á menor tesoro.
¿ Adonde están? ¿ Adonde el blanco pecho?
dó la coluna, que el dorado techo
con presunción graciosa sostenia?
aquesto todo agora ya se encierra
por desventura mia,
en la fria desierta y dura tierra.
* * *
Una parte guardé de tus cabellos,
Elisa, envueltos en un blanco paño,
que nunca de mi seno se me apartan:
descojolos, y de un dolor tamaño
enternecerme siento, que sobre ellos
nunca mis ojos de llorar se hartan.
Sin que alli se partan
con suspiros calientes,
mas que la llama ardentes,
los enjugo del llanto, ye de consuno
casi los paso, y cuento uno á uno:
juntándolos con un cordon los ato:
tras esto el importuno
dolor me deja descansar un rato."]
[Footnote 20: "A LA FLOR DI GNIDO.
Si de mi baja Lira
tanto pudiese el son, que en un momento
aplacase la ira
del animoso viento,
y el furia del mar, y el movimiento:
y en ásperas montañas,
con el suave canto enterneciese
las fieras alimañas,
los arboles moviese,
y al son confusamente los truxese:
No pienses que cantando
seria de mí, hermosa Flor de Gnido.
el fiero Marte ayrado,
á muerte convertido,
de polvo, y sangre, y de sudor teñido:
ni aquellos capitanes,
en la sublime rueda colocados,
por quen los Alamanes
el fiero cuello atados,
y los Franceses van domesticados.
Mas solamente aquella
fuerza de tu beldad seria cantada,
y alguna vez con ella
tambien seria notada
el aspereza de que estas armada.
Y como pro tí sola
y por tu gran valor, y hermosura,
convertida in viola,
llora su desventura
el miserable amante en tu figura.
Hablo de aquel cautivo
de quien tener se deve mas cuidado,
que está muriendo vivo
al remo condenado,
en la concha de Venus amarrado.
Por ti como, solia,
del aspero caballo no corrige
la furia y gallardia
ni con freno le rige,
ni con vivas espuelas ya le aflige.
Por tí, con diestra mano,
no revuelve la espada presurosa,
y en el dudoso llano
huye la polvorosa
palestra, come sierpe ponzoñosa.
Por tí su blanda Musa,
en lugar de la cítara sonante,
tristes querellas usa,
que con llanto abundante
hacen bañar el rostro del amante.
Por tí el mayor amigo
to es importuno, grave, y enojoso;
y puedo ser testigo
que ya del peligroso
naufragio fui su puerto, y su reposo.
Y agora en tal manera
vence el dolor á la razon perdída
que ponzoñosa fiera
nuca fue aborrecida
tanto como yo dél, ni tan temida.
No fuiste tu engendrada,
ni producida de la dura tierra:
no debe ser notada,
que ingratamente yerra
quien todo el otro error de sí destierra.
Hagate temerosa
El caso de Anaxárete, y cobarde,
que de ser desdeñosa
se arrepintió muy tarde,
y asi su alma con su marmol arde.
Estabase alegrando
del mal ageno el pecho empedernido,
quando abajo mirando,
el cuerpo muerto vido
del miserable amante alli tendido,
y al cuello el lazo atado,
con que desenlazó de la cadena
el corazón cuitado,
que con su breve pena
compió la eterna punición agena.
Sintió alli convertirse
en piedad amorosa el aspereza.
¡ O tarde arrepentirse!
¡ O, ultima terneza!
¿ como te sucedió mayor dureza?
Los ojos se enclavaron
en el tendido cuerpo, que alli vieron,
los huesos se tornaron
mas duros, y crecieron,
y en sí toda la carne convirtieron.
Las entrañas eladas
tornaron poco á poco en piedra dura:
por las venas cuitadas
la sangre, su figura
iba desconociendo, y su natura.
Hasta que, finalmente
en duro marmol vuelta, y transformada,
hizo de sí la gente
no tan maravillada,
quanto de aquella ingratitud vengada.
No quieras tu, Señora,
de Némesis ayrada las saetas
probar por Dios agora;
baste que tus perfetas
obras, y hermosura a los Poetas
den inmortal materia,
sin que también en verso lamentable
celebren la miseria
de algun caso notable,
que por tí pase triste y miserable."]
MENDOZA
1500-1575.
The third in this trio of friendly poets was of a very different
character. Mendoza was gifted neither with Boscan's mild benevolence nor
Garcilaso's tenderness. That he was the friend of these men, and
addicted to literature, is his chief praise. Endowed with talents, of a
high and haughty disposition, his firmness degenerated into severity,
and his valour into vehemence of temper. He was shrewd, worldly and
arrogant, but impassioned and resolute. He possessed many of those high
qualities, redeeming, while they were stained by pride, which in that
age distinguished the Spanish cavalier; for in those days, the freedom
enjoyed by the Castilian nobility was but lately crushed, and its
generous influence still survived in their manners and domestic habits.
It was characteristic of that class of men, that, when Charles V. asked
a distinguished one among them to receive the Constable Bourbon in his
house, the noble acquiesced in the commands of his sovereign, but
announced at the same time, his intention of razing his house to the
ground, as soon as the traitor had quitted it.
Don Diego Hurtado de Mendoza (and to give him all the titles enumerated
by his Spanish biographer), Knight Commander of the Houses of Calatrava
and Badajoz, in the order of Alcantara, of the council of Charles V.,
and his ambassador to Venice, Rome, England, and the council of Trent,
captain-general of Siena, and gonfalonier of the holy Roman church, was
born in the city of Granada, about the year 1500. He was of noble
extraction on both sides,--his father being second count of Tendilla,
and first marquis of Mondejar; his mother, donna Francisca Pacheco,
daughter of don Juan Pacheco, marquis of Villena. Being the fifth son,
Diego was destined for the church, and from his most tender years
received a literary education. He was sent to the university of
Salamanca, where he studied theology, and became a proficient in the
Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Arabic languages, to which he applied himself
with diligence. Yet, though a laborious student, gayer literature
engaged his attention; and while still at Salamanca, he wrote Lazarillo
de Tormes, a tale at once declaratory of the originality of his genius.
The graphic descriptions, the penetration into character, the worldly
knowledge, the vivacity and humour, bespeak an author of more advanced
years. Who that has read it, can forget the proud and poor hidalgo, who
shared with Lazarillo his dry crusts; or the seven ladies who had one
esquire between them; or the silent and sombre master whose actions were
all mysteries, and whose locked-up wealth, used with so much secrecy and
discretion, yet brings on him the notice of the inquisition? It is
strange that, in after life, Mendoza did not, full of experience and
observation, revert to this species of writing. As it is, it stands a
curious specimen of the manners of his times, and as the origin of Gil
Blas; almost we had said of Don Quixote, and is the more admirable, as
being the production of a mere youth.
Mendoza probably found the clerical profession ill-suited to his tastes;
he became a soldier and a statesman; and particularly in the latter
capacity his talents were appreciated by the emperor Charles V. He was
appointed ambassador[21] to Venice; and, in the year 1545, was deputed
by his sovereign to attend the council of Trent, where he made a learned
and elegant oration, which was universally admired, and confirmed the
opinion already entertained of his talents, so that he was first
promoted ambassador to Rome, and in 1547, he was named governor and
captain-general of Siena. This was a difficult post; and Mendoza
unfortunately acquitted himself neither with credit nor success.
Before the imperial and French arms had found in Italy a lists in which
to contend, this country had been torn by the Ghibeline and Guelphic
factions; and these names remained as watchwards after the spirit of
them had passed away. When the French and Spaniards struggled for
pre-eminence, the Spaniards, as imperialists, naturally espoused the
interests of the Ghibeline cause, to which Siena was invariably a
partisan. The Spaniards prevailed. At the treaty of Cambria, the emperor
became possessed of acknowledged sway over a large portion of that fair
land: over the remainder he exercised an influence scarcely less
despotic. Florence, adhering with tenacious fondness to her ancient
republican institutions, was besieged: it capitulated, and, after some
faint show of temporising on the part of Charles, the chief of the
Medici family was made sovereign with the title grand duke.
Siena, Ghibeline from ancient association, and always adhering to the
imperial party, was not the less enslaved. Without openly interfering in
its institutions, the emperor used his influence for the election of the
duke of Amalfi as chief of the republic. The duke, a man of small
capacity, was entirely led by Giulio Salvi and his six brothers. This
family, thus exalted, displayed intolerable arrogance: it placed itself
above the law; and the fortunes, the wives and children, of their
fellow-citizens, became the victims.
The Sienese made their complaints to the emperor, on his return from his
expedition against Algiers; while, at the same time, Cosmo I., whose
favourite object was to possess himself of Siena, declared that the
Salvi were conspiring to deliver that town into the hands of the French,
and so once more to give that power a footing in Italy. The emperor,
roused by an intimation of this design, deputed an officer to reform the
government of Siena. A new oligarchy was erected, and the republic was
brought into absolute dependence on the commands of the emperor.
Siena was quieted, but not satisfied, while a new treaty between Charles
V. and France took from them their hope of recurring to the assistance
of the latter. After the peace, don Juan de Luna commanded at Siena,
with a small Spanish garrison. But still the seeds of discontent and of
revolt, fostered by an ardent attachment to their ancient institutions,
lay germinating in the hearts of the citizens. Charles never sent pay to
his soldiers: during time of war they lived by booty, in time of peace,
by extortion; love of liberty, and hatred of their oppressors, joined to
cause them to endeavour to throw off the foreign yoke. On the 6th of
February 1545, the people rose in tumult; about thirty nobles were
killed, the rest took refuge in the palace with don Juan de Luna. The
troops of Cosmo I. hovered on the frontier. He, perhaps, fostered the
revolt for his own ends; at least, he was eager to take advantage of it,
and wished the Spanish governor to call in his aid to quell it. But don
Juan wanted either resolution or foresight; he allowed the Spanish
garrison to be dismissed, and, finally, a month afterwards, was forced
to quit the town, accompanied by the obnoxious members of the
aristocracy.
For sometime Siena enjoyed the popular liberty which they had attained,
till circumstances led the emperor to fear that the French would gain
power there; and he resolved to reduce the city to unqualified
submission. Mendoza was then ambassador at Rome. Charles named him
captain-general of Siena, and gave him orders to introduce a Spanish
garrison, and even to build a citadel for its protection. Mendoza
obeyed: as the subject of a despotic sovereign, he felt no remorse in
crushing the liberties of a republic. He did not endeavour to
conciliate, nor to enforce respect by the justice of his measures. He
held the discontented and outraged citizens in check by force of arms
only; disarming them, and delivering them up to the insolence and
extortion of the Spanish soldiery. They could obtain no protection
against all the thousand injuries, thefts, and murders to which they
were subjected. Mendoza, haughty and unfeeling, became the object of
universal hatred. Complaints against him were carried to the emperor,
and, when these remained without effect, his life was attempted by
assassination: on one occasion his horse was killed under him by a
musket shot, aimed at himself. But Mendoza was as personally fearless as
he was proud; and the sternness that humanity could not mitigate, was
not softened by the suggestions of caution.
Affairs of import called him away from his government. On the death of
Paul III. his presence was required at Rome to influence the election of
a new pope. He left Siena, together with the unfinished citadel and its
garrison, under the command of don Juan Franzesi, and repaired to watch
the progress of the conclave. Through his intrigues the cardinal del
Monte was elected, who took the name of Julian III. The new pope,
elected through Spanish influence, adhered to the emperor's interests.
He instantly yielded the great point of contention between Paul III. and
Charles V., and consented to the restitution of the general council to
Trent. Mendoza twice attended this council for the purpose of bringing
the cardinals and prelates to a better understanding. On his return the
pope named him gonfaloniere of the church; and in this character he
subdued Orazio Farnese, who had rebelled. Besides these necessary causes
of absence from his government, he was accused of protracting his stay
in Rome on account of an amorous intrigue in which he was engaged, and
which occasioned a great deal of scandal.
The Sienese were on the alert to take advantage of his absence. The
rapacity and ill faith displayed by Mendoza effectually weaned them from
all attachment to the imperial cause; and when fresh war broke out
between Charles and the French king, the Sienese solicited the aid of
the latter to deliver them from a tyranny they were unable any longer to
endure. The grand duke of Florence had reason to complain of the
Spaniards, and especially of Mendoza, who treated him as the vassal of
the emperor; yet he was unwilling that the French should gain footing in
Tuscany, and besides hoped to advance his own interests, and to add
Siena to his dukedom. He discovered a correspondence between that town
and the French, and revealed it to Mendoza, offering the aid of an armed
force in the emperor's favour. Mendoza, distrusting the motive of his
offers, rejected them. He applied to the pope for assistance; but
Julian, offended by his conduct on various occasions, evaded the request
and remained neutral. Meanwhile, Mendoza, either ignorant of the
imminence of the danger, or despising the power of the enemy, took no
active measures to prevent the mischief which menaced his government.
The Sienese exiles assembled together, and put themselves under the
command of a leader in the French pay. They marched towards Siena, and
arriving before the gates on the evening of the 26th of July 1552,
proclaimed _Liberty!_ The people, though unarmed, rose at the cry. They
admitted the exiles, and drove the garrison, which merely consisted of
400 soldiers, from the convent of San Domenico, in which they had
fortified themselves, and pursued them to the citadel, which was badly
fortified and badly victualled. After a few days Franzesi capitulated,
and Siena was lost to the emperor. Mendoza was accused of various faults
on this occasion; of weakening the garrison, and of not putting, through
avarice, the citadel in a state of defence; and, above all, of delay,
when he had been warned by Cosmo, and not being on the spot himself to
secure the power of his master in the town. These faults, joined to the
hatred in which he was held, caused the emperor not long after (1554) to
recall him to Spain.
While thus employed in Italy as a statesman and a soldier, his active
mind led him also to other pursuits. Many inedited philosophical works
of his are to be found in Spanish libraries. He wrote a paraphrase of
Aristotle, and a translation into Spanish of the Mechanics of that
philosopher; he composed Political Commentaries, and a history of the
taking of Tunis. In the library of manuscripts at Florence, Sedano tells
us there exists a volume in quarto entitled, "Various Works of D. Diego
de Mendoza, ambassador of his majesty to Venice, Turkey, and England."
On all occasions he showed himself an enthusiastic lover of learning,
and a liberal patron of learned men; as a proof of which the bookseller
Paulus Manutius dedicated his edition of Cicero to him. Since the days
of Petrarch, no man had been so eager to collect Greek manuscripts. He
sent to Greece and Mount Athos to procure them, and even made their
acquisition a clause in a political treaty with the Sultan. He thus
collected a valuable library, which at his death he bequeathed to Philip
II., and it forms a precious portion of the library of the Escurial.
It is, however, as a poet that his name is most distinguished in
literature. He was a friend of Boscan, and entered into his views for
enlarging the sphere of Spanish poetry by the introduction of the
Italian style. Though a hitter enemy to the spirit of liberty in Italy,
he could yet appreciate and profit by the highly advanced state of
poetry and literature in that country, of which this very spirit was the
parent.
It is mentioned in the record of his employments, that he went
ambassador to England and Turkey; but it is uncertain at what time these
journies were performed; probably before his return to Spain in 1554.
Considerable obscurity is thrown over the latter years of his life. That
is, no sufficient pains has been taken to throw light upon them. His
manuscript works would, doubtless, if consulted, tell us more about him
than is at present known. He devoted a portion of the decline of his
life to study and literature; but it would seem that on his return from
Italy, he did not immediately retire from active life, as it is
mentioned by some of his biographers that he continued member of the
council of state under Philip II. and was present at the battle of St.
Quentin, fought in 1557. One of the last adventures recorded of him is
characteristic of the vehemence of his temper. While at court, he had a
quarrel with a noble who was his rival in the affections of a lady. His
antagonist, in a fit of exasperation, unsheathed a dagger; but before he
could use it, Mendoza seized him and threw him from the balcony where
they were standing, into the street below. In all countries in those
days, a personal assault within the precincts of a royal court was
looked upon as a very serious offence, and Spanish etiquette caused it
to be regarded in a still more heinous light. Still Mendoza was not the
aggressor: and his punishment was limited to a short imprisonment, where
he amused himself by addressing the lady of his love in various
redondillas.
Much of the latter part of his life was spent in retirement in his
native city of Granada, given up to study and literature. He here
composed the most esteemed of his prose works--the "History of the War
of the Moriscos in Granada." The style of this work is exceedingly pure.
He took the Latin authors Sallust and Cæsar for his models; and being
an eye-witness of the events he records, his narrative is highly
interesting.
While in Italy, he had written a state paper, addressed to the emperor,
dissuading him from selling the duchy of Milan to the pope, which was
conceived in so free a style, that Sandoval, in quoting it in his
history, believed it necessary to soften its expressions. In the same
way this acute observer perceived the faults of the Spanish government
against the Moriscos, and alluded to, although he did not dare blame
them.
Philip II., a bigoted tyrant, drove this portion of his subjects to
despair. Mendoza tells us that just before their revolt, "the
inquisition began to persecute them more than ever. The king ordered
them to quit the Morisco language, and all commerce and communication
one with the other: he took from them their negro slaves, whom they had
brought up with the same kindness as if they had been their children: he
forced them to cast off their Arab dress, in which they held invested a
large capital, and obliged them, at a great expense, to adopt the
Castilian costume. He forced the women to appear with uncovered faces,
opening all that portion of their houses which they were accustomed to
keep closed; and both of these orders appeared intolerable to this
jealous people. It was spread abroad also that he intended to possess
himself of their children, and to educate them in Castile: he forbade
the use of baths, which contributed at once to their cleanliness and
pleasure. Their music, songs, feasts, and weddings, held according to
their manners and customs, and all assemblies of a joyful nature, were
already interdicted; and these new regulations were published without
augmenting the guards, without sending troops, without reinforcing the
garrisons or establishing new ones."[22]
The effect of such a system on a proud and valorous people, passionately
attached to their religion and customs, might be anticipated. The Moors
collected arms secretly, and laid up stores in the rugged mountains of
the Alpujarra: they chose for king the young Fernando de Valor,
descended from their ancient sovereigns, who assumed the name of Aben
Humeya. The progress of the revolt, however, met with various checks,
and they did not receive the aid they expected from the sultan Selim.
Instead, therefore, of taking Granada, their war became guerilla; and
the spirit of vengeance incited them to the exercise of frightful
cruelties, by way of reprisal, on the Christian prisoners who fell into
their hands. An army was sent against them, commanded by don John of
Austria, natural son of Charles V..; Mendoza's nephew, the marquis of
Mondejar, was one of the principal generals under him: Mendoza,
therefore, had full opportunity to learn the details of the war, which
terminated in the success of the Spaniards, whose cruelties rivalled
those of the unfortunate rebels. The Moriscos were put down by the
massacre of several villages, and the selling of the inhabitants of a
whole territory into slavery. This total destruction of the Morisco
people is described by Mendoza, with a truth that prevented his history
from being published until 1610, and even then with great omissions: a
complete edition did not appear till 1776.
After a retreat of some years, Mendoza appeared at court again in his
old age, at Valladolid: his reputation caused him to be admired as an
oracle; his erudition and genius commanded universal respect. He enjoyed
these honours but a few months, and died in the year 1575.
There are few men of whom the Spaniards are more proud than Mendoza,
whom, to distinguish from other poets of the same name, they usually
call the Ambassador. "Most certain it is," says Sedano, "that from the
importance and diversity of his employments, he was considered one of
the most famous among the many great men which that age produced. His
ardent mind was perpetually employed in the support of the glory of his
sovereign and the honour of his country; and in all the transactions in
which he was employed, his zeal, his integrity, his deep policy, his
penetration, and his understanding shone out; and the very faults of
which he is accused, must be attributed to the envy and hatred of his
enemies."
We may not, perhaps, be ready to echo much of this praise. The oppressor
of a free people must always hold an obnoxious position; and when to the
severe and unpitying system he adopted towards others, we find that he
indulged his own passions even to the detriment of his sovereign's
interests, we feel somewhat of contempt mingled with resentment. We are
told that in person he was tall and robust, dignified in his deportment,
but ugly in the face. His complexion was singularly dark, and the
expression of his countenance haughty; his eyes were vivacious and
sparkling; and we may believe that his irregular and harsh features were
redeemed in some degree by the intellect that informed them.
In judging of him as a poet, he falls far short of Garcilaso; but in
some respects he may be considered as superior to Boscan. His short and
simple poems, named in Spanish vilancicos, are full of life and spirit,
and are fitted to become popular from the simplicity and yet vivacity of
their sentiments and versification: they are the sparkling emanations of
the passions, expressed at the moment, with all the ardour of living
emotion. Indeed, he so far indulged in this sort of composition,
tempting to one who feels that he can thus impart, and so perhaps obtain
sympathy for, the emotions that boil within him, that most of his
smaller poems remain inedited as being too free; the Spanish press never
being permitted to put forth works of a licentious nature. His epistles
imitated from Horace, want elegance and harmony; but they are forcible,
and full of excellent sense and good feeling. He could not rise to the
sublime. There is a complimentary ode of his addressed to cardinal
Espinosa, on his assuming the hat, for the writing of which, we are told
by his secretary, that he prepared by three days' study of Pindar; but
it breathes no Pindaric fire; there is bathos rather than height in the
similes he makes, drawn from the purple of the cardinal's new dress, and
the crimson colours with which the sun invests the empyreum. Mendoza was
not an imaginative poet; and it is observable, that when a person, not
such by nature, deals in the ideal, the result is rather the ridiculous
than the sublime. Acute, earnest, playful, passionate, but neither
tender nor sublime, if we except a few of his minor love poems, we read
Mendoza's verses rather to become acquainted with the man than seek the
soul of poetry in his compositions.
[Footnote 21: The penetration with which Mendoza saw through the lofty
pretensions of diplomacy, and the keenness of his observation, which
stripped this science of all its finery, is forcibly expressed in one of
his epistles, He exclaims--
"O embaxadores, puros majaderos,
que si los reges quieren engañar,
comiençan por nosotros los primeros.
Nuestro major negocio es, no dañar,
y jamas hacer cosa, ni dezilla,
que no corramos riesgo de enseñar."
O ye ambassadors! ye simpletons! When kings wish to deceive they begin
first with us.--Our chief business is to do no harm, and never to do or
say anything, that we may not run the risk of making others as wise as
ourselves.]
[Footnote 22: Mendoza felt himself obliged in his own person to refrain
from all censure on the edicts of his sovereign. But in a speech he
introduced after the manner of Sallust, as spoken by one of the chiefs,
he conveyed, in forcible terms, his sense of the persecution which the
unhappy Moors endured. The conspirator exclaims: "What hinders a man,
speaking Castilian, from following the law of the prophet, or one who
speaks Morisco from following that of Jesus? They take our children to
their congregations and schools, teaching them arts which our ancestors
forbade, that purity of the law might not be disturbed nor its truth
disputed. We are threatened at every hour that they shall be taken from
the arms of their mothers and the bringing up of their fathers, and
carried into distant lands, where they will forget our customs, and
learn to become the enemies of the fathers who begot them, and the
mothers who bore them. We are ordered to cast off our national dress,
and to adopt the Castilian. Germans dress after one manner, the French
after another, the Greeks after another. The clergy have a peculiar
garb--youths one sort of dress--old men another--each nation, and each
profession, and each rank, adopts its own style of dress. Yet all are
Christians. And we Moors--why do we dress in the Morisco, as if our
faith hung in our garb--not in our hearts?"]
LUIS DE LEON
1527-1591.
There is a variety in the physiognomy and character of the poets whose
biography is here traced, that renders each in himself highly
interesting; our misfortune is that we know so little of them. Sedano
bitterly laments the obscurity which wraps the history of the great
literary men of Spain, through the neglect of their contemporaries to
transmit the circumstances of their lives. We have but slight sketches;
yet their works, joined to these, individualise the man, and give
animation and interest to very slender details. We image Boscan in his
rural retirement, philosophising, book in hand;--revolving in his
thoughts the harmonies of verse, conversing with his friends, enjoying
with placid smile the calm content, or rather, may we not say, the
perfect home-felt, heart-reaching happiness of his married life, which
he felt so truly, and describes in such lively colours. Young still, his
affections ardent, but concentrated, he acknowledges that serenity,
confidence, and sweet future hopes; unreserved sympathy, and entire
community of the interests of life, is the real Paradise on earth.
Garcilaso, the gallant soldier, the tender poet, the admired and loved
of all, is of another character, more heroic, more soft, more romantic.
Mendoza, with his fiery eye, his vehement temper, his untamed
passions--and these mingled with respect for learning, friendship for
the worthy, and talents that exalted his nature to something noble and
immortal, despite his defects, contrasts with his friends: and the
fourth now coming, Luis de Leon--more earnest and enthusiastic than
Boscan--tender as Garcilaso, but with a soul whose tenderness was
engrossed by heavenly not earthly love--pure and high-hearted, with the
nobility of genius stamped on his brow, but with religious resignation
calming his heart,--he is different, but more complete--a man Spain only
could produce; for in Spain only had religion such sovereign sway as
wholly to reduce the rebel inclinations of man, and, by substituting
supernal for terrestrial love, not diminish the fulness and tenderness
of passion, but only give it another object. High poetic powers being
joined not only to the loftiest religious enthusiasm, to learning, but
also the works of this amiable and highly-gifted man are different from
all others, but exquisite in their class. We wish to learn more of his
mind: as it is, we know little, except that as his compositions were
characteristic of his virtues, so were the events of his life of his
country.
The family of Luis Ponce de Leon was the noblest in Andalusia. He was
born at Granada in the year 1527. It would appear that his childhood was
not happy, for in an ode to the Virgin, written when in the dungeons of
the inquisition, he touchingly speaks of his abandonment in infancy,
saying:--
My mother died as soon as I was born,[23]
And I was dedicate to thee, a child,
Bequeathed by my poor mother's dying prayer.
A second parent thou, O Virgin mild.
Father and mother to the babe forlorn;
For my own father made me not his care.
It was this neglect, probably, that led him to place his affections on
religious objects: and the enthusiasm he felt, he believed to be a
vocation for a monastic life. At the age of sixteen, he endued the habit
of the order of St. Augustin in the convent of Salamanca, and took the
vows during the following year. Enthusiastically pious, but without
fanaticism, his heart was warmed only by the softer emotions of
religion; love, and resignation, a taste for retirement, and pleasure in
fulfilling the duties of his order. His soul was purified, but not
narrowed by his piety. He loved learning, and was an elegant classical
scholar. Most of his poems were written when young. He translated a
great deal from Virgil and Horace, and became imbued by their elegance
and correctness. He was celebrated also as a theologian, and he pursued
his scholastic studies with an ardour that led him to adorn his
religious faith with the imaginative hues of poetry and the earnest
sentiments of his heart. He was admired for his learning by his
contemporaries, and rose high in the estimation of the scholars of
Salamanca, where he resided. At the age of thirty-three, he was made
doctor of theology by the university of that town. In the year 1561, he
was elected to the chair of St. Thomas, over the heads of seven
candidates, by a large majority.
Although his learning, his piety, and the austerity of his life, caused
him to be regarded with universal respect, yet he had enemies, the
result, probably, of his very excellencies. These took advantage of a
slight imprudence he had committed, to plunge him into the most
frightful misfortune. He greatly loved and admired Hebrew poetry; and,
to please a friend, who did not understand the learned languages, he
translated into Spanish, and commented upon, the Song of Solomon. His
friend was heedless enough to permit copies to be taken, and it thus
became spread abroad. Who was the machinator of the disaster that ensued
we are not told; but he was accused before the tribunal of the
inquisition of heresy, for disobeying the commands of the church, in
translating Scripture into the vulgar tongue. He was seized, and thrown
into the prison of the inquisition, at Valladolid, in the year 1572.
Here he remained five years, suffering all the hardships of a rigorous
and cruel confinement. Confined in a dungeon, without light or
space--cut off from communication with his friends--allowed no measures
of defence--hope seemed shut out from him, while all means of
occupation were denied him.
His pious mind found consolation in religion. He could turn to the
objects of his worship, implore their aid, and trust to the efficacy of
their intercession before God. Sometimes, however, his heart failed him,
and it was complaints rather than prayers that he preferred. His odes to
the Virgin were written during this disastrous period; and among them
that from which we have already quoted, in which he pathetically
describes and laments the extremity of adversity to which he was
reduced. The whole ode in Spanish is full of pathos, and gentle, yet
deep-felt lamentation, a few stanzas may give some idea of the
acuteness of his sufferings. Thus he speaks of the hopeless, lingering
evils of his imprisonment:--
If I look back, I feel a wild despair--[24]
I shrink with terror from the coming days,
For they will mirror but the hideous past;
While heavy and intolerable weighs
The evil load of all that now I bear;
Nor have I hope but it will ever last--
The arrows come so fast;
I feel a deadly wound,
And, shudd'ring, look around;
And as the blood, rushing all warm, doth flow,
Behold! another, and another blow!
While they who deal to me such fierce annoy.
Rejoice to see my woe--
Lamenting still they do not quite destroy!
To what poor wretch did heaven e'er deny
Leave to declare the misery he feels?
Laments can ease the weight of heaviest chain;
But cruel fate with me so harshly deals,
Stifling within my lips the gushing cry,
So that aloud I never may complain:
For, could I tell my pain,
What heart were hard enough,
Though made of sternest stuff,
Tiger or basilisk, or serpent dread,
That would not gentle tears of pity shed,
Symbols of tender sorrow for my woes?
The while by hatred fed,
Fate's hostile fury ever fiercer grows.
From living man no comfort reaches me:
From me the dearest and most faithful friend
Would fly beyond the earth's remotest end,
So not to share my hopeless misery!
And my sad eyes, where'er I turn my sight,
Are strangers to the light.
No man that comes anear,
My name did ever hear--
So I myself almost myself forget!
Nor know if what I was, so am I yet--
Nor why to me this misery befell:
Nor can I knowledge get;
For none to me the horrid tale will tell.
* * *
* * *
Wreck'd is my vessel on a shoreless sea,
Where there is none to help me in my fear,
Where none can stretch a friendly saving hand!
I call on men--but there are none to hear;
In the wide world there's no man thinks of me;
My failing voice can never reach the land!
But, while I fearful stand,
A blessed, heaven-sent thought,
By bitter suffering brought,
Bids me, O Virgin! trust to thee alone.
Thou never turn'st away from those who cry,
Nor wilt thou let thy son,
O piteous Mother! miserably die.
My mother died as soon as I was born;
And I was dedicate to thee, a little child,
Bequeath'd by my poor mother's dying prayer;
A second parent thou, O Virgin mild!--
Father and mother to the babe forlorn!
For my own father made me not his care:--
And, Lady, canst thou bear
A child of thine thus lost,
And in such danger tost?
To other sorrows art thou not so blind:
They waken pity in thy gentle mind,
Thou givest aid to every other,
To me be also kind;
Listen, and save thy son, O piteous Mother!
It could not be, however, but that a heart so truly pious would find
relief in prayer, and feel at intervals strong animating confidence in
heaven. Thus, in contrast with these laments, we have a description of
another mood of mind, which he gives in an epistle to a friend on his
liberation. "Cut off," he writes, "not only from the conversation and
society of men, but even from seeing them, I remained for five years
shut up in darkness and a dungeon. I then enjoyed a peace and joy of
mind that I often miss, now that I am restored to light, and the society
of my friends."
He was at length liberated. Sedano tells us, that "at last his trial
being over, in virtue of the proofs and exculpations which he was
enabled to bring in support of his innocence, he was set at liberty at
the end of the year 1576, and restored to all his honours and
employments." It is some consolation to find that his imprisonment
caused great scandal and outcry, and that his liberation was hailed with
exultation and delight. The university had, from respect, never filled
the professor's chair, vacated during his imprisonment; and, on his
return to Salamanca, the most distinguished persons of the town met him
on his way, and conducted him thither in triumph.
Few events after this are recorded of his life. He visited Madrid; and
the royal council confided to him the task of the revision and
correction of the works of St. Theresa de Jesu, which were much
mutilated, and of preparing them for the press. About the same time,
there was attempted the reform of his order in Portugal, a work of
importance and difficulty to the catholic church. The assistance of Luis
de Leon was required, and it is supposed that he even made a journey to
Portugal for that purpose. In 1591, he was named vicar-general of his
province, and soon afterward elected provincial; but he did not long
enjoy this honour: nine days after his election he was attacked by some
acute malady. The Spanish biographers take pains to assure us of the
edifying piety of his end; and we can easily believe that a man who in
youth was entirely dedicate to religion, should in the calmness of old
age and in the hour of death, reap from his belief the composure of
spirit that makes a happy end. He died on the 23d of August 1591; in the
sixty-fourth year of his age.
In person, Luis Ponce de Leon is described as of fair height,
well-proportioned in person, vigorous and robust. His countenance was
manly, and the expression, despite the vivaciousness of his eyes,
serious and calm. His mind was ever bent on religious objects: he seems
to have forgotten his high birth and the splendour of his name, and to
have aspired only to Christian humility. Love of poetry and classical
literature were the only objects that ever called his attention from
pious contemplations; and these he followed chiefly in his youth. "God
gifted him," says Sedano, "with a noble birth he adorned him with
understanding and extraordinary talents; he made him the son of a house
abounding in riches and prosperity, and bestowed on him religious and
literary honours; and it was necessary, for the sake of proving his
virtues and purifying his soul, to visit him with the misfortunes
belonging to the age in which he lived, proportionate to the greatness
of his gifts." Sad as it is to reflect on an age and country in which
virtues so exemplary, and talents so exalted, met with unmerited
persecution, we are almost glad to find that one of the pillars of the
very institutions that exercised such barbarous sway, was visited by its
cruelty and injustice, to prove that no obedience and no excellence
could shelter even the submissive slaves of despotism from its tyranny.
Luis de Leon had indeed a soul at once above submission and suffering.
He bowed before a higher than earthly power, and was exalted above
persecution through his very humility--a proud humility, mixed with a
consciousness of strength and worth. On his liberation from prison, and
restoration to his professor's chair, all Salamanca flocked to hear his
first lecture, drawn thither by reverence and curiosity. Luis de Leon
appeared serene and cheerful, and commenced as if nothing had happened;
nor alluded to the long interval, filled with such misery, that had
intervened since his last lecture, beginning thus:--"We said yesterday
that he had a willow for his symbol, and at its foot a hatchet, with
this inscription, 'Through injury and death.' Nobleness, virtue, and
generosity spring up under the very attacks of adversity and
persecution. A willow the more it is cut, so much the more vigorously
does it throw out its shoots; and for this cause has it its name
(_salix_) from the vigour with which it sprouts, and the swiftness of
its growth."[25] And thus he adopted for his emblem, a pruned tree with
the knife at its foot, and the motto "_Ab ipso ferro._"
As a theologian, his works are held in high repute. It is to his praise
that, though austere and regular as a monk, he yet studied the liberal
arts with assiduity and success. He was well versed in Hebrew, Greek,
and Latin, besides being entire master of his native Castilian. His
poetry is held in great estimation: the purity and elegance of his style
are unsurpassed. Those Spaniards, who are addicted to the tinsel of
versification, accuse him of want of loftiness; but nothing can exceed
the harmony and flow of his verse, the grace and propriety of his ideas,
and the truth and simplicity--the extreme ease and animation, of his
style. It is unornamented--but for that very reason, more purely poetic.
The most perfect of his compositions is his "Ode to Tranquil Life," in
which he dwells with brooding, earnest delight on all the objects, and
all the reveries that bless a man, content in solitude. His religious
poetry comes less home to our hearts: it is so entirely catholic, but
all is marked by enthusiasm and sincerity.
As a translator, he holds a high place; though he may be said rather to
paraphrase than translate his models. He thus rendered into Spanish many
of the odes of Horace, and various others selected from Pindar,
Tibullus, and Theocritus. He translated all the Eclogues of Virgil, and
the first book of his Georgies. He tells us, that he endeavoured to make
the ancient poets speak as they would have expressed themselves, had
they been born in his own age, in Castile, and had written in Castilian.
In an inferior poet this attempt had been indiscreet and rash, but Luis
de Leon was so much master of style and harmony, that it is impossible
to regret the new costume with which he invests our old favourites. He
is chiefly blamed because the beauty of his paraphrases is so great: and
they have taken such hold of Spanish readers, that they preclude all
future attempts at more literal translation. This is of slight import.
If the poems he gives us in Castilian are in themselves beautiful, the
Spanish reader must be satisfied. A vigorous desire to have a perfect
understanding of the originals ought to lead to the study of them in
their native language--the only way really to attain it, and, to a
Castilian, not a difficult one.
Were there a good translation of the ode
"Que descansada vida,"
we should prefer quoting it, as most characteristic of the peculiar
imagery and feeling of the poet. As it is, we are tempted to present Mr.
Wiffen's spirited translation of his ode on the Moorish invasion: the
animation and fire which it breathes has made it a favourite, and shows
that Luis de Leon was confined to didactic subjects rather from choice,
than by the necessity or narrowness of his genius.
"As by Tagus' billowy bed,[26]
King Rodrigo, safe from sight,
With the lady Cava fed
On the fruit of loose delight;
From the river's placid breast,
Slow its ancient Genius broke;
Of the scrolls of fate possess'd,
Thus the frowning prophet spoke:
'In an evil hour dost thou,
Ruthless spoiler, wanton here!
Shouts and clangours even now,
Even now assail mine ear--
Shout and sound of clashing shield,
Shiver'd sword, and rushing car--
All the frenzy of the field!--
All the anarchy of war!
'O what wail and weeping spring
Forth from this, thine hour of mirth,
From you fair and smiling thing,
Who in an evil hour had birth!
In an evil day for Spain
Plighted in your guilty troth--
Fatal triumph! costly gain
To the sceptre of the Goth!
'Flames and furies, griefs and broils,
Slaughter, ravage, fierce alarms,
Anguish and immortal toils
Thou dost gather to thine arms,--
For thyself and vassals--those
Who the fertile furrow break,
Where the stately Ebro flows.
Who their thirst in Douro slake!
'For the throne--the hall--the bower--
Murcian lord and Lusian swain--
For the chivalry a flower
Of all sad and spacious Spain!
Prompt for vengeance, not for fame,
Even now from Cadiz' halls,
On the Moor, in Allah's name,
Hoarse the Count--the Injur'd calls.
'Hark, how frightfully forlorn
Sounds his trumpet to the stars,
Citing Afric's desert-born
To the gonfalon of Mars!
Lo! already loose in air
Floats the standard--peals the gong;
They shall not be slow to dare
Roderick's wrath for Julian's wrong.
'See their spears the Arabs shake,
Smite the wind, the war demand;
Millions in a moment wake,
Join, and swarm o'er all the sand.
Underneath their sails, the sea
Disappears--a hubbub runs
Through the sphere of heaven, a-lee,
Clouds of dust obscure the sun's.
'Swift their mighty ships they climb,
Cut the cables, slip from shore;
How their sturdy arms keep time
To the dashing of the oar!
Bright the frothy billows burn
Round their cleaving keels, and gales,
Breathed by Æolus astern,
Fill their deep and daring sails.
'Sheer across Alcides' strait,
He whose voice the floods obey,
With the trident of his state,
Gives the grand armada way.
In her sweet subduing arms,
Sinner! dost thou slumber still,
Dull and deaf to the alarms
Of this loud inrushing ill?
'In the hallow'd Gadite bay,
Mark them mooring from the main;
Rise, take horse!--away! away!
Scale the mountain--scour the plain!
Give not pity to thy hand,
Give not pardon to thy spur;
Dart abroad thy flashing brand,
Bare thy fatal scimitar.
'Agony of toil and sweat
The sole recompence must be
Of each horse, and horseman yet,
Plumeless serf, and plumed grandee.
Sullied in thy silver flow,
Stream of proud Sevilla, weep!
Many a broken helm shalt thou
Hurry to the bordering deep.
'Many a turban and tiar,
Moor, and noble's slaughtered corse,
Whilst the furies of the war
Gore your ranks with equal loss!
Five days you dispute the field;
When 'tis sunrise on the plains,--
O loved land! thy doom is seal'd--
Madden--madden in thy chains!'"
[Footnote 23: "Luego como nací, murió mi madre:
á tí quedé yo niño encomendado:
dejoteme mi madre por tutora:
del vientre de mi madre en tí fue echado;
murió mi madre, desechóme mi padre,
tú sola eres padre y madre ahora."]
[Footnote 24: "Se miro lo pasado pierdo el seso,
y si lo por venir pierdo el sentido,
porque veo sera qual lo pasado:
si lo presente, hallome oprimido
de tan pesada carga y grave peso,
que resollar apenas no me es dado:
apenas ha tirado
un enemigo un tiro,
la fresca llaga miro
la sangre por las sienes ir corriendo:
otro por otra parte me está hiriendo,
mientras aquel en ver que me maltratan
contentos está haciendo,
pero tristes en ver que no me matan.
¿ Á quál hombre jamas le fue negada
licencia de decir el mal que siente?
Que parece que alivia su tormento--
á mí, porque mi mal mas me atormiente,
la boca fuertemente me es cerrada,
para que no publique el mal que siento;
que es tal que si lo cuento,
á un corazón mas duro
que una roca, ó un muro,
ó sierpe, ó basilisco, ó tigre hircana,
sin duda hará llorar, y muy de gana
en señal que mi mal les enternece;
pero la furia insana
de los que me persiguen siempre crece.
En ningun hombre hallo ya consuelo:
la lumbre de mi ojos no es conmigo--
el mas estrecho; fiel, y caro amigo
huirá la tierra, el mar, el alto cielo,
á trueco de se ver de mi apartado.
Si mirò al diestro lado,
no hallo solo un hombre
que sepa ya mi nombre;
y asi yo mismo del tambiéen me olvido,
y nose mas de mi de que hube sido;
si mi troque, si soy quien antes era,
aun nunca lo he sabido,
que no me dá lugar mi suerte fiera.
* * *
* * *
Metido estoy en este mar profundo,
dó no hay quien me socorra, quien me ayude;
dó no hay quien para mí tienda su mano.
Llamo á los hombres, mas ninguno acude:
no tengo hombre alguno en todo el mundo
estoy ronco de dar voces en vano:
tomé un consejo sano
despues de tanto acuerdo,
que el mal me hizo cuerdo:
á tí sola pedir socorro quiero,
que de los que te llaman no te escondes:
pues me ves que me muero,
¿ como, piadosa Madre, no respondes?
* * *
Luego como nací murió mi Madre;
á tí quedé yo niño encomendado:
dejoteme mi madre por tutora;
del vientre de mi madre en tí fue echado:
murió mi madre, desechóme el padre,
tú sola eres padre y madre ahora;
¿ y puede ser, Señora,
que un hijo tuyo muera
muerte tan lastimera,
siendo por tí mil otros socorridos?
¿ Porque me cierras, Virgen, los oidos?
¿ Porque no escucharme? ¿ Dí, porque te abscondes?
Y si oyes mi gemidos,
¿ como, piadosa Madre, no respondes?"]
[Footnote 25: "Dicebamus hesterno die: Pro suis insignibus habet
salicem, ad cujus pedem secuta et hæc verba: Per damna--per cædes.
Virtuosum enim nobule ac generosum germen oritur ex passionibus et
summis cruciatibus. Salix enim quo magis ceditur, et magis germinans,
ramos extollitur; et ideo dicitur: salix, à saliendo, et celeritate
crescendi."]
[Footnote 26: "Folgaba el rey Rodrigo,
con la hermosa Caba en la ribera
de Tajo sin testigo:
El pecho sacó fuera,
El rio, y le habló de esta manera.
'En mal punto te goces,
injusto forzador, que ya el sonido
oyo ya y las voces,
las armas y el bramido
de Marte, de furor y ardor ceñido.
'¡Ay esa tu alegria
qué llanto acarrea! y esa hermosa,
que vio el sol en mal dia,
á España ay quan llorosa,
y al ceptro de los Godos quán costosa!
'Llamas, dolores, guerras,
muertos asolamientos, fieros males,
entre tus brazos cierras,
trabajos immortales
á tí y á tus vasallos naturales.
'Á los que en Constantina
rompen el fértil suelo, á los que baña
El Ebro, á la vecina
Sansueña, ó Lusitaña,
á toda la especiosa y triste España.
Ya desde Cadiz llama
el injuriado Conde, á la venganza
atento, y no á la fama,
la barbara pujanza
en quien, para tu daño, no hay tardanza.
'Oye que al cielo toca
con temeroso son la trompa fiera,
que en Africa convoca
el Moro á la vandera
que el ayre desplegada va ligera.
'La lanza ya blandea
el Arabe cruel, y hiere al viento,
llamando a la pelea;
innumerable quento
de esquadras juntas vide en un momento.
'Cubre la gente el suelo,
debajo de las velas desparece
la mar, la voz al cielo
confusa y varia crece,
el polvo roba el dia y le obscurece.
'¡ Ay que ya presurosos
Suben las largas naves, ay que tienden
los brazos vigorosos
á los remos, y encienden
las mares espumosas por dó hienden!
'El Eolo derecho
hinche la vela en popa, y larga entrada
por el Herculeo estrecho
con la punta acerada
el gran padre Neptuno da á la Armada.
'! Ay triste y aun te tiene
el mal dulce regazo, ni llamado
al mal que sobreviene
no acorres! ¿ Ocupado
no ves ya al puerto á Hercules sagrado?
'Acude, acorre, buela,
trapasa el alta sierra, occupa el llano,
no perdones la espuela,
no dez paz á la mano,
menea fulminando el hierro insano.
'¡ Ay quánto de fatiga!
¡ Ay quanto de dolor está presente
al que biste loriga,
al Infante valiente,
á hombres, y á caballos juntamente!
'Y, tu, Betis divino,
de sangre agena y tuya amancillado,
darás al mar vecino
¡ quanto yelmo quebrado!
¡ quanto cuerpo de nobles destrozado
'El furibondo Marte
cinco luces las haces desordena,
igual á cada parte:
la sexta ¡ ay! te condena,
ó cara patria, ó barbara cadena!'"]
HERRERA, SAA DE MIRANDA, JORGE DE
MONTEMAYOR, CASTILLEJO, THE DRAMATISTS.
1500-1567.
HERRERA
There are several other poets whose names belong to this age, of whom
very little is known except by their works. Yet to complete the history
of Spanish literary men, it will be necessary to mention what has come
down to us.
The first on the list is Herrera. Fernando Herrera was a native of
Seville. We learn nothing of his family, and even the date of his birth
is unknown. It is conjectured that he was born at the beginning of the
sixteenth century. He was an ecclesiastic; but it is believed that he
adopted this profession late in life, and we are ignorant of the
position he held in the hierarchy, and of all the events of his life. It
is believed that he died at a very advanced age; but when and where we
are not told. In the midst of all these negatives as to events, we get
at a few affirmatives with regard to his qualities. There is an inedited
work, entitled "The illustrious Men, Natives of Seville," written by
Rodrigo Caro, who thus mentions him:--"Herrera was so well known in his
native town of Seville, and his memory is so regarded there, that I may
be considered in fault if my account of his works is brief: however, I
will repeat all I have heard without futile additions, for I knew,
though I never spoke to him,--I being a boy when he was an old man; but
I remember the reputation he enjoyed. He understood Latin perfectly, and
wrote several epigrams in that language, which might rival the most
famous ancient authors in thought and expression. He possessed only a
moderate knowledge of Greek. He read the best authors in the modern
languages, having studied them with care; and to this he added a
profound knowledge of Castilian, carefully noting its powers of
expressing with nobleness and grandeur. He evidently wrote prose with
great care, since his prose is the best in our language. As to his
Spanish poetry, to which his genius chiefly impelled him, the best
critics pronounce his poems correct in their versification, full of
poetic colouring, powerful and forcible as well as elegant and
beautiful; although, indeed, as he did not write for every vulgar
reader, so that the uneducated are unable to judge of the extent of his
erudition. He excelled in the art of selecting epithets and expressions,
without affectation. He was naturally grave and severe, and his
disposition betrays itself in his verses. He associated with few,
leading a retired life, either alone in his study, or in company, with
some friend, who sympathised with him, and to whom he confided his
cares. Whether from this cause, or from the merit of his poetry, he was
called the 'divine Herrera:' as a satirist of those days mentions:--
'Thus a thousand rhymes and sonnets
Divine Herrera wrote in vain.'
"His poems were not printed during his life; Francisco Pacheco, a
celebrated painter of this city, whose studio was the resort of all
clever men of Seville and the environs, performed this office. He was a
great admirer of his works, and collected them with great care, and
printed them under the patronage of the count de Olivarez. Herrera's
prose works are the best in our language. They consist of the Life and
Martyrdom of Thomas More, president of the English parliament in the
time of the unhappy Henry VIII., leader and abettor of the schism of
that kingdom (translated from the Latin of Thomas Stapleton); the Naval
Battle against the Turks at Lepanto; a Commentary on Garcilaso; all of
which display deep reading in Greek, Latin, and modern languages, and
which he published while living. He employed himself on a general
History of Spain, to the time of the emperor Charles V., which he
brought up to the year 1590. He was well versed in philosophy: he
studied mathematics, ancient and modern geography, and possessed a
chosen library. The reward of all this was only a benefice in the parish
church of St. Andres in this city. But he has many associates in the
moderation of his fortune; for though every one praises merit, few seek
and fewer reward it."[27]
The praise of Caro is echoed by others of more note. Cervantes, when he
resided at Seville, frequented the society of Herrera; in his "Voyage to
Parnassus" he calls him the "Divine," and says that the "ivy of his fame
clung to the walls of immortality." Lope de Vega in his "Laurel de
Apollo," calls him the "learned," and speaks of him with respect and
admiration. Sedano tells us that he was a handsome man; tall, of a manly
and dignified aspect, lively eyes, and thick curled hair and beard. In
addition, we learn that the lady of his love, whom he celebrates under
the names of Light, Love, Sun, Star--Eliodora, was the Countess of
Gelves. He loved her, it is said, all his life, to the very height of
platonic passion, which burnt fiery and bright in his own heart, but
revealed itself only by manifestations of reverence and self-struggle.
This sort of attachment, when true, is certainly of an heroic and
sublime nature, and demands our admiration and sympathy; but we must be
convinced of the reality of the sufferings to which it gives rise, and
of the unlimited nature of its devotion, or it becomes a mere picture
wanting warmth and life. Petrarch's letters give a soul to his poetry:
the various accounts they contain of his solitary struggles at Vaucluse,
make us turn with deeper interest to his verses, which, otherwise, might
almost be reasoned away into a mere ideal feeling. Knowing nothing of
Herrera but that he loved "a bright particular star," shining far above,
we are willing to find an accord between this love of the elevated and
unattainable, and the grandeur of the subjects he celebrates in his
poetry, and the dignity of his verse.
Herrera is a great favourite with those Spanish critics who prefer
loftiness to simplicity of style, and the ideas of the head rather than
the emotions of the heart: the sublime style at which he aimed gained
for him the surname of Divine. Boscan, Garcilaso, and Luis de Leon,
adopted the Italian metres, and with greater diffuseness, and therefore
less classical elegance, but with equal truth and poetic verve, and
informed the Spanish language with powers unknown to former poets. But
this did not suffice for Herrera. He delighted in the grandiose and
sonorous. He altered the language, introducing some obsolete and some
new words, and, attending with a sensitive ear to the modulations of
sound, endeavoured to make harmony between the thought and its oral
expression. Lope de Vega held Herrera's versification in high esteem:
quoting a passage from his odes, he exclaims, "Here, no language exceeds
our own--no, not even the Greek nor the Latin. Fernando de Herrera is
never out of my sight." Quintana, whose criticism is rather founded on
artificial, rather than genuine and simple taste, as is apt to be the
case with critics, is also his great admirer. He considers that he
contributed more than any other to elevate, not only the poetic style of
the Spanish language, but the essence of its poetry, in gifting it with
more boldness of imagination and fire of expression than any preceding
poet. Sedano is less partial: while he praises and admits his right to
his name of "divine," he observes, that in endeavouring to purify and
elevate his diction, he erred in rendering it harsh and barren, wanting
in suavity and flow, and injured it by the affectation of antiquated
phrases. His odes are certainly grand: we feel that the poet is full of
his subject, and rises with it. It is rash of a foreigner, indeed, to
give an opinion; still, we cannot help saying that while we admire the
fervour of expression, the grandeur of the ideas, and the harmony of the
versification, we miss the while a living grace more charming than all.
It is the poetry of the head rather than the heart. And thus, among
Herrera's poems, the one we admire most is his Ode to Sleep; for, joined
to elegant chasteness and great purity of language, we find a pure
genuine feeling, feelingly expressed.
Suave sueño, tu que en tarde buelo
las alas perezosas blandamente
bates, de adormideras coronado,
por el puro, adormido, vago cielo,
ven á la ultima parte de Ocidente,
y de licor sagrado
baña mi ojos tristes que cansado
y rendido al furor de mi tormento,
no admito algun sosiego,
y el dolor desconorta al infrimiento.
Ven a mi humilde ruego:
ven a mi ruego humilde, amor de aquella
que Juno te ofreciò, tu Ninfa bella.
Divino Sueño, gloria de mortales,
regalo dulce al misero afligido:
Sueño amoroso, ven a quien espera
cesar del egercicio de sus males,
y al descanso bolver todo el sentido.
¿ Como sufres que muera
lejos de tu poder quien tuyo era?
¿ No es vileza olvidar un solo pecho
en veladora pena,
que sin gozar del bien che al mundo has hecho,
de tu vigor se agena?
Ven, Sueño alegre: Sueño, ven, dichoso:
vuelve a mi alma ya, vuelve el reposo.
Sienta yo en tal estrecho tu grandeza:
baja, y esparce liquido el rocio:
huya la alba, que en torno resplandece,
mira mi ardiente llanto y mi tristeza,
y quanta fuerza tiene el pesar mio:
y mi frente humidece,
que ya de fuegos juntos el Sol crece.
Torna, sabroso Sueño, y tus hermosas
alas suenen aora,
y huya con sus alas presurosas
la desabrida Aurora;
y lo che en mi falto la noche fria,
termine la cercana luz del dia.
Una corona, o Sueño, de tus flores
ofrezco: tù produce el blando efecto
en los desiertos cercos de mis ojos,
que el ayre entrevgido con olores
alhaga, y ledo mueve en dulce afecto:
y de estos mis enojos
destierra, manso Sueño, los despojos.
Ven pues, amado Sueño, ven liviano,
que del ruo Oriente
Despunta el tierno Febo el rayo cano.
Ven ya, Sueño clemente,
y acabara el dolor; asi te vea
en brazos de tu cara Pasitea."
[Footnote 27: Sedano.]
SAA DE MIRANDA
At this same period, so fertile in Spain with poetic genius, there
flourished two Portuguese poets, whose names are introduced here from
their connection with Spanish poetry. Saa de Miranda was horn in 1494,
and died in 1558. His Spanish poems are bucolic, and more truly imbued
with rural imagery than that of those warrior poets, whose love of the
country was that of gentlemen who enjoy the beauties of scenery and the
blandishments of the odorous breezes, rather than of persons accustomed
to the detail of pastoral life. Saa de Miranda sometimes mingled a
higher tone of description with his rural pictures; thus imitating
nature, who associates the terrible with the lovely, the storm and the
soft breath of evening. At the same time, none excels Saa de Miranda in
the union of simplicity and grace: some of his verses remind the Italian
reader of the odes of Chiabrera, such as these, describing the
wanderings of a nymph, with which his fancy adorned a woodland scene:--
Gently straying,
Gently staying,
She breathed the fragrance of the breezy field;
And, singing, fill'd her lap with flowers,
The which the meadows yield,
Painting their verdure with a thousand colours.[28]
Nor does his poetry want the charm of melancholy sentiment, nor the
vehemence of passion; while all that he writes has the peculiar merit of
a harmony and grace all his own.
[Footnote 28: "Graciosamente estando,
graciosamente andando,
blando ayre respirava al prado ameno
ella cantava, y juntamente el seno
inchiendose yva de diversas flores
en que el prado era lleno
sobre verde variado en mil colores."]
JORGE DE MONTEMAYOR
Jorge de Montemayor is another Portuguese poet, whose name belongs
rather to Spain than Portugal. His real appellation is unknown. He
adopted that of the place of his birth, Montemor, a town in the
jurisdiction of Coimbra in Portugal, which he in a manner translated
into Spanish, and called himself Jorge or George de Montemayor. He was
born about the year 1520, of humble origin, and slight education. In his
youth he entered the military profession. His talent for music first
brought him into notice: he emigrated into Castile, and endeavoured to
gain his livelihood by music: he succeeded in being incorporated in the
band of the Royal Chapel; and when the Infante don Philip, afterwards
Philip II., made his celebrated progress through Germany, Italy, and the
Low Countries, having in his suite a band of choice musicians and
singers, Montemayor made one among them.
These travels tended to enlarge his mind; and, although unacquainted
with the learned languages, he became a proficient in various foreign
ones, and joined to these accomplishments a taste for literature. His
love for music was allied closely to a talent for poetry; and when on
his return to Spain, he resided at the city of Leon, he established his
fame as an author, by writing his "Diana." The fame of this book spread
far and wide: it was imitated by almost every poet that wrote in those
days, and the style in which it was composed became the fashion
throughout Spain.
The "Diana" is a pastoral of such an ideal species, that it sets
chronology and history at defiance. Of these, our Shakspeare made light,
when he wrote "Cymbeline" and the "Winter's Tale;" but the "Diana" is
even more confused in its costume. The scene of it is placed at the foot
of the mountains of Leon; and the heroine is said to be the object of a
real attachment of the author. This lady in other poems is called
Marfisa: he is said to have loved her before he left Spain with the
court: on his return he found her married; and his grief and her
infidelity he personified in the Sireno and Diana of his pastoral. Thus
many modern events are spoken of; and the adventures of Abindarres and
Xarifa, contemporaries of king Ferdinand, are mentioned as of old date,
at the same time that Apollo and Diana, nymphs and fauns, are the
objects of adoration among the shepherds; for, indeed, in those days the
gods of the Greeks made as it were an integral portion of poetry, and it
would have been considered a solecism to have omitted the names and
worship of these deities. The story is conceived in the same
heterogeneous manner. There is infinite simplicity in all the part that
strictly appertains to Diana and her lover; and much of what is romantic
and even supernatural in the other portions.
The first book commences with the return of Sireno to the valleys of the
mountains of Leon. He has already heard of the falsehood of his
mistress, who is married to another. The romance opens with the songs of
his complaints. In one of these he addresses a lock of hair belonging to
Diana; and nothing can be more simple, yet touching and true, and
elegant, than the opening of this poem. He is joined by Silvano, another
lover of Diana, who has always been disdained; and his resignation is
truly exemplary: these two hapless lovers are joined by a shepherdess,
who is also suffering the woes of unfortunate passion; and her history
concludes the book. In the second, events of more action are introduced:
the scene even changes to a sort of fairy tale; but though the machinery
of the story alters, the sentiments remain the same, conceived in the
language of passion and reality. It is not until the sixth book that
Diana herself is introduced, and the canzoni placed in her mouth are
among the best in the book: she lays the blame of her infidelity on her
parents, who forced her to marry a rich shepherd. The romance concludes
without any change in the situation of the hero and heroine.
It is singular, that a work founded on such strange and unnatural
machinery should have seized on the imagination, we may almost say, of
the world; since this sort of pastoral became universally imitated; but
there is something in the rural pictures and out-of-door life which
composes the scenery of such works., grateful, we know not why, to our
hearts. The style of the "Diana" is, indeed, peculiarly beautiful.
Nothing can be more correct, yet less laboured; nothing more elegant,
yet less exaggerated. To express vividly and truly, yet gracefully and
in harmonious measure, the emotions of the various personages, appears
to be the author's chief aim. Thus we read on, attracted by the melody
of the style, the heartfelt truth of the sentiments, and the beauty of
the descriptions, even while we are quite careless of the developement
of the plot, and tolerably uninterested in any of the personages. To
translate the poetry of this book would be difficult, as the style forms
its charm; but it is impossible to read it in the original without being
carried away by the flow of the versification, and the unaffected
expression of real feeling.
The "Diana" superseded for a time the books of chivalry, of which the
Spaniards were so fond. Since Amadis first appeared, no work had been so
popular. Cervantes, who imitated it in his "Galatea," thus mentions it
in the scrutiny the curate and barber make of Don Quixote's library.
Speaking of pastorals in general, the curate says: "These books do not
deserve to be burned with the rest, because they have never done nor
will do the harm of which tales of chivalry are guilty; they are mere
books of amusement, and hurt no one." Of the pastoral in question
itself, he says: "Let us begin by the "Diana" of Montemayor: I am of
opinion that we tear out all that relates to the wise Felicia and the
enchanted water, and almost all the poems in long measure, and let the
prose remain, and the merit of its being the first of this species of
books."
Such was the reputation that Montemayor acquired by this romance, that
the queen of Portugal was desirous that he should return to his native
country. He was, accordingly, recalled, and nothing more is known of him
than that it is supposed that he died a violent death[29],--where, even,
is not known; for some say in Portugal, some in Italy: the dates
tolerably agree, those named being 1561 and 1562, so that he was
scarcely more than forty at the time of his death.
[Footnote 29: Sedano tells us that the queen Catalina of Portugal, on
recalling him, conferred on him an honourable situation in the royal
household. The date of his death is ascertained through an elegy which
is printed in all the editions of the "Diana;" and which mentions that
he died in 1562.]
CASTILLEJO
To give a catalogue _raisonnée_ of all the poets that flourished in
Spain in this age would be of little avail, as little is known of them
and their poetry: though much of it is beautiful, and much more of it
agreeable, it does not bear the stamp of the originality and genius
necessary to form an era in literature. Sedano gives brief notices of
some of them. From him we learn that Fernando de Acuna, a nobleman of
Portuguese extraction, a distinguished courtier in the court, a gallant
soldier in the camp of Charles V., was also an intimate friend of
Garcilaso de la Vega, and imitated him and Boscan in the style of his
poetry. He died in Granada about the year 1580. There is elegance, and a
certain degree of originality in his poems. Sedano almost places him
above his friend Garcilaso. He mingled the Italian and old Spanish
styles together, introducing metres more adapted to the Castilian
language than the terzets of his predecessors, being shorter, more airy,
and more graceful.
Gil Polo, a native of Valentia, flourished about the year 1550. He
continued the Diana of Montemayor, and called his work "La Diana
Enamorada." He is chiefly famous for the praise that Cervantes bestows
on him, when in "Don Quixote" the curate says to the barber "Take as
much care of Gil Polo's work, as if it were written by Apollo himself."
Posterity has not confirmed this preference, and it is chiefly praised
for elegance and purity of style.
Cetina, an anacreontic poet of merit, also finds a place in the "Parnaso
Español." The same honour is not bestowed on Castillejo, who, however,
deserves peculiar mention as the great partisan of the old Castilian
style, and the antagonist of Boscan. Cristoval Castillejo flourished
also in the time of Charles V., in whose service he went to Vienna,
remaining there as secretary to Ferdinand I.; as, notwithstanding, the
imperial crown of Germany was separated from the regal one of Spain, on
the death of Charles V., there continued to subsist for some years
intimate relations between the courts of Vienna and Madrid. The greater
part of Castillejo's poems were written at Vienna, and are full of
allusions to the gaieties of the court. He admired and celebrates a
young German lady, named Schomburg, whose barbaric appellation he
translates into Xomburg. Late in life he returned to Spain, became a
Cistercian monk, and died in a convent in 1596.
Some Spanish critics raise Castillejo to a high rank among the poets of
that nation, while others give him a juster place, and perceive that it
was the want of strength to soar beyond, that led him, in his own
compositions, to confine himself to the old coplas, and want of
penetration that made him so violent an enemy of those whom he named the
Petrarquistas. His satires against them are witty, and not without some
justice; and certainly prolixity is a fault to be attributed to these
poets he attacks. He begins with the true Spanish taste for persecution,
exclaiming,--
As the holy Inquisition
Is apt, with saintly diligence,
To make eager perquisition,
And punish too with violence,
Each novel heresy and sect,
I would that it were found correct
To castigate in native Spain
A heresy as bad as any
That Luther, to our grief and pain,
Has introduced in Germany.
The Anabaptists' crime they share,
And well deserve their punishment:
Petrarchists--the new name they bear,
Which they assume with bad intent;
And they are renegades most fierce
To the old Castilian measure;
Believing in Italian verse.
Finding there more grace and pleasure.[30]
Upon this, he institutes a ghostly tribunal, presided over by Juan de
Mena, Jorge Manrique, and other ancient poets, before whom Bosean and
Garcilaso are forced to appear--of course, to their utter discomfiture
and disgrace. While it is impossible to accede to this sentence, and
while we must look on Castillejo as an inferior poet, he merits great
praise within the boundaries which he prescribes himself. His lyrics are
light, airy, graceful; and though they possess a fault little known in
Spain--that of levity,--this defect is with him akin to that animation
and wit which is the proper charm of poetry of this class.
[Footnote 30: "Pues la santa Inquisicion
suele ser tan diligente,
en castigar con razon
qualquier secta y opinion
levantada nuevamente:
resucitese luzero
á castigar en España
una muy nueva y estraña,
como á quello de Lutero
en las partes de Alemaña.
Bien se pueden castigar
á cuenta de Anabaptistas
pues por ley particular
se tornan á baptizar
y se llaman Petrarquistas
Han renegado la fé
de la trobas Castellanas
y tras las Italianas
se pierden, diziendo, que
son mas ricas y galanas."]
FERNANDO DE ROXAS
THE DRAMATISTS
As in no long process of time, dramatic poetry became the distinctive
and national turn of Spanish poetic genius, it would be ungrateful
towards the originators of a species of composition imitated all over
the world, and extolled by every man of taste, not to make mention of
them. The first dawn of the drama has been mentioned: the representation
of mysteries and autos being permitted by the clergy, leave was taken to
exchange the purely religious for the pastoral or the moral. Besides the
pastoral dialogues of Juan de Encina, before mentioned, there existed a
moral Spanish play, whose origin is lost in obscurity. It is named,
"Celestina, Tragicomedia de Calisto y Melibea." The first act is
supposed by some to have been the work of an unknown priest or poet of
the reign of John II. It was finished in the fifteenth century, by
Fernando de Roxas. The drama consists of twenty-one acts, and is rather
a long-drawn tale in dialogue than a play. It is more didactic than
dramatic; descriptive and moral. Its purpose was to warn youth by
displaying the dangers of licentiousness; and many an odious personage
and scene is introduced to conduce to this good end; with considerable
disdain, meanwhile, of good taste. The first act, of ancient date,
brings forward the story--the loves of Calisto and Melibea, two young
persons nobly born, divided from each other by their respective
families. Melibea is perfectly virtuous and prudent, and submits to the
commands that prevent all communication between her and her lover.
Calisto is less patient: he applies to Celestina, an old sort of
go-between, such as is frequent in a land of intrigue like Spain. Her
artifices, her flatteries, her philtres, are all described and put in
action; and the act breaks off under the expectation of what may be the
result of such an engine. Roxas added twenty acts to this one. He
increases the romantic and tragic interest of the tale. Celestina
introduces herself into Melibea's house. She corrupts the servants by
presents; deludes the unfortunate girl by incantations, and induces her,
at last, to yield to her lover. Her parents discover the intrigue;
Celestina is poisoned; Calisto stabbed; and Melibea throws herself from
the top of a tower. According to some writers, where crime is punished
in the end, the tale is moral: thus, this drama was regarded as a moral
composition; at all events, it was popular: doubtless, it pictured the
manners of the times, and interested the readers as the novels of the
present day do, by shadowing forth the passions and events they
themselves experienced.
This was the first genuine Spanish play. In the beginning of the reign
of Charles V., the theatre began to interest classic scholars; and the
first step made towards improving the drama, was an attempt to introduce
antique models. Villalobos, a physician of Charles V., translated the
Amphitryon of Plautus, which was printed in 1515. Perez de Oliva made a
literal translation of the Electra of Sophocles. Oliva was a man of
infinite learning and zealous inquiry: passing through the universities
of Salamanca and Alcala, he visited first Paris, and afterwards Rome,
where he gave himself up to the study of letters. The road of
advancement was open to him in the papal palace at Rome, but he
renounced it to return to Spain. He became professor of philosophy and
theology in the university of Salamanca. One of his chief studies was
his own language, and he is much praised for the classical purity of his
style. Sedano goes so far as to say that the diction of his translation,
which he entitles "La Venganza de Agamemnon," or, Agamemnon Avenged, "is
so perfect in all its parts--so full of harmony, elevation, purity,
sweetness, and majesty, that it not only excuses the author for not
having written in verse, but may rival the most renowned poetry." It
seems strange to read this sentence, and to turn to the bald phraseology
of the work itself: we cannot believe that this translation was ever
acted. The first original tragedy published in Spain was the work of
Geronimo Bermudez, a monk of the order of St. Dominic, a man of austere
and pious life; but who joined a love of letters and poetry to his
theological studies. He wrote "Nise Lastimosa," and "Nise Laureada."
Ines de Castro, of whose name in the title he makes the anagram of Nise,
but who is properly named in the play, is the heroine of these dramas.
The first is by no means destitute of merit. The tale itself is of such
tragic interest, that it naturally supports the dialogue, which is too
long drawn, and interrupted by choruses. The fourth act, however, rises
superior to the rest, and is extremely beautiful. Ines pleads before the
king for her life. She uses every argument suggested by justice, mercy,
and parental affection to move him. The language is free from extraneous
ornament; tender elevated, and impassioned. It is impossible to read it
without being moved by the depth and energy of its pathos. The second
play, the subject of which is the vengeance the infante don Pedro took
on her murderers when he ascended the throne, is a great falling off
from the other. The plot is deficient--the dialogue tiresomely long--and
the catastrophe, though historically true, at once horrible and
unpoetic.
Besides these more classical productions, there were written various
imitations of Celestina. They were all moral, for they all displayed in
an elaborate manner the course of vice, and its punishment. Long drawn
out--too real in their representation of vulgar crime, they neither
interested on the stage, nor pleased in the closet.
The greatest obscurity has enveloped the earliest regular dramas written
in Spanish. They were the work of Bartolomé Torres Naharro, a native of
Estremadura, and a priest. Torres Naharro was born in the little town of
Tore, near Badajos, on the frontiers of Portugal. Little is known of
him, except his reputation as a man of learning. After a shipwreck,
which involved him in various adventures, he arrived at Rome, during the
pontificate of Leo X., and was patronised by that accomplished pope.
Naples was then in the hands of the Spaniards, and Naharro's comedies
were doubtless represented in that city, whither Naharro himself
removed, driven from Rome by the difficulties in which his satirical
works involved him.[31]
Cervantes does not mention Naharro in his preface to his comedies, which
contains the best account we have of the origin of the Spanish drama.
But other writers, and among them the editor of Cervantes's comedies,
mention him as the real inventor of the Spanish drama. His plays were
written in verse; there is propriety in his characters and some elegance
in his style. He brought in the intrigue of an involved story to support
the interest of his plays. They did not, however, obtain possession of
the stage in Spain.
Lope de Rueda followed him. The "great Lope de Rueda" Cervantes calls
him, adding that he was an excellent actor and a clever man. "He was
born," he continues, "at Seville, and was a goldbeater by trade. He was
admirable in pastoral poetry, and no one either before or after excelled
him in this species of composition. Although when I saw him I was a
child, and could not judge of the excellence of his verses, several have
remained in my memory, and, recalling them now at a ripe age, I find
them worthy their reputation. In the time of this celebrated Spaniard,
all the paraphernalia of a dramatic author and manager was contained in
a bag: it consisted of four white dresses for shepherds, trimmed with
copper gilt, four sets of false beards and wigs, and four crooks, more
or less. The comedies were mere conversations, like eclogues, between
two or three shepherds and a shepherdess, adorned and prolonged by two
or three interludes of negresses, clowns or Biscayans. Lope performed
the various parts with all the truth and excellence in the world. At
that time there were no side scenes, no combats between Moors and
Christians on horseback or on foot. There was no figure which arose, or
appeared to rise, from the centre of the earth, through a trapdoor in
the theatre. His stage was formed of a few planks laid across benches,
and so raised about four palms above the ground. Neither angels nor
souls descended from the sky: the only theatrical decoration was an old
curtain, held up by ropes on each side: it formed the back of the stage,
and separated the behind scenes from the front. Behind were placed the
musicians, who sang some old romance to the music of a guitar."
As an actor himself Rueda doubtless could judge best of the public
taste. His own parts were those of fools, roguish servants, and Biscayan
boors. His plays were collected by Timoneda, a bookseller of Valencia,
but, like the witticisms of the masks of the old Italian stage, they
lose much in print. His plots consist of chapters of mistakes: there are
a multitude of characters in his dramas, and jests and witticisms
abound. These generally consist of ridiculous quarrels, in which a clown
plays the principal part.[32] Spanish critics call him the restorer, it
would be better to say--the founder of the Spanish theatre.
After Rueda, Cervantes tells us, came another Naharro, a native of
Toledo; he was also an actor and manager. "He augmented the decorations
of the comedies; he substituted trunks and boxes for the old bag. He
drew the musicians out from behind the curtain, where they were
previously placed. He deprived the actors of their beards; for before
him no actor had ever appeared without a false beard. He desired that
all should show an unmasked battery, except those who represented old
men, or were disguised. He invented side scenes, clouds, thunder,
lightning, challenges, and battles.
Such were the commencements of the Spanish theatre, destined to take so
high a place hereafter in the history of the drama.
We now come to a new era, and names more known. We have arrived at the
age of Cervantes: these were the men who preceded him.
There is something very peculiar in the state of literature at this
time. The infancy of Spanish poetry was such as might have been expected
from a chivalrous nation; its themes were love and war, its heroes
national, and its style such as to render it popular. The continued
struggle with a foreign conqueror gave an ardent and gallant turn to the
national character: and while the superior excellence of the enemy in
arts and literature imparted some portion of refinement, national
enthusiasm inspired independence. But now the enemy was quelled, the
country overflowed with money, the harvest of the most nefarious
cruelties, and the inquisition was established. Even these circumstances
were not enough to subdue the heroism of the Spanish character: they
made a stand for freedom against the encroachments of the monarchs;
their disjointed councils caused them to fail, and from that moment they
sank. The wars of Charles V. drained the country of men and money; the
Lutheran heresy put fresh powers into the hands of the inquisition; a
career of arms in a foreign country was all that was left; the gates of
inquiry and free thought were closed and barred.
Intercourse with Italy opened fresh fields of poetry, which all other
countries have found unlimited in the variety of subjects, and manner of
treating them. Not so the Spaniards; they stopt short at once with
elegies, and pastorals, and songs. Boscan, a man of gentle disposition
and retired habits, naturally dwelt with complacency on descriptions of
rural pleasures, or the sentiments of his own heart. Garcilaso de la
Vega, a gallant soldier, found in poetry a recreation, a mode to gratify
his taste; and retired from the world of arms to brood over the graceful
and passionate reveries of a young lover. Mendoza, a man of harder
temperament, was the servant of a king: a sort of worldly philosophy,
Horatian in its expression, or the passion of love, inspired his
writings at first; and when, later in life, he might be supposed to
entertain the design of making his talents subservient to the good of
mankind, he found, when he wrote the wars of Granada, the political and
inquisitorial yoke so heavy that he could only hint at injuries, and
allude to wrongs. The poets who came after were men of an inferior
grade; they wrote in a great measure to please their contemporaries;
they adopted, therefore, pastoral themes, they wrote elegies, sonnets;
and love and scenic descriptions were the subjects of their
compositions.
In all this, it is not to be supposed that they were servile imitators
of the Italians; they were at first their pupils, but nothing more.
Originality is the great distinctive of the Spanish character. Every
line each author wrote was in its turn of thought and expression
national. The conceits resulting from a meeting of ardent imaginations
with ardent passions, which brought the whole phenomena of nature in the
poet's service,--the burning emotions, the very constant brooding on one
engrossing subject,--all belonged to a people whose souls were fiery,
proud, and concentrated.
Still the Spaniards had found no peculiar form in which to embody the
characteristics of the nation. Perhaps the gay sally of a youthful
student. Lazarillo de Tormes, of Mendoza, was the most national work yet
produced. In Italy the sort of free epic, introduced by Bojardo, became
the expression of national tastes and character. This sort of
composition never took deep root in Spain. The authors were too
circumvented by the inquisition to dare say much; thus we shall find in
the end, that the theatre became the body informed by Spanish poets with
a soul all their own, where passions and imaginations, the most ardent
and the most wild, the most true and the most beautiful, found
expression.
All the authors hitherto mentioned were horn at the very commencement of
the sixteenth century. By the time they had arrived at the age of
manhood, the policy and success of Charles V. had established him firmly
on the Spanish throne, and was extending far and wide the glory of his
name. To fight for and to serve him was the Spaniards' duty: they had
not yet suffered by the yoke, but they had yielded to it. At first the
nobles of the land were the sole authors, while writing was merely a
taste, a study, or an amusement; soon it was followed, for purposes of
gain and reputation by men of inferior rank, who were endowed with
genius; authorship became general; and poetry grew into one of the chief
pleasures of the court.
[Footnote 31: Bouterwek. Pellicer.]
[Footnote 32: Bouterwek.]
ERCILLA
1533-1600.
The Spanish muse has produced numerous epic poems, most of which are
unknown beyond the limits of Spain, and many even there have been
consigned to merited oblivion. The Araucana alone has been admitted to a
station in general literature. This is owing partly to its own intrinsic
merits, but in a greater degree to the novelty of its argument, and to
the circumstances under which it was written. Unlike other poets,
_Ercilla_ was himself an actor in the scenes which he describes. The
chronicler of his own story, he avowedly rejects the aid of fiction.
Veracity and accuracy are the qualities in winch, as a poetical writer,
he is peculiar. His descriptions and characters are portraits taken from
nature; invention is therefore a talent which he never exerts. If his
imagination has any play, it is only in the grouping and distribution of
his pictures. His scenery, his manners, his personages, are all copied
from originals which he had actually before his eyes. The objects of his
observation, the subject-matter of his poetry, were, moreover, of a
class strikingly novel,--a new world, savage nations, for the first time
brought into contact and collision with civilised man: on one side the
love of independence; on the other, the thirst of plunder, the fury of
religious zeal, and a misguided spirit of chivalrous enterprise. No
ordinary talents were required to do justice to so rich a theme, whilst
even ordinary abilities were sufficient to give interest to a poem
founded on such a basis. To great genius the Spanish poet cannot lay a
claim; he is indeed inferior to his labour: yet he had that cleverness
requisite to produce a work not totally devoid of interest, occasionally
abounding in beauties; such, in short, as entitles him to a respectable
though not a very high station in the literary world.
Don Alonso de Ercilla was born in Madrid on the 7th of March, 1533.
[Note 1.] His family was noble; by which word a meaning is conveyed
different from that attached in this country to the notion of nobility,
it being tantamount to saying that his ancestors were and had been for a
long time gentlemen. Fortun Garcia de Ercilla, the father of Ercilla, a
native of Biscay, was an industrious writer, whose labours as a jurist
were highly prized, and obtained for him the cognomen of the "subtle
Spaniard." He wrote generally in Latin, though a Spanish manuscript work
of his upon the challenge sent by the emperor Charles V. to Francis I.
king of France is recorded by the author of the Bibliotheca Hispana.
[Note 2.] Fortun's wife. Doña Leonor de Zuñiga (ladies in Spain do not
take their husband's names), was a woman of illustrious descent, the
feudal lady of the town of Bobadilla, the domain of which, after her
husband's death, was transferred to the crown, she having been admitted
into the household of the empress. Three sons were the offspring of
their union, of whom Alonso the poet was the youngest. He received his
education at the royal palace, and since his tender years became a
_menino_ [Note 3.], or page of the heir to the crown, prince Philip,
afterwards so famous as Philip II. of Spain. What sort of education he
received under such circumstances we are not enabled to say. It is not
probable that it was one suited to a man intended for literary pursuits.
His works, however, prove him not to have been unacquainted with the
Latin and Italian poets; and though his knowledge of the latter was
probably acquired in the course of his travels, he must have been
indebted to his early studies for his introduction to the former. The
words "gentleman" and "soldier" were at that time nearly synonymous; and
Don Alonso, though bred a courtier, and following his royal master in
that capacity, was probably considered to be intended for the military
profession. In his earlier years Philip was directed by his father to
travel over his future extensive dominions, which formed a very
considerable, and, with the exception of France, at that time the best,
part of Europe. In this tour Ercilla was a constant attendant of the
young prince, profiting, as he himself boasts[33], by his travels,
indulging his own inquisitive propensities, and, in imitation of
Ulysses, acquiring an ample store of information and wisdom, derived
from his observations of nations and manners. [Note 4.]
The ambition of Charles V. was not satisfied with the possession of
Spain, Germany, the Netherlands, great part of Italy, and the countries
recently discovered in America. The rich inheritance which he intended
to transmit to his son was to be increased, and as a compensation for
the loss of the empire of Germany, to which his brother Ferdinand had
been elected successor, he aspired to the crown of England for the
future king of Spain. A marriage between Philip and the English queen
Mary was brought about; the young prince repaired to London, attended by
Ercilla. During their residence in this metropolis, news reached them
that the Araucanos, an Indian tribe in South America, had risen against
the power of Spain. The insurrection appeared of a more serious nature
than those which had hitherto occurred in the annals of Indian warfare.
The charge of subduing the refractory patriots, or, as they were called
by their invaders, the rebels, was committed to Geronimo de Alderete,
who had come over from Peru to England, and soon set out again on his
return, having been appointed, by the king, adelantado of Chili,--a
title since become obsolete, which was equivalent to hat of military
commander of a district. To a man of Ercilla's adventurous disposition,
this opportunity of military honour was too tempting to be resisted. He
left the personal service of the prince, to follow the adelantado in his
distant expedition, and girded on his sword[34], as he himself says, for
the first time, being then in the twenty-first year of his age. Geronimo
de Alderete, however, did not reach the scene of warfare, having died
while on his way, in Taboga near Panama. His young companion proceeded
alone to Lima, the metropolis of Peru, to join the expedition.
Those distant possessions, which, for the most part, had been annexed to
the Spanish crown by the prowess of obscure and enterprising
adventurers, had already begun to rank high in the public estimation,
and individuals of noble birth and courtly favour sought to reap the
fruits of the labours of the neglected discoverers and conquerors.
Don Andres Hurtado de Mendoza, marquis of Cañete, was at that time
viceroy of Peru; a man belonging to one of the oldest and most
illustrious families in Spain.
This nobleman entrusted his son, Don Garcia, with the command of the
forces destined to subdue the Araucanos. The expedition consisted of a
corps of two hundred and fifty men, who went by sea--a brilliant and
well armed and equipped band, as we are told by the Spanish historians
[Note 5.]; and a nearly equal number which had been sent by land across
those extensive regions. With such inconsiderable forces did the
Spaniards attempt to conquer and hold in subjection those immense
regions of South America!
The expedition having reached the point of its destination, the war
proved of a far more important nature than those hitherto waged with the
natives of the American continent. Unlike the Indians of the torrid
zone, the Araucanos were a hardy and valiant race, whose courage was not
less impetuous than persevering. They are described by a Spanish
historian as "a people exceedingly brave, robust, and swift, who
outstrip the deer in the race; and of so strong a breath, that they
persist in the course for a whole day; superior to other Indian tribes,
as well in the strength of their frames as in the vigour of their
intellects; strong, ferocious, arrogant; filled with a generous spirit,
and thus averse to subjection, to avoid which they readily peril their
lives.[35] "Though masters," says Ercilla[36], "only of a district of
twenty leagues' extent, without a single town, or a wall, or a
stronghold in it, destitute even of arms, inhabiting an almost flat
country, surrounded by three Spanish towns and two fortresses, they, by
dint merely of their valour and tenacity of purpose, not only recovered,
but supported and maintained, their freedom." Their gallant stand
against the invaders of America was at last crowned with success.
Instead of the subjects, they became the honourable foes, and in process
of time the allies and friends, of the Spanish monarchy. The poverty of
their native land proved their best auxiliary; it deterred the Spaniards
from persisting in a contest in which nothing was to be gained which
could repay their exertions; and so completely was the animosity of
those nations changed into feelings of mutual esteem, that in the late
events, which have severed the colonies from their mother-country, the
Araucanos have constantly shown, and still preserve, the most decided
partiality to the cause and fortunes of the old Spaniards.
In the conflicts of that Indian war Ercilla was eminently distinguished,
according to the testimony of nearly all the Spanish writers [Note 6.],
and to his own rather boastful account. He had an ample opportunity to
indulge his daring spirit of enterprise and his habits of observation.
After the tumult of a battle, or the toils of a march, he devoted the
hours of night to write his half poetical, half historical, narration;
wielding, as he says, by turns the sword and the pen, and writing often
upon skins, and sometimes upon scraps of paper so small as to contain
scarcely six lines. The ordinary duties, which he shared in common with
his fellow-soldiers, were insufficient for his aspiring ambition, and as
little did the matter for observation on men and countries, although the
supply was unusually copious, satisfy the cravings of his inquisitive
mind. Determined to accomplish more, he penetrated into the furthermost
parts of the South American continent; left the army, in company with
ten of his fellow-soldiers; crossed twice, in a small boat, the
dangerous pass of the archipelago of Ancudbox; and in the same manner,
though with less of gasconade [Note 7.] than was long after shown by an
enterprising French traveller, in an opposite region of the earth,
carved upon a tree a record of his having, first of all human beings,
reached that distant spot.
Upon his return from this expedition, Don Alonso narrowly escaped an
early and disastrous end. News having been received at the city of _La
Imperial_, where the head-quarters of the Spanish army were fixed, that
Philip II. had succeeded to the Spanish crown in consequence of the
abdication of his father, it was thought proper to solemnise the event
by holding a tournament, after the fashion of those days of martial
spirit, chivalrous feeling, and imperfect civilisation. Among the
various shows and feats of skill there was an _estafermo_, a figure of
wood or pasteboard, in striking which knights made a trial of their
strength and dexterity. Don Alonso de Ercilla and a cavalier called Don
Juan de Pineda had a dispute, each pretending to have struck the best
blow. They soon passed from mock to real battle, drew their swords, and
were followed by their respective partisans; so that the games, as not
unfrequently happened in those martial amusements, were converted into
strife and confusion. The general having, it is said, previously
suspected the existence of a plot against his authority, concluded that
this encounter at the games was meant to be the precursor of its
execution. The civil wars, which had arisen in rapid succession among
the invaders and conquerors of that part of South America, gave
countenance to this impression. The pretended ringleaders were therefore
committed to prison; and the irritated general, being desirous of making
a salutary example, to preserve discipline among his troops, ordered
that the heads of the criminals should be cut off. The riot being
quelled, and more correct information having convinced Don Garcia that
the quarrel had been accidental, the severe sentence was revoked.[37] Of
the treatment which he then suffered, Ercilla complains bitterly in his
poem. He states that he was actually taken to a public place, there to
be beheaded by sentence of a young and hasty general[38]; nay, that he
had been already upon the scaffold, and had stretched out his neck for
the axe, whilst he was only guilty of having unsheathed his sword, which
he never drew without being most clearly in the right.[39] The historian
of Don Garcia Hurtado de Mendoza, on the other side, pretends that he
had been justly condemned by the general, a person, in the opinion of
his panegyrist, to whom, by confession of all, no blame could attach, of
an exceedingly mild and humane disposition[40], endowed with great
equanimity, an acute intellect, and a fine memory, a perfect Christian,
of marvellous prudence and activity, no gambler, a zealous restorer of
discipline, highly abstemious, never tasting wine, and, to crown all,
constantly keeping in hand his rosary to tell his beads.[41] He,
moreover, affirms that our poet was indebted to Don Garcia for many
favours; but that he hated Ortigosa, the general's secretary, whom he
taxed with cowardice and incompetency for his office.[42] It is
impossible, and would be foreign to our present purpose, to settle this
question. If Ercilla's testimony in his own case ought to be little
attended to, the adulatory style of Don Garcia's eulogiser renders his
assertions and opinions no less liable to suspicion and unworthy of
credit.
Though the sentence of death passed upon Don Alonso was revoked, he had
to undergo a long imprisonment, which terminated, as we are informed, in
his being banished. We are at a loss how to reconcile this statement
with his own assertion, that he was, nevertheless, present at the
several sieges and engagements which took place in those countries after
the accident of which mention has been made. Not long after, he left
Chili in disgust, without having been duly rewarded for his services.
This fact appears to contradict Suarez de Figueroa, who says that he was
under many obligations to Don Garcia[43]; but what these obligations
were the historian has not stated; and, as has been observed by the
writer of Ercilla's life prefixed to the edition of the Araucana of 1776
(p. 22.), it is evident from the narration of that prejudiced author,
that in a distribution of rewards, which took place under the general,
our poet received none.
A new field of exertion seemed now opened to the martial bard. A spirit
of dissension and civil strife had prevailed among the conquerors of
Peru ever since their establishment in those regions, where, to borrow
the expression of the chief historian of Spanish America, "there had
occurred frequent instances of disloyalty and disobedience, cruel
murders, and various other crimes, two of the king's lieutenants having
been deprived of their authority and imprisoned; the tribunals having
been reduced to utter insignificance; the power of the crown and justice
usurped and trampled upon; and five civil wars had taken place, in which
men became furiously enraged against each other, and fought with inhuman
ferocity, till ultimately the prince prevailed."[44] One of the most
famous "tyrants" of those times (for such was the appellation bestowed
by the Spaniards upon those who usurped the royal authority) was Lope de
Aguirre, a native of Guipuzcoa, who, having been sent upon an expedition
to quell some Indians, raised the standard of revolt against the Spanish
commanders, and ruled for a time over the provinces of Venezuela. Of his
extraordinary cruelties much has been said, and they are still preserved
by tradition, though, perhaps, with that exaggeration of blame which
constantly attaches to the memory of an unsuccessful rebel. In the style
of the age, Ercilla compares him to Herod and Nero[45]; he having caused
his own daughter to be put to death. But before our poet had been able
to reach the scene of this civil war, the usurper had been defeated,
taken, and executed. Nothing now remained for him to do, as the country
was peaceable. He therefore determined to return to Europe, which at
that time, however, a long and painful illness prevented. Having at
length recovered, he left the American continent, proceeded to the
Terceiras, and thence to Spain. At this period (1562), his age being
only twenty-nine years, he was in the full and active vigour of life,
and had lost none of that spirit which impelled him to enterprise and
discovery. He accordingly had scarcely returned to his native country,
when the restless energy of his mind sent him forth upon new travels. He
visited France, Italy, Germany, Silesia, Moravia, and Pannonia.[46]
Having gone back to Spain, he married, at Madrid, Doña Maria de Bazan,
a damsel of rank, whose mother held a place at court as lady of the
bedchamber to the Spanish queen. The manner in which he speaks of his
marriage is quaint and singular: he represents himself to have been
carried away by Bellona, in a dream, over a widely extended and flowery
meadow, where, while he was intent upon devoting himself to amorous
songs, he felt an invincible curiosity to be informed of the names of
the beautiful damsels who inhabited that region, especially of one of
them, who was such that he suddenly lay prostrate at her feet. She was
of tender age, yet she showed a maturity of judgment and talent much
above her time of life. While the poet felt compelled to gaze upon her,
and while entranced and captivated by the contemplation of her beauty,
he anxiously wished to know her name, he saw at her feet the motto, or
inscription, "This is Doña Maria, a branch of the stem of Bazan."
Though the emperor and queen of Spain had stood sponsors to the happy
pair ]Note 8.] Ercilla does not appear to have obtained any rewards or
promotion. The emperor of Germany, Maximilian II., however, appointed
him his chambellan, a distinction which did little to better his
fortune. In 1580, he lived in Madrid, poor and neglected, and
accordingly complaining of the disregard with which his services both at
court and in the camp had been treated. The stream of fortune (he says)
ran constantly against him: he was now in a state of perfect destitution
and abandonment, yet he had the consciousness of having merited, by a
long course of honourable service, the just recompence which was
withheld from him; a consciousness which is itself a. reward, of which
the man of rectitude and honour can never be deprived by external
circumstances.[47]
The following anecdote is recorded respecting Ercilla at this
time:--Having waited to pay his court to the king, and wishing to speak
to his majesty, he felt so disconcerted that he could not find words to
declare the nature of his requests; and the king being well aware of the
temper of the man who was before him, and sure that his timidity arose
from the respect he bore to royalty, told him--"_Don Alonso, address me
by writing._" So Ercilla did (says the author from whom this story has
been taken[48]), and the king granted his request.
What the nature of this request was it is impossible to ascertain,
because Ercilla constantly complains of his having been totally
neglected and forgotten. The anecdote, moreover, seems doubtful. Though
a soldier, Don Alonso was not a blunt one: he had been brought up at
court, nay, within the precincts of the palace, and as a youthful
attendant on the person of that prince, whom now he is represented to
have looked upon with such feelings of reverential terror. On the other
hand, the account is not entirely devoid of probability, and if not
true, is, at least, well imagined. The gloomy and stem disposition of
Philip appears to have struck even his confidential servants with a sort
of respect bordering upon fear; and the notions of the divine attributes
of royalty were then carried to the most extravagant lengths by the
Spaniards; a feeling which can be traced in the Spanish writers down to
a very recent period, and which has only disappeared in consequence of
the late revolutions in the Peninsula.
The last years of Ercilla's life were spent in obscurity. The
disappointments he had met with engendered a spirit of gloomy devotion,
to which his countrymen were, in those days, peculiarly liable.[49] His
morals in his juvenile years had been loose, as is proved by the
circumstance of his having had a numerous illegitimate offspring. He now
bitterly repented of his frailties; and lamented that he had devoted the
best years of his life to worldly pursuits and vanities.[50] The year of
his death is not known. In 1596 he was still alive, and is said to have
been engaged in writing a poem to commemorate the exploits of Don Alvaro
Bazan, marquis of Santa Cruz, the bravest and most fortunate of the
Spanish naval commanders. This work, if it ever existed, has been lost;
and Ercilla is only known in the literary world by his poem La Araucana,
and by a few lines printed in the Parnaso Español[51], which, though
they were highly extolled by Lope de Vega, certainly do no credit to his
poetical powers.
Respecting Ercilla's personal character we possess little information.
He appears to have been brave, active, and clever, of an adventurous
disposition, impatient of control, restless and querulous. That he, like
most of the literary men of Spain, was shamefully neglected by his own
countrymen, is an incontrovertible fact. In his account of the Indian
war, and of his own share in the events of it, he shows himself to have
been actuated by a more liberal spirit, towards the aboriginal natives,
than was evinced by the generality of his fellow-soldiers and
fellow-writers. That this arose from his discontent has been malignantly
asserted by his enemies, but without sufficient evidence. The execution
of Caupolican, the Indian general, which he so indignantly condemns, was
a fact of glaring and atrocious injustice, though, unfortunately, of a
class by no means uncommon, not only in the annals of Spanish warfare in
those regions, but in the history of all conquests; where the assertion
of independence has been held and treated as rebellion, and punishment
the more severely inflicted in proportion as the right to inflict it was
more doubtful or untenable. But as the name of Ercilla belongs rather to
the literary than to the political history of Spain, the qualities of
his poetry demand our attention in preference to the actions of his
life.
The Araucana, though often quoted, is little known out of Spain. No
English version of it has been published, but it is stated in an article
in the Quarterly Review[52], that there exists one in manuscript from
the pen of Mr. Boyd, known as one of the English translators of Dante.
The writer of Ercilla's life, in the French Biographie Universelle,
speaks of a French translation by M. Langlès, also unpublished. We are
not aware that either the Italians or the Germans, the latter of whom
have latterly directed their attention to Castilian poetry, possess any
complete translation of that Spanish poem.
Voltaire was the first, amongst the French, who called the attention of
his countrymen to the Araucana. In his very indifferent Essay upon Epic
Poetry, he praises the speech of Colocolo in the 2d canto, which he
places above that of Nestor in the first book of the Iliad, and says
that the remainder of the work is as barbarous as the nations of which
it treats.[53] Of the excellence of the speech so praised (without
meaning to enter into a comparison with Homer) no doubt can exist, and
the judgment passed upon it by Voltaire deserves the more to be relied
upon, as, according to Bouterwek's acute remark[54], he was a better
judge of rhetorical than of poetical excellence. The unqualified
condemnation of the rest of the poem cannot, indeed, be assented to;
for, though the Araucana is far from being a work of first-rate merit,
yet it contains some manly beauties, which Voltaire's notions of poetry
rendered him unable to perceive. [Note 9.] In an article of Moreri's
Dictionnaire we find a more just though still a severe criticism of
Ercilla's poem. Latterly the writer in the Biographic Universelle
already quoted has expressed a more favourable opinion of the Araucana,
and has perhaps erred on the other side. [Note 10.]
It is to Hayley that the English are indebted for a knowledge of the
work in question: his analysis and partial translations of it, and his
eulogium upon the author, are contained in the notes and body of his
Essay upon Epic Poetry. [Note 11.] Hayley thought of Ercilla, perhaps,
more highly than he deserves; though, upon the whole, his notice of the
Araucana is judicious. In his translations he was not quite so
felicitous: his prosaic style was not ill calculated to give a just
notion of the tenour of the Spanish poet's composition; but he wanted
that force of expression which constitutes the highest recommendation of
Ercilla's poetry. The translator, besides, adopted the couplet, a very
improper medium to convey to an English reader a just notion of a work
originally written in the stanza. It would be needless to point out to
those who are acquainted with the Spenserian stanza, or with the Italian
and Spanish octava, so happily adopted by Fairfax in his Tasso, how far
the mechanism of this measure affects the original conception and
distribution of the poet's thoughts, and how much the structure of the
couplet differs from it; whence it follows, as a necessary consequence,
that conceptions originally adapted to the former must appear distorted
when brought by a forced adaptation to the latter.
From the discordant opinions of critics of all nations respecting the
Araucana, we may safely infer that, although its defects may be great
and numerous, and although even in the Castilian language it cannot be
esteemed a first-rate poem, still it possesses just pretensions to a
rank in literature above that which some would assign to it.
That Ercilla only meant to write a rhymed history cannot be justly
asserted. His fictions, though most of them infelicitous, and
unconnected with the main subjects of his story; his machinery; his
imitations of Ariosto in the first stanzas of all his cantos, and
especially at the opening of the work; his frequent similes;--all
clearly prove that he intended to write a poem. But the novel nature of
his arguments naturally suggested the idea of rendering his poem a
composition far differing from those hitherto existing. He aimed at
producing a work, striking from its subject-matter, recommended by the
veracity and accuracy of the information [Note 12.] which it was
destined to convey, yet clothed in a poetical style, and embellished by
episodes where historical fidelity might be easily departed from, and
would not, indeed, be expected on the part of the reader.
Don Alonso, however, was deficient in many of the qualities which
constitute the poet: he wanted invention and command of language and
versification; on the other hand, that which he conceived he could
express with force, if not with correctness or delicacy. His adventurous
disposition seems to prove that the elements of poetry were in his mind.
He had no eyes for the beauties of nature; but he understood the
workings of the human heart. His warlike habits directed his attention
to those fierce passions which rage in the warrior's breast. He could
interpret the feelings of the natives of those remote regions fighting
for their homes, their altars, and their personal independence, against
the invaders of their country; in his description of their characters
and exploits, his style rises and his fancy kindles. By the force of
mental association, he is thence led to the contemplation of animated
nature; hence the frequency and beauty of his similes, drawn mostly from
the animal creation.
In his delineation of character there is abundant matter for praise: his
Indians are well pourtrayed, though his Spaniards are all failures. From
this latter circumstance he has been accused of bearing ill-will to his
fellow-soldiers; but upon a consideration of his peculiar powers, the
reason of that difference will be easily explained without admitting the
invidious imputations thus cast upon him. Neither could his mind seize,
nor his pen delineate, the complex character of civilised man; whilst
the bolder and simpler lineaments of the physiognomy of the savage were
perfectly adapted to the nature of his genius and the extent of his
abilities.
The want of unity is one of the greatest faults in the Araucana, as the
poem is rendered thereby uninteresting. This defect does not arise
solely from the want of a hero; but likewise from the poet's inability
to invent a story. Yet there are frequent instances of works, the plot
of which is loose and unconnected, without losing much of their
attractions. But in Ercilla, we miss the power of imparting interest,
even to the separate stories which form his poem.
Ercilla's poem, on the whole, is rather deserving of censure than of
praise; and, if read through, will certainly be found tedious; but parts
of it may be perused with pleasure and admiration. The epithet of
Homeric has been both applied and misapplied when bestowed upon his
genius. Those qualities which have been praised in him must be admitted
by an impartial judge to savour a little of the style of the father of
epic poetry. That Ercilla was at an immense distance from his model
must, however, be confessed, even by his warmest admirers.
NOTES.
Note 1.--This date is taken from the life of Ercilla prefixed to the
edition of the Araucana, of Madrid, 1776. The author of Ercilla's life
in the French Biographie Universelle fixes his birth at Bermeo, in
Biscay, in 1525. He was led into error as to the place by the collector
of the Parnaso Español: in assigning the year he confesses that he had
no foundation but his own conjecture. This spirit led him to fix a date
for our poet's death, which is uncertain.
Note 2.--Nicolaus Antonius. Bibl. Hisp. Nov. p. 395. Madrid, 1783. It is
a remarkable fact, that while Ercilla the poet is slightly mentioned in
this work, his father, whose labours are now forgotten, has nearly two
columns devoted to a notice of his life and writings.
Note 3.--The _Meninos_ were young gentlemen attached to the court. The
word is no longer used, though the office is preserved in that of the
king's pages.
Note 4.--The pedantic allusion, it is needless to say, is made by
Ercilla himself, in the taste of his age.
Note 5.--Herrera Historia general de los Hechos de los Castellanos en
las Islas y tierra firme del Mar Oceano. Dec. VIII. lib. VII. C. X. Our
poet is there mentioned as the famous poet and honourable gentleman, Don
Alonso de Ercilla.
Note 6.--Licentiate Cristoval Mosquera de Figueroa speaks of Ercilla's
prowess at the battle of Millarapue, and the engagement at Puren, where,
followed by eleven fellow-soldiers, he climbed up a mountain defended by
the Indians, and won the day. The writer of Ercilla's life quotes the
Chronicle of Philip II., by Calvete de la Estrella, as a testimonial of
the poet's exploits, but this must be a mistake. There exists no such
chronicle. Suarez de Figueroa only praises Don Alonso's gallant bearing
at a mock fight or field-day (p. 60.); but he was prejudiced against
him.
Note 7.--The last line of the inscription here alluded to,
Hic tandem stetimus nobis ubi defuit orbis,
was written by the French comic poet Regnard, in Lapland, in 1681.
Though the thought is liable to the imputation of gasconade, it is
spirited and beautiful. Ercilla's inscription was of a more unpretending
nature. He merely says:--
"Here, where no one had reached before, arrived Don Alonso de Ercilla,
who, first of all men, crossed this pass in a small boat without
ballast, attended only by ten companions, in the year of fifty-eight
above fifteen hundred, on the last day of February, at two o'clock in
the afternoon, returning afterwards to his companions whom he had left
behind."
This inscription forms a stanza of the Araucana. It is very prosaic.
This instance is not the only one where dates are mentioned in the poem.
In order to accommodate them to measure and rhyme, the author is often
driven to very curious shifts, and strange phraseology.
Note 8.--Luis de Salazar Advertencias Historicas, p. 13. It has however,
been remarked by the writer of Ercilla's life, that this author is wrong
in stating, that Elizabeth, Philip's consort, or Isabel de Valois, acted
as sponsor; she having died in 1568, and Ercilla having married in 1570,
according to Garibay. Possibly the queen alluded to was Philip's fourth
wife, Ann of Austria.
Note 9.--Dictionnaire Historique de Moreri, art. Ercilla. The subject of
the Araucana (says the critic) being novel, has suggested some novel
thoughts to the poet; but his poem is too long, and abounds with low
passages. There is great animation in his battles, but no invention, no
plot, no variety in his descriptions, no unity in his general outline of
the work, &c.
Note 10.--Biographie Univ., Paris, 1815, art. Ercilla. The merits of the
Araucana (says this writer) consist in a correct style, proper imagery,
beautiful descriptions, a plot constantly increasing in interest, a sort
of unity of action, and a spirit of heroism spread over the whole work.
The work is inferior to Tasso's Gerusalemme, and superior to Voltaire's
Henriade. There occur in it some feeble lines, and vulgar or
common-place thoughts.
Note 11.--Ercilla's poetical character is drawn by Hayley in the
following lines:--
With warmth more temperate, and in notes more clear,
That with Homeric richness fills the ear,
The brave Ercilla sounds, with potent breath,
His epic trumpet in the fields of death;
In scenes of savage war, when Spain unfurled
Her bloody banner o'er the Western world;
With all his country's virtues in his frame,
Without the base alloy that stained her name.
In danger's camp this military bard,
Whom Cynthia saw on his nocturnal guard,
Recorded, in his bold descriptive lay,
The various fortunes of the finished day;
Seizing the pen, while night's calm hours afford
A transient slumber to his satiate sword,
With noble justice his warm hand bestows
The meed of honour on his valiant foes.
Howe'er precluded, by his generous aim,
From high pretensions to inventive fame,
His strongly coloured scenes of sanguine strife,
His softer pictures, caught from Indian life,
Above the visionary forms of art,
Fire the awakened mind and melt the heart
_Hayley, Essay upon Epic Poetry_, Epistle 3.
Note 12.--It is a curious fact, that, to the Antwerp edition of the
Araucana, 157., and to several others, there is affixed an approbation
from captain Juan Gomez, praising Ercilla for his historical veracity,
which he, the captain, could vouch for, from his having resided
twenty-seven years in Peru, near the scene of the Araucan war. A strange
recommendation of an epic poem!
[Footnote 33: Araucana, canto XXXVI.]
[Footnote 34: Araucana, canto XIII.]
[Footnote 35: Cristobal Suarez de Figueroa, Hechos de Don Garcia
Hurtado de Mendoza, edit Madrid, 1613, p. 18.]
[Footnote 36: Araucana, Preface, p. IV. Madrid, 1776.]
[Footnote 37: Suarez de Figueroa, Hist. of Don Garcia, Madrid,
1613, pp. 103, 104.]
[Footnote 38: Arauc. canto XXXVII.]
[Footnote 39: Arauc. canto XXXVI.]
[Footnote 40: Suarez de Figueroa, pp. 104, 121.]
[Footnote 41: Ibid. p. 104.]
[Footnote 42: Ibid.]
[Footnote 43: Suarez de Figueroa, p. 104.]
[Footnote 44: Herrera, decada VII lib. I. cap. I. p. 2.]
[Footnote 45: Arauc. canto XXXVI.]
[Footnote 46: Arauc. canto XVIII.]
[Footnote 47: Araucana, canto XXXVII.]
[Footnote 48: _Avisos para Palacio_, p. 194.]
[Footnote 49: Most of the celebrated Spanish dramatists (_Lope de Vega,
Calderon, Moreto_, and others,) became clergymen in their old age, and
deplored that they had written for the stage.]
[Footnote 50: Araucana, canto XXXVII.]
[Footnote 51: Vol. II. p. 199.]
[Footnote 52: Quarterly Review, II.]
[Footnote 53: Voltaire, Essai sur la Poësie Epique, liv. 8.
Raynouard, p. 406.]
[Footnote 54: Bouterwek, Hist. of Spanish Literature, trans,
Lond. 1823, p. 412.]
CERVANTES
1547-1616.
It is most certain, that all those capable of feeling a generous
interest in the fate of genius will turn with eager curiosity to the
page inscribed with the name of Cervantes: not even Shakspeare has so
universal a reputation. While the sublime character of Don Quixote warms
the heart of the enthusiast, the truth of the sad picture which his
fortunes present tickles the fancy of the man of the world. Children
revel in the comedy, old men admire the shrewdness, of Sancho Panza.
That this work is written in prose increases its popularity. Imperfect
as all translations must be, none fail so entirely as those which
attempt to transfuse the etherial and delicate spirit of verse into
another language. But though to read "Don Quixote" in its native Spanish
infinitely increases the pleasure it affords, yet so does its mere
meaning speak to all mankind, that even a translation satisfies those
who are forced thus to content themselves.
For the honour of human nature, and to satisfy our own sense of
gratitude, we desire to find that the author of "Don Quixote" enjoyed as
much prosperity as is consistent with humanity, and that he tasted to
its full the triumph due to the writer of the most successful hook in
the world. This satisfaction being denied us--for he was "fallen on evil
days," a poor and neglected man--we are anxious, even at this distance
of time, to commiserate his misfortunes, and sympathise in his sorrows.
We desire to learn with what spirit he endured adversity--whether, like
his heroic creation, he consoled himself at the worst by the sense of
conscious worth and virtuous intention. We feel sure that his romantic
imagination, and keen sense of humour, must often have elevated him
above his griefs or blunted their sting; but we wish to learn whether
they were borne with moral courage; and how far, like his hero, he
preserved a serene and undaunted spirit in the midst of blows and
derision.
We are disappointed at the outset by finding how little is known of so
renowned an author. Neglected during life, his memory also was
unhonoured. His contemporaries gave themselves no trouble to collect and
bequeath the circumstances of his life, so that they quickly became
involved in obscurity. When, at last, it was endeavoured to do honour to
his name, eulogy, rather than biography, was written; and it was only
towards the end of the last century that pains were taken to make
researches, which so far succeeded, that such discoveries were made as
place various portions of his life in an interesting and romantic light.
The Spanish Academy published an edition of "Don Quixote," to which is
prefixed a biography, written by don Vicente de los Rios, who, with all
the ardour of an admirer of genius, spared no pains to render his work
full and accurate. At about the same time, don Juan Antonio Pellicer
made similar researches, and threw some new lights on his situation and
circumstances. Much more, however, has been done lately by a French
gentleman of the name of Viardôt. He travelled in Spain, and exerted
himself to the utmost to discover the yet hidden circumstances of
Cervantes's life. By searching the archives of various cities where he
had resided, and by a careful examination of contemporary writers, he
has brought a mass of information together, the authenticity of which
adds to its interest. Some circumstances, indeed, are important only as
they are true, and appertain to Cervantes; others throw a great light on
his character, and show his fortitude in suffering, his devoted courage
when others depended on him, his cheerful content in poverty, his
benevolence, and the dignity and animation of his mind, which raised him
above his fortunes.
The first point to be decided was the place of his birth: this had been
attributed to various cities and towns of Spain--to Madrid, Seville,
Esquivias, and Lucena. An allusion in "Don Quixote" led one of his
biographers (Sarmiento) to conjecture that he was born at Alcalà de
Henares, a town of some consequence, not far from Madrid. Another
writer, following up this trace, discovered a baptismal register in the
parish church of Santa Maria la Mayor of that town, which certified,
that on Sunday, the 9th of October, 1547, the reverend señor Bachiller
Serrano baptized Miguel, the son of Rodrigo Cervantes and donna Leonora,
his wife.
While the question seemed thus put to rest, it was unsettled again by
the discovery of another register. This was found in the parish books of
Santa Maria, of Alcanzar de San Lugar, a town of La Mancha. It
certified, that on the 9th November, 1558, was baptized, by the
licentiate Alonso Diaz Pajares, a son of Blas Cervantes Saavedra and
Catalina Lopez, who received the name of Miguel. A marginal note to this
register declared, "This was the author of 'Don Quixote.'" In addition,
there were various traditions in Alcanzar of the house in which he was
born. The name of Saavedra was another testimony in its favour.
Cervantes always adopted this additional name; and no trace of it is to
be found in the town of Alcalà; however, it would seem that the
different families of these two towns were connected, as Cervantes had
an uncle, Cervantes Saavedra, of Alcanzar. And thus, on minute
examination, and bringing the aid of chronology to decide the question,
the balance inclined uncontrovertibly in favour of Alcalà: the date of
the battle of Lepanto, and the mention Cervantes makes of his own age in
several of his later works, prove that he was born in 1547, and not so
late as 1558. Another document, hereafter to be mentioned, discovered by
Los Rios in the archives of the society for the redemption of captives
in Algiers, declares him to be a native of Alcalà de Henares, and the
son of Rodrigo Cervantes and donna Leonora de Cortina.
[Sidenote: 1547.]
Thus the question is set at rest; and it becomes matter of positive
history that Cervantes was born at Alcalá de Henares, and baptized
(probably on the day of his birth, as is usual in catholic countries,)
on Sunday, the 9th of October, 1547.
His family, originally of Gallicia, and afterwards established in
Castile, belonged to the same class in society, in which he places Hon
Quixote. They were hidalgos (hijos de algo, sons of somebody,) and,
therefore, by right of birth, gentlemen, though not noble. The name of
Cervantes is honourably mentioned in the Spanish annals, as far back as
the thirteenth century. Warriors bearing that appellation fought under
the banners of St. Ferdinand, and had a part in the taking of Baeza and
Seville, and received a share in the distributions of land conquered
from the Moors, then made. Others of that name figure among the first
adventurers in the New World. His grandfather, Juan de Cervantes, was
corregidor of Osuna. The mother of Miguel was of a noble family of
Barajas; she married his father about the year 1540. Four children were
the fruit of the union; donna Andrea and donna Luisa, daughters;
Rodrigo, and youngest of the four, Miguel. His parents were poor, and he
could inherit little from them except his honourable rank.[55]
Very little is known of his early life. The town of Henares is but a few
miles distant from Madrid, and it contains a university, where it is
probable that Cervantes prosecuted his early studies. He tells us, in a
poem written late in life,
"From my most tender years I loved
The gentle art of poesy,--
and this taste gave the bias to his life. While still a boy he was
attracted by the drama, and frequented the representations of Lope de
Rueda; these recitations, and his taste for reading, which was such that
he never passed the meanest bit of paper in the streets without
deciphering its contents, were the early proofs he gave of that love of
inquiry which always accompanies genius.
Having attained the proper age, Miguel repaired to Salamanca, where he
entered himself as a student, and remained for two years.[56] It is
ascertained that he lived in Calle los Moros. He afterwards returned to
Madrid, and was placed to study with the learned Joan Lopez de Hoyos, a
theologian, who filled the chair for Belles Lettres in that city. It is
conjectured that in giving him a literary education his parents meant
that he should pursue one of the liberal professions; but we have no
other token that such was intended. He acquired, however, a taste for
literature, and aspired in his turn to be an author. He wrote, he tells
us, an infinite number of what in Spain are called romances, being
ballads and ditties; of which later in life, he says, he considered a
few good among many bad. He wrote also a pastoral, called "Filena,"
which he boasts attained celebrity. "The woods resounded with her name,"
he says; "and many a gay song was echoed by them;--my many and pleasant
rhymes and the light winds were burdened with my hopes, which were
themselves light as the breezes, and shifting as the sands."
His master, Juan Lopez de Hoyos, admired and encouraged him in these
pursuits, and, it would seem, endeavoured to bring him into notice. The
death of Isabella of Valois, wife of Philip II., which happened in 1569,
elicited the tribute of many an elegy from the poets of Madrid. The name
of this queen is rendered romantic to us by its association with that of
the unfortunate prince don Carlos, and the legend of his unhappy
attachment and consequent death. Of course these circumstances were not
the subject of verse intended for the royal ear; but Isabella was
beloved and mourned with more sincerity than queens usually are. Lopez
de Hoyos published a book called "History and true relation of the
sickness, pious death, and sumptuous funeral obsequies, of the serene
queen of Spain, donna Isabella of Valois." This publication includes
various elegies, one of which is thus introduced:--"These Castilian
redondillas on the death of her majesty, which, as appears, indulge in
rhetorical imagery, and at the conclusion address her majesty, are by
Miguel de Cervantes, cur dear and beloved pupil." Besides this, the book
contains another elegy addressed by the whole school to the cardinal
Espinosa, also written by Cervantes. Neither of these poems give
promise; they are common-place, wordy, and deficient both in sentiment
and imagination.
In the same year that these poems were published Cervantes quitted
Madrid. It is usually supposed that he left it in despair, to seek his
fortune elsewhere; but there can be no doubt that he left it in the
service of cardinal Acquaviva. On the death of the queen, pope Pius V.
sent a nuncio to Madrid to condole with Philip II., and to seek
compensation for certain dues of the church, denied by the king's
ministers at Milan. The nuncio was a Roman prelate, named Giulio
Acquaviva son of the duke of Atri, who was created cardinal on his
return to Italy. His mission displeased the king, who, bigot as he was,
never yielded any point to the court of Rome. He remained, therefore,
but a short time, receiving an order, two months after his arrival, to
return to Italy by way of Valencia and Barcelona. As Cervantes himself
mentions that he was at Rome immediately after in the household of the
cardinal, there can be little doubt that he was preferred to this
situation while he was at Madrid.
[Sidenote: 1568.
Ætat.
21.]
Preferred, we say, because in those days the sons of poor gentlemen
often began their early career in the households of princes, thus
forming high connections, and securing a patron for life. We may believe
that the recommendation of De Hoyos, and the talents of the youth,
induced the cardinal to choose him. In the suite of his new master
Cervantes visited Valencia and Barcelona, and traversed the south of
France,--places which he afterwards described in his writings, and which
he at no other time had an opportunity of visiting.
[Sidenote: 1569.
Ætat.
22.]
What hopes and views he nourished in his own heart on visiting Rome we
cannot tell. He was now in his twenty-third year. His temperament was
ardent and aspiring, his tastes decidedly literary; but with no bent
towards the clerical profession. That he had hopes we cannot doubt; and
little doubt is there that these hopes proved, as he says; "light as the
winds and shifting as the sands;" for he had not been a year at Rome
when he changed the whole course of his life, and volunteered as a
soldier. "The war against the Turks," his biographer, Los Rios,
observes, "which was declared in 1570, gave him an opportunity of
adopting a more noble profession, and one more consonant to his birth
and valour;" and we may remark, that whatever hardships he suffered in
his military career, Cervantes prided himself upon it to the end of his
life. He always calls himself a soldier; and his heart is in the
argument, when Don Quixote, comparing the student's and the soldier's
life, gives preference to the latter as the more noble.
[Sidenote: 1570.
Ætat.
23.]
To return to the Turkish war, during which he served. The sultan Selim,
being desirous of possessing himself of the island of Cyprus, broke the
peace which he had made with the Venetian republic, and sent an armament
for the conquest of this island. The Venetians implored the aid of the
Christian sovereigns. Pope Pius V., in consequence, sent a force,
commanded by Marco Antonio Colonna, duke of Paliano. Cervantes enlisted
under this general, and served during the campaign, which began late in
the year, the object of which was to succour Cyprus, and raise the siege
of Nicosia. The dissentions among the commanders sent by the various
Christian princes prevented, however, the good they were sent to do. The
Turks took Nicosia by assault, and proceeded to other conquests.
[Sidenote: 1571.
Ætat.
24.]
During the following year greater efforts were made by the Christians.
The combined fleet of Venice, Spain, and of the pope, assembled at
Messina. Marco Antonio Colonna continued to command the papal galleys,
Doria the Venetians; while the combined forces of all parties were
placed under the command of don John of Austria, a gallant prince, the
natural son of the emperor Charles V. Cervantes served in the company of
the brave captain Diego de Urbino, a detachment of the tercio (regiment)
of Miguel de Moncada.
Don John collected at Barcelona all the veteran troops whom he had tried
in the war against the Moriscos in Andalusia; and among others, the
renowned tercios of don Miguel de Moncada and don Lope de Figueroa; and,
sailing for Italy, cast anchor off Genoa on the 26th June with
forty-seven galleys. Thence he proceeded to Messina, where the combined
fleet met. In the distribution now made of the troops on board the
various vessels, the two new companies of veterans, taken from the
tercios of Moncada, those of Urbina and Rodrigo de Mora, were embarked
on board the Italian galleys of Doria. Cervantes followed his captain on
board the Marquesa, commanded by Francesco Santo Pietro.[57]
The fleet of the confederates, after having succoured Corfu, went in
pursuit of the enemy, and found the Turkish fleet, on the morning of the
7th October, in the entrance of the gulph of Lepanto. The battle began
about noon: the confederates achieved a splendid victory; but it was a
very sanguinary one, and, not being followed up by other successes, it
remained a useless trophy of Christian valour.
Cervantes was at this time suffering from an intermittent fever, and his
captain and comrades would have persuaded him to abstain from mingling
in the fight; but he spurned the idea, and requested, on the contrary,
to be placed in the post of honour, where there was most danger. He was
posted near the shallop with twelve chosen soldiers. The galley, on
board of which he was, distinguished itself in the action: it boarded
the Captain of Alexandria, killed near five hundred Turks with their
commander, and took the royal standard of Egypt. In this bloody fray
Cervantes received three arquebuse wounds; two in the chesty and one
that broke and destroyed his left hand. He always, however, regarded
this loss with pride, and says, in one of his works, that the honour of
having been at the battle of Lepanto was cheaply bought by the wounds he
there received.
The advance of the season, the want of provisions, the number of their
wounded, and the express orders of king Philip, prevented the victorious
fleet from following up its victory; and don John returned to Messina on
the 31st of October. The troops were distributed in various quarters,
and the tercio of Moncada was posted in the south of Sicily. Cervantes
himself, sick and wounded, remained in the hospital at Messina for at
least six months. Don John of Austria had shown a lively interest in his
fate on the morning succeeding to the battle, and did not forget him
during his long confinement. The industrious Viardôt has discovered
mention of various small sums given him by the pay office (pagaduria) of
the fleet, under the dates of the 15th and 25th of January, and the 9th
and 17th of March, 1572. When at last he recovered, an order was
addressed by the generalissimo, on the 29th of April, to the
pay-masters, that the soldier Cervantes should receive the high pay of
four crowns per month, and be passed into a company of the tercio of
Figueroa.
[Sidenote: 1572.
Ætat.
25.]
The campaign of the following year was a failure. Of the three allied
powers, the pope was dead, the Venetians grown cold,--the Spaniards
alone remained to prosecute the war. Marco Antonio Colonna set sail on
the 6th of June for the Archipelago, with a part of the allied fleet;
and, among others, the thirty-six galleys of the marquis of Santa Cruz,
on board of which was embarked the regiment of Figueroa, in which
Cervantes served.
Don John sailed on the 9th of August following; but the only enterprise
they attempted was an unsuccessful assault on the castle of Navarino;
thus the account given of this disastrous campaign in the story of the
captive in "Don Quixote" was related by Cervantes as an eye-witness.
[Sidenote: 1573.
Ætat.
26.]
During the following year the Venetians signed a peace with Selim; and
the league being broken up, Philip was obliged to renounce all direct
attack upon the Ottoman power; but having assembled a large force, he
determined to employ it on a descent on Algiers or Tunis. Since the time
of Charles V., the Spaniards possessed Goletta, a fortress near Tunis.
Having, therefore, disembarked his troops, he sent the marquis de Santa
Cruz to possess himself of Tunis, which might easily have been done; but
Philip, jealous of the views of his brother, recalled him in haste from
Africa. Feeble garrisons were left in Goletta, which the Turks took by
assault the same year.
Cervantes had entered Tunis with the marquis of Santa Cruz, and returned
to Palermo with the fleet. He made one of the force which, under the
duke of Sesa, vainly attempted to succour Goletta: he afterwards
wintered in Sardinia, and was brought back to Naples in the galleys of
Marcel Doria. In the month of June, 1575, he obtained leave from don
John of Austria to return to Spain, after an absence of seven years.
Viardôt assures us, that in the intervals of military service, or
during the various expeditions, Cervantes visited Rome, Florence,
Venice, Bologna, Naples, and Palermo. He became accomplished in the
Italian language: the anti-Petrarchists of his time detected the
influence of Italian literature, and accused him, as Boscan and
Garcilaso had been accused, of corrupting his native Castilian.
[Sidenote: 1575.
Ætat.
28.]
Cervantes, now twenty-eight years of age, having served in many
campaigns, maimed and enfeebled, no doubt pined to revisit his native
country. He had left it to seek his fortune; he was to return a simple
soldier; yet the military profession continued dear to him; and when he
speaks of the many misfortunes a soldier encounters,--his poverty so
great that he is poor among the poor; ever expecting his slender pay,
which he seldom receives, or is obliged to seize on, at the hazard of
his life, and to the injury of his conscience; the hardships he
encounters, the dangers he risks, and the small reward he gains,--yet he
looks on all these circumstances as redounding to his glory, and
rendering him deserving of honour and esteem from all men. We may
believe also that Cervantes quitted Italy with well-founded hopes of
preferment in his native country: he had distinguished himself in a
manner that deserved reward. Don John appreciated his worth, and gave
him letters to the king his brother, in which he gave due praise for his
conduct at the battle of Lepanto, and begged Philip to confide to him
the command of one of the regiments which were then being raised in
Spain to serve in Italy or Flanders. The viceroy of Sicily, don Carlos
of Aragon, and the duke of Sesa, also recommended him to the benevolence
of the king and his ministers as a soldier whose valour and worth
deserved recompence.[58]
Such recommendations promised fair. Cervantes embarked on board the
Spanish galley el Sol (the Sun) with his elder brother Rodrigo, also a
soldier, and with various officers of distinction; but disaster was near
at hand to dash all his hopes, and devote him to years of adversity. On
the 26th of September the galley was surrounded by an Algerine squadron,
under the command of the Arnaout Mami, who was captain of the sea. The
Turkish vessels attacked and boarded el Sol. The combat was obstinate,
but numbers overpowered. The galley was taken and carried into Algiers.
In the subsequent division of prisoners, Cervantes fell to the share of
the Arnaout captain himself.
The frightful system of cruising for captives, and taking them to
Algiers to sell them into slavery, which continued for so many hundred
years, had not long before been carried to greater height than ever by
two pirates, who possessed themselves of Algiers and Tunis. The horror
of this warfare had excited the emperor Charles V. to undertake to crush
it. He made two expeditions into Africa, the second of which was
unsuccessful, and the Algerine corsairs pursued their nefarious traffic
with greater cruelty and success than ever: every particular connected
with it was frightful and deplorable: the weak and unoffending were its
chief victims: the sea coasts were ravaged for prisoners; and these, if
too poor for ransom, became slaves for life, under the most cruel
masters. The abhorrence excited by these unprovoked attacks caused the
Mahometan name to be held in greater odium than ever; and in Spain,
particularly, this detestation was visited on the Moriscos: the
cruelties and oppression they endured, again excited the Moors of Africa
to reprisals; and innocence and helplessness became on all sides the
victims of revenge and hatred. Still the piracies carried on by the
Algerines, and the system to which they reduced their practice of
slavery, raised them to a "bad height" in this war of reciprocal
cruelty. None, also, were more pitiless than the renegades; Christians
who, taken prisoners, bought their freedom by the sacrifice of their
faith. These men, often the most energetic and prosperous among the
corsairs, were also the most cruel towards their prisoners; and, among
them all, none was so cruel as the Arnaout Mami.
Fortunately, interesting details of Cervantes's captivity have come down
to us from undoubted and impartial sources, as well as from his own
accounts; and these place him in the brightest light as a man of
sagacity, resolution, and honour. That these details are not fuller we
must lament; but, such as they are, they display so much gallantry and
magnanimity on Cervantes's part, that they must be read with the
greatest pleasure.
In his tale of the "Captive," Cervantes gives an account of the mode in
which captives were treated at Algiers. He says, "There is a prison or
house, which the Turks call a bagnio, in which the Christian captives
are confined,--those belonging to the king as well as to various
individuals; and also those of the Almacen, or slaves of the council,
who labour for the town at the public works, or are employed in other
offices; who, as they belong to the city, and not to any particular
master, have no one with whom to treat concerning their ransom, and are
worse off than the others. As I have said; various individuals place
their slaves in this bagnio, and principally those whom they expect to
be ransomed, because they are kept there more securely. The captives of
the king, who expect to be ransomed, are not sent out to work with the
rest; and they wear a chain, more as a sign that they are to obtain
their freedom than from any other cause: and here many cavaliers and men
of birth live, thus marked, and kept for redemption; and although hunger
and nakedness might well weary them, nothing brought so much pain as
witnessing the unspeakable and frightful cruelties practised towards the
Christians. Each day, the dey, who was a Venetian renegade, hanged or
impaled some among them; and this from such trifling causes, and often
from none at all, that the Turks themselves were aware that he inflicted
these cruelties in wantonness, and because it was his natural
disposition to be the enemy of the human race. One man only did he treat
well, a soldier, by name Saavedra, who, having achieved things that will
remain for many years in the memory of that people, and all for the sake
of gaining his liberty, yet never received a blow nor an ill word;
though it was often thought that for the slightest of the things he did
he would be impaled, and he himself often expected it; and, if it were
not that I have no time nor place, I would recount what this soldier
did, which would indeed excite your admiration and wonder."[59]
In these terms does Cervantes speak of himself in his captivity; and so
often are writers accused of boasting that this might have been brought
forward as a proof of his vanity merely, but that we have another
testimony in a book named "Topography and general History of Algiers, by
Father Diego de Haedo[60]," a contemporary; and his account, though not
full enough to satisfy our curiosity, yet proves that Cervantes spoke of
his deeds with no exaggeration; and that, to attain his liberty, he
incurred every risk, and endured a thousand hardships and perils with
dauntless courage. As Cervantes often alludes to himself, it is strange
that he did not write an account of his years of captivity; but the
truth is, that, though we may be led to mention ourselves, it is ever a
tedious task to write at length on the subject: recollections come by
crowds; hopes baffled, our dearest memories discovered to have a taint,
our lives wasted and fallen into contempt even in our own eyes: so that
we readily turn from dispiriting realities to such creatures of the
imagination as we can fashion according to our liking. But to return.
The account above given of the situation of the captives refers to those
best off. The rest were either employed as galley slaves, or in other
hard labours. Among the latter Cervantes was probably numbered, as Haedo
mentions that his captivity was one of peculiar hardship. Driven to
resistance by his sufferings, Cervantes several times endeavoured to
obtain his liberty.
[Sidenote: 1576.
Ætat.
29.]
His first attempt was made in conjunction with several others, under the
design of reaching Oran (a town of Africa, then in possession of Spain,)
by land. He and his comrades even contrived to get out of the town of
Algiers; but the Moorish guide whom they had engaged deserted them, and
they were obliged to return and deliver themselves up to their masters.
Some of his companions, and among them ensign Gabrièl de Castañeda,
were ransomed in the middle of the year 1576. Castañeda took letters
from the captive brothers to their father, Rodrigo Cervantes, describing
their miserable situation. He instantly sold or mortgaged his little
property, and, indeed, every thing he possessed, even to the dowry of
his daughters, who were not yet married; the whole family being thus
reduced to penury.
[Sidenote: 1577.
Ætat.
30.]
The entire sum, unhappily, did not suffice for the redemption of both
brothers. Miguel accordingly gave up his share to secure the freedom of
Rodrigo, who was set free in August, 1577. He promised at parting to get
an armed vessel equipped at Valencia or the Balearic isles, which,
touching at a place agreed on, near Algiers, would facilitate the escape
of his brother and other captives; and he carried with him to this
effect several letters from men of high birth, now fallen into the
miserable condition of slaves, to various persons in power in Spain.
Meanwhile Cervantes was arranging another plan for escape, nay, he was
far advanced in its execution at the time of his brother's departure.
The alcayd Hassan, a Greek renegade, possessed a garden three miles from
Algiers, close to the sea: in this garden Juan, a slave from Navarre,
had contrived to dig a cavern; and here, under the conduct of Cervantes,
a number of runaway captives hid themselves till an opportunity should
offer for final evasion. Some of them had taken up their abode in the
cave since the month of February, 1577: it was dark and damp, but it
proved a safe asylum. The numbers increased till they amounted to
fifteen. They had only two confidants, both Christians. Juan, the
gardener of the alcayd Hassan, who worked near the mouth of the cave,
and kept watch for them; and another, a native of Villa de Melilla, a
small town of Barbary, subject to the king of Spain. He had become a
renegade when a boy, and then again turned Christian, and was now
captured for the second time. This man, who was commonly surnamed el
Dorador, or the Gilder, had it particularly in charge to supply the
fugitives with food and necessaries, buying them with the money given
him, and bringing them secretly to the cavern.
The runaways had now been hidden for seven months: the confinement was
irksome and unhealthy, and they never breathed the free air of heaven
except in the dead of night, when they stole out for a short time into
the garden. They often incurred the greatest dangers,--as Haedo says,
"what these men suffered in the cavern, and what they said and did,
would deserve a particular account." Several fell sick, and all endured
incredible hardship; while through all they were supported and
encouraged by the firmness and dauntless courage of Cervantes. In the
month of September, an opportunity offered itself, as they hoped, for
effecting their ultimate escape. A Mallorcan captive, of the name of
Mana, accustomed to the sea, and well acquainted with the coast of
Barbary, was ransomed; and the captives of the cave agreed with him that
he should hire a vessel, either in Mallorca or Spain, and bring it to
the neighbourhood of the garden by night, where they could unperceived
embark, and sail for their native country. When this was arranged,
Cervantes, who had hitherto thought that he served his friends best by
remaining in Algiers, made his escape and repaired to the cavern, and
remained there.
Viana performed his part with celerity and success. He hired a
brigantine at Mallorca, and arrived with it at Algiers on the 28th of
September. As had been concerted, he made, in the middle of the night,
for the part of the coast where the garden and the cavern were situated.
Most unfortunately, however, at the moment when the prow of the
brigantine bore down on shore, several Moors passed by, and, perceiving
the vessel, and that the crew were Christians, gave the alarm, crying
out "Christians! Christians! a vessel! a vessel!" When those on board
heard this they were obliged to put out to sea again, and to give up
their attempt for that time.
The captives in the cave were, however, undiscovered; and they still put
their trust in God, and believed that Viana as a man of honour, would
not fail them; and though suffering through sickness, confinement, and
disappointment, they still supported themselves with the hope of
succeeding at last in their attempt. Unfortunately the Dorador turned
traitor. The ill success of Viana's attempt perhaps made him imagine
that all would be discovered and he be implicated in the dangers of the
enterprise, while, on the other hand, he hoped to gain large rewards
from the masters of the runaway slaves by giving them up. Two days only
after Viana left the coast, he sought an audience with the dey, declared
his wish to turn Mahometan, and asked his permission; while, as a proof
of his sincerity, he offered to betray into his hands fifteen Christian
captives, who lay concealed in a cavern, expecting a vessel from
Mallorca for their deliverance.
The dey was delighted with this account. As a tyrant, he resolved,
against all custom and right, to appropriate the runaways to himself; so
sending immediately for Bashi, the gaoler of the bagnio, he commanded
him to take a guard, and, guided by the renegade, to seize on the
Christians hidden in the cave. Bashi did as he was ordered; and,
accompanied by eight mounted Turks and twenty-four on foot, armed, for
the most part, with muskets and sabres, he, guided by the traitor,
repaired to the garden. The first man they seized on was the gardener;
they then made for the cave, and captured all the Christians.
The traitor Dorador had mentioned Cervantes, whom Haedo names "a
distinguished hidalgo of Alcalá de Hernares," as the originator and the
heart and soul of the whole enterprise. He, therefore, was singled out
to be more heavily ironed than the rest; and when the dey, seizing on
the whole number as his own, ordered them to be carried to the bagnio,
he detained Cervantes in the palace, and, by entreaties and terrible
menaces, tried to induce him to declare the true author of their
attempt. His motive in this was to implicate, if possible, a friar of
the order of mercy, established at Algiers as redeemer of slaves for the
kingdom of Aragon, on whom he desired to lay hands for the purpose of
extorting money.
But all his endeavours were vain; and though his merciless disposition
gave Cervantes every cause to apprehend a cruel death, he, with
undaunted firmness, continued to reiterate that the whole enterprise
originated in, and was carried on by, himself, heroically incurring the
whole blame, and running the risk of the heaviest punishment. Finding
all his endeavours fail, the dey sent him also to the prison of the
bagnio.
As soon as these circumstances became known, the former masters of the
captives claimed each his slave: the dey resisted where he could; but he
was obliged to give up three or four, and among them Cervantes, who was
restored to the Arnaout Mami, who had originally captured him. The
alcayd Hassan hastened also to the dey to obtain leave to punish the
gardener, who was hung with his head downwards, and left to die.
Cervantes, meanwhile, returning to his old state of slavery, was by no
means disposed to submit to it. Ardent and resolute, his schemes for
procuring his liberation were daring in the extreme. Many times he
reiterated his attempts, and ran risk of being impaled or otherwise put
to death; and how he came to be spared cannot be guessed, except that
the gallantry of his spirit excited the respect of his masters, and,
perhaps, associating the ideas of bravery and resolution with noble
birth, it was supposed that in the end he would be ransomed at a high
price.
[Sidenote: 1578.
Ætat.
31.]
Soon after Hassan Aga himself purchased him from Mami, either hoping to
gain through his ransom, or to keep a better watch over his restless
attempts. At one time he sent letters through a Moor to don Martin de
Cordova, governor of Oran; but this emissary was taken, and brought with
his despatches before the dey. The unfortunate man was condemned to be
impaled, and Cervantes was sentenced to the bastinado; but, from some
undiscovered influence, his punishment on this occasion, as well as
every other, was remitted.[61]
[Sidenote: 1579.
Ætat.
32.]
This ill success did not daunt his courage. In September, 1579, he
formed acquaintance with a Spanish renegade, the licentiate Giron, born
at Granada, who had taken the name of Abd-al-Rhamen. This renegade was
eager to return to his native country, and reassume the Christian faith.
With him Cervantes concerted a new plan of escape: they had recourse to
two Valencian merchants, established at Algiers,--Onofrio Exarch; and
Bathazar de Torres: they assisted in the plot; and the former
contributed 1500 doubloons for the price of an armed frigate with twelve
banks of oars, which Abd-al-Rhamen bought under the pretence of going on
a cruise as corsair. The vessel was ready, and the captives were on the
alert to get on board, when they were betrayed. Doctor Juan Blanco de
Paz, a Dominican monk, for the sake of a reward, denounced the scheme to
the dey.
Hassan Aga at first dissimulated: his desire was, as in the former
instance, though then frustrated, to confiscate the slaves to the state,
by which means he should become possessed of them; nevertheless it
became known that they were betrayed; and Onofrio, fearful that if
Cervantes were taken, he would be tortured into making confessions
injurious to him; offered to buy him at any price and send him to Spain.
Cervantes refused to avoid the common peril. He had escaped from the
bagnio, and was hidden at the house of one of his old military comrades,
the ensign Diego Castillano. The dey made a public proclamation of him,
threatening with death any one who afforded him refuge. Cervantes, on
this, delivered himself up, having first secured the intercession of a
Murcian renegade, Morato Raez Matrapillo, who was a favourite with
Hassan Aga. The dey demanded the names of his accomplices of Cervantes,
and threatened him with immediate execution if he refused. Cervantes was
not to be moved; he named himself and four Spanish gentlemen already at
liberty, but fear of death extracted no other word. Despite his cruelty
there must have been a touch of better things about Hassan Aga. He was
moved by the constancy and fearlessness of his captive: he spared his
life, but imprisoned him in a dungeon, where he was kept strictly
guarded and chained. The ensign Luis Pedrosa, an ocular witness of his
countryman's conduct, exclaims on this, that his noble conduct deserved
"renown, honour, and a crown among Christians."
The dey had now become thoroughly frightened. Cervantes's late plots
were not limited merely to the attainment of freedom; he aimed at
raising the whole captive population in revolt, and so gaining
possession of Algiers for the crown of Spain. Hassan Aga, in his fear,
was heard to exclaim, that "he only held his city, fleet; and slaves
secure, while he kept that maimed Christian in safe custody."
The courage and heroism of Cervantes excited the respect of the friars
of the Order of Mercy, who resided at Algiers for the purpose of
treating for the ransom of the Christian captives. This order had been
established as far back as the twelfth century by pope Innocent III. It
was originally founded by two French hermits, who, dedicated to a holy
life in solitude, believed themselves called upon by God to take more
active service in the cause of religion. They repaired to Rome, and were
well received by pope Innocent, who saw the benefits that might arise to
Christianity from the pious labours of these men. He instituted an
order, therefore, whose members were to dedicate themselves to the
liberating of Christian slaves out of the hands of the infidels. It was
called the order of the most Holy Trinity, for the Redemption of
Captives. At first its labours were probably most in use to ransom
crusaders, taken prisoners in the wars of Palestine. Africa afterwards
became the scene of their greatest labours and dangers: various members
of the order were regularly appointed, and resided in Algiers, for the
purpose of carrying on treaties for the ransom of captives in
particular. Each kingdom of Spain had its peculiar holy officer, a sort
of spiritual consul, who transacted all the affairs of redemption and
liberation for the unfortunate slaves.
Cervantes's case was peculiar: distinguished among his fellow slaves,
the dey paid him the inconvenient compliment of rating his ransom
highly, and set the price of 1000 golden crowns on him; application was
made in Spain, and it was endeavoured to collect his ransom. His father
was now dead, and his mother, donna Leonora, a widow, could only
contribute 250 ducats, his sister 50 more. This sum was placed in the
hands of the friars Juan Gil and Antonio de la Vella, who arrived in
Algiers in May, 1580, for the purpose of treating for the redemption of
various captives. For a long time they were unable to bring the dey into
any terms with regard to Cervantes: the sum of 1000 golden ducats was
exorbitant, yet during several months he refused to take less. At last
he received an order from the sultan, which appointed him a successor,
and enforced his return to Constantinople. At first he threatened to
take Cervantes, whom he kept on board his galley, with him; and the
friars raised their offers to prevent this disaster: at last he agreed
to receive 500 golden crowns as his ransom: on the 19th of September,
1580, the bargain was completed. Hassan sailed for Constantinople, and
Cervantes was set on shore at Algiers, free to return to Spain.[62]
The first use, however, that he made of his liberty was to refute, in
the most determined manner, certain calumnies of which he was the
object. The traitor, Juan Blanco de Paz, who falsely pretended to belong
to the inquisition, cast on him the accusation of betraying the
conspiracy, and of causing the exile of the renegade Giron. The moment
that Cervantes was free he entreated father Juan Gil to examine the
whole affair. In consequence, the apostolic notary, Pedro de Ribera,
drew out twenty-five questions, and received the depositions of eleven
Spanish gentlemen, the most distinguished among the captives, in answer.
These examinations, in which all the events of Cervantes's captivity are
minutely recounted, give besides the most interesting details concerning
his understanding, his character, the purity of his life, and the
devoted sacrifices he made to his companions in misfortune, which gained
for him so many friends.
Viardôt, who has seen this document, not mentioned by any other author,
cites among the depositions that of don Diego de Benavides. Having made
inquiries, he says, on his arrival at Algiers concerning the principal
Christian captives, Cervantes was mentioned to him as honourable, noble,
virtuous, of excellent character, and beloved by all the other
gentlemen. Benavides cultivated his friendship, and he was treated so
kindly, that he says, "he found both a father and a mother in him." The
carmelite monk, Feliciano Enriquez, declared, that having discovered the
falsehood of an accusation made against Cervantes, he, in common with
all the other captives, became his friend; his noble, Christian,
upright, and virtuous conduct raising a sort of emulation among them.
Finally, the ensign Luis de Pedrosa declares, "that of all the gentlemen
resident at Algiers, he knew not one who did so much good to their
fellow captives as Cervantes, or who showed a more rigid observance of
the point of honour; and that in addition, all that he did was adorned
with a peculiar grace, through his understanding, prudence, and
forethought, in which few people could equal him."
Such was the natural elevation of Cervantes over his fellow-creatures,
when, all being placed on an equality, the qualities of the soul alone
produced a difference of rank. It inspires infinite contempt for the
arbitrary distinctions of society when we find this prince and leader
among his fellows was, when restored to his native country, depressed by
poverty and obscured by want; and when we find no spirit of repining
displayed during his after life, though he had dignity of soul to assert
his worth, we are impelled to give Cervantes as high a place for moral
excellence as his genius has secured for him in the world of intellect.
[Sidenote:1581.
Ætat.
34.]
Cervantes landed in Spain early the following year. He so often
expresses the excessive joy imparted by a restoration to freedom, that
we may believe that his heart beat high with exultation when he set his
foot on the shores of his native country. "On earth," he says, "there is
no good like regaining lost liberty." Yet he arrived poor, and if not
friendless yet his friends were poor also. His mother's purse had been
drained to contribute to his ransom. As a literary man he was not known,
nor, indeed, had he written any thing since he left Spain eleven years
before. He evidently did not at first look upon literature as a resource
by which to live. He was still a soldier in heart, and such he became
again by profession, though it would seem that his long captivity erased
the recollection of, and deprived him of all reward for, his past
services.
At this time Portugal had been recently conquered by the duke of Alva.
It was now tranquil, but still occupied by Spanish troops. This army was
in preparation to attack the Azores, which still held out. Rodrigo de
Cervantes, after his ransom, had re-entered the service. His brother
found himself obliged to follow his example. That he had no powerful
friend is proved by the circumstance that he again volunteered. Maimed
of a hand, in a manner which proved his gallantry, while Algiers still
rang with the fame of his intrepidity and daring, poverty in his native
country hung like a heavy cloud over him. We must, however, at this
period consider that he was not known as the author of Don Quixote, and
a man of genius; he had shown himself only as a gallant soldier of
fortune. Such he continued to be. He served in three campaigns. In the
summer of 1581 he embarked in the squadron of don Pedro Valdes, who had
orders to make an attempt on the Azores, and to protect the commerce of
the Indies.
[Sidenote:1582.
Ætat.
35.]
The following year he served under the orders of the marquis de Santa
Cruz, and was in the naval battle which that admiral gained on the 25th
of July, within sight of the island of Terceira, over the French fleet,
which had taken part with the Portuguese insurgents. It is asserted,
that beyond a question Cervantes served in the regiment of the
camp-major-general, don Lope de Figueroa. This corps was composed of
veterans, and was embarked on board the galleon San Mateo, which took a
distinguished part in the victory.
[Sidenote:1583.
Ætat.
36.]
In the campaign of 1583 he and his brother were at the taking of
Terceira, which was carried by assault. Rodrigo distinguished himself
greatly on this occasion, and was one of the first to spring on shore;
for which, on the return of the fleet, he was promoted to the rank of
ensign.
It is characteristic of Spanish manners that, although only serving in
the ranks, Cervantes mingled in the society of the nobles of Portugal.
He was an hidalgo and, as such, freely admitted to the circles of the
well born, despite his poverty. He was engaged in a love affair at
Lisbon: the name of the lady is not known: it seems likely, from
attendant circumstances, that she was not possessed of either rank or
fortune. She bore him a daughter, whom he named donna Isabel de
Saavedra, and brought up; and she remained with him even after his
marriage till she took vows in a convent in Madrid, but a short time
before her father's death. He never had another child.
[Sidenote:1584.
Ætat.
37.]
In the year 1584 Cervantes appeared as an author. He seems to have
written rather under the excitement of his natural genius, which
impelled him to composition, than under the idea of earning a livelihood
by his pen. The most popular works then in Spain were the "Diana" of
Montemayor, and the continuation of the same work by Gil Polo. This last
was a particular favourite of Cervantes. In the scrutiny made by the
curate of Don Quixote's library, he thus speaks of these books:--"I am
of opinion that we do not burn the 'Diana' of Montemayor; let us only
erase from it all the part that concerns the wise Felicia and the
enchanted water, and almost all the poetry written in _versos mayores_,
and let the prose remain, and the honour it enjoys of being the first of
these species of books. As to the continuation by Gil Polo, take care of
it as if Apollo himself were the author. Of his own 'Galatea,' he makes
the curate say, "Cervantes has for many years been my intimate friend,
and I know he has more experience in disasters than good fortune. There
is the merit of invention in his book: he proposes something but
concludes nothing; and we must wait for the second part, which he
promises, when I hope he will merit the entire pardon which is as yet
denied."
When pastorals were the fashion, there was something very attractive in
the composition of them to a poetic mind. The author, if he were in
love, could so easily turn himself into a shepherd, musing on his
passion on the banks of rivulets, and all the lets and hindrances to his
happiness he could transform into pastoral incidents. Montemayor and Gil
Polo had acknowledgedly done this before, and it was but in good costume
to imitate their example. We are told that, at the time of writing this
work, Cervantes was already deeply in love with the lady whom he
afterwards married. She figured as the lovely shepherdess Galatea. Lope
de Vega asserts that Cervantes introduced himself as Elisio, the hero of
his work. Viardôt says, "It cannot be doubted but that the other
shepherds introduced in the romance as Tirsis, Damon, Meliso, Siralvo,
Lauso, Larsileo, Artidoro, are intended for Francisco de Figueroa, Pedro
Lainez, don Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, Luis Galvez de Montalvo, Luis
Barahona de Soto, don Alonzo de Ercilla, Andres Rey de Artieda. These
names all figure in the Spanish Parnassus, and it may be that they are
introduced, but we have no proof. That the allusions made both to
himself and his friends are very vague, is proved by the fact that Los
Rios declares that Damon was the name of the shepherd figuring
Cervantes, and Amarilis that of his lady-love. Of the pastoral itself we
shall mention more when we come to speak of all Cervantes's works;
suffice it now to say, that the purity of its style, and the ease of
invention, must at once have raised Cervantes in the eyes of his friends
to the rank of a writer of merit."
It certainly gained him favour in the eyes of the lady. Soon after the
publication of the "Galatea" she consented to become his wife. On the
8th December, 1584, Cervantes accordingly married, at Esquivias, donna
Catilina de Palacios y Salazar. Her family, though impoverished, was one
of the most noble of that town. She had been brought up in the house of
her uncle, don Francisco de Salazar, who left her a legacy in his will,
or which reason she assumed his name in conjunction with her own; for it
was the custom in those days for persons to call themselves after one to
whom they owed the obligation of education and subsistence. The father
of donna Catalina was dead, and the widow promised, when her daughter
was affianced, to give her a moderate dower. This was done two years
afterwards; the contract of marriage bearing date of August 9th, 1586.
This portion we find to consist of a few vineyards, a garden, an
orchard, several beehives, a hencoop, and some household furniture,
amounting in value to 182,000 maravedis, or about 5360 reals, being, in
English money, about 60_l_. This property was settled on donna Catalina,
the management of it only remaining with her husband, who also settled
on her 100 ducats, which are stated as the tenth of his property.
On his marriage, Cervantes took up his abode at Esquivias, probably from
some motive of economy. Still feeling within him the innate assurance of
genius, and the laudable desire of distinction which that feeling
engenders, he dwelt on the idea of becoming an author. Esquivias is so
near Madrid that he could pay frequent visits to the capital; and he
cultivated the acquaintance of the authors of that day, and in
particular of Vicente Espinel, one of the most charming romance writers
of Spain. A noble of the court had instituted a sort of literary academy
at his house, and it is conjectured that Cervantes was chosen a member.
At this time he wrote for the theatre. There was ever a lurking love for
the drama in Spain. In his youth Cervantes had frequented the
representations of Lope de Rueda, previously mentioned in this work, and
he felt impelled to contribute to the drama. He saw the defects of the
plays in vogue, which were rather dialogues than dramatic compositions.
He saw the miserable state of the stage and scenery. He endeavoured to
rectify these deficiencies, and in some measure succeeded. "I must
trespass on my modesty," he says, in one of his prefaces, "to relate the
perfection to which these things were brought when 'The Captives of
Algiers,' 'Numantia,' and 'The Naval Battle,' dramas written by me, were
represented at the theatre of Madrid. I then ventured to reduce the five
acts, into which plays were before divided, into three. I was the first
who personified imaginary phantoms and the secret thoughts of the soul,
bringing allegorical personages on the stage, with the universal
applause of the audience. I wrote at that time some twenty or thirty
plays, which were all performed without the public throwing pumpkins, or
oranges, or any of those things which spectators are apt to cast at the
heads of bad actors: my plays were acted without hissing, confusion, or
clamour."
Of the plays which Cervantes mentions, two only exist--"Numantia" and
"Life in Algiers." They are very inartificial in their plots, and
totally unlike the busy pieces of intrigue soon after introduced; but
the first, in particular, has great merit, as will be mentioned
hereafter. Still, his plays did not bring such profit as to render him
independent. He was now forty: he had run through a variety of
adventures, and remained unrewarded for his services, and unprotected by
a patron. He was married; and, though he had no children by his wife, he
maintained in his house his two sisters and his natural daughter:
despite his vineyard, his orchard, and his hencoop,--despite also his
theatrical successes--he felt himself straitened in circumstances.
[Sidenote:1588.
Ætat.
41.]
At this time, Antonio de Guevara, councillor of finance, was named
purveyor to the Indian squadrons and fleets at Seville, with the right
of naming as his assistants four commissaries. He was now employed in
fitting out the Invincible Armada. He offered the situation of
commissary to Cervantes, who accepted it, and set out for Seville with
his wife and daughter, and two sisters.[63]
Cervantes lived for many years at Seville fulfilling duties of his
employment.
[Sidenote:1591.
Ætat.
44.]
He served at first for ten years under Guevara, and then for two more
under his successor, Pedro de Isunza.
[Sidenote:1593.
Ætat.
45.]
That he was not contented with the situation, and that it was an
insignificant one, is proved by his having solicited the king to give
him the place of paymaster in New Granada, or of corregidor in the small
town of Gcetemala. His request bears the date of May, 1590. It was
refused fortunately; yet his funds and his hopes, also, must have been
low to make him turn his eyes towards the Indies; for, speaking of such
a design in one of his tales, he says of a certain hidalgo that,
"finding himself at Seville without money or friends, he had reccurse to
the remedy to which so many ruined men in that city run, which is going
to the Indies--the refuge and shelter of all Spaniards of desperate
fortunes, the common deceiver of many, the individual remedy of few." At
length the purveyor-ship being suppressed, his office was also
abolished, and he became agent to various municipalities, corporations,
and wealthy individuals: among the rest, he managed the affairs, and
became the friend, of don Hernando de Toledo, a noble of Cigales.
We have little trace of how he exercised his pen during this interval.
The house of the celebrated painter Francisco Pacheco, master and
father-in-law of Velasquez, was then frequented by all the men of
education in Seville: the painter was also a poet, and Rodrigo Caro
mentions that his house was an academy resorted to by all the literati
of the town. Cervantes was numbered among them; and his portrait is
found among the pictures of more than a hundred distinguished persons,
painted and brought together by this artist. The poet Jauregui, who also
cultivated painting, painted his portrait, and was numbered among his
friends. Here Cervantes became the friend of Herrera, who spent his life
in Seville, secluded from the busy world, but venerated and admired by
his friends. Cervantes, in after days, wrote a sonnet to his memory, and
mentions him with fond praise in his "Voyage to Parnassus." Viardôt
assures us, that it was during his residence at Seville that Cervantes
wrote most of his tales. This appears probable. Certainly he did not
lose the habit of composition. Much of the material of these stories was
furnished him by incidents that actually occurred in Seville; and when
we see the mastery of invention and language he had acquired when he
wrote "Don Quixote," we may believe that these tales occupied his pen
when apparently, in a literary sense, idle.
It seems that, at Seville, and during his distasteful employments there,
he acquired that bitter view of human affairs displayed in "Don
Quixote." Yet it is wrong to call it bitter. Even when his hopes were
crushed and blighted, a noble enthusiasm survived disappointment and
ill-treatment; and, though he looks sadly, and with somewhat of
causticity on human life, still no one can mistake the generous and
lofty aspirations of his injured spirit throughout. We have two sonnets
of his, written at Seville, which justify the idea, however, that there
was something in this city (as is usually the case with provincial
towns), that peculiarly excited his spirit of sarcasm. The first of
these sonnets was written in ridicule of some recruits gathered together
by a captain Bercerra to join the forces sent under the duke of Medina,
to repel the disembarcation of the earl of Essex, who hovered near Cadiz
with his fleet.
The second is more known. On the death of Philip II. in 1598, a
magnificent catafalque was erected in the cathedral of Seville, "the
most wonderful funereal monument," says a narrator of the ceremony,
"which human eyes ever had the happiness of seeing." All Seville was in
ecstasy, the catafalque was superb; it did honour to Spain; and they
built the catafalque: could provincial town have better cause to strut
and boast?[64] The Andalusians, also, are addicted to gasconading, and
Cervantes could not resist the temptation of ridiculing both the
monument and its vaunting erectors. In his "Voyage to Parnassus,"
Cervantes calls this sonnet "the chief honour of his writings." After
such an announcement it is hold to attempt a translation. This sort of
witty burlesque can never be transfused into another language, for its
point consists rather in association of ideas, which only those on the
spot can enter into, than, in witty allusions common to all the world.
The conclusion of the epigram is to this day the delight of the
Spaniards, who all know it by heart. The species of sonnet is named an
_Estrumbote_, having three verses more than the proper fourteen. The
following translation being tolerably literal, may serve to satisfy the
curiosity of the English reader, though it cannot do justice to the
composition itself. For the sake of the Spanish one, the original is
inserted underneath.
TO THE MONUMENT OF THE KING AT SEVILLE.
"I vow to God, I quake with my surprise!
Could I describe it, I would give a crown--
And who, that gazes on it in the town,
But stands aghast to see its woodrous size:
Each part a million cost, I should devise;
What pity't is, ere centuries have flown,
Old Time will mercilessly cast it down!
Thou rival'st Rome, O Seville, in my eves!
I bet, the soul of him who's dead and blest,
To dwell within this sumptuous monument,
Has left the seats of sempiternal rest!"
A fellow tall, on deeds of valour bent,
My exclamation heard, "Bravo!" he cried,
"Sir Soldier, what you say is true, I vow,
And he who says the contrary has lied!"
With that, he pulls his hat upon his brow,
Upon his sword's hilt he his hand does lay,
And frowns--and--nothing does, but walks away.[65]
The financial occupations of Cervantes at Seville were full of various
annoyances; and it seems to have been his destiny at all times, to find
his life beset with various forms of adversity. He was accused of
malversation in the employment of monies entrusted to him. His poverty
was his best defence, but it required other circumstances to prove his
innocence, and his honest heart and lofty soul must have been tortured
by all the detail of accusation and defence. Viardôt has, by examining
the archives of Valladolid, Seville, and Madrid, found traces of various
circumstances, which he details. In themselves some of them scarcely
deserve record, except as happening to Cervantes, and showing how like
the equally unfortunate but more imprudent Hums, he was occupied by
transactions antipathetic to his tastes and vocation. The first
circumstance recorded by Viardôt is indeed a mere mercantile casualty,
full of annoyance at the time, but whose effects even to the sufferer,
vanishes like footsteps in the sand, when the next tide flows.
Towards the end of 1594, while he was settling at Seville the accounts
of his commissariat, and calling in with much difficulty several sums in
arrear, he forwarded the receipts to the _contaduria mayor_ of Madrid,
in bills of exchange drawn upon Seville. One of these sums, arising from
the taxation of the district of Velez-Malaga, amounting to 7400 rials,
(little more than 70_l_.) was intrusted by him in specie to a merchant
of Seville named Simon Freire de Lima, who undertook to pay it into the
treasury at Madrid. It was not paid, and Cervantes was forced to make a
journey to the capital to demand from Friere the sum in question; but
this man meanwhile became bankrupt, and had tied from Spain. Cervantes
hastened back to Seville, and found the property of his debtor seized on
by other creditors. He addressed a request to the king, and a decree was
published on the 7th of August 1595; ordering doctor Bernardo de
Olmedilla; judge of _los Grados_ at Seville; to take by privilege on the
goods of Friere; the sum intrusted to him by Cervantes. This was done,
and the money was sent by the judge to the general treasurer, don Pedro
Mesia de Tobar; in a bill of exchange drawn on the 22d of November 1596.
The next anecdote is of more interest; and displays the style in which
justice was carried on in Spain. Cervantes wrote from his heart and from
hitter experience; when he introduces; in one of his tales, the arrival
of a corregidor at an inn; and says, "The inn-keeper and his wife were
both frightened to death, for as when comets appear they always engender
fear of disaster, so when the officers of justice enter a house of a
sudden and unexpectedly, they alarm and agitate the consciences even of
the innocent." It appears that at this time the tribunal of the
_contaduria_ examined the treasury accounts with the greatest severity,
emptied as it had been by the various wars which had been carried and by
financial experiments which had failed.
[Sidenote: 1597.
Ætat.
50.]
The inspector-general, of whom Cervantes was merely the agent, was sent
for to Madrid to give in his accounts. He represented that the documents
which served as vouchers were at Seville in the hands of Cervantes; upon
this, without other form of trial, a royal order was sent to arrest him,
and to send him under escort to the prison of the capital, where he was
to be disposed of as the tribunal of accounts saw fit. Cervantes was
accordingly thrown in prison. The deficit of which he was accused
amounted only to 2644 rials, not quite 30_l_. He offered security for
this sum, and was set at liberty, on condition that in thirty days he
should appear before the _contaduria_, and liquidate his accounts. In
all this, it is evident that no real accusation was levelled against
Cervantes, and that it was only the clumsy and arbitrary proceedings of
Spanish law that occasioned his imprisonment.
Some years after the claim of the treasury was revived; the inspector of
Baza, Gaspar Osorio de Tejada, sent in his accounts, at the end of 1602;
these included an acknowledgment from Cervantes, proving, that sum
had been received by him in 1594, when he was commissioned to recover
claims in arrear on that town and district.
[Sidenote: 1602.
Ætat.
55.]
Having consulted on this point, the judges of the court of the treasury
made a report, dated Valladolid, January the 24th, 1603, in which they
gave an account of the arrest of Cervantes in 1597 for this same sum,
and his conditional enlargement, adding that since then he had not
appeared before them.
[Sidenote: 1603.
Ætat.
56.]
It appears that in this very year, 1603, Cervantes removed with his
family to Valladolid, where Philip III. resided with his court. There is
no trace, however, of any proceedings against him; and it is evident
that there was proof of his honesty sufficient to satisfy the officers
of the treasury; and his honour in this and every other transaction
stands clear. His poverty was the great and clinging evil of his life.
Many housekeeping accounts, and notes, and bills, have been discovered
at Valladolid, proving the distress which he and his family suffered. In
1603 there is a memorandum showing that his sister, donna Andrea, was
engaged in superintending the household and wardrobe of a don Pedro de
Toledo Osorio, marquis of Villafranca, lately returned from an
expedition to Algiers.
All these dates and papers seem to cast a gleam of light upon the
history of Cervantes; yet after all they but render the "darkness
visible," and these tiny lights becoming extinguished, we grope blinder
than ever. It is generally supposed that Cervantes left Seville at the
time of the death of Philip II. (1599). We find that he was at
Valladolid in 1603, but both before and after this date it would appear
that he resided in the province of La Mancha. His perfect knowledge of
that country, his familiarity with its peculiarities, the lakes of
Ruydera, the cave of Motesinos, the position of the fulling mills, and
other places mentioned in "Don Quixote," shows an intimate knowledge of
the face of the country, to be gained only by a residence. The common
conjecture is that he resided for several years in La Mancha, where he
had several relations, acting as agent for various persons, and
executing such commissions as were intrusted to him, and which brought
in some small income. But adversity followed him here also, and again he
became an inmate of a prison; wherefore cannot be discovered. The people
of La Mancha were singularly quarrelsome. About this time they entered
on lawsuits and contentions one with another, concerning some silly
rights of precedence, which they pursued with such acrimony and
vehemence, that the population of the province became diminished.
To some such litigious proceeding Cervantes was probably the victim. It
has been said that this disaster happened at Toboso, on account of a
sarcasm he had uttered against a woman, and that her relations thus
avenged her. The common and the probable notion, however, is that the
inhabitants of the village of Argamasilla de Alba threw him into prison,
being incensed against him, either because he claimed the arrears of
tithes due to the grand prior of San Juan, or because he interfered with
their system of irrigation, by turning aside a portion of the waters of
the Guadiana, for the purpose of preparing saltpetre. To this day they
show in Argamasilla de Alba an old house called Casa de Medrano, which
immemorial tradition declares to have been the prison of Cervantes. It
seems likely that he was confined for some time; and he was forced to
have recourse to his uncle don Juan Barnabé de Saavedra, a citizen of
Alcazar de San Juan, asking for protection and assistance. We are told
that the expressions of a letter written by Cervantes to this uncle are
remembered, and that it began with these words: "Long days and short but
sleepless nights wear me out in this prison, or rather let me call it
cavern." In record of his ill-treatment here, he at the same time placed
the residence of Don Quixote, in Argamasilla de Alba and refrained from
mentioning the name, saying, "In a village of La Mancha, whose name I do
not wish to recollect."
It is impossible here not to remember the beautiful image of lord Bacon,
that calamity acts on the high-minded as the crushing of perfumes,
pressing the innate virtue out of each: for in this prison Cervantes
wrote "Don Quixote." When we consider the ill-fortune that pursued
him--his military career, which left him maimed and unrewarded--his
captivity in Algiers, where he exerted a spirit of resistance sublime in
its fearlessness and its risks, and whence he returned a beggar--his
life spent as a sort of clerk where he gained his scanty daily bread, at
the mercy of the arbitrary and litigious ministers of Spanish
justice--and that he endured all the distresses incident to straitened
means and friendlessness; when we consider that the end of all was to
throw him into a squalid prison in an obscure village, where he must
have felt all hopes, not only of advancement, but of attaining the means
of existence, fail him--where in a dreary cavern-like chamber he passed
long days and sleepless nights, weary and worn out:--when we think that
he was now fifty-six years of age, a period when the fire of life burns
dim--and then, when we compare all these sad depressing circumstances
with the very outset of "Don Quixote," we feel that there must have been
something divine in the spirit of this man, which could place a soul
within the ribs of death, and vivify darkness and suffering with so
animated a creation.
He himself speaks more modestly. "What," he says, in his preface to "Don
Quixote," "could my barren and uncultivated understanding engender
except the history of an offspring, dry, tough, and whimsical, and full
of various fancies which had never entered the imagination of
another?--like one born in prison, where every discomfort dwells, and
every odious sound has birth."
With this we turn to the book itself, and it seems to us that if
Cervantes had never written more than the first chapter, his genius and
originality had been acknowledged by all. There is so much life, such
minute yet clear and characteristic painting--such an outset, promising
so much, and in itself performing so much--that, but for its wisdom, it
seems written by a man who had never known a check nor care. He must
have felt happy while he wrote it; though the excitement of composition
brings with it a reaction which, more than any other exercise of the
brain, demands amusement and change. To turn exhausted from the written
page, and find solitude and a dungeon walls about him, might well make
him feel that imagination sterile, which was indeed exhausted by the
very fertility and beauty of its creations.
[Sidenote: 1604.
Ætat.
57.]
In 1604, Cervantes returned to what in Spain is called the court, that
is, the town in which the monarch resided. He had left it thirteen years
before, in hopes of earning a subsistence by the employment offered him.
He had lived in poverty, and experienced a variety of disasters. During
this period he had never thought of obtaining an income through
authorship. Now he had with him that which in truth has proved to be his
passport to immortality, and the admiration of the world. We may believe
that an innate sense of the merit of his work led him to consider that
he was not too sanguine in hoping thence to derive such profit and
reputation as would rescue him from the distresses to which he had
hitherto been the victim. But from first to last, in a worldly view,
Cervantes was born to disappointment. His first attempt was to introduce
himself to the notice of the duke of Lerma, the "Atlas of the monarchy,"
as he calls him. The haughty favourite received him with disdain; and
Cervantes, not less proud, renounced at once the humiliating task of
seeking his favour.
His best and immediate resource was to print his book. But not only the
fashion of the times demanded that it should be introduced under the
nominal patronage of some great man, but the very title and nature of
"Don Quixote" rendered it necessary that in some way the public should
from the outset be prepossessed in its favour, and let into the secret
of its intentions. Cervantes applied to don Alonzo Lopez de Zuniga y
Sotomayor, seventh duke of Bejar, a man who with literary pretensions
himself, was pleased to arrogate the reputation of a patron of genius. A
story is told, that the duke, understanding either that the work in
question was a romance of chivalry, or that it was a burlesque, thought
in either case his dignity compromised by its being introduced under the
patronage of his name, and refused the author's request. Cervantes, in
reply, only begged permission to read a chapter of his work to him; this
was granted: the first chapter is enough indeed to awaken curiosity, to
engage interest, and promise a rich harvest of amusement. The duke and
his friends were so delighted, that they asked for another, and another
chapter, till the whole book was read; and the duke, giving up his
prepossession, gladly yielded his consent to be in a manner
immortalised, by having his name inscribed on the first page of the
work. It is added, that a morose priest, who was religious director of
the duke, was shocked at the immorality of the work, and bitterly
censured both it and its author. He, they say, was the original of the
priest, at the duke and duchess's table in the second part, whom
Cervantes takes to task for his impertinent interference. Whatever truth
there be in this story, and whether influenced by this ecclesiastic, or
the worldly feeling that hardens the hearts of the prosperous against
those who really need assistance, certainly the duke was no generous
patron. Cervantes never dedicated another work to him, nor makes
allusion, and he was ready enough to do so, when merited, to any
kindness received from him.
[Sidenote: 1605.
Ætat.
58.]
Tradition preserves the story, that even when published, "Don Quixote"
met with no popularity, and was hailed with no glad welcome. The author
was obscure--he had written nothing previously that had won the public
ear, and so opened the way to success: the very title of the book
excited the censure and ridicule of common critics. It was in danger of
becoming a dead letter. Cervantes perceived that his readers did not
understand the scope of the book; but he felt its merits, and was sure
that if once the public were incited to read, its general popularity
must ensue. To allure attention therefore, and awaken curiosity, it is
said that he published an anonymous pamphlet, which he called the
"Buscapié," (a name given to those little fusees or serpents, thrown
forward in military operations to give light to a night mark), which
affected to criticise his book, and insinuated, at the same time, that
it was a covert and fine satire on several well known persons; at the
same time, not mentioning who or what these personages were.
The existence of the "Buscapié" has been disputed, as well as that
Cervantes was its author. Tradition asserted it, and brought its weighty
testimony; but in addition to this, Los Rios brings forward a letter of
a friend of his, don Antonio Ruidiaz, who saw and read the pamphlet, and
gives the following account of it[66]:--"I saw the 'Buscapié' in the
house of the late count de Saceda about sixteen years ago, and I read it
in the short space of time for which that learned gentleman lent it me;
to whom also it had been lent, by I know not who, for a few days only.
It was an anonymous pamphlet, in duodecimo, printed in this court, (_en
esta Corte--Madrid so called while the king made residence there_,) with
that title only. I do not remember the date of the year, nor the
printer's name: it contained about six sheets--good print, but bad
paper. I will mention what my imperfect memory retains of its contents."
"The author begins by mentioning, or feigning, that a book had been
published some time ago, entitled, 'Don Quixote de la Mancha,' but that
for some time he had felt no inclination to read it, conceiving that it
was only one of the romances of the day, or that its author had not
talent sufficient to produce a work of any excellence. For this reason,
he, like most others, felt no desire to read it; till at last,
influenced by mere curiosity, he bought it, and having read it once, he
felt impelled to read it again with more pleasure and attention; and
then he became convinced that it was one of the cleverest books that had
seen light, and a satire full of information and amusement, and written
with the greatest dexterity and cleverness, for the purpose of
dispelling the enthusiasm which the nation in general, and principally
the nobles, felt for works of chivalry; and that the persons introduced
were merely imaginary, brought in only for the sake of indicating those
whose heads were thus turned. Nevertheless, it was not so entirely
imaginary, but that an allusion might be perceived to the character and
chivalrous actions of a certain champion, a favourite of fame, and of
other paladins who had sought to imitate him, as well as other persons
who had charge of the government of a most extensive and wealthy region
of former times. The author went on to compare the incidents; and,
although he artfully disguises some, he nevertheless plainly showed that
he had in view the enterprises and gallantry of Charles V., as most of
the points apply to this hero, though so veiled, both with regard to him
and other persons, that it is impossible to point them out. At length he
concluded, by saying, that to compensate to the author for the injury he
had done him in the first instance, and to undeceive the prepossession
of others, and that they might discover the treasure hid under that
title, he had resolved to publish the "Buscapié," which might excite
the attention of the unoccupied (which was almost all Spain), and entice
them to take the book in hand and read it, well persuaded that whoever
once cast his eyes on it, would appreciate at its just value that which
they had before despised."
Whether this story be true, and whether "Don Quixote" owed its first
celebrity to the "Buscapié," we will not decide; though I own I am led
to reject it as unworthy. Cervantes makes no allusion to it in his after
works; and it seems more probable that it was written by some friend or
disciple, than by himself. It is said that the trick succeeded: at any
rate, the book at first excited no attention, and then, suddenly coming
into vogue, it was devoured with insatiable curiosity.
[Sidenote: 1605.]
Four editions were published in Spain in one year, and its fame became
spread to all neighbouring countries, and in no long time reached this
island.
Books in those days sometimes enriched authors by gaining for them
patrons and pensions; the mere sale brought no great profit. No doubt
Cervantes's distress was somewhat alleviated; but still poverty clung to
him, while his very success excited the enmity of a variety of the men
of letters of the day, who could not endure that a man whose talents
they had regarded with no consideration, should suddenly pass over the
heads of all: a cloud of satires, epigrams, and criticism were levelled
against his work. Old rough doctor Johnson would have revelled in such
testimony of his popularity, and Cervantes was at least secure in having
the laugh on his side. Los Rios, however, observes, that if the many
satires, attacks, and persecutions, which the author and his book
suffered had not been submerged in oblivion, or drowned in the quantity
of eulogies and defences heaped on him by men of talent, who continued
to subtract such disagreeable productions from the eyes of posterity, it
would now appear, that "Don Quixote" had been written in the midst of a
nation enemy to the muses. Now the attacks of these men redound to their
own discredit, displaying only their envy or incredible bad taste.
Cervantes indeed had not spared the authors of his time, and they almost
all set themselves in array against him. Lope de Vega, from the height
of his prosperity, showed a condescending good nature, which,
considering that he was attacked in "Don Quixote," shows a sort of lion
magnanimity: he even declared that the writings of Cervantes were not
devoid of grace or style. Don Luis de Gongora, a man of whom further
mention will be made in this work, was his most virulent critic.
Figuero, and Villegas both contributed their mite of disapprobation. We
cannot tell how Cervantes viewed their attacks, but his warm heart must
have been pained at the falling off of some of his friends; among these
was Vicente Espinel, who had merit enough as a poet, perfect in his
class, to hail with pleasure, instead of enviously depreciating, the
merit of his friend.
Cervantes mentions some of these satires, and in particular, one sent to
him in a letter when he was at Valladolid.[67]
[Sidenote: 1605.]
The circumstances accompanying this letter show that he was settled and
had a house in that city. Philip III. had established his court there,
and doubtless Cervantes thought that in the first flush of success his
being in its immediate neighbourhood might occasion some noble to become
his patron. When Philip IV. was born, James I. of England sent admiral
lord Howard to present a treaty of peace, and to congratulate Philip
III. on the birth of his son.
[Sidenote: 1605.]
He was received with the utmost magnificence: bull fights, tournaments,
masked balls, religious ceremonies--all of feasting and splendour that
the court could display, were put in requisition The duke of Lerma
caused an account of these festivities to be written: it is said that
Cervantes was the author.
These rejoicings were scarcely over when an event occurred greatly to
distress Cervantes, who seems to have been marked out by fortune for the
endurance of every variety of galling disaster.
There lived in Valladolid a cavalier of Saint-Jago, don Gaspar de
Ezpeleta, an intimate acquaintance of the marquis de Falces. On the
night of the 27th of June, 1605, this gentleman, having supped, as he
often did, with his friend, returned home on foot over an open field to
a wooden bridge over the river Esqueva. He was here met by a stranger
wrapped in a large cloak, who accosted him with incivility, and a
quarrel ensuing, they drew their swords, and don Gaspar fell pierced by
many wounds. Calling for help, and bleeding profusely, he staggered on
towards a house near the bridge; part of the first floor of this house
was occupied by donna Luisa de Montoya, widow of the historian Esteban
de Garibay, with her two sons; the other part by Cervantes and his
family. The cries of the wounded man drew the attention of one of the
sons of Garibay, who rousing Cervantes, who had gone to bed, they
proceeded to his assistance. They found him lying at their porch, his
sword in one hand and buckler in another, and carried him into the
apartment of donna Luisa, where he expired on the following day. An
inquest was held by the alcayd de casa y corte. Cristobal de Villarroel,
who, like all other officers of justice in Spain, took the safe side of
suspecting the worst, and throwing every body into prison. Cervantes,
his wife, donna Catalina de Palacios y Salazar; his daughter donna
Isabel de Saavedra, twenty years of age; his sister donna Andrea de
Cervantes, who was a widow, with a daughter named donna Costanza de
Ovando, twenty-eight years of age; a nun called donna Magdalena de
Sotomayor, who was also termed a sister of Cervantes; his servant maid
Maria de Cevallos, and two friends, who were staying in his house, one
named Señor de Cigales, and a Portuguese, Simon Mendez, made their
depositions, and were indiscriminately thrown into prison. It is so
usual in Italy as well as Spain to suppose that all those who come to
the assistance of a murdered man, have had a hand in his assassination,
that such an act probably excited no wonder. After a confinement of
eight days, and a vast quantity of interrogation they were, on giving
security, set at liberty. The depositions taken on this occasion show
that Cervantes was still employed as an agent. When we consider that he
maintained all these relations, we wonder less at his poverty, while we
admire his liberality and kindness of heart. Nor can we help remarking
from this enumeration of his household, that Cervantes had that
predilection for women's society which characterises the gentler and
more gifted of his sex.
[Sidenote: 1606.
Ætat.
59.]
Though it is impossible to fix dates with any precision, there is reason
to believe that when the court returned to Madrid in 1606; Cervantes
followed it, and continued to inhabit that city to the end of his life.
The freedom and society of a capital is always agreeable to a literary
man; and his native town of Alcalà de Henares; and his wife's of
Esquivias were at a convenient distance. It has been ascertained that in
June, 1609, he lived in the Calle (street) de la Magdelena; a little
after; behind the college of Nuestra Señora de Loretto; in June; 1610,
at 9 Calle del Leon; in 1614 in Calle de Las Huertas; afterwards, in the
Calle de el Duque de Alva, at the corner of St. Isidoro; and lastly, in
1616, at 20 Calle del Leon, where he died.
It must rather have been the capital than the court that attracted him,
for he lived in obscurity and neglect. He had only two friends of rank,
who allowed him some small income; these were don Bernardo de Sandoval
y Rojas, archbishop of Toledo, and don Pedro Fernandez de Castro, count
of Lemos; and this was done through no solicitation on the part of
Cervantes, nor in reward for any adulatory dedication, but simply out of
admiration for his talent, and sympathy for his poverty.[68] At this
time despotism and bigotry were extending their influence. Spain had
degenerated, and letters, cultivated not long before with enthusiasm,
were falling into neglect. The nobility surrounded themselves with
jesters and flatterers, neglecting men of merit. Of the few of the old
leaven, men admiring talent, and desirous of serving it, were the
cardinal de Toledo, and the count of Lemos. The first was respected for
his retired habits and generosity; the other for his munificence and
popularity. The cardinal treated men of letters with kindness and
urbanity. The count sought out the necessitous and suffering among them,
assisting them at their need with unlimited generosity.
In 1610 the count of Lemos was named viceroy of Naples; and here again
Cervantes was doomed to disappointment. The count of Lemos held in high
esteem the two Argensolas. These brothers, Lupercio and Bartolomé
Leonardo de Argensola, were of a family originally of Ravenna in Italy,
and settled in Aragon. They were surnamed the Horaces of Spain. Before
he was twenty, Lupercio wrote three tragedies, which met with success,
and which Cervantes praises highly in "Don Quixote:" too highly, indeed,
for they are of the old school, wanting in verisimilitude and
regularity, and not elevated by the merits of poetry. Philip III.
appointed him historiographer of the kingdom of Aragon. Bartolomé, his
junior by a year, was an ecclesiastic and also a poet. These brothers
were residing at Saragossa, when the count, wishing to have them with
him, offered Lupercio the place of secretary of state and war at Naples,
and requested that his brother should accompany him. The count also
confided to them the charge of choosing the persons to fulfil the under
places in their office, and they, confiding in the counts taste,
selected various poets for this purpose.
Cervantes was their friend; he had reason to hope that they would use
their interest when arrived at Naples to advance him. But he was
disappointed. He takes a gentle revenge in his "Voyage to Parnassus."
Mercury bids him invite the two Argensolas to assist in the conquest of
Parnassus, but Cervantes excuses himself, saying, "I am afraid they
would not listen to me--although I am desirous to oblige in all
things--since I have been told that my will and my eyes are both
short-sighted, and my poverty-stricken appearance would ill suit such a
journey. They have fulfilled none of the many promises they made me at
parting. Much I hoped--for they promised much; but perhaps their new
occupations have caused them to forget what they then said."[69]
Cervantes meanwhile had relinquished business, or nearly so: his means,
considering the number of persons he maintained, were strait indeed: he
felt that he was neglected, while others of far less talent basked in
the favour of the court. But he did not hunt after patrons nor pension:
he lived quiet and secluded, expecting nothing, repining at
nothing--content, if not satisfied.
It is certainly strange that in those days, when it was considered a
part of a noble's duty to protect and patronise men of letters, that
Cervantes should have been thus passed over. Some men join a sort of
querulousness and snarling independence to considerable self-esteem,
which renders it difficult to oblige them. But there was no trace of
anything of the sort in Cervantes--no trace of any quarrel or complaint;
nor, though himself obscure, was his book unknown. There is a story told
of Philip III., that he was one day standing in the balcony of his
palace at Madrid, overlooking the Manzanares, and he observed a student
walking on the banks of the river, reading, and interrupting himself
every now and then with strange gesticulations and bursts of laughter.
The king exclaimed, "Either that man is mad, or he is reading "Don
Quixote.'" The courtiers around, eager to confirm their sovereign's
sagacity, started off to ascertain the fact, and found indeed that the
book the student held was "Don Quixote;" yet not one among them
remembered to remind their sovereign that the author of that delightful
work lived poor and forgotten.
In the licence to print the "Second Part of Don Quixote," another story
is told, showing how the Spaniards themselves regarded the obscurity in
which they suffered the author to live: it is related by the licentiate,
Francisco Marquez Torres, master of the pages to the archbishop of
Toledo, to whom the censorship of the work was intrusted. He relates
that in 1615, an ambassador arrived at Madrid from Paris, whose object
being complimentary, he was followed by a numerous suite of nobles and
gentlemen of rank and education. Among others, the ambassador visited
the archbishop of Toledo. On the 25th February, 1615, the archbishop
returned the visit, accompanied by various churchmen and chaplains, and,
among others, by the licentiate, Marquez Torres, himself. While the
archbishop paid his visit, those of his suite conversed with the French
gentlemen present, and they discussed the merits of various works of
talent then popular, and in particular of the "Second Part of Don
Quixote," then about to appear. When the foreign cavaliers heard the
name of Cervantes, they all began to speak at once, and to declare the
estimation in which he was held in France. Their praises were such, that
the licentiate Marquez Torres offered to take them to the house of the
author, that they might see and know him--an offer accepted with
delight, while a thousand questions were asked concerning the age,
profession, rank, and situation of Cervantes. The licentiate was obliged
to confess that he was a gentleman and a soldier, but old and poor; and
his reply so moved one of his audience, that he exclaimed, "Is it
possible that Spain does not maintain such a man, in honour and comfort
from the public purse?" While another, with less warmth of heart, though
equal admiration, exclaimed, "If necessity obliges him to write, may he
never be rich! for, being poor, he by his works enriches the
world;"--words to comfort, with the hope of fame, one whose life was
clouded by penury and neglect.
[Sidenote: 1608.
Ætat.
61.]
We cannot help observing that the court and the nobles did not form the
whole world. Cervantes had many dear, many well-informed and valued
friends, and among these he could forget the carelessness of those who
considered all reputation and prosperity to be inclosed within their
magic circle; while in the case of Cervantes, it is proved that though
neglected by them, the whole world rung with his fame and praise.
For some years Cervantes published nothing more. In 1608 he brought out
a corrected edition of the "First Part of Don Quixote." He was employed,
meanwhile, in a variety of works which appeared afterwards in quick
succession, on which he employed himself at the same time. His "Voyage
to Parnassus" peculiarly engaged his attention, but he feared that the
publication, with its gentle attack on the Argensolas, might displease
his kind patron, the count of Lemos. He therefore brought out first his
"Twelve Tales" ("Novelas Exemplares") which raised yet higher his
character as an author. These tales are dedicated in a few respectful
lines to the count of Lemos; the preface to them is very interesting.
Cervantes has been accused unjustly of vanity and boasting: of this he
is innocent; but he had something of that feeling, the inherent quality
of authors, which led him to dwell on his own idea and fortunes (what
could be nearer, or better known, or more deeply felt by him?) the same
that led Rousseau to make his confessions, and which when indulged in
with good faith and without querulousness, sits well on a writer, and
interests us in him. "I should be well content," he says, "to be excused
this preface, and to give instead my portrait, such as it was painted by
the famous don Juan de Jauregui: with this my ambition would be
satisfied; and the curiosity would be gratified of those who desire to
know what the countenance and person is of him who has dared bring
before the world so many inventions; and below the portrait I would
place these words: 'He whom you here see with a face resembling an
eagle's with chesnut brown hair, smooth and open brow, vivacious eyes, a
hooked yet well-proportioned nose; with a beard now silver, but which
twenty years ago was golden; thick mustachios and small mouth;
ill-formed teeth, of which but few remain; a person between two
extremes, neither tall nor short; of sanguine complexion, rather fair
than dark; somewhat heavy about the shoulders, and not very light of
foot;--this, I say, is the face of the author of 'Galatea,' and of 'Don
Quixote de la Mancha,'--he who, in imitation of Cæsar Caporal, the
Perugian, made a voyage to Parnassus, and wrote other works, which
wander lost, even with their master's name. He is usually called Miguel
de Cervantes Saavedra. He was for many years a soldier, and a captive
for more than five, where he learned to bear adversity with patience. In
the naval battle of Lepanto he lost his left hand by a shot from an
arquebuse, a wound which may appear a deformity, but which he considers
a beauty, having received it on the most memorable and noble event which
past ages ever saw, or those to come can hope to witness--fighting under
the victorious banners of the son of that lustre of war, Charles V., of
happy memory."
There is certainly nothing boastful nor ungraceful in this--rather are
we glad to find how Cervantes, old and poor, could dwell with
complacency on past adversity, and cast the halo of glory round his
misfortunes.
[Sidenote: 1614.
Ætat.
67.]
These tales established more firmly than ever the high reputation of
Cervantes, and he now ventured to publish his "Voyage to Parnassus;" and
after this the least successful of his publications, or, rather, that
which is the only failure among them--his volume of "Comedias y
Entremeses," which he composed according to the new school introduced by
Lope de Vega, but which were never acted. In his preface to this work he
gives some account of the origin of the Spanish drama, and the
amelioration that be, in his younger days, introduced, which has already
been quoted. He goes on to say, "Called away by other occupations, I
laid aside my pen, and meanwhile Lope de Vega, that prodigy of nature,
appeared, and raised himself to the sovereignty of the drama. He
vanquished and reduced under his dominion all writers of plays: he
filled the world with dramas, excellently written and well conceived,
and that in so great number, that ten thousand sheets of paper would not
contain them; and, what is surprising, he has seen them all acted, or
known that they were acted. All those who have wished to share the glory
of his labours, collectively, have not written the half of what he alone
has given forth. And when," he continues, "I returned to the old
employment of my leisure, fancying that the age which echoed my praises
still endured, I began again to write plays, but I found no birds in the
accustomed nest--I mean, I found no manager who asked for them, although
he was informed that they were written; I threw them, therefore, into
the corner of a trunk, and condemned them to eternal silence. A
bookseller then told me that he would have bought them, if an author of
reputation had not told him, that my prose was worth something; but
nothing could be expected from my verse. To confess the truth, these
words mortified me deeply; without doubt, I am either much changed, or
the age has arrived at a higher degree of perfection, against the usual
course of things, for I have always heard past times praised. I re-read
my comedies, as well as some interludes I had mingled with them, and I
found that they were not so bad, but that I might bring them out from
what an author calls darkness, to what others may, perhaps, name day. I
grew angry, and sold them to the bookseller who now publishes them. He
gave me a reasonable price, and I received the money without caring for
the rebuffs of the actors. I wish that they were the best ever written;
and if, dear reader, you find any thing good in them, I wish when you
meet this ill-natured author, you would tell him to repent, and not to
judge them so severely, since, after all, they contain no incongruities
nor striking faults."
Unfortunately, the author was right--the pieces are very bad; so bad,
that when Blas de Nasano reprinted them a century afterwards, he could
find nothing better to say of them, than that they were purposely
written badly, in ridicule of the extravagant plays then in vogue.
[Sidenote: 1615.
Ætat.
68.]
Cervantes published another slight work in this year. The custom of
poetic games (giustas poeticas) was still preserved in Spain, which had
been instituted even from the time of John II. Pope Paul V. having, in
1614, canonised the famous Saint Theresa, her apotheosis was given as
the subject for competition. Lope de Vega was named one of the judges.
Cervantes entered the lists, and sent in an ode; it did not receive the
prize, but it is published among those selected as the best, in the
account written of the feasts which all Spain celebrated in honour of a
native and illustrious saint.
Two works employed Cervantes at this time--"Persiles and Sigismunda,"
and the "Second Part of Don Quixote." He appears to have intended to
bring out the former first, but the publication of Avellanada's "Don
Quixote" caused him to hasten the appearance of the latter.
The name of the real author of this book is unknown; he assumed that of
the licentiate Alonzo Fernandez de Avellanada, a native of Tordesillas.
No plagiarism is more impudent and inexcusable. Don Quixote and Sancho
Panza were the offspring and the property of Cervantes: to take these
original and unparalleled creations out of his hands--to make them speak
and act according to the fancy of another, and that while he was alive,
and still occupied in adorning them with fresh deeds and thoughts, all
his own, is a sort of theft no talent could excuse. Avellanada's "Don
Quixote" is not destitute of talent; but it is impossible to read
it--the mind of the reader is tormented by finding another knight, and
another esquire, whom he is called to look upon as the same, but who are
very different. The adventures are clever enough; but the soul of the
actors is gone. Don Quixote is no longer the perfect gentleman, with
feelings so noble, pure, and imaginative, and Sancho is a lout, whose
talk is folly, without the salt of wit. Cervantes, heartily disgusted,
and highly indignant, hastened to publish his continuation. In
dedicating his comedies to the count of Lemos, at the commencement of
1615, he says, "Don Quixote has buckled oh his spurs, and is hastening
to kiss the feet of your excellency. I am afraid he will arrive a little
out of humour, because he lest his way, and was ill-treated at
Tarragona: nevertheless, he has proved, upon examination, that he is not
the hero of that story, but another who wished to look like him, but did
not succeed."
In his dedication of the Second Part to the count of Lemos, he says, in
not ungraceful allusion to the extent of his fame, while at the same
time he covertly alludes to his expectation of being invited to Naples,
"Many have told me to hurry it, to get rid for them of the disgust
caused by another Quixote, who, under the name of the Second Part, has
wandered through the world. And he who has shown himself most impatient
is the great emperor of China, who a month ago wrote me a letter in
Chinese, asking, or rather entreating me to send it for he was desirous
of founding a college for the study of the Castilian language, and he
wished "Don Quixote" to be the book read in it; at the same time,
offering that I should be rector of the college: but I replied that I
had not health to undertake so long a journey; and besides being ill, I
was poor; and emperor for emperor, and monarch for monarch, there was
the great count of Lemos at Naples, who assisted me as much as I wished,
though he did not found colleges nor rectorships."
This was the last work that Cervantes published. He had finished
"Persiles and Sigismunda," and meditated the "Second Part of Galatea,"
and two other works, whose subjects we cannot guess, though he has
mentioned the titles ("Bernardo" and "Las Semanas del Jardin"); but of
these no trace remains. He published the "Second Part of Don Quixote" at
the end of 1615, and being then sixty-eight years of age, he was
attacked by the malady which not long after caused his death.
[Sidenote: 1616.
Ætat.
69.]
Hoping to find relief in the air of the country during spring, on the 2d
of the following April he made an excursion to Esquivias, but, getting
worse, he was obliged to return to Madrid. He narrates his journey back
in his preface to "Persiles and Sigismunda:" and in this we find the
only account we possess of his illness. "It happened; dear reader; that
as two friends and I were returning from Esquivias--a place famous on
many accounts;--in the first place for its illustrious families; and
secondly for its excellent wines;--being arrived near Madrid, we heard,
behind, a man on horseback, who was spurring his animal to its speed,
and appeared to wish to get up to us, of which he gave proof soon after,
calling out and begging us to stop; on which we reined up, and saw
arrive a country-bred student, mounted on an ass, dressed in grey, with
gaiters and round shoes, a sword and scabbard, and a smooth ruff with
strings; true it is, that of these he had but two, so that his ruff was
always falling on one side, and he was at great trouble to put it right.
When he reached us, he said, 'Without doubt your Honours are seeking
some office or pretend at court, from the archbishop of Toledo or the
king, neither more nor less, to judge by the speed you make; for truly
my ass has been counted the winner of the course more than once.' One of
my companions replied, 'The horse of señor Miguel de Cervantes is the
cause--he steps out so well.' Scarcely had the student heard the name of
Cervantes than he threw himself off his ass, so that his bag and
portmanteau fell to right and left--for he travelled with all this
luggage--and rushing towards me, and seizing my left arm, exclaimed,
'Yes, yes! this is the able hand, the famous being, the delightful
writer, and, finally, the joy of the muses!' As for me, hearing him
accumulate praises so rapidly, I thought myself obliged in politeness to
reply, and taking him round the neck in a manner which caused his ruff
to fall off altogether, I said, f I am indeed Cervantes, sir; but I am
not the joy of the muses, nor any of the fine things you say: but go
back to your ass, mount again, and let us converse, for the short
distance we have before us." The good student did as I desired; we
reined in a little, and continued our journey at a more moderate pace.
Meanwhile, my illness was mentioned, and the good student soon gave me
over, saying, 'This is a dropsy, which not all the water of the ocean,
could you turn it fresh and drink it, would cure. Señor Cervantes,
drink moderately, and do not forget to eat, for thus you will be cured
without the aid of other medicine.' 'Many others have told me the same
thing,' replied; 'but I can no more leave off drinking till I am
satisfied, than if I were born for this end only. My life is drawing to
its close; and, if I may judge by the quickness of my pulse, it will
cease to beat by next Sunday, and I shall cease to live. You have begun
your acquaintance with me in an evil hour, since I have not time left to
show my gratitude for the kindness you have displayed.' At this moment
we arrived at the bridge of Toledo, by which I entered the town, while
he followed the road of the bridge of Segovia. What after that happened
to me fame will recount: my friends will publish it, and I shall be
desirous to hear. I embraced him again; he made me offers of service,
and, spurring his ass, left me as ill, as he was well disposed to pursue
his journey. Nevertheless, he gave me an excellent subject for
pleasantry; but all times are not alike. Perhaps the hour may come when
I can join again this broken thread; and shall be able to say what here
I leave out, and which I ought to say. Now, farewell pleasure! farewell
joy! farewell, my many friends! I am about to die; and I leave you,
desirous of meeting you soon again, happy, in another life."
Such is Cervantes's adieu to the world; self-possessed, and animated by
that resigned and cheerful spirit which accompanied him through life. He
wrote another farewell to his protector, the count of Lemos, in his
dedication of this same work: it is dated 19th April, 1616. "I should be
glad," he says, "not to apply to myself, as I must, the old verses which
men formerly celebrated, that begin 'the foot already in the stirrup;'
for with little alteration, I can say, that with my foot in the stirrup,
and feeling the agonies of death, I write you, great lord, this letter.
Yesterday extreme unction was administered me; to-day, I take up my pen;
my time is short; my pains increase; my hopes fail; yet I wish to live
to see you again in Spain; and perhaps the joy I should then feel would
restore me to life. However, if I must less it, the will of heaven be
done; but let your excellency at least be aware of my wish, and learn
that you had in me an affectionate servant, who desired to show his
service even beyond death." Four days after writing this dedication,
Cervantes died, on the 23d of April, 1616, aged sixty-nine. In his will,
he named his wife, and his neighbour, the licentiate Francisco Nuñez,
his executors. He ordered that he should be buried in a convent of nuns
of Trinity, founded four years before, in the Calle del Humilladero,
where his daughter donna Isabel had a short time before taken the vows.
No doubt this last wish of Cervantes was complied with; but in 1633, the
nuns left the Calle del Humilladero, and went to inhabit another convent
in the Calle de Cantaranas, and the place of his interment is thus
forgotten; no stone, no tomb, no inscription marks the spot. We have to
regret also the loss of his two portraits, painted by his friends
Jauregui and Pacheco: the one we have is a copy made in the reign of
Philip IV., and attributed to various painters; it resembles the
description before quoted, which Cervantes gives of himself.
In calling to mind all the events of this great man's life, we are
struck by the equanimity of temper preserved throughout. As a soldier,
he showed courage; as a captive, fortitude and daring; as a man
struggling with adversity, honesty, perseverance, and contentment. He
speaks of himself as poor, but he never repines. In all the knowledge of
the world displayed in "Don Quixote," there is no querulousness, no
causticity, no bitterness: a noble enthusiasm animated him to his end.
Despite his ridicule of books of chivalry, romantic in his own tastes,
his last work, Persiles and Sigismunda, is more romantic than all. His
genius, his imagination, his wit, his natural good spirits and
affectionate heart, did, we must hope, stand in lieu of more worldly
blessings, and rendered him as internally happy as they have rendered
him admirable and praiseworthy to all men to the end of time.[70]
His life has been drawn to such a length, that there is no space for a
very detailed account of his works; still something more must be said.
His first publication, "Galatea," is beautiful in its spirit,
interesting and pleasing in its details, but not original: as a work it
is cast in the same mould as other pastorals that went before. Nor was
Cervantes a poet. Many men have imagination, and can write verses,
without being poets. Coleridge gives an admirable definition: "Good
prose consists in good words in good places; poetry, in the best words
in the best places," Cervantes had imagination and invention: the
Spanish language offered great facility, and he wrote it always with
purity; so that here and there we find lines and stanzas that are
poetry, but, on the whole, there is a want of that concentration, severe
taste, and perfect ear for harmony that form poetry.
Yet when we recur to the "Numantia," we find this sentence unjust, for
there is poetry of conception and passion in the "Numantia" of the
highest order; nor is it wanting in that of language. It has been
mentioned that of the twenty or thirty plays which Cervantes says he
wrote, soon after his marriage, "Numantia" and "El Trato de Argel" (Life
in Algiers) alone remain. They are written on the simplest plan, though
not on the Greek; they are without choruses, without entanglement of
plot, sustained only by impassioned dialogue and situations of
high-wrought interest. The "Numantia" is founded on the siege of that
city, under Scipio Africanus, when the unfortunate inhabitants destroyed
themselves, their wives and children, and their property, rather than
fall, and let them fall into the conquerors' hands. It is divided into
four acts: the first two are the least impressive, though containing
scenes of extreme pathos, and well calculated to raise by degrees the
interest of the reader to the horrors that ensue. Scipio, desirous of
sparing the lives of his men, resolves to assault the city no more, but,
digging a trench round it on all sides, except where the river flows,
means to reduce it by famine. The Numantines determine to endure all to
the last. They consult the gods, and dark auguries repel every hope: the
dreadful pains of hunger creep about the city; and when two betrothed
meet, and the lover asks the maiden but to stay awhile that he may gaze
on her, he exclaims--
"What now? what stand'st thou mutely thinking,
Thou of my thought the only treasure?
_Lira._ I'm thinking how thy dream of pleasure
And mine so fast away are sinking;
It will not fall beneath the hand
Of him who wastes our native land.
For long, or e'er the war be o'er,
My hapless life shall be no more.
_Morandro._ Joy of my soul, what has thou said?
_Lira._ That I am worn with hunger so,
That quickly will th' o'erpowering woe
For ever break my vital thread.
What bridal rapture dost thou dream,
From one at such a sad extreme?
For, trust me, ere an hour be past,
I fear I shall have breathed my last.
My brother fainted yesterday,
By wasting hunger overborne;
And then my mother, all out-worn
By hunger, slowly sunk away.
And if my health can struggle yet
With hunger's cruel power, in truth
It is because my stronger youth
Its wasting force hath better mat.
But now so many a day hath pass'd,
Since aught I've had its powers to strengthen;
It can no more the conflict lengthen,
But it must faint and fail at last.
_Morandro._ Lira, dry thy weeping eyes;
But ah! let mine, my love, the more
Their overflowing rivers pour,
Wailing thy wretched agonies.
But though thou still art held in strife
With hunger thus incessantly;
Of hunger still thou shalt not die.
So long as I retain my life.
I offer here from you high wall,
To leap o'er ditch and battlement;
Thy death one instant to prevent,
I fear not on mine own to fall.
The bread the Roman eateth now,
I'll snatch away and bear to thee;
For, oh! 'tis worse than death to see,
Lady, thy dreadful state of woe."[71]
After this the scenes of horror accumulate;--children crying to their
mothers for bread; brothers lamenting over each other's suffering; and
some repining at, and others nobly anticipating the hour when death and
flames are to envelope all. Such scenes, denuded of their poetry, are
mere horrors; but clothed, as Cervantes has clothed them, in the
language of the affections, and of the loftier passions of the soul, the
reader, even while trembling with the excitement, reads on and exults at
last, when not a Numantine survives to grace Scipio's triumph. Nothing
can be more truly national than the drama; and, as if fearful that a
Spanish audience would feel too deeply the catastrophe, he introduces
Spain, the river Duero, War, Sickness, and Famine, as allegorical
personages, who, while they mourn over the present, prophesy the future
triumphs of their country. Another merit of this play is one not usual
in Spanish authors: it is of no more than the necessary length to
develope its interest; there is no long spinning out, and except quite
at the outset, before the poet had warmed to his subject, it has not a
cold or superfluous line. It is indeed a monument worthy of Cervantes's
genius, and proves the height to which he could soar, and brings him yet
in closer resemblance to Shakspeare; showing that he could depict the
grand and terrible, the pathetic and the deeply tragic, with the same
master hand. It is said that this tragedy was acted during the frightful
siege of Saragossa by the French in the last war; and the Spaniards
found in the example of their forefathers, and in the spirit and genius
of their greatest man, fresh inducements to resist: this is a triumph
for Cervantes, worthy of him, and shows how truly and how well he could
speak to the hearts of his countrymen.
In the comedy "Life in Algiers" there cannot be said to be any plot at
all. Cervantes brought back from his captivity an intense horror of
Christian suffering in Africa; and he had it much at heart to awaken in
the minds of his countrymen, not only sympathy, but a spirit of charity,
that would lead them to assist in the redemption of captives. He thus
brings forward various pictures of suffering, such as would best move
the hearts of the audience, and such as he himself had witnessed.
Aurelio and Silvia, affianced lovers, are captives, and are respectively
loved by Yusuf and Zara, the Moors who own them. In the old Spanish
style, feelings are personified and brought on the stage. Fatima, Zara's
confidant, seeks by incantations to bend Aurelio to her mistress's will.
She is told by a Fury, that such power cannot be exercised over a
Christian, but Necessity and Occasion are sent to move him by the
suggestions they instil by whispers, and which he echoes as his own
thoughts. He almost falls into the snare they present by filling his
mind with prospects of ease and pleasure, in exchange for the hardships
he undergoes; but he resists the temptation, and is finally set free
with Silvia. Besides, these, we have the picture of two captives, who
escape and cross the desert to Oran, as Cervantes had once schemed to do
himself. One of them appears worn and famished--willing to return to
captivity so to avoid death: he prays to the Virgin, and a lion is sent,
who guards and guides him on his darksome solitary way. To rouse still
more the compassion of the audience, there is one scene where the public
crier comes on to sell a mother and father, and two children: the elder
one has a sense of his situation and of the trials he is to expect with
firmness; the younger knows nothing beyond his fear at being tern from
his mother's side. A merchant buys the younger, and bids him come with
him.
"_Juan._ I cannot leave my mother, sir, to go
With others.
_Mother._ Go, my child--ah! mine no more,
But his who buys thee.
_Juan._ Mother dear, dost thou
Desert me?
_Mother._ Heaven! How pitiless thou art!
_Merchant._ Come, child, come!
_Juan._ Brother, let's go together.
_Francisco._ It is not in my choice--may heaven go with
thee!
_Mother._ Remember, oh, my treasure and my joy,
Thy God!
_Juan._ Where do they take me without you,
My father!--my dear mother!
_Mother._ Sir, permit
For one brief moment that I speak to my
Poor child--short will the satisfaction be,
Long, endless sorrow following close behind.
_Merchant._ Say what thou wilt; 'tis the last time thou canst.
_Mother._ Alas! it is the first that e'er I felt
Such woe.
_Juan._ Mother, keep me with thee;
Suffer me not to go, I know not where.
_Mother._ Fortune has, since I bore thee, my sweet child,
Hidden her face--the heavens are dark--the sea
And the wild winds combine for my dismay;
The very elements our enemies!
Thou knowest not thy misery, although
Thou art its victim--and such ignorance
Is happiness for thee! My only love,
Since to see thee no more I am allow'd,
I pray thee never to forget to seek
The favour of the Virgin in thy prayers--
The queen of goodness she--of grace and hope
She can unloose thy chain, and set thee free.
_Aydar._ Hark to the Christian what advice she gives!
Thoud'st have him lost as thee, false infidel!
_Juan._ My mother, let me stay--let not these Moors
Take me away.
_Mother._ My treasures go with thee.
_Juan._ In faith, I fear these men!
_Mother._ But I more fear
Thou wilt forget thy God, me and thyself,
When thou art gone: thy tender years are such,
That thou wilt lose thy faith amidst this race
Of infidels--teachers of lies.
_Crier._ Silence!
And fear, old wicked woman, that thy head
Pay for thy tongue!"
At the end of the play, Juan is seduced by fine clothes and sweetmeats
to become a Mahometan. When we think of the Spanish horror of renegades,
and its fierce punishment, we may imagine the effect that such scenes,
brought vividly before them, must have had. The play ends with the
arrival of a vessel, with a friar on board, charged with money to redeem
the captives, and the universal joy the Christians feel; Cervantes had
felt such himself, and well could paint it. The whole play, though
without plot, and rendered wild and strange by the introduction of
allegorical personages, yet is full of the interest of pathetic
situations and natural feelings, simply, but vividly represented; such
doubtless, roused every sentiment of horror and compassion, and even
vengeance in a Spanish audience. In some respects we feel otherwise; and
when one of the captives relates the cruel death of a priest burnt by
slow fire, by the Moors, in retaliation of a Moor burnt by the
inquisition, our indignation is rather levelled against that nefarious
institution, which, unprovoked, punished those who adhered to the faith
of their fathers, and filled the whole world with abhorrence for its
name. Such, Cervantes could not feel; and in reading his works, and
those of all his countrymen, nothing jars with our feelings so much as
the praise ever given to the most savage cruelties of the Dominicans,
and the merciless reprobation expressed towards those who dared revenge
their wrongs.
From the publication of these works to "Don Quixote," what a gap! He
would seem to have lived as an unlighted candle--suddenly, a spark
touches the wick, and it burst into a flame. "Don Quixote" is perfect in
all its parts. The first conception is admirable. The idea of the crazed
old gentleman who nourished himself in the perusal of romances till he
wanted to be the hero of one, is true to the very bare truth of nature,
and how has he followed it out? Don Quixote is as courageous, noble,
princely, and virtuous as the greatest of the men whom he imitates: had
he attempted the career of knight errantry, and afterwards shrunk from
the consequent hardships, he had been a crazy man, and no more; but
meeting all and bearing all with courage and equanimity, he really
becomes the hero he desired to be. Any one suffering from calamities
would gladly have recourse to him for help, assured of his resolution
and disinterestedness, and thus Cervantes shows the excellence and
perfection of his genius. The second part is conceived in a different
spirit from the first; and to relish it as it deserves, we must enter
into the circumstances connected with it. Cervantes was desirous of not
repeating himself. There is less extravagance, less of actual insanity
on the part of the hero. He no longer mistakes an inn for a castle, nor
a flock of sheep for an army. He sees things as they are, although he is
equally expert in giving them a colouring suited to his madness. This,
however, renders the second part less entertaining to the general
reader, less original, less brilliant; but it is more philosophic, more
full of the author himself: it shows the deep sagacity of Cervantes, and
his perfect knowledge of the human heart. Its drawback, for the second
part is not as perfect as the first, consists in the unworthy tricks of
the duchess--very different from the benevolent disguise of the princess
Micomicona, the deceptions of this great lady are at once vulgar and
cruel.
The greatest men have looked on "Don Quixote" as the best book that ever
was written. Godwin said, "At twenty, I thought 'Don Quixote'
laughable--at forty, I thought it clever--now, near sixty, I look upon
it as the most admirable book in the whole world." In Coleridge's
"Literary Remains," there are some admirable remarks on "Don Quixote;"
they are too long to be inserted here, but I cannot refrain from quoting
the contrast he draws between the Don and Sancho Panza. He says, "Don
Quixote grows at length to be a man out of his wits; his understanding
is deranged; and hence, without the least deviation from the truth of
nature, without losing the least trait of personal individuality, he
becomes a substantial living allegory, or personification of the reason
and moral sense divested of the judgment and understanding. Sancho is
the converse. He is the common sense without reason or imagination; and
Cervantes not only shows the excellence and power of reason in Don
Quixote, but in both him and Sancho the mischiefs resulting from a
severance of the two main constituents of sound intellectual and moral
action. Put him and his master together, and they form a perfect
intellect; but they are separated and without cement: and hence, each
having need of the other for its whole completeness, each has at times a
mastery over the other; for the common sense, though it may see the
practical inapplicability of the dictates of the imagination of abstract
reason, yet cannot help submitting to them. These two characters possess
the world--alternately and interchangeably the cheater and the cheated.
To impersonate them, and to combine the permanent with the individual,
is one of the highest creations of genius, and has been achieved by
Cervantes and Shakspeare almost alone."
Of the "Novellas," or tales of Cervantes, I had intended to give a
detail, but have no space; they are among the best of his works. They
cannot compete with the best of Boccaccio: they have not his energy of
passion--his soul-melting tenderness--his tragic power and matchless
grace; but the tales of Cervantes are full of interest and amusement:
they possess the merit also of being perfectly moral; he calls them
himself Novellas Exemplares, and there is not a word that need be
slurred over or omitted. It is strange also that as afterwards the
intrigue of his comedies was so bad, that of some of his stories is
so good, that Beaumont and Fletcher--than whom no dramatists better
understood the art of fabricating plays--have adopted two, ("La Señora
Cornelia" and "Las Dos Doncellas"), and so adopted them as to follow
them line for line, and scene by scene. There is a very beautiful
interview in "Las Dos Doncellas," between a cavalier and a lady at
night, by the sea-shore; Beaumont and Fletcher have but translated and
versified this, and it stands among the most effective of their
scenes.[72]
The "Voyage to Parnassus" has the inherent Spanish defect of length,
otherwise it has great merit: the ridicule is playful--the machinery
poetic--the story well adapted for burlesque. There had been a poem,
written on the subject of a voyage to Parnassus, by Cezare Caporali--an
Italian of Perugia. Cervantes begins his poem by mentioning the return
of the Italian, and how he, who ever desired to deserve the name of
poet, resolved to follow his example. In playful derision of his
poverty, he describes his departure: a piece of bread and a cheese in
his wallet, were all his provision--"light to carry, and useful for the
voyage and then he bids adieu to his lowly roof--"Adieu to Madrid--adieu
to its fountains, which distil ambrosia and nectar--to its prado--to its
society--to the abodes of pleasure and deceit." He arrives at
Carthagena, and sees Mercury, who invites him to embark on board a boat,
and to come to assist in the defence of Parnassus, which had been
attacked by a host of poetasters. The skiff is fancifully described:--
And lo! of verses framed, the bark,[73]
From the maintop to water mark,
Without a word of prose betwixt;
The upper decks were glosses mix'd--
A hodge-podge badly put together,
Ill-married all with one another:--
And of romances form'd, the crew,
A daring people glad to do
The wildest acts, however fierce.
The poop was made of other verse:
'Twas form'd of sonnets, each one rare,
Written all with the nicest care.
Two tercets, bold as muse could write,
The gunnels framed from left to right,
And gave free scope unto the oar.
The gangway's length was measured o'er
By elegies most sad and long,
More apt for tears than gladsome song.
The mast that rose unto the sky
An ode embodied, long and dry,
Tarr'd o'er with songs of dreary length,
So to ensure its weight and strength.
And all the yards that ran across
Were burthens harsh--you're at no loss
Their hard material to find:
The parrel creaking to the wind,
Of redondillas gay and free;
So that more easy it might be.
The ropes and tackle--rigging all--
Of seguidillas light and small,
Each twined with fancies gay and fickle,
The which the soul are apt to tickle;
The thwarts, of stanzas staunch and strong,
Planks to support a world of song;
While the pennants, flying lightly,
Love songs framed so gay and sprightly.
Sestinas grave, and blank verse ready,
Shaped the keel both sharp and steady;
That like a duck the bark might swim,
And o'er the waters lightly skim.
Embarked on board this fanciful galley. Mercury shows him a long
catalogue of poets, asking his advice as to their admission. Cervantes
takes this occasion to characterise several of his contemporary poets,
in a manner that in his day might have been keenly satirical or warmly
laudatory: there is no doubt that there is a good deal of irony in his
praise, but a portion also is sincere. The whole is obscure and
uninteresting to us. In the midst of the examination, a crowd of poets
rush into the skiff, in numbers that threaten its safety; and the syrens
are obliged to raise a storm to scatter them. After this, he beholds a
cloud obscure the day, and from this cloud falls down a shower of poets,
and, among them, Lope de Vega, "a renowned poet, whom none excels, or
even equals, in prose or verse." The voyage now proceeds prosperously;
the vessel glides along impelled by oars formed of verses druccioli,
(such as have a dactyl at the end of each line), and the sails, which
are stretched to the height of the mast, were
Woven of many a gentle thought,
Upon a woof that love had wrought,
Fill'd by the soft and amorous wind
Which breathed upon us from behind--
Eager to waft us swift along;
While the fair queens of ocean-song--
The syrens three, around us float,
And so impel the dancing boat;
And crested waves are spread around,
Snowy flocks on a verdant ground;
And the crew are at work reciting,
Or sweet love-laden sonnets writing,
Or singing soft the sweetest lays
All in their gentle ladies' praise.
They, at last, arrive at Parnassus; and then follows a description of
the gardens of the Hesperides: arrived before Apollo, he invites them to
sit down; on this, all the seats around are speedily occupied, and
Cervantes remains standing. He then gives an account to Apollo of his
writings, in which he praises himself modestly enough, and, after
alluding to his poverty, sums up all, by saying, "that he is contented
with little, though he desires much, and that his chief annoyance is to
find himself standing there, when all others sit." Apollo answers him
complimentarily, and bids him double up his cloak, and sit on that; but
poor Cervantes has no cloak. "Well," replies Apollo, "even thus I am
glad to see you; virtue is a mantle with which penury can hide and cover
its nakedness, and thus avoid envy." "I bowed my head to this advice,
and remained standing; for it is wealth or favour alone that can
fabricate a seat." Poetry herself now appears, and her description is
the most poetic passage Cervantes ever wrote. The arts and sciences
hovered round her, and, in serving her, were themselves served; since
thus all nations held them in higher veneration. All things he
represents as bringing tribute to Poetry:--the rivers, their currents;
the ocean, its changeful tides, and secret depths; herbs present their
virtues to her; trees, their fruits and flowers; and stones the power
they hold within; holy love presents her with its chaste delights; soft
peace her happy rest; fierce war, her achievements. The wise and
beautiful lady knew all, disposed of all, and filled all things with
admiration and pleasure. There is real poetry in this description,
melody in the verse, and truth and beauty in the imagery. But we get
weary; for page succeeds to page, and the poem never ends. A second
storm ensues. Neptune endeavours to submerge and destroy the poetasters;
but Venus prevents them from sinking, by turning them into empty gourds
and leathern bottles, which swim about in a thousand different manners.
A battle, at last, ensues between the real and would-be poets; while
Cervantes, full of annoyance, hurries away, seeking out his old and
dusky dwelling, and throws himself wearied upon his bed.
There is a whimsical postscript to the "Voyage to Parnassus," written in
prose, and very amusing. It recounts the visit of a would-be poet, who
brings Cervantes a letter from Apollo. The god reproaches him for having
gone away from Parnassus without having taken leave of him and his
daughters, and says the only excuse he can admit is his hurry to visit
his Mecænas, the great count of Lemos at Naples: another token that
Cervantes was disappointed in not receiving an invitation.
The last of Cervantes's works, the one he was occupied upon up to the
hour cf his death, was "Persiles and Sigismunda,"--a romance, full of
wild adventures, of love and war, of danger, escape, and indeed every
variety of accident of "flood and field." It shows the true bent of the
author's mind, who delighted to revel, like his own Don Quixote, in the
very excesses of the imagination; and showing thus, how in his advanced
age, he had forgotten none of his youthful tastes. He wrote it in
imitation of Heliodorus: it is amusing in parts, and in parts
interesting; but now that the taste for this heterogeneous, though
imaginative, species of writing has passed away it will scarcely find
readers sufficiently persevering, and sufficiently fond of the fabulous
and strange, to dwell upon its enchainment of impossible adventures.
[Footnote 55: Viardôt]
[Footnote 56: This circumstance is mentioned by M. Viardôt only; and
was unknown to every other biographer.]
[Footnote 57: Viardôt.]
[Footnote 58: Viardôt.]
[Footnote 59: Bouterwek says, erroneously, that Los Rios has interwoven
Cervantes's novel of the "Captive" into his biography, as being
authentic, and relating to himself. This is a mistake: Los Rios
conceives, indeed, that the mention made by the captive of "a soldier,
by name Saavedra," alludes to Cervantes himself, who adopted that
surname, as of course he does; but the history he gives of his captivity
is drawn from other sources, such as are used, with some additions, for
the present narrative.]
[Footnote 60: Topographia y Historia general de Argel, repartido en
cinco tratados, do se veran casos estranos, muertas espantoas, y
tormentas exquisitas, que conviene se entiendan en la christianidad: con
mucha doctrina y elegancia curiosa. Por el Maestro Fray Diego de Haedo,
Abad de Funestra. Fol. Valladolid, 1612.]
[Footnote 61: Viardôt.]
[Footnote 62: For the sake of the curious we append a translation of the
registry of Cervantes's liberation, as found by Los Rios in the archives
of the order of mercy, and quoted by him in his "Proofs of the Life."
These documents consist of two registers; one of the receipt of money
for his redemption given by the friars Juan Gil, procurer-general for
the order of the most Holy Trinity and Antonio de la Vella, minister of
the monastery of the said order in the city of Baeza; and the second
testified the payment of the money in Algiers. The first runs thus:--
"In the said city of Madrid, on the 31st of July, of the year 1579, in
the presence of me, the notary, and the underwritten witnesses, the said
fathers, friar Juan Gil and friar Antonio de la Vella, received 300
ducats, at eleven rials each ducat, being 230 ducats, from the hand of
donna Leonora de Cortinas, widow, formerly wife of Rodrigo de Cervantes,
and fifty ducats from donna Andrea de Cervantes, inhabitants of Alcalà,
now in this court (_this expression is always used to signify Madrid_),
to contribute to the ransom of Miguel de Cervantes, an inhabitant of the
said city, son and brother of the above named, who is captive at Algiers
in the power of Ali Mami, captain of the vessels of the fleet of the
king of Algiers, who is thirty-three years of age, has lost his left
hand; and from them they received two obligations and receipts, and
received the said sum before me, the notary, being witnesses, Juan de
Quadros and Juan de la Peña Corredor, and Juan Fernandez, residing in
this court: in faith of which the said witnesses, friars, and I, the
said notary, sign our names."
The second register is as follows:--
"In the city of Algiers, on the 19th of September, 1580, in presence of
me, the said notary, the rev. father friar Juan Gil, the above named
redeemer, ransomed Miguel de Cervantes, a native of Alcalà de Henares,
aged thirty-three, son of Rodrigo de Cervantes and of donna Leonora de
Cortinas, and an inhabitant of Madrid; of a middle size, much beard,
maimed of the left arm and hand, taken captive in the galley el Sol,
bound from Naples to Spain, where he had been a long time in the service
of H. M. He was taken 26th September, 1575, being in the power of Hassan
Pacha, king: his ransom cost 500 crowns of gold in Spanish gold;
because, if not, he was to be sent to Constantinople; and, therefore, on
account of this necessity, and that this Christian should not be lost in
a Moorish country, 220 crowns were raised among the traders and the
remaining 250 collected from the charities of the redemption. Three
hundred ducats were given in aid; and they were assisted by the charity
of Francisco de Caramanchel, of whom is the patron the very illustrious
Señor Domingo de Cardenas Zapata, of the council of H. M., with fifty
doubloons, and by the general charity of the order they were assisted by
fifty more; and the remainder of the sum, the said order engaged to
repay, being money belonging to other captives, who gave pledges in
Spain for their ransom; and, net being at present in Algiers, they are
not ransomed; and the said order are under obligation to return the
money to the parties, the captives not being ransomed; and besides were
given nine doubloons to the officers of the galley of the said king
Hassan Pacha, who asked it as their fees: in faith of which sign their
names, &c."]
[Footnote 63: It is usually said, and Viardôt repeats it, that
Cervantes was driven from his theatrical labours by the success of Lope
de Vega. This is not the fact. Lope sailed with the Invincible Armada,
and it was not until his return that he began his dramatic career. The
fact seems simply to have been that Cervantes, feeling the animation of
genius within him, yet not having discovered its proper expression, was,
to a certain degree, successful as a dramatist, though he could not
originate a style which should give new life to the modern drama: thus
his gains were moderate, and he found himself unable to support those
dependant on him. The place of commissary offered itself to rescue him
from this state of poverty. Afterwards, when Lope began his career,
Cervantes found indeed, that, he filled the public eye, and had hit its
taste; and that his dramas, with their jéjune plots and uninterwoven
incidents, however, adorned by poetry and the majesty of passion, were
thrown aside and forgotten.]
[Footnote 64: This monument excited attention in the capital--Lope de
Vega in his comedy of "La Esclava de su Galan," "The slave of her Lover"
makes a lady living in great retirement in this country, say, "I visited
Seville but twice: once to see the king, whom heaven guard! and a second
time to see the wondrous edifice of the monument; so that I was only to
be tempted out by the grandest objects which heaven or earth contains."]
[Footnote 65: "AL TUMULO DEL REY EN SEVILLA.
'Voto á Dios que me espanta esta grandeza,
y que diera un doblon por describilla,
porque ¿ á quien no suspende y maravilla
esta maquina insigne, esta braveza?
Por Jesu Christo vivo, cada pieza
vale mas que un millon, que es mancilla
que esto no duré un siglo.--O gran Sevilla;
Roma triunfante en animo y riqueza.
Apostare que el anima del muerto,
por gozar esto sitio, hoy ha dexado
el Cielo de que goza eternamente!'
Esto oyo un valenton, y dixo: 'Es cierto
lo que dice voace, seor soldado,
y quien dixere lo contrario miente.'
Y luego en continente
caló el chapeo, requirio la espada,
miro al soslayo, fuese, y no hubo nada."]
[Footnote 66: Los Rios--Pruebas de la Vida.]
[Footnote 67: "When I was at Valladolid, a letter was brought to my
house which cost a rial. It contained a bad, silly discourteous sonnet,
without wit or point, speaking ill of 'Don Quixote,'--so that I grudged
the rial infinitely."--_Postcript to the "Voyage to Parnassus._"]
[Footnote 68: Torres Marquez, master of the pages to the archbishop of
Toledo, was a friend of Cervantes, and took every occasion to proclaim
his genius and worth. It was through him, probably, that the archbishop
bestowed a pension on him.]
[Footnote 69: The Argensolas were men much esteemed in their day, and
are so often mentioned by Cervantes and Lope de Vega, that they must not
be passed over in silence. But as there is nothing very original in
their writings, we shall take the liberty of dismissing them in a note.
The elder, Lupercio, the historiographer for Aragon, secretary to the
empress Maria of Austria, and secretary of state to the count of Lemos
when viceroy of Naples, died in that city in 1613, at the age of
forty-eight. He founded an academy at Naples, and was a studious and
laborious man. He burned a considerable portion of his poems just before
his death, as not worthy to survive him. Bartolomé was an ecclesiastic.
He followed his brother to Naples. On his death he quitted Italy. He
continued the "Annals of Aragon," and wrote a history of the conquest of
the Molucca islands; a work written with judgment and elegance. His
secular poetry is so similar to his brother's that they cannot be
distinguished one from the other. Following the same school, adopting
the same tastes, and neither of them original, it is not surprising that
their productions bore a close resemblance. The best works, however, of
Bartolomé are his sacred Canzoni. He died at Saragossa, in the year
1531, at the age of sixty-five.]
[Footnote 70: Coleridge's summary of the character and life of
Cervantes, though not correct in letter, is admirable in spirit: "A
Castilian of refined manners; a gentleman true to religion, and true to
honour. A scholar and a soldier; he fought under the banners of don John
of Austria, at Lopanto, and lost his arm, and was captured. Endured
slavery, not only with fortitude, but with mirth; and, by the
superiority of nature, mastered and overawed his barbarian owner.
Finally ransomed, he resumed his native destiny--the awful task of
achieving fame; and for that reason died poor, and a prisoner, while
nobles and kings, over their goblets of gold, gave relish to their
pleasures by the charms of his divine genius. He was the inventor of
novels for the Spaniards; and in his "Persiles and Sigismunda" the
English may find the germ of their "Robinson Crusoe."
"The world was a drama to him. His own thoughts, in spite of poverty and
sickness, perpetuated for him the feelings of youth. He painted only
what he knew, and had looked into; but he knew, and had looked into much
indeed; and his imagination was ever at hand to adapt and modify the
world of his experience. Of delicious love he fabled, yet with stainless
virtue."]
[Footnote 71: Quarterly Review, vol. XXV.]
[Footnote 72: There is an excellent translation of ten from among them;
we may also mention that there is an admirable old English translation
of Don Quixote, by Shelton.]
[Footnote 73: "De la quilla á la gavia, ó estraña cosa!
toda de versos era fabricada,
sin que se entremiese alguna prosa.
Las ballesteras eran de ensalada
de glosas, todas hechas á la boda,
de la que se llamó Malmaridada:
era la chusma de romances toda
gente atrevida, empero necesaria
pues á todas acciones se acomoda.
La popa de materia extraordinaria,
bastarda, y de legitimos sonetos,
de labor peregrina en todo y varia.
Eran dos valentisimos tercetos
los espaldares de la izquierda y diestra,
para dar boga larga muy perfetos.
Hecha ser la cruxia se me muestra
de una luenga y tristisima elegia,
que no en cantar, sino en llorar es diestra.
Por esta entiendo yo que se diria
lo que suele, decirse á un desdichado,
quando lo pasa mal, pasó cruxia.
El árbol hasta el cielo levantado
de una dura cancion prolixa estaba
de canto de seis dedos embreado.
El y la entena que por el cruxaba
de duros estrambotes--la madera
de que eran hechos claro se mostraba.
La racamenta, que es siempre parlera,
Toda la componian de redondillas,
Con que ella se mostraba mas ligera,
las xarcias parecian seguidillas,
de disparates mil y mas compuestas
Que suelen en el alma hacer cosquillas.
las rumbadas, fortisimas y honestas
estancias, eran tablas ponderosas,
que llevan un poema y otro á cuestas.
Era cosa de ver las bulliciosas
vanderillas que a ayre tremolaban,
De varias rimas algo licenciosas.
Los grumetes, que aqui y alli cruxaban
de encadenados versos parecian,
puesto que como libres trabajaban,
todas las obras muertas componian
O versos sueltos, ó sextinas graves
que la galera mas gallarda hacian."]
LOPE DE VEGA
1562-1635.
There is a vulgar English proverb of such a one being born with a silver
spoon in his mouth. We are reminded of it when we compare the several
careers of Cervantes and Lope de Vega. If we judged without inquiry, we
should imagine no man more likely to obtain popularity through his
works, than the author of "Don Quixote." His disposition was cheerful
and unrepining; to the last hour of his life he displayed lightness of
heart, even to the censure of a dull envious rival (Figueroa), who
remarks, that such was his weakness, that he wrote prefaces and
dedications even on his death bed,--prefaces, as we have shown, full of
animation and wit. Yet he lived in penury, died obscurely, and went to
his grave unhonoured, except by his friends; while all Madrid flocked to
do honour to the funeral of Lope; and two volumes of eulogiums and
epitaphs form but a select portion of all that was written to
commemorate his death. It is true that posterity has been more just:
great pains have been taken to give forth correct editions of
Cervantes's works, and to ascertain the events of his life; while the
twenty-one volumes of Lope's "Obras Sueltas" are full of errors, and his
plays are only to be obtained in single pamphlets, badly printed, both
to sight and sense.
It is curious to read the epithets of praise heaped on this favourite of
his age, during his life and immediately on his death. His friend and
disciple Montalvan adopts a phraseology very similar to that in use with
the emperor of China, when he is styled "Brother of the sun" and "Uncle
of the stars." He with all the pomp of Spanish hyperbole, names him "the
portent of the world; the glory of the land; the light of his country;
the oracle of language; the centre of fame; the object of envy; the
darling of fortune; the phoenix of ages: prince of poetry; Orpheus of
sciences; Apollo of the muses; Horace of poets; Virgil of epics; Homer
of heroics; Pindar of lyrics; the Sophocles of tragedy; and the Terence
of comedy. Single among the excellent, and excellent among the great:
great in every way and in every manner." Such was the usual style of
speaking of Lope,--his common appellation being the phoenix of Spain.
And now, while editions of "Don Quixote" are multiplied, and each hour
adds to the fame of Cervantes, we inquire concerning Lope, principally
for the sake of discovering the cause of the excessive admiration with
which he was regarded in his own time. The life written by Montalvan,
the biography compiled with such care and elegance by Lord Holland, and
various researches given to light in several numbers of the "Quarterly
Review," (written we believe, by Mr. Southey), are (in addition to the
works of Lope himself) our principal guides in tracing the following
pages.
Lope de Vega Carpio was born at Madrid[74], in the house of Geronimo de
Soto, near the gate of Guadalaxara, on the 26th of November, 1562, on
the day of St. Lope, bishop of Verona, and was baptized on the 6th of
December following, in the parish church of San Miguel de les Octeos.
His parents were in the same situation as these of Cervantes--hidalgos,
but poor. We have an account of Felix de Vega, father of the poet, which
shows him to have been a good and pious man, and a careful father. He
was very attentive to his religious duties, and had rooms in the
Hospital de la Corte, whither his children accompanied him, and they
performed several menial offices, and washed the feet of the
poor--comforting and helping the convalescent with clothes and money.
The good example thus implanted imparted a charitable and pious turn to
Lope's life,--and still more to that of his elder sister, Isabel de
Carpio, who was singularly pious, and died in 1601.[75] Felix de Vega
was also a poet, as his son informs us in the "Laurel de Apolo," in some
verses of respectful and graceful allusion[76]; so that he added the
inheritance of a poetical temperament to his pious instructions.
The boy early displayed great tokens of talent. What we are told of him
does not exceed the accounts given of other young prodigies, and we are
willing to believe the relations handed down of this wonderful child,
who, whatever his other merits were, showed himself to the end of his
life the prince of words, having written more than any other man ever
did, and we may believe, therefore, that he acquired the art of using
them earlier than others. At two years old he was remarkable for the
vivacity of his eyes, and the drollness of his ways, showing even thus
early, tokens of his after career; he was eager even then to learn; and
knew his letters before he could speak, repeating his lessons by signs
before he could utter the words. At five years old he read Spanish and
Latin--and such was his passion for verses, that before he could use a
pen he bribed his elder schoolfellows with a portion of his breakfast,
to write to his dictation, and then exchanged his effusions with others
for prints and hymns. Thus truly he lisped in numbers; as he says of
himself in the epistle before referred to, "I could scarcely speak when
I used a pen to give wings to my verses and is another proof, (if proof
were wanting that the sun shines at noon day) of innate talent. At
twelve he was master of rhetoric and grammar, and of Latin composition,
both in prose and verse. To the latter accomplishment we must put the
limit, that probably he was as learned as his masters; and that was not
much, for the Latin verses he published in later life are excelled by
any clever Etonian of the fourth form. In addition to these classical
attainments, he had learned to dance, and fence, and sing.
He was left early an orphan, and his vivacious disposition led him into
various scrapes and adventures. The most important among these was an
elopement from school when fourteen years of age, impelled by a desire
of seeing the world. He concerted with a friend of his, Fernando Muñoz,
who was filled with a similar desire: they both provided as well as they
could for the necessities of the journey, and went on foot as far as
Segovia, where they bought a mule for 15 ducats; with this they
proceeded to Lavañeza, and Astorga--where meeting, we may guess, with
several of those various discomforts we find detailed in "Lazarillo
de los Tormes," and other _picaresco_ works, as inevitable in Spanish
inns, they became disgusted, and made up their minds to return. When
they had got back as far as Segovia, their purses were emptied of small
money, and they had recourse to a silversmith, the one to sell a chain
and the other to change a doubloon. The silversmith's suspicions were
awakened and he sent for a judge, and the judge, a miracle in Spain, was
a just judge, as Montalvan says, "he must have had a touch of conscience
about him"--for he neither robbed nor threw them into prison; but
questioning them and finding them agree in their story, and that their
fault was that of youth, not of vice, he sent them back to Madrid, with
an alguazil, who restored them, doubloons, chain and all, into the hands
of their relations, "which," says Montalvan, "he did at small cost. Such
then was the honesty of the ministers of justice, who now-a-days would
have thought they had not gained enough had they not made an eight-days'
lawsuit about it."
The youth soon after became an inmate in the house of the grand
inquisitor, don Geronimo Manrique, bishop of Avila; it would appear that
he was there as a _protegé_, and that the bishop thought his talents
deserving protection and encouragement. His own expression is, "Don
Geronimo Manrique educated me." He delighted the prelate with various
eclogues that he wrote, and a comedy called the "Pastoral of
Jacinto,"--from which Montalvan dates the change Lope de Vega operated
in the Spanish theatre. This comedy is not extant, therefore it is
impossible to pass a judgment upon it; but the name of pastoral rather
seems to limit it to an imitation of the plays then in vogue; indeed his
eulogist only mentions this difference, that he had reduced the number
of acts to three. Montalvan goes on to speak as if he, at this time,
brought out successful plays, but this arises rather from the confusion
of his expressions, than mistake: he wrote them, it is true, for he
tells us so himself; but there is no trace of any being played.
Meanwhile, feeling that his knowledge was slight, and his education
unfinished, with the assistance of the bishop, he entered the university
of Alcala, where he remained four years, until he graduated, and was
distinguished among his companions in the examinations.
On leaving the university of Alcala, he entered the service of the duke
of Alva[77], who became attached to him, and made him not only his
secretary but his favourite. A doubt is raised as to which duke this is;
whether it be the oppressor of the Low Countries, or his successor:
chronology seems to determine that it was the former. It has already
been mentioned in this work, that the duke of Alva,--whose name in the
Netherlands, and with us, is stamped with all the infamy that
remorseless cruelty, blind bigotry, and faithlessness bestows--was
regarded in Spain as the hero of the age. Lope introduces the mention of
a statue in the "Arcadia," and says, "This last, whose grey head is
adorned by the ever verdant leaves of the ungrateful Daphne, merited by
so many victories, is the immortal soldier, don Fernando de Toledo, duke
of Alva, so justly worthy of that fame, which you behold lifting herself
to heaven from the plumes of the helmet, with the trump of gold, through
which for ever she will proclaim his exploits, and spread his name from
the Spanish Tagus to the African Mutazend; from the Neapolitan Sabeto to
the French Garonne. He is a Pompilius in religion; a Radamanthus in
severity; Belisarius in guerdon; Anaxagoras in constancy; Periander in
wedlock; Pomponius in veracity; Alexander Severus in justice; Regulus in
fidelity; Cato in modesty; and finally a Timotheus in the felicity which
attended all his wars."
At the request of the duke of Alva he wrote his "Arcadia." It has been
mentioned how the imitations of Sannazaro's pastoral had become the
fashion in Spain. The "Diana" of Montemayor, its continuation by Gil
Polo, and the "Galatea" of Cervantes, were all read with enthusiasm.
What the charm of this composition is, we can scarcely guess; yet we
feel it ourselves when we read the "'Arcadia" of sir Philip Sidney. The
sort of purely sentimental life of the shepherds and shepherdesses, with
their flocks, pipes, and faithful dogs, appears to shut out the baser
portion of existence, and to enable us to live only for the
affections,--a state of being, however impracticable, always alluring;
and when to this is added the delightful climate of Spain, which
invested pastoral life with all the loveliness and amenity of nature, we
are the less surprised at the prevalence of the taste. Lope was very
young when he entered the lists, and wrote his "Arcadia." There is
exaggeration in its style, and in its sentiments; yet no one can open it
without becoming aware of the talent of the author. The poetry with
which it is interspersed possesses the peculiar merit of
Lope--perspicuity, and an easy artless flow in its ideas; as for
instance, the cancion imitated from the ancients, beginning,
"O libertad preciosa
No comparada al oro."
The story is meagre, and inartificial to a singular degree. But we
follow an example set us, of giving some slight detail of it, for the
sake of introducing a coincidence of a singular nature.[78] Anfrisio and
Belisarda are lovers; Anfrisio is of so high descent that he believes
Jupiter to be his grandfather; but Belisarda is designed by her parents
to be the bride of the rich, ignorant, and unworthy Salicio. Anfrisio is
forced to remove to a distant part of the country; but by a fortunate
circumstance, thither also Belisarda is brought by her father, and the
lovers meet and enjoy each other's society till scandal begins to busy
herself with them, and, at the request of his mistress, Anfrisio sets
out for Italy, so to baffle the evil thoughts of the malicious. He loses
his way during his wanderings, and comes to a cavern, wherein resides
Dardanio, a magician, who promises to grant him any wish he may express,
however impossible. Anfrisio, with a moderation astonishing to our more
grasping minds, asks only to see the object on whom he has placed his
affections. He beholds her in conversation with a rival, whom, in pure
pity, she presents with a black ribbon; which sight transports Anfrisio
with jealousy, and he meditates revenging her perfidy by putting her to
death; but Dardanio carries him off in a whirlwind. Soon after he
returns home, and to annoy Belisarda, pretends to be in love with the
shepherdess Anarda; while she in revenge openly favours Olimpio. They
are both very miserable; and still more so when driven to desperation,
Belisarda marries Salicio. Soon after, an explanation ensues between her
and Anfrisio, but it is too late. Anfrisio's sole resource is to forget;
and by means of the sage Polinesia, through a visit to the Liberal Arts,
and an acquaintance with the lady Grammar and the young ladies Logic,
Rhetoric, Arithmetic, and Geometry, and others not less
agreeable--Perspective, Music, Astrology, and Poetry--he arrives at the
temple of Disengaño, or Dis-illusion; where things are seen as they
are, the passions cease to influence, the imagination to deceive, and
the lovelorn shepherd becomes a rational man.
The composition of this story has given rise to a singular conjecture.
When Montemayor wrote "Diana," and Gil Polo continued it, and Cervantes
composed "the robe in which the lovely Galatea appeared to the eyes of
men," it is known that they embodied their own passions and sorrows in
the pastoral personages they brought on the scene; but Lope is not the
hero of his tale. Anfrisio is supposed to represent the duke of Alva
himself--the tyrant, the destroyer--who, it would seem, requested his
young _protegé_ to immortalise his early loves in the manner other
poets had done their own. A good deal of testimony is brought in support
of this hypothesis.[79] In the commendatory verses prefixed to the
"Arcadia" there is a sonnet from Anfrisio to Lope de Vega, which
addresses him by the name of Belardo, under which he personified himself
in the pastoral; and which shows by its context that it was written by a
man of consequence, and a protector of the poet. "Belardo," he says, "it
has proved fortunate for my loves, that you came to my estate and became
one of my shepherds; for now neither time nor oblivion will cover them.
You have dwelt upon my sorrows, yet not to the full; since they are
greater than you have described, though the cause wherefore I suffered
lessened them. Tagus and my renowned Tormes listen to you. They call the
shepherd of Anfrisio, Apollo. If I am Anfrisio, you are my Apollo!" The
painter Francisco Pacheco, in the eulogy that accompanies his portrait
of Lope, speaking of the "Arcadia," says that the poet "had succeeded in
what he designed, which was to record a real history to the pleasure of
the parties."
Montalvan hints at the same thing, when he says that Lope wrote this
work at the command of the duke, and calls it a "mysterious enigma of
elevated subjects, concealed in the disguise of humble shepherds." And
Lope himself says, "The 'Arcadia' is a true story;" and again, in the
prologue to the work itself, he insists several times on the fact that
he describes the sorrows of another, not his own. He assumes the name of
Belardo for himself, but introduces himself only as a Spanish shepherd,
poor and pursued by adversity. At the conclusion he comes forward as
Belardo, addressing his pipe, and taking leave of the tale on which he
was occupied. In this he talks of leaving the banks of the Manzanares
(the river of Madrid), and seeking a new master and a new life. "What is
better," he says, "when one has lost a blessing, than to fly from the
spot where one enjoyed it, so not to see it in the possession of
another? My fortunes are dubious; but what evil can befall him who has
once known happiness? I lost that which was mine, more from not being
worthy of it, than from not knowing its value; but I console myself with
the expectation of fresh disasters."[80]
As the "Arcadia" was written in early life, but not published till 1598,
it is impossible to say to what particular period of his career or to
what misfortunes the above alludes.
It were a subject for a painter to portray the old grey-headed duke--the
persecutor of heroes, the slayer of the innocent, but retaining
throughout a satisfied conscience, and the dignity of virtue--pouring
his love-tale in the young Lope's ear, or listening with delight while
Lope read to him the tale of his early love, clothed in the fantastic
costume of a pastoral and the ideal imagery of poetry.
Lord Holland has given a specimen of the poetry of the "Arcadia" in his
life; but we refer to his pages, and will only conclude by mentioning
that, despite the conceits, the false taste, and exaggeration, there is
much genius, much real poetry, simplicity, and truth—lines full of
sweetness and grace, and a lucidness of expression, which reminds the
reader of Metastasio, who was indeed a lover of Spanish verse, and who
has never been surpassed in the crystal clearness of his expressions,
and the chiseled perfection (so to express ourselves) with which he
represents his ideas.
The "Arcadia," though written thus early, was not published, as has
been mentioned, till 1598; and it is conjectured that the death of its
hero, the duke of Alva, was the cause of the delay. But it may be added,
that Lope wrote a great deal but published nothing before that period,
when, his plays having made him popular, he printed most of his early
works.
He left the service of the duke of Alva, when he married a lady of rank,
donna Isabel de Urbino, daughter of don Diego de Urbino, king-at-arms.
The marriage took place to the satisfaction of the friends of both
parties; and the lady is praised as beautiful and discreet. He did not
however, long enjoy his domestic happiness. "It happened," says
Montalvan, "that there was a sort of half-and-half hidalgo[81] (for
there is a twilight in the origin of nobility as well as in the break of
day) of small fortune, but of great skill in contriving to dress and eat
as well as the rest of the world, without other employment than
frequenting society, when with little trouble to himself he lived
cheaply by flattering those present and back-biting the absent. Lope
heard that on one occasion he had entertained a company at his expense.
He passed over the impertinence, not from fear, but contempt; but seeing
that the man persisted in his attacks, he grew tired; so without
quarrelling with him by sword or word--the first being impious, the
second foolish--he depicted him in a song so pleasantly, that every body
laughed." The would-be wit grew angry--none being more easily offended
than those who take licence to offend--and he challenged Lope. They met;
and the cavalier was dangerously wounded. This was the immediate cause
that obliged Lope to quit Madrid; though Montalvan mentions other
scrapes which he had got into in his youth, and which his enemies took
this occasion to bring against him. He left wife and home with a heavy
heart, and took up his residence in Valencia, where he was treated with
distinction and kindness.
He remained at Valencia for some years, and doubtless wrote a great
deal, though at that time he published nothing. He formed a friendship
there with Vicente Mariner, himself a voluminous poet, whose
compositions remain inedited in the king of Spain's libraries. Among
these are many to the honour and memory of Lope, and in fierce attack of
his enemies--so fierce that they deserve the name of abuse, and show
that the Spanish cavalier could descend, as so many literary men have
before, to calling names, as argument.[82]
After a few years, Lope returned to Madrid; and such was his joy in
revisiting the scenes of his youth, and being reunited to his wife, that
even his health was affected by it. He did not, however, long enjoy this
newfound happiness: his wife died shortly after his return. The death of
this lady was celebrated in an eclogue, written conjointly by Lope and
Medina Medinilla. The strophes, composed by Lope, are full of the
tenderest grief and impatient despair, but there is not a word relative
to their separation; he exclaims at Death for having divided them, and
implores her to take him to where she is--to where they might live for
ever secure together.
[Sidenote: 1588.
Ætat.
26.]
Almost immediately after he became a soldier, and joined the
Invincible Armada.
The causes of this apparent freak are differently represented. Montalvan
attributes it chiefly to his grief on losing his wife. In the eclogue to
Claudio, which Lope writes with the avowed intention of recording the
events of his early life, but in which he mentions no adventures
anterior to this period, he speaks of being banished from Filis, and
that he sought relief from his tender sorrows by changing climate and
element; and Mars coming to his aid, he marched to Lisbon with the
Castilian troops, with a musket on his shoulder, and tore up for
cartridges the verses he had written in his mistress's praise. In
several of his sonnets also he gives the same reason for his military
career.[83]
It is the fashion of the present day to ransack every hidden corner of a
man's life, and to bring to light all the errors and follies which he
himself would have wished to consign to oblivion. A writer offers a
fairer mark than any other for these inquiries, as we can always fancy
at least that we trace something of the man himself in his works, and so
form a tissue of some sort from these patchwork materials; Lope felt
this, and in one of his epistles, laments that by publishing his verses,
he has perpetuated the memory of his follies. "My love-verses," he says,
"were the tender error of my youth; would I could cover them in
oblivion! Those poets do well who write in enigmas, since they are not
injured by the hidden." We do not know that we should have enlarged on
this portion of his life, but for some conjectures given in the article
before quoted in the eighteenth volume of the "Quarterly Review." The
author of that article, in mentioning Lope's second marriage, says,
"Lope speaks of this marriage as a happy one; yet among the sonnets
there are two which may excite a suspicion that his heart was placed on
another object. The inference from the first of these poems is, that he
did not love the woman whom he married; and from the second that he had
formed a miserable attachment to the wife of another man. This last
inference will be much strengthened if there be any reason for supposing
that he shadowed out his own character in the 'Dorotea;' one of the most
singular, and, unless such a supposition be admitted, the most
unaccountable of all his works."
Taking it for granted that these sonnets and the 'Dorotea' refer to
himself, we think there is every proof to show that they allude to his
early life, his first marriage, and all those subsequent disasters, to
fly from which he embarked on board the Armada. Certainly great
obscurity hangs over the period of his first marriage, and the causes of
his long exile at Valencia. His antagonist in the duel was a man of no
consequence, and merely wounded; so, although that duel might have
occasioned him to fly, it would not have forced so protracted an
absence. He does not allude to any of these circumstances in his eclogue
to Claudio. In his epistle to doctor Gregorio de Angulo he seems to
imply that being married, he loved another woman, or that he was not
happy in his first marriage.[84] Montalvan, in speaking of his flight to
Valencia, mentions, in addition to the duel, youthful scrapes, which his
enemies took that opportunity of bringing against him.[85] In a funeral
eulogium, written on Lope by don Joseph Pellicer, there are these
expressions:--"The excellent qualities of Lope excited the animosity of
several powerful enemies, who forced him several times to become a
wanderer. His pen was his faithful companion in his disasters and exile,
and secured him shelter and welcome in distant provinces."[86]
Putting all these circumstances and hints together, it is plain that
Lope suffered a good deal of adversity at this time. His illustrious
patron, the duke of Alva, died soon after his marriage. When the duel
and other circumstances caused him to fly, he had no powerful friend to
assist him, but was driven to absent himself even for years. During so
long a separation from home, and being only about four-and-twenty at
this period, it is not impossible nor strange that he should have formed
an unfortunate attachment.
The sonnets Mr. Southey mentions, and which he translates, are the
following:--
"Seven long and tedious years did Jacob serve,
And short had been the term if it had found
Its end desired. To Leah he was bound,
And must by service of seven more deserve
His Rachael.--Thus will strangers lightly swerve
From their pledged word. Yet Time might well repay
Hope's growing debt, and Patience might be crowned,
And the slow season of expectance passed,
True Love with ample recompense at last,
Requite the sorrows of this hard delay.
Alas for me--to whose unhappy doom,
No such blest end appears! Ill fate is his,
Who hopes for Rachael in the world to come,
And chained to Leah drags his life in this."[87]
"When snows before the genial breath of spring
Dissolve--and our great Mother reassumes
Her robe of green; the meadow breathes perfumes,
Loud sings the thrush, the birds are on the wing,
The fresh grass grows, the young lambs feed at will.
But not to thee, my heart, doth nature bring
The joy that this sweet season should instil:
Thou broodest alway on thy cherished ill.
Absence is no sore grief--it is a glass,
Wherein true love from falsehood may be known;
Well may the pain be borne which hath an end;
But woe to him whose ill-placed hopes attend
Another's life, and who till that shall pass
In hopeless expectation wastes his own."[88]
These sonnets are two among many, all addressed to a lady whom he calls
Lucinda. Generally speaking, they treat only of her cruelty and his
sufferings: there is no date given to certify at what period they were
written; but they were published in 1604, during the life of his second
wife--with whom there is every proof that he lived in harmony, and he
would never have pained her by publishing his desire for her death. This
circumstance renders it conclusive that they referred to the passions of
his youth.
The "Dorotea" is indeed a singular performance, and we have read it with
some care to discover what it contains that gives the idea that he
shadowed forth himself. And we will give some account of the work, which
diffuse and tedious, will hardly attract the reader, but which at least
presents a vivid picture of Spanish manners, and if relating to Lope
himself, must be regarded with increased interest. We must premise that
though this work was one of the last that he published, and that he
mentions it as the favourite his of old age[89], yet that it was written
at Valencia in his youth.[90]
"Dorotea" is not a play; it is a story told in dialogue, a sort of
composition which has lately been named "Dramatic Scenes." It is in
prose, with a few poems interspersed. It is, as usual, very diffuse, and
even incoherent and obscure in parts, and contains the story of the
intrigues of a young man, whom it has been conjectured Lope intended for
himself.
Don Fernando, the hero of the piece, says of himself that his parents
dying, and leaving him in poverty, he went to the Indies to try his
fortune, but not prospering he returned to Madrid, where he was
hospitably received by a rich relation. This lady had in her house a
daughter and a niece; with the niece, named Marfisa, Fernando fell, in
some sort, in love. Unfortunately she was obliged to marry a gentleman
of some rank and merit, but aged. The lovers parted with tears; but the
marriage was of short duration, the husband dying soon after. Meanwhile
Fernando, on the very day of Marfisa's wedding, was introduced to
Dorothea. He was then, he tells us, two-and-twenty, Dorothea fifteen,
and beautiful beyond description. They seemed formed for each other, and
though they now met for the first time, yet they felt as if they had
known one another for years.
Dorothea was already married, but her husband was far away in India. She
was courted by a foreign prince, whom she coquetted with, giving him
large hopes, and slight favours. This powerful rival Fernando at length
gets rid of: but he suffers from another evil, the evil of poverty; and
the thoughts engendered by want of money fill him with melancholy.
Dorothea observes his sadness, and he confesses its cause; she promises
at once to give up all feasts and amusements, and sends to his house her
jewels and plate in two coffers. He disposes of these, and even so draws
on his mistress's resources, that she is obliged to deny herself fitting
dress, and to betake herself to unaccustomed labour for her maintenance.
This lasted for five years; and the piece begins at this period, when an
officious neighbour, Gerarda (who is set on by don Belia, a creole, who
is another and a rich admirer of Dorothea) attacks Theodora, the mother
of Dorothea, on the scandal the neighbours promulgate with regard to her
daughter's life. Theodora is alarmed, and commands Dorothea to see
Fernando no more. She, in despair, hurries (accompanied by her maid) to
his house, to impart the sad intelligence. Fernando takes it very
coolly, and dismisses her in a manner to make her believe that he no
longer loves. But when she is gone, he falls into a transport of
despair; and partly piqued at her daring to think of obeying her mother,
and partly too miserable to stay longer in a town where he may no longer
behold her, he resolves to quit Madrid, and go to Seville. Being in want
of means, he applies to his old friend Marfisa; and trumping up a story
of having killed a man, and being obliged to fly (which, he says, is
true, since he himself was dead, and at the same time obliged to absent
himself), Marfisa gives him "the gold she possessed, and the pearls of
her tears;" and thus enriched, Fernando departs for Seville.
Dorothea remains: she talks of her lover, and her hard fate, with her
maid Celia. Among other things, Celia says, "The scandal that arose was
greatly occasioned by Fernando writing verses in his lady's praise."
Dorothea replies, "What greater riches can a woman possess, than to have
herself immortalised? Her beauty fades, but the verses written in her
honour are eternal witnesses of it. The Diana of Montemayor was a lady
of Valencia; and the river Ezla and herself are immortalised by his pen.
And the same has happened to the Philida of Montalvo, the Galatea of
Cervantes, the Camila of Garcilaso, the Violante of Camoens, the Silvia
of Bernaldes, the Philis of Figueroa, and the Leonora of Corte-real."
But though Dorothea loves Fernando, and is grateful for his verses, she
proves false, and admits to her favour his rich rival, don Belia.
Meanwhile Fernando, unable to endure his absence from her, returns. They
meet by accident, and Dorothea feels all her affection revive. She
exclaims on the cruelty of her mother, and the misery of her fate, and
then intimates her falsehood. "All were against me," she says; "my
mother with ill usage, Gerarda with flattery, you by leaving me, and a
cavalier by persuading me." However, notwithstanding this, they are for
a time in some sort reconciled. But Fernando becomes cold and uneasy;
assured that Dorothea loves him, he grows indifferent; certain of her
falsehood, he is annoyed: he fancies that his honour is injured in the
eyes of the world by his toleration, and he resolves to break with her.
He sees in Marfisa the love of his early years. "We had been brought up
together," he says; "but although it is true that she was the object of
my first attachment in the early season of my youth, her unlucky
marriage, and the beauty of Dorothea, caused me to forget her charms as
much as if I had never seen them. She returned home after the untimely
death of her husband; and she regarded me with eyes of favour, but I
vainly tried to admire her: yet I resolved to cultivate my attachment
for her without giving up Dorothea. She (Dorothea) perceived a change,
but attributed it to my honour being offended by the pretensions of don
Belia; and in this she was right, since for that cause I had resolved to
hate her. She indeed would have been willing to love me alone, but that
was impossible--her fortunes forbade it."
Meanwhile an unlucky encounter with his rival, to whom he is forced to
give way, rouses him to revenge against Dorothea; and fate puts the
occasion in his hands. By mistake he sends her a letter from Marfisa to
himself; a violent quarrel ensues; and they part to meet no more. A
friend of Fernando prophesies to him the sequel of these disasters; he
tells him that he will be persecuted by Dorothea and her mother, and
thrown into prison, but afterwards liberated and banished; before this
he will have become attached to a young lady, whom he will marry to the
discontent of the relations on both sides. She will accompany him in his
banishment with great constancy and love, but will die. He will then
return to Madrid, Dorothea being then a widow, and will wish to marry
him, but his honour has more influence over him than her riches, and he
will refuse her. He will afterwards be very unfortunate in love, but by
help of prayer will extricate himself, and enter another state of life.
Marfisa will again marry a literary man, who will leave the kingdom with
an honourable employment, but she will soon again be a widow, and then
marrying a Spanish soldier, she will be very unhappy, and at last be
assassinated by her husband in a fit of jealousy. Fernando is astonished
at these prophecies, and announces his intention of joining the
Invincible Armada. Dorothea, on her side, is teaching herself no longer
to love him; she breaks his portrait, and burns his letters. But while
she is looking forward to happiness with don Belia, he is killed in a
duel. She rushes out in despair, and Gerarda falls into a well, and is
drowned. "And thus ends Dorothea," says the author, "the rest being only
the misfortunes of Fernando; the poet could not fail in the truth, for
the story is true. Look at the example, for which end it is written."
All this strange medley of a story is told in dialogue, much of which is
spirited and natural, but much, very much, pedantic, and beyond
expression tedious. By some means, despite her misconduct, we are
interested in Dorothea; she is so frank, so beautiful, so generous;
while Fernando is, on the contrary, an object of contempt. He takes the
money of Dorothea, and then angry at the first mention she makes of her
mother's interference, he flies from her rather in revenge than in
grief: throughout he is selfish and ungenerous.
Whether Lope shadowed forth himself is very doubtful. There is a sort of
dwelling upon trifles, and a reality in the situations, that makes the
whole look as if it were founded on fact; yet the facts do not accord
with the circumstances known of his life. If it be himself that he
portrays, it is himself at two or three and twenty, in the first
inexperienced dawn of life, in all the heyday of the passions, when love
was life, and moral considerations and the softer affections still
lingered far behind in the background. To this period he often alludes
in his epistles, when he mentions the troubled sea of love in which he
was lost before his second marriage; from which period he dates his
peace and felicity. And all this together proves to us that his
allusions to an unfortunate attachment have no reference to that happier
time. We deduce also from this various evidence that his taking up the
life of a soldier, and joining the Armada, arose from his desire to fly
from the adversity he had fallen into, "to change clime and element," to
begin a new career, in the hope of becoming a new man. Montalvan
strengthens this view, when he says that this enterprise was undertaken
in a fit of desperation, when he was desirous of finishing life and its
sorrows at the same time; and thus driven by adversity, he enlisted
under the banners of the duke of Medina Sidonia. Leaving Madrid, he
traversed Spain to Cadiz, and thence repaired to Lisbon, where he
embarked with a brother, who was an alferez de marina, a title probably
answering to our midshipman, unless it be that he was ensign in a marine
corps. Lope was a simple volunteer.[91]
It is well known with what sanguine expectations of glorious victory the
Invincible Armada sailed. The privateering or piratical expeditions of
Drake and Hawkins though in accordance with the manners of the times,
and, indeed, disgracefully imitated in late years, had excited feelings
full of burning animosity and fierce vengeance in the hearts of the
Spaniards. Added to these natural feelings, was the odium of English
heresy, which, deep rooted and rankling in Philip II.'s heart, was
participated in by his subjects; they considered the expedition of the
Armada as holy, as well as patriotic. Lope felt the full force of these
sentiments; he bade the invincible fleet go forth and burn the world;
wind would not be wanting to the sails, nor fire to the artillery, for
his breast, he said, would supply the one, and his sorrow the other.
Such was his ardour and such his sighs.
Twelve of the largest vessels, according to the favourite Spanish
custom, were named after the twelve apostles. Lope's brother had a
commission in the galleon San Juan, and he embarked on board the same
vessel. In accordance with the crusading spirit of the expedition, all
persons sailing in it were called upon to be duly shriven, and receive
the sacrament with humility and repentance; and the general order went
on to forbid all blasphemy against God, our Lady, and the saints; all
gambling, all quarrels, all duels. Lope felt the enthusiasm of such an
hour, and of such a character: a soldier of God going to relieve many
contrite spirits oppressed by heretics,--a patriot about to avenge the
disasters brought on his country by her enemies.
Lope gives an animated description of the setting forth of the
Armada,--its drums and clarions, its gay pendants, the ploughing up of
the waves by the keels, and the gathering together of the busy
crews.[92] Of himself, he says that Aristotle slept, with matter, forms,
causes, and accidents; but he was not idle; and in another work, he
mentions that in this expedition, in which, for a few years, he followed
the career of arms, "my inclination prompted me to use my pen, and the
general finished his enterprise when I did mine; for there, on the
waters upon the deck of the San Juan, beneath the banners of the
Catholic king, I wrote, 'The Beauty of Angelica.'" Thus, amidst storms
and disasters, when his brother died in his arms, struck by a ball in a
skirmish with the Dutch at the very commencement of the expedition;
while the ships around them were a prey to winds, and waves, and the
enemy; and the fury of the violent tempests spread destruction around,
Lope wrapped himself in his imagination, and beguiled his sorrows and
anxieties by the pleasures of composition. "The Beauty of Angelica" is a
continuation of Ariosto's poem. The Italian leaves the heroine on her
road to Cathay, and Lope brings them to Spain. His tale is unconnected.
Carried away by Spanish diffuseness, he frames neither plot nor story,
but rambles on as his fancy leads. It opens with the marriage of Lido, a
king of Andalusia with Clorinarda, a daughter of the king of Fez, who,
meanwhile, loves Cardiloro, a son of Mandricardo and Doralice; a pair
familiar to all the readers of Ariosto. The unhappy bride dies of grief,
and her husband follows her to the tomb, leaving his kingdom to the most
beautiful, be that either man or woman. The judges sit in judgment, and
give their stupid opinions, on which Lope exclaims--
"O dotards! through your spectacles who pry,
And ask the measure of a lovely face;
Measure the influence of a woman's eye,
And ye may then I ween compute the space;
That intervenes between the earth and sky."[93]
Many candidates arrive,--the old and ugly and decrepit, leaving their
homes, and braving every danger,--to claim the reward of beauty. Among
them, but surpassing all in charms, Angelica and Medoro appear. Angelica
is described with the greatest minuteness,--brow, eyes, nose, ears, and
teeth are all depicted. But more beautiful than this sort of Mosaic
portraiture are the verses that portray her companion.
"Scarce twenty years had seen the lovely boy,
As ringlet locks and yellow down proclaim;
Fair was his height, and grave to gazers seemed
Those eyes, which where they turned with love and softness beamed."
The judges decide in favour of Angelica, and she and her husband are
crowned. But their beauty gives rise to many a passion in the bosoms of
others; and various are the incidents, brought about by enchantments and
other means, which for a time disunite the beautiful pair, who, at last,
discover their mistakes, and the poem ends with their happiness. This
work possesses little merit, except here and there in short passages;
but it is a singular specimen of Lope's power of composition, amidst
circumstances so foreign to the subject in hand.
[Sidenote: 1590.
Ætat.
28.]
On his return from the Armada, he quitted the career of arms, and
entered the service, first, of the marquis de Malpica, and soon after of
the count of Lemos, leaving him only on occasion of his second marriage
to donna Juana de Guardio, a lady of Madrid, of whom he thus speaks:--
"Who could have thought that I should find a wife,
When from that war I reached my native shore,
Sweet for the love which ruled her life,
Dear for the sorrows which she bore?
Such love which could endure through cold and hot,
Could only have been mine or Jacob's lot."[94]
The sorrows to which Lope alludes, we conjecture to have arisen from
straitened means. He brought out a vast quantity of plays at this time,
and received no scanty remuneration; still he was not risen to the
zenith of his fame, when on every side he received donations and
pensions. He was extravagant we know, and prodigality might easily
produce a gap between his expenses and his chance receipts as an author.
This view is strengthened by his dedication of his play "El Verdadero
Amante," The True Lover, to his little son Carlos. This was not
published till 1620, but must have been written long previous, as Carlos
died before (how long, we know not) 1609, and is dedicated to him _while
he was learning the rudiments of the Latin language._ He bids him follow
his studies without impeding them with poetry, because he who had
addicted himself to it was ill rewarded. He continues--"I possess only,
as you know, a poor house, with table and establishment in proportion,
and a small garden, whose flowers divert my cares and inspire me with
ideas. I have written 900 plays, and twelve volumes on various subjects
in prose and verse, so that the printed will never equal in quantity the
unprinted; and I have acquired enemies, critics, quarrels, envy,
reprehension, and cares; having lost precious time, and arrived nearly
at old age without leaving you any thing but this useless advice."
Notwithstanding this repining. Lord Holland is probably right in
supposing that the years of Lope's second marriage were the happiest of
his life, though, perhaps, he felt at the commencement some pecuniary
embarrassments. Through life he was extravagant, and on first setting
out as an author might easily be in debt; yet, as he rose in fame his
fortunes mended, and affection and content enshrined the family circle.
The period of his domestic happiness did not last long. At six years
old, his little son died; his wife soon followed her child to the tomb,
and Lope was left with two daughters.[95] From his own pen we give an
account of his wedded happiness, and his grief when his home again
became desolate. In the Eclogue to Claudio, he says:--
"I saw a group my board surround,
And sure to me, though poorly spread,
'T was rich with such fair objects crowned--
Dear bitter presents of my bed!
I saw them pay their tribute to the tomb,
And scenes so cheerful change to mourning and to gloom."
In addition to this affecting picture, he makes frequent mention of
these circumstances in his epistles, and we subjoin extracts, which we
are sure must interest the reader.
One of these epistles is addressed to doctor Mathias de Porras, who had
been appointed corregidor of the province of Canta in Peru. These
epistles are in verse; but as their length is great, the abstract made
from them might as well be in prose:--
Since you left me, Señor Doctor, and without dying went to the other
world, I have passed my life in melancholy solitude; the evils of my lot
increasing in proportion to the blessings of which you saw me deprived.
Did not my new office (of priest) give me breath, the prop of my years
would fall to the ground. O vain hopes! How strange are the roads that
life passes through, as each day we acquire new delusions!" He then goes
on to speak of his early loves and sorrows, and of the power of beauty,
and continues, "But the vicissitudes of a life of passion were then
over, and my heart was liberated from its importuning annoyances, when
each morning I saw the dear and sincere face of my sweet wife at my
side, and when Carlos--his cheeks all lilies and roses--won my soul by
his charming prattle. The boy gambolled about me as a young lamb in a
meadow at the morning hour. The half-formed words of his little tongue
were sentences for us, interpreted by our kisses. I gave thanks to
Eternal Wisdom, and content with such mornings after such dark nights, I
sometimes wept my vain hopes, and believed myself secure--not of
life--but of reserving this felicity. I then went to write a few lines,
having consulted my books. They called me to eat, but I often bade them
leave me, such was the attraction of study. Then bright as flowers and
pearls, Carlos entered to call me, and gave light to my eyes and
embraces to my heart. Sometimes he took me by the hand, and drew me to
the table beside his mother. There, doctor, without pomp, an honest and
liberal mediocrity gave us sufficing sustenance. But fierce Death
deprived me of this ease, this cure, this hope. I lived no longer to
behold that dear society which I imagined mine for ever. Then I disposed
my mind for the priesthood, that asylum might shelter and guard me.
The Muses were idle for a time, and I refrained from all things worldly,
and humbly attained the sacred stole."
Another epistle is written under the feigned name of Belardo, the
appellation he had assumed in his "Arcadia," to Amaryllis.[96] In this
he gives a sketch of portions of his life. He speaks of his early turn
for poetry and his predilection for study, and continues:--"Love, and
love ever speaks false, bade me incline to follow him. What then befell
me I now feel; but as I loved a beauty never to be mine, I had recourse
to study, and thus the poet destroyed the love that destroyed him.
Favoured by my stars, I learned several languages, and enriched my own
by the knowledge I gained through them. Twice I married; from which you
may gather that I was happy--for no one tries twice a painful thing. I
had a son whom my soul lived in. You will know by my elegy that this
light of my eyes was called Carlos. Six times did the sun retrocede,
equalling day and night, counting thus the time of his birth, when this
my sun lost its light. Then expired life that was the life of Jacinta.
How much better it had been that I had died, than that Carlos in his
very morning should encounter so long a night! Lope remained, if it be
Lope who now lives. Marcella at fifteen obliged me to offer her to God,
although, and you may believe me, though a father's love might be
supposed blind, she was neither foolish nor ugly. Feliciana showed me in
her words and eyes the image of her lost mother, who died in giving her
birth. Her virtues enforce tears, and time does not cure my sorrow. I
left the gaieties of secular life; I was ordained. Such is my life; and
my desires aspire to a good end only, without extravagant pretensions."
In his epistle to don Francisco de Herrera he enlarges on the vocation
of Marcella. "Marcella," he says, "the first care of my heart, thought
of marrying, and one evening she spoke freely to me of her betrothed. I,
seeing that it was prudent to examine her wish, since accident might
have swayed it, grew attentive; at the same time that I desired to avoid
shaking her intention if it were founded in the truth of her heart. But
her anxiety increasing each day, I resolved to give her the husband to
whom she aspired with so much love." He then explains the Son of God to
be her bridegroom--vows of chastity her nuptial benediction. He
describes the whole ceremony of her taking the veil. The marchioness de
la Tela was her godmother; the duke of Sesa and many other nobles being
present. Hortensio preached the sermon. "She asked me," he says, "leave
to conclude the marriage, and she whom I had loved, and whose lovely
person I had adorned more like a lover than a father, in gold and
silk--like a rose that fades and falls to pieces at the close of day,
losing the pomp of her crimson leaves--now sleeps upon rough straw, and
barefoot and ill clad sits at a poor table."
The dates of the various events of Lope's life are very uncertain, and
none more so than that of his second marriage. He mentions it as
happening soon after his return from the expedition to England. Yet he
speaks of taking orders soon after his wife's death, and he took orders
1609. The term of his second marriage, however, endured only for eight
years. It would therefore appear that several years elapsed after his
return to Madrid before he married a second time. As diligent a
researcher as M. Viardôt in old parish books and official documents,
would clear up this obscurity. As it is, we can only give the facts, as
we find them stated, obscurely.
The effect of his bereaved condition was, as has been mentioned, to
induce him to take vows, and be ordained. He prepared himself, by
retiring from gay society, assumed a priestly dress, served in
hospitals, and performed many acts of charity; and finally, visiting
Toledo, took orders, and said his first mass in a Carmelite church. He
entered a fraternity of priests dedicated to the performance of good
works and the assistance of the poor, and fulfilled his duties
zealously, so that he became named head chaplain, and was as generous as
conscientious in the exercise of his office. To his other sacred
employments he added that of being a familiar of the inquisition. His
piety, which was catholic and excessive, led to this; but it is a
painful circumstance, in our times especially, when we are told that he
presided over the procession of the confraternity of familiars of the
holy office, on the occasion of an _auto da fé_, when a relapsed
Lutheran was burned alive. We feel sure that Cervantes would never have
been led to a similar act.
Meanwhile his reputation as an author was rising to that height which it
afterwards reached. In 1598, the canonisation of St. Isidro, a native of
Madrid, was the occasion of prizes being given to the authors of verses
written in his honour. Each style of poetry gained its reward, but above
one could not be gained by the same person. Lope succeeded in the hymns;
but he had tried in all. He wrote a poem of ten cantos in short verse,
numberless sonnets and ballads, and two comedies. These were published
under the feigned name of Tomé de Burguillos, and are among the best of
Lope's compositions. Already his dramas were in vogue, and the public
were astonished by their number and excellence. In this year also he
published the "Arcadia," written long before. Afterwards he published
others of his younger productions; for it is singular that he printed
nothing while a very young man, and that he had established his
reputation by his plays before he deluged the world with his lyric and
epic poetry. The "Hermosura de Angelica" did not see light till 1604;
and thus was it with many other of his productions, which he wrote
probably at Valencia during his exile, and which when he found profit by
so doing, he bestowed on the public.
The reputation he attained awakened the enmity of rivals and critics.
When Cervantes published "Don Quixote," in 1605, Lope was risen high in
popular estimation; he was generally applauded--almost adored. The
abundance and facility of his verses, and the amiableness of his
character, were in part the occasion of this; but the eminent cause was
his theatre, which we delay considering, not too much to interrupt the
thread of his history, but whose originality, novelty, vivacity, and
adaptation to the Spanish taste, secured unparalleled success. Cervantes
did not feel the merits of his innovations, and he considered himself
also the unacknowledged originator of many of the improvements
attributed to Lope. We have seen in what Cervantes's dramatic
pretensions consisted--high wrought and impassioned scenes connected,
not by the intricacies of a methodical plot, but by the simple texture
of their causes and effects, such as we find in life itself. He felt
that he had written well; he was unwilling to acknowledge that Lope
wrote better, nor did he, as a master of the human heart, and as
presenting more affecting situations; but he did, as comprehending and
representing more to the life the manners and feelings of his day.
Cervantes easily perceived the faults of his rival; he discovered his
incongruities, and noted the vanity or cupidity which made him more
abundant than correct, and the currying to the depraved taste of the
times, through a desire of popularity. In short, Lope was not perfect,
but he had something that while he lived stood in the stead of
perfection--he hit the public taste; he supplied it with ever fresh and
ever delightful food; he pleased, he interested, he fascinated. To act
posterity, and judge coolly of his works, was an invidious task; and
though it was natural that a man so profound and sagacious as Cervantes
should be impelled so to do, yet, by attacking him and proving him in
the wrong, he could not weaken his influence, while he made an enemy.
There is a sonnet against Lope attributed to him, of which the point is
not acute; but it displays contempt for his pastorals and epics, and
sarcastically alludes to his superabundant fertility. However, it is
more than probable that Cervantes did not write this sonnet; for he
wrote in praise of Lope in other works, and it was unlike the noble
disposition of that single-hearted and excellent man to have
contradicted himself. Still less likely is it that Lope wrote the
answer. It is vulgarly abusive and ridiculously assuming: he calls
Cervantes the horse to Lope's carriage; bids him do Lope honour, or evil
will betide him; and sums up by saying that "Don Quixote" went about the
world in wrappers to parcels of spices. It looks more like the spurt of
an over-zealous disciple than of a man of Lope's judgment and
character.[97]
His war with Gongora was of a more grave description, and we defer
farther mention of it till in the life of Gongora we give some account
of his poetic system.
Meanwhile Lope rose higher and higher in the estimation of the public.
There is scarcely an example on record of similar popularity. Grandees,
nobles, ministers, prelates, scholars--all solicited his acquaintance.
Men came from distant lands to see him; women stood at their balconies
as he passed, to behold and applaud him. On all sides he received
presents; and we are even told that when he made a purchase, if he were
recognised, the seller refused payment. His name passed into a proverb;
it became a synonyme for the superlative degree,--a Lope diamond, a Lope
dinner, a Lope woman, a Lope dress, was the expression used to express
perfection in its kind. All this might well compensate for attacks; yet
as these were founded in truth, and he must sometimes have dreaded a
reaction of popularity, he felt at times nettled and uneasy.
[Sidenote: 1616.
Ætat.
54.]
His part was, however, warmly taken by his adherents. Their intolerance
was such that they gravely asserted that the author of the "Spongia,"
who had severely censured his works and accused him of ignorance of the
Latin language, deserved death for his heresy.[98]
His works were more numerous than can be imagined. Each year he gave
some new poem to the press; each month, and sometimes every week, he
brought out a play; and these at least were of recent composition,
though the former consisted frequently in the productions of his early
years, corrected and finished. He tried every species of writing, and
became celebrated in all. His hymns and sacred poems secured him the
respect of the clergy, and showed his zeal in the profession he had
embraced. When Philip IV. came to the crown, he immediately heaped new
honours on Lope; for Philip was a patron of the stage; and several plays
of considerable-merit, published as written "By a Wit of the Court" (Por
un Ingenio de esta Corte), are ascribed to him.
[Sidenote: 1621.
Ætat.
59.]
Lope published at this time his novels, imitated from Cervantes--whom he
graciously acknowledges to have displayed some grace and ease of style,
and whom he by no means succeeds in rivalling--and several poems--which
that they were ever read is a sort of miracle; and the Lope mania must
have been vehement indeed that could gift readers with patience for his
diffuseness.
Still the taste was genuine, (though it seems to us perverted), as is
proved by a rather dangerous experiment which he made. He published a
poem without his name, for the sake of trying the public taste. It
succeeded; and the favour with which his unacknowledged "Soliloquies on
God," were received must have inspired him with great reliance on his
own powers. The death of the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots at this
time spread a very general sensation of pity for her and hatred for her
rival through Spain. Lope made it the subject of a poem, which he called
the Corona Tragica, which he dedicated to pope Urban VIII.; who thanked
him by a letter written in his own hand, and by the degree of doctor of
theology. This was the period of his greatest glory. Cardinal Barberini
followed him in the streets; the king stopped to look at him as he
passed; and crowds gathered round him whenever he appeared.
The quantity of his writings is incredible. It is calculated that he
printed one million three hundred thousand lines, and this, he says, is
a small part of what he wrote.
"The printed part, though far too large, is less
Than that which yet unprinted still remains."[99]
Among these it is asserted that 1800 plays and 400 sacramental dramas
have been printed. This account long passed as true. Lord Holland
detected its fallacy; and the author of the article in the Quarterly
follows up his calculations, and proves the absurdity of the account. He
himself says, in the preface to the "Arte de Hacer Comedias," that he
had brought out 483. There are extant 497. Some may be lost certainly,
but not so many as this computation would assume. Many of his pieces for
the theatre, indeed, consist of loas and entremeses, small pieces in
single acts, which may have been taken in to make up this number, but
which do not deserve to rank among plays.
With regard to the number of verses he wrote there is also exaggeration.
He says he often wrote five sheets a day; and the most extravagant
calculations have been made on this, as if he had written at this rate
from the day of his birth, till a month or two after his death. It is
evident, however, that the period when he wrote five sheets a day, and a
play in the twenty-four hours, was limited to a few years. With all this
he is doubtless, even in prolific Spain, the most prolific of writers,
and the most facile. Montalvan tells us, that when he was at Toledo, he
wrote fifteen acts in fifteen days, making five plays in a fortnight;
and he adds an anecdote that fell under his own experience. Roque de
Figueroa, a writer for the theatre of Madrid, found himself on an
occasion without any new play, and the doors of his theatre were obliged
to be shut--a circumstance which shows the vast appetite for novelty
that had arisen, and the cause wherefore Lope was induced to write so
much, since the public rather desired what was new than what was good.
But to return to Montalvan's story. Being carnival, Figueroa was eager
to open his theatre, and Lope and Montalvan agreed to write a play
together; and they brought out the "Tercera Orden de San Francisco,"
dividing the labour. Lope took the first act and Montalvan the second,
which they completed in two days; and the third they partitioned between
them, eight pages for each; and as the weather was bad, Montalvan
remained all night in Lope's house. The scholar finding that he could
not equal his master in readiness, wished to surpass him by force of
industry, and rising at two in the morning, finished his part by eleven.
He then went to seek Lope, and found him in the garden, occupied by an
orange-tree, which had been frost-bitten in the night. Montalvan asked
how his verses speeded? Lope replied, "I began to write at five, and
finished the act an hour ago. I breakfasted on some rashers of bacon,
and wrote an epistle of fifty triplets, and having watered ray garden, I
am not a little tired." On this he read his act and his triplets, to the
wonder and admiration of his hearer.
He gained considerable profit by his writings. The presents made him by
various nobles amounted to a large sum. His plays and autos, and his
various publications, brought him vast receipts. He had received a dowry
with each wife. The king bestowed several pensions and chaplaincies. The
pope gifted him with various preferments. With all this he was not rich;
his absolute income apparently amounted to only 1500 ducats, and profuse
charities and prodigal generosity emptied his purse as fast as it was
filled. He spent much on church festivals; he was hospitable to his
friends, extravagant in his purchase of books and pictures, and
munificent in his charities, so that when he died he left little behind
him. We cannot censure this disposition; indeed it is inherent in
property gained as Lope gained it, to be lost as soon as won; for being
received irregularly, it superinduces irregular habits of expense. That
Lope, the observed of all, he to whom nature and fortune had been so
prodigal, should have been grasping and avaricious would have grated on
our feelings. We hear of his profusion with pleasure: the well-watered
soil, if generous in its nature, gives forth abundant vegetation; the
receiver of so much showed the nobility of his mind in freely imparting
to others the wealth so liberally bestowed on him.
In his epistles and other poems, Lope gives very pleasing pictures of
the tranquillity of his life as he advanced in age. Addressing don Fray
Placido de Tosantos, he says: "I write you these verses, from where no
annoyance troubles me. My little garden inspires fancies drawn from
fruits and flowers, and the contemplation of natural objects." In the
epistle before quoted to Amaryllis, he says, "My books are my life, and
humble content my actions--unenvious of the riches of others. The
confusion sometimes annoys me; but, though I live in Madrid, I am
farther from the court than if I were in Muscovy or Numidia. Sometimes I
look upon myself as a dwarf, sometimes as a giant, and I regard both
views with indifference; and am neither sad when I lose, nor joyful when
I gain. The man who governs himself well, despises the praise or blame
of this short though vile captivity. I esteem the sincere and pure
friendship of those who are virtuous and wise; for without virtue, no
friendship is secure; and if sometimes my lips complain of ingratitude,
this is no crime." To Francisco de Rioja he writes: "My garden is small;
it contains a few trees, and more flowers, a trained vine, an orange
tree, and a rose hush. Two young nightingales dwell in it, and two
buckets of water form a fountain, playing among stones and coloured
shells." "My hopes are fallen," he says in another place, "and my
fortune shuts herself up with me in a nook, filled with books and
flowers, and is neither favourable nor inimical to me." In the "Huerto
Deshecho," or Destroyed Garden, he gives further testimony of his love
for his garden, which had just been laid waste by a tempest. He thus
addresses his fair retreat:--
"Dear solace of my weary sorrow,
Unhappy garden, thou who slept,
Foreseeing not the stormy morrow,
The while the tears that night had wept,
Morning drank up, and all the flowers awoke,
And I the pen that told my thoughts up took."
and he goes on bitterly to grieve over the desolation the storm had
made.
If there is a touch of melancholy, and a half-checked repining in any of
these quotations, I do not see that he is to be reprehended. Covered
with renown and gifted with riches--it is said, who can be happy, if
Lope de Vega were not? But we must remember that neither wealth nor fame
are in themselves happiness. Lope had through death lost the dearest
objects of life; in a spirit of piety he had shut himself out from
forming others. His heart was the source of his disquiet--but he had
recourse to natural objects for its cure, and often found repose among
them. That his disposition was amiable and his temper placid, there is
ample proof. He says of himself, "I naturally love those who love me,
and I cannot hate those who hate me:" and we may believe him: for this
is a virtue a man never boasts of without possessing it; to a nature
formed to hate and to revenge, hatred and revenge seem natural and
noble. That he was vain is evident: his sort of character, vivacious,
kindly and expansive, tends to vanity. He would have been more than man
not to have been vain, flattered as he was. Lord Holland mentions his
complaints of poverty, obscurity, and neglect, in the preface to the
"Peregrino," but they do not amount to much. He certainly writes in a
very ill temper, nettled, it would appear, by some plays having appeared
with his name, which were not written by him. There is more of complaint
in his poem of the "Huerto Deshecho," one of the most elegant and
pleasing of his poems. Alluding to his love of study, he says, "Though
that be a work of praise, it was but the fatal prelude of the unhappy
result of my hopes, since, in conclusion, my verses were given to the
winds. Strong philosophy, and retired, but contented old age animate me
on my way. If I do not sing, it is enough that others sing what I
deplore--devouring time destroys towers of vanity and mountains of gold;
one only thing, divine grace, suffers no change."
It is strange, indeed, that he should say that he had given his verses
to the winds--but he says himself,
"No he visto alegre de su bien ninguno--"
I ne'er saw man content with what he had.
Thus he passed many years, living according to the dictates of his
conscience, with moderation and virtue; unmindful of life, but deeply
mindful of death, so that he was ever prepared to meet it. His piety
indeed was tinged with superstition; but he was a catholic and a
Spaniard, and dwelt fervently on the means of satisfying the justice of
God in this world, so as to secure a greater stock of happiness in the
next. Charitable he was to prodigality; and as he grew old he used his
pen on religious subjects only, repenting somewhat of his labours for
the stage.
[Sidenote: 1635.
Ætat.
73.]
His health was good, till, within a very short time before he died, he
fell into a state of hypochondria, which clouded the close of his
existence.[100] His friend, Alonzo Perez de Montalvan, seeing him thus
melancholy, asked him to dine with him and a relation, on the day of
Transfiguration, which was the 6th of August. After dinner, as all three
were conversing on several subjects, he said, that such was the
depression of spirits by which he was afflicted that his heart failed
him in his body, and that he prayed God to ease him by shortening his
life. On which, Juan Perez de Montalvan (his biographer, friend, and
pupil) remarked, "Do not feel thus, I trust in God and in your healthy
looks, that this indisposition will pass away, and that we shall see you
again in the health you enjoyed twenty years ago." To which Lope replied
with some emotion, "Ah, doctor, would to God, I were well over it!"
His presentiments were verified: Lope was soon to die; this his feelings
foretold, and so prepared him for the event. On the 18th of the same
month he rose very early, recited the divine service, said mass in his
oratory, watered his garden, and then shut himself up in his study. At
mid-day he felt chilled, either from his work among his flowers, or from
having, as his servants averred, used the discipline on himself with
severity, as was proved by the recent marks of blood being found on the
discipline, and staining the walls of the room. Lope was indeed a rigid
catholic, as this circumstance proves, and also his refusing to eat any
thing but fish, though he had a dispensation to eat meat, and it was
ordered him during his indisposition. In the evening he attended a
scientific meeting, but being suddenly taken ill, he was obliged to
return home. The physicians now gathered round with their prescriptions;
and it happened that doctor Juan de Negrete, the king's physician,
passed through the street, and he was told that Lope de Vega was
indisposed, on which he visited him, not as a doctor, as he had not been
called in, but as a friend. He soon perceived his danger, and intimated
that it were better that he should take the sacrament, with the usual
excuse, that it was a relief to any one in danger, and could only
benefit him if he lived. "If you advise this," said Lope "there must be
a necessity;" and that same night he received the sacrament. Extreme
unction followed but two hours after. He then called for his daughter,
and blessed her, and took leave of his friends as one about to make so
long a journey; conversing concerning the interests of those left
behind, with kindness and piety. He told Montalvan, that virtue was true
fame, and that he would exchange all the applause he had received, for
the consciousness of having fulfilled one more virtuous deed; and
followed up these counsels with prayers and acts of catholic piety. He
passed the night uneasily, and expired the next day, weak and worn, but
alive to a sense of religion and friendship to the last.
His funeral took place the third day after his death, and was conducted
with splendour by the duke of Sesa, the most munificent of his patrons,
whom he had named his executor. Don Luis de Usategui, his son-in-law,
and a nephew, went as mourners, accompanied by the duke of Sesa and many
other grandees and nobles. The clergy of all classes flocked in crowds.
The procession attracted a multitude; the windows and balconies were
thronged, and the magnificence was such, that a woman going by,
exclaimed, "This is a Lope funeral!" ignorant that it was the funeral of
Lope himself, and so applying his name as expressive of the excess of
all that was splendid. The church was filled with lamentation when at
last he was deposited in the tomb. For eight days the religious
ceremonies were kept up, and on the ninth, a sermon was preached in his
honour, when the church was again crowded with the first people of
Spain.
By his will, his daughter, donna Feliciana de Vega, married to don Luis
de Usategui, inherited the moderate fortune he left behind. He added in
his will a few legacies of pictures, books, and reliques to his friends.
In person Lope de Vega was tall, thin, and well made; dark complexioned,
and of a prepossessing countenance; his nose aquiline; his eyes lively
and clear; his beard black and thick. He had acquired much agility, and
was capable of great personal exertion. He always enjoyed excellent
health, being moderate in his tastes, and regular in his habits.
To gather Lope's character from the events of his life, and his accounts
of himself, it may be assumed that while young his disposition had all
the vivacity of the south--that his passions were ardent, his feelings
enthusiastic--that he was heedless and imprudent perhaps, but always
amiable and true. Generous to prodigality--pious to bigotry--patriotic
to injustice, he was given to extremes, yet he did not possess the
higher qualities, the cheerful fortitude, and fearless temper of
Cervantes. Time and sorrow softened in after times some portions of his
character; but still in his garden, among his flowers and books, he was
vivacious, perhaps petulant (for his complaints of neglect are to be
attributed to petulancy rather than to a repining temper); warm-hearted,
charitable and social, vain he might also be, for that we all are. The
activity of his mind resembled more a spontaneous fertility of soil,
than the exertion of labour: "plays and poetry were the flowers of his
plain," as he says: and this seems an unexaggerated picture of the ease
with which he composed. We need scarcely allude to the hypochondria that
darkened his last hours, as Montalvan seems to mention it as a mere
precursor of death. If it were more, it is only another proof that the
mind must not work too hard, while it has this fragile body for its
instrument and prop.
In drawing up Lope's character, Montalvan[101] praises him as agreeable
and unpresuming in conversation. He was zealous in the affairs of
others, careless of his own; kind to his servants, courteous, gallant
and hospitable, and exceedingly well bred. His temper, he says, was
never ruffled but by those who took snuff before company; with the grey
who dyed their locks; with men who, born of women, spoke ill of the sex;
with priests who believed in gipsies; and with persons who without
intentions of marriage asked others their age. Good taste as well as
good feeling is displayed in most of these slight intimations of
character: it is to be cleanly to dislike to see snuff taken; it is
being unusually just always to speak well of women.
As no writer ever surpassed him in quantity, so it will be impossible to
give a full account of his works. We have already mentioned
several:--His "Arcadia," the production of his youth, which may be
considered the best of such of his writings as are not dramas;--"The
Beauty of Angelica," is chiefly remarkable as showing how superior the
Italian romantic poets are to any that Spain has produced. The
"Dragontea" is another poem of which Sir Francis Drake is the hero, and
the poet has not been sparing of vituperation. It is founded on the last
expedition of Drake, when, to revenge the armada, and to inflict a deep
blow on the Spanish power, injured by the destruction of its fleet, he
scoured the Spanish coast, and did immense injury to the shipping. The
poem of Lope is very patriotic; the hatred felt in Spain for the English
queen was furious and personal; the marriage of Philip II. with bloody
queen Mary, having caused much intercourse between the two nations, and
the accession of Elizabeth being the signal of our island again falling
off from the Roman Catholic faith; all therefore that could be imagined
of horror for her heresy and wickedness, and that of her ministers,
animated the soul, and directed the pen of Lope.
The "Jerusalem" was his next attempt at an epic; of this Richard Cœur
de Lion is the hero, though the English of course are rendered
subordinate to the Spaniards. We have not read it. Lord Holland
pronounces it a failure; and the critic of the Quarterly observes, "A
failure indeed it is, and a total one; the plan, when compared to that
of the 'Angelica' is as 'confusion worse confounded,'--it has neither
beginning, middle, nor end; neither method, nor purpose, nor proportion;
and many of the parts might be extirpated, or, what is more
extraordinary, might change places without any injury to the whole. But
there is more vigour of thought in it, and more felicity of expression
than in any other of his longer poems." And thus Spaniards alone write;
with them a poem resembles a pathless jungle: you come to a magnificent
tree, a wild and balmy breathing flower, a mossy pathway, and clear
bubbling fountain; and beside these objects you linger a moment, but
soon you plunge again among tangled underwood and uncultivated
interminable wilds. When Lope takes a subject in hand he does not follow
it up as a traveller who has a bourne in view; but he scrambles up every
mountain, visits every waterfall, and plunges into every cavern; and
like a tourist without a guide in an unknown country, he often loses his
way, and often leads his reader a wild chase after objects, which, when
reached, were not worth visiting.
This prodigality of verse, which caused him to be named the Potosi of
rhymes, was indulged in to the utmost, when, on the canonisation of St.
Isidro, he entered into the lists to win the prize instituted for poems
in celebration of the event. Isidro had been elevated into a saint at
the solicitation of Philip III., who had been cured of a fever by the
body of the defunct miracle-maker being brought to him. Every Spanish
poet of the age, and they were all but innumerable, entered the lists.
There are two volumes of Lope's productions, some in his own name,
consisting of a sort of epic, composed in quintillas, or stanzas of five
short lines each, a measure more suited to the genius of the Spanish
language than longer ones; and a play, and a vast quantity of lyrics
given under the name of Burguillos. These were all burlesque; but
subsequently Lope continued to adopt the name, and published several
poems under it, among others, the "Gatomaquia, or War of Cats," a mock
heroic, which is a great favourite in Spain. The "Corona Tragica," a
poem written on the death of Mary, queen of Scots, brought him an
increase of reputation: it is bigoted to the excess of blind Spanish
inquisitorial bigotry, and, except in a few passages, does not rise
above mediocrity. It is impossible to give even a cursory account of
Lope's lyrics and sacred poems. The best of the former are to be found
in the "Arcadia" and the "Dorotea."
But it is not on any of these productions that the reputation of Lope
really rests. That was founded on his theatre, and on that it must
continue to subsist. There he showed himself master of his art:
original, fecund, national, universal, true and spirited, he produced a
form of dramatic writing that, to this day, rules the stage of every
country of the world.
It was with considerable difficulty that the theatre established itself
at all in Spain, the church setting itself against theatrical
representations. This prejudice has continued even to modern days. No
Spanish monarch since Philip IV. has entered a theatre; and Philip V.,
when he found in Farinelli the solace of his painful distemper, not only
never heard him in a theatre, but caused him to give up the public
stage, when he was admitted to sing privately before him. In the early
day of which we are writing, the clerical outcry was furious, and the
drama only became tolerated by making over the theatres to two religious
corporations, one a hospital, and the other of flagellants; and the
wickedness of the stage was permitted[102] for the sake of the benefits
to charity and religion to result therefrom. The sites of the theatres
then consisted of two open court yards, _corrales_--corral is the
Spanish term for farmyard, or any enclosure for cattle, and long
continued to be synonymous with a theatre. The representations took
place at first in the open air. Alberto Gavasa, an Italian, who brought
over a company of buffoons, was enabled by the greatness of his success
to cover his corral with an awning, the court yard itself was paved and
provided with movable benches, and called the _patio_, or pit, which no
women ever entered. The grandees sat looking out of the windows of the
houses that looked into the court yard, which government appropriated
and distributed on this occasion. A prince or very great man having a
room allotted to him, and minor gentlemen a single window, and this
primitive arrangement was we are told the origin of our boxes. In
addition, there were several galleries, into some of which women only
were admitted. It was called the _cazuela_, and open to all classes.
Yet even this pious dedication of the proceeds of the theatre did not
silence the clergy. In 1600, Philip III. ordered the subject to be
referred to a junta of theologians. This council established certain
conditions on which the performances were to be tolerated, the principal
being that women were not to act, nor to mingle with the audience. It
was at this time, and with this licence that Lope's career was run. He
alone furnished all Spain with plays; and so great a favourite was he,
that none but his were received with any approbation. On the accession
of Philip IV., a man of pleasure, the theatre was more frequented than
ever. Yet still, it maybe observed, the clergy nourished a prejudice
against it, censured Lope for being the occasion of much sin, and caused
him on his death bed to express his regret at having written for the
stage, and to promise that if he recovered he would do so no more.
Cervantes boasts of the improvements he occasioned in theatrical
representations. Still his plays, though they have great merit from the
passion and poetry they display, are inartificial in their construction,
while Lope on the contrary, became popular from the admirable nature of
his plots. His dramas are praised by a Spanish critic for "the purity
and sweetness of his language, for the vivacity of his dialogue, for the
propriety of many of the characters, for his invention, his exact
description of national manners, for his serious passages, his merriment
and his wit." There is often something barbaric in his carelessness of
time and place, and also in the hinging on of his incidents: still the
plot was preserved carefully throughout, and the catastrophe showed the
intention of the author to have been always in his mind, even when he
most seemed to swerve from it. The number of plays that Lope wrote has
been alluded to, and is really astonishing: there is something of
sameness, perhaps, at the bottom of all, but this is joined to
prodigious variety and novelty within the circle by which his invention
is circumscribed. He says himself--
"Should I the titles now relate
Of plays my endless labour bore,
Well might you doubt, the list so great,
Such reams of paper scribbled o'er;
Plots, imitations, scenes, and all the rest,
To verse reduced, in flowers of rhetoric drest.
The number of my fables told
Would seem the greatest of them all;
For strange, of dramas you behold
Full fifteen hundred mine I call,
And full an hundred times--within a day,
Passed from my muse, upon the stage, a play."
And so entirely did he possess the ear and favour of the audience, that
many a play of which he was innocent was brought out under his name, and
thus obtained applause.
The causes of his success are easily discovered. The Spaniards had
hitherto wanted a national literature. Their poetry and their pastorals
did not express the heroism, the bigotry, the tenacious honour and
violent prejudices that formed their character. Their ballads did, and
so did the romances of chivalry; but the latter had become mere
imitations, and while they echoed some of the sentiments they
entertained, did not mirror their manners. It was like a new creation
when the poetic genius of Spain embodied itself in the drama, and under
the guise of tragedy and comedy, each romantic, made visible to an
audience the ideal of their prejudices and passions, their virtues and
vices; and these, in connection with a story that engaged their interest
and warmed their hearts with sympathy.
The plays of Lope were either romantic tragedies, or plays of la Capa y
Espada, of the sword and cloak, sometimes tragic and sometimes comic,
but which were founded on the manners of the day. Of course there is a
great deal of killing and slaying, but none of the horrors that startle
the reader of Titus Andronicus, and other English tragedies of that
period.
The point of honour, loyalty, love, and jealousy, form the standard
groundwork of the dramas of Lope. Lord Holland has analysed the "Star of
Seville," in which the interest depends on an affianced lover killing
the brother of his betrothed at the instance of the king, and then
refusing to betray his royal master's secret. Love and jealousy take
singular forms. It was the custom of the lover to watch beneath the
barred windows of the house of his lady, and she, if she favoured him,
descended and conversed with him from her casement. They never hesitate
to acknowledge their love, but it must never be suspected by others.
Were it known that a cavalier were thus favoured, the relations of the
lady would at once assassinate him, and stab her or shut her up in a
convent. Yet when the lovers have escaped these dangers, they marry, and
at the sound of wedlock the honour of the family is secured; the injury,
to be so mortally avenged, is no longer an injury, and all is well and
happy. If a husband is jealous, it is not that he doubts the fidelity of
his wife, or even her attachment, but that she has been placed in a
situation which might have led to dishonour. Others know this, and she
must expiate the fault with her life. In the "Certain for the Doubtful,"
a lady wishing to dissuade the king from marrying her, confesses that
his brother, who is his rival, had once kissed her without her
permission. The king instantly resolves to have him assassinated, since
he cannot marry the lady till his brother's death has freed her from the
dishonour that must accrue, while the perpetrator of such an act lives.
He says at the same time "I know that there is no reality in what you
tell me, but, although this strange incident be a falsehood invented for
the purpose of inducing me not to marry you, it suffices that it has
been said, to force me to revenge it. If love makes me in any manner
give credit to your story--Henriquez shall die, and I marry his widow;
for then, if what you tell me shall be discovered, we shall neither of
us be dishonoured; for you will be the widow of this kiss, as others are
of a husband." Accordingly assassins are commissioned to waylay his
brother. Meanwhile Henriquez and the lady marry, and the king seeing the
evil without remedy, and his honour safe, pardons the lovers.
Schlegel observes, "Honour, love, and jealousy are uniformly the
motives: the plot arises out of their daring and noble collision, and is
not purposely instigated by knavish deception. Honour is always an ideal
principle, for it rests, as I have elsewhere shown, on that higher
morality which consecrates principles without regard to consequences:
the honour of the women consists in loving only one man, of pure,
unspotted honour, and loving him with perfect purity: inviolable secrecy
is required till a lawful union permits it to be publicly declared. The
power of jealousy, always alive, and always breaking out in a dreadful
manner,--not like that of eastern countries, a jealousy of possession,
but of the slightest emotions of the heart, and its most imperceptible
demonstrations, serves to ennoble love. In tragedies, this jealousy
causes honour to become a hostile destiny for him who cannot satisfy it,
without either annihilating his own felicity, or becoming even a
criminal."
Schlegel, in his hatred of the French, espouses with too much warmth,
and elevates too highly the nobleness of the passions on which the
interest of the Spanish drama is founded. Where jealousy is the main
spring of every action, there is little tenderness; however, it is in
the comedies that this passion displays itself in the worst light. In
tragedies, death, hovering over the scene, gives dignity and elevation
to that which otherwise must seem the excess of self-love. The comedies
present a tissue of intrigues and embroglios; but these are arranged
with so much art, carried on with so much spirit, and aided by sparkling
and natural dialogue, that it is impossible not to be amused, and even
interested.
To these subjects are added plays in which religion is the master
passion, where Catholicism is raised to the height which makes its
assumed truth a justification for the worst crimes; and the vengeance
which Moor or Jew pursue for infinite injuries, be considered a crime to
be expiated by a cruel death. In the same way, the point of honour led
to falsehood and dishonourable actions, all of which were considered
venial, as founded on, or tending to, a lofty aim. Even in the lighter
comedies, there is a dangerous and ticklish sense of honour always on
the alert to create danger, and enliven the interest.
Lope also wrote many sacred dramas and Autos Sacramentales. Some of
these are allegorical; others founded on the lives of the saints. God
Almighty, the Virgin, the Saviour, and Satan are among his dramatis
personæ. But in this species of writing he was far surpassed by
Calderon. It required sublimity to give a proper tone to such subjects,
and to this quality Lope cannot pretend. His _entremeses_ or interludes,
farces they may be called, are full of merriment; his vast facility in
inventing plots enabled him to bestow a subject that might easily be
drawn out into a comedy of five, on a piece of one act. French and
English writers have consulted him as a mine. In him originated also the
introduction of the Grazioso, or jester--a clown who makes ludicrous
observations on what is going on, and turning tragic sentiment into
burlesque, acts as censor upon the motives and actions of the
personages, and often disturbs the current of interest excited; but
often also the sprightly wit he thus introduces, relieves the monotony
of passion on stilts, and he is always a convenient personage in
explaining away a difficulty, and disclosing a secret.
Lope, of course, wholly disregards unity of time and place. The
incongruities of his plots are manifold. Success, popular success, was
what he aimed at, and he gained it; but he was aware of the barbarism of
many of his dramas, and has himself warmly censured his plays. In his
"Arte de hacer Comedias" he says[103]:--
"I, doomed to write, the public taste to hit,
Resume the barbarous dress 'twas vain to quit:
I lock up every rule before I write,
Plautus and Jerome drive from out my sight,
Lest rage should teach those injured wits to join,
And their dumb books cry shame on works like mine.
To vulgar standards then I square my play,
Writing at ease, for, since the public pay,
'Tis just methinks we by their compass steer,
And write the nonsense that they love to hear:"
And again in the same poem:--
"None than myself more barbarous or more wrong,
Who, hurried by the vulgar taste along,
Dare give my precepts in despite of rule,
Whence France and Italy pronounce me fool.
But what am I to do? who now of plays,
With one complete within these seven days,
Four hundred eighty-three, in all have writ,
And all, save six, against the rules of wit."
And in his eclogue to Claudio:--
"Then spare, indulgent Claudio, spare
The list of all my barbarous plays;
For this with truth I can declare,
And though 'tis truth, it is not praise,
The printed part, though far too large, is less
Than that which yet unprinted waits the press."
To this severe censure of his own works was joined considerable study of
the dramatic art. It had engaged his attention, he says, since he was
ten years old; and in the "Dramatic Art" from which we have just quoted,
he shows great good taste and penetration in his observations.
His plays are not now acted in Madrid. The theatre, indeed, has declined
in Spain, and melodrames and vaudevilles have taken place of the higher
species of drama. Still Lope's works are a mine of wealth for any
dramatist, whence to draw situations, plots, and dialogue. Dryden
borrowed much from him; and, notwithstanding his faults, there may be
found in his plays a richness of invention, a freshness and variety of
ideas, and a vivacity of dialogue unsurpassed by any author.
[Footnote 74: In an epistle he mentions his father as having emigrated
to Madrid--he speaks of him as living in the valley of Carriedo, but
deficiency of means caused him to leave his ancestral inheritance of
Vega, and to remove to Madrid. There had been a quarrel between him and
his wife, who was jealous, and with reason, as Lope tells us he loved a
Spanish Helen; she however followed him, and they were reconciled:
"Y aquel dia
fu piedra en mi primero fundamento
la paz de su zelosa phantasia.
En fin por zelos soy; que nascimiento!
imaginalde vos, que haver nacido
de tan inquieta causa fue portento."
_Belardo á Amarylis._]
[Footnote 75: Pellicer, Tratado sobre el origen de la Comedia.]
[Footnote 76: "Efectos de mi genio y mi fortuna,
que me eseñastes versos en la cuna,
dulce memoria del principio amado
del ser que tengo, á quien la vida debo,
en este panagyrico me llama
ingrato y olvidado,
pero si no me atrevo,
no fue falta de amor, sino de fama,
que obligacion me fuerza, amor mi inflama.
Ma si Felix de Vega no la tuvo,
basta saber que en el Parnaso estuvo,
haviendo hallado yo sus borradores,
versos eran á Dios llenos de amores;
y aunque en el tiempo que escribió los versos,
no eran tan crespos como ahora y tersos,
ni las Musas tenían tantos brios,
mejores me parecen que los mios."
_Laurel de Apolo._]
[Footnote 77: Lope often mentions having been a soldier in early youth.
These expressions are generally used in reference to his having served
on board the Invincible Armada, but there is a stanza in the "Huerto
Deshecho," that intimates that he had entered the army at fifteen.
"Ni mi fortuna muda
ver en tres lustros de mi edad primera
con la espada desnuda
al bravo Portugues en la Tercera,
ni después en las naves Españolas
del mar Ingles los puertos y las olas."
Yet in the following stanza he calls himself "Soldado de una guerra." In
these verses, and in many others indeed in which he speaks of himself,
his expressions are so obscure, and the whole stanza so ill worded, that
it is scarcely possible to guess even at what he means. The translation
of these verses seems to be:--"Nor did my fortune change on seeing me in
the third lustre of my tender age, with a drawn sword among the brave
Portuguese at Tercera, nor afterwards in the English ports and waves on
board a Spanish fleet."]
[Footnote 78: Quarterly Review, vol XVIII.]
[Footnote 79: Quarterly Review, vol. XVIII.]
[Footnote 80: In this and other quotations the reader must not expect
sense. Even while reprehending Gongora for obscurity, from carelessness
or from a notion of fine writing, Lope's meaning can very often only be
guessed at. This may partly be attributed to misprints; in his best
poems he is, for a Spaniard, singularly perspicuous.]
[Footnote 81: Lord Holland calls Lope's antagonist, a gentleman of
considerable rank and importance--Montalvan's expressions denote the
contrary: "un hidalgo entre dos luces, de poca hacienda, &c."]
[Footnote 82: Lord Holland's Life of Lope de Vega. Were these MSS.
examined, we might discover the real history of Lope's life at this
period.]
[Footnote 83: Vide Sonnets 46, 66, 82, 92, &c. of Rimas Humanas, parte
1.]
[Footnote 84: "Crióme don Geronimo Manrique:
estudié en Alcalá, bachilleréme,
y aun estuve de ser clerigo á pique:
cegóme una muger, aficionéme,
perdoneselo Dios, ya soy casado,
quien tiene tanto mal, ninguno teme."
_Epistola undecima._]
[Footnote 85: "Este y otros desayres de la fortuna, ya negociados de su
juventud, y ya encarecedos de sus opuestos, le obligaron á dejar su
casa, su patria y su esposa, con harto sentimiento."--_Fama, Postuma á
la Vida de Lope de Vega._]
[Footnote 86: Bouterwek says that all the panegyrics and epitaphs
written on Lope, ought to be carefully consulted as to the circumstances
of his life. We accordingly looked them over; but amidst an incredible
abundance and variety of hyperbolical praise, there are but two or three
that allude to any events of his life--the one above quoted, which,
after all, speaks vaguely and confusedly; the other is an elegy by
Andres Carlos de Balmaseda, which mentions his sailing with the Armada,
and his two marriages. But it tells nothing new. One or two others
recount some anecdotes of his old age to prove his charity and piety.]
[Footnote 87: "Sirvió Jacob los siete largos años,
breves, si al fin, qual la esperanza fuera,
á Lia goza--y á Rachel espera
otros siete después, llorando engaños,
assí guardan palabra los estranos.
Pero in efecto vive, y considera
que la podra gozar antes que muera,
y que tuvieron termino sus daños;
triste de mi, sin limite que mida
lo que un engaño al sufrimiento cuesta,
y sin rimedio que el agravio pida.
Ay de aquel alma á padecer dispuesta
que espera su Rachel en la otra vida,
y tiene á Lia para siempre en esta."
_Parte I. de las Rimas Humanas de Lope
de Vega_, 1604. Soneto V.]
[Footnote 88: "Quando la Madre antigua reverdeze,
bello pastor, y à quanto vive aplaze,
quando en agua la nieve se dehaze,
por el sol que en el Aries resplandeze,
la yerba nace, la nacida crece,
canta el silguero, el corderillo pace,
tu pecho a quien su pena satisface
del general contento se entristece.
No es mucho mal la ausencia que es espejo
de la cierta verdad ó la fingida;
si espera fin, ninguna pena es pena.
¡ Ay del que tiene por su mal consejo
El remedio impossible de su vida
En la esperanza de la muerte agena!"
_Ibid. Soneto_ XI.]
[Footnote 89: "Postuma de mis Musas Dorotea,
y por dicha de mi la mas querida,
ultima de mi vida
publica luz desea,
desea el sol de rayos de oro lleno
entre la niebla de Guzman el Bueno."
_Ecloga á Claudio._]
[Footnote 90: Prologo del Editor.]
[Footnote 91: In his epistle to don Antonio de Mendoza, Lope alludes to
his military life, but without assigning any cause for its assumption.
"True it is," he says, "that in early life I left my country and friends
to encounter the vicissitudes of war. I sailed on a wide sea towards
foreign lands--where I served first with my sword, before I described
events with my pen. My inclinations caused me to break off the career of
arms, and the Muses gave me a more tranquil life."]
[Footnote 92: There is a very obscure stanza following this, it runs
thus:--
"¿ Quien te dixera che al exento labio,
que apenas de un cabello se ofendia,
amanciera dia
de tan pesado agravio
que cubierto de nieve agradecida?
¡ no separaos si fu e cometa ó vida!"
In the Quarterly Review this is translated. "Who would have thought that
this chin which had scarcely a hair upon it, should have sometimes been
found in the morning so shagged with snow that it might have been
mistaken for a comet?" This is obviously wrong. He alludes to his youth
at the time of sailing with the Armada, and his age at the time of
writing the eclogue to Claudio; and the swiftness with which the
interval had passed. "Who could have told thee that there should come a
day when the lip then scarcely deformed by a hair, should be so heavy
covered with welcome snow (his beard turned white), [and that so swiftly
that], we do not know whether it was a comet or life?" Nothing, however,
can be so ill expressed and obscure.]
[Footnote 93: Quarterly Review, vol. XVIII.]
[Footnote 94: Ecloga á Claudio. Quarterly Review, XVIII.]
[Footnote 95: Montalvan and the other biographers mention only one
daughter, Feliciana, the child of his second wife. The reader will
presently see that we derive our knowledge of the existence of Marcella
from Lope himself. It seems probable that she was the offspring of his
first marriage, since when he speaks of Feliciana as an infant, he
mentions that Marcella was fifteen. She entered a convent and was perhaps
dead when Montalvan wrote.]
[Footnote 96: That unknown ladies should write anonymous letters to
poets expressive of their admiration and sympathy, is, it seems, no mere
modern fashion. The epistle trom Amaryllis to Belardo, was certainly not
written by Lope himself--it is too full of enthusiastic praise; and the
style is not his. It is well written, and interesting. Amaryllis
addresses him from the New World. She describes herself as a creole,
born of noble parents, in Peru. She and her sister were left early
orphans--both endowed with beauty and talent. Her sister marries, but
she dedicates herself to a life of celibacy, though she does appear to
be a nun; she loves and cultivates poetry. She writes to Lope de Vega to
offer her friendship--_una alma pura á tu valor rendida--accepta el
don, que puedes estimallo_--and to exhort him to write religious poetry;
and in particular, to celebrate St. Dorothea--a saint hitherto unsung,
whom she and her sister hold in particular reverence. Lope replies with
praises of her talents, and enters into a succinct account of his life,
from which we have quoted, and says "I have written to you, Amaryllis,
more than I ever thought to do concerning myself--this freedom proves my
friendship for you." He concludes by inviting her to celebrate St.
Dorothea herself, and bids her immortalise the memory of her heroic
ancestors, and bestow on them the eternal laurel of her pen.]
[Footnote 97: Pellicer.]
[Footnote 98: Lord Holland.]
[Footnote 99: The translation is from Lord Holland. The Spanish runs
thus:--
"Que no es minimo parte, aunque es exceso,
De lo que está por imprimir, lo impreso."]
[Footnote 100: Montalvan.]
[Footnote 101: We cannot take leave of Montalvan without saying
something of his merits as an author, and noticing his career. He was
regarded by Lope as his favourite pupil and friend. He was notary to the
inquisition. At the age of seventeen he wrote plays in the style of his
friend and teacher, and continued to write after the death of Lope, with
an assiduity and speed that rivalled him. He died in 1639, at the age of
thirty-five only; and had already written nearly a hundred comedies and
autos as well as several novels. These last are imaginative and
entertaining. His comedies are not so finished nor well arranged as
Lope's, but they have great merit, and indicate still greater powers,
had he flourished in an age when such could have been developed, or if
he had lived long enough to bring them to perfection.]
[Footnote 102: Peliccer--Tratado sobre el Origen de la Comedia. Quarterly
Review, No. 117.]
[Footnote 103: Arte de hacer Comedias. Lord Holland's Translation.]
VICENTE ESPINEL
1544-1634.
ESTEBAN DE VILLEGAS
1595-1669.
The vast number of poets who flourished in Spain at this epoch renders
the task of furnishing the biography of even a selection from among
them, hopeless. When we turn to the "Laurel de Apolo" of Lope de Vega,
and see stanza after stanza devoted to different poets; and when, in the
"Voyage to Parnassus" of Cervantes we find poets rain in showers, we
give up the task as hopeless--especially when we are told that, although
many of those so brought forward are unknown, many there are, who wrote
well, who are not mentioned at all in these works.
Poetry was then the fashion; and it was easy to spin many hundred lines
with few ideas, and those few common-place, though pretty and graceful.
Despotism and the inquisition gave the creative or literary spirit of
Spain no other outlet. Thought was forbidden. Description, moral
reflection, where no originality nor boldness was admitted, and love and
sentiment,--these were all the subjects that Spanish poets rung the
changes on, till we wonder where they found fresh words for the same
thoughts. In any longer poems they wholly failed: and the only
compositions we read with pleasure are songs, madrigals, redondillas,
and romances, which are often fresh and sparkling--warm from the heart,
either dancing with animal spirits or soft with pathetic tenderness.
Among the writers of such, none excelled Vicente Espinel. The following
is a specimen, and may be taken as an example of that style of Spanish
poetry, simple, feeling and elegant, which preceded the innovations of
the refined school. It is taken from Dr. Bowring's translation, and is
good, though not comparable to the charming simplicity of the
original:--
"A thousand, thousand times, I seek[104]
My lovely maid;
But I am silent still--afraid
That if I speak,
The maid might frown, and then my heart would break.
I've oft resolved to tell her all,
But dare not--what a woe 't would be
From doubtful favour's smiles to fall
To the harsh frown of certainty.
Her grace, her music cheers me now;
The dimpled roses on her cheek;
But fear restrains my tongue--for how,
How should I speak,
When, if she frown'd, my troubled heart would break?
No, rather I'll conceal my story
In my full heart's most secret cell:
For though I feel a doubtful glory,
I 'scape the certainty of hell.
I lose, 't is true--the bliss of heaven,--
I own my courage is but weak,--
That weakness may be well forgiven,
For should she speak
In words ungentle--O, my heart would break!"
Vicente Espinel was born at Ronda, a city of Granada, in the year 1544.
He was of poor parentage, and left his native town early to seek his
fortunes. A countryman, don Francisco Pacheco, bishop of Malaga, so far
favoured as to ordain him, and he became a beneficiary of the church at
Ronda. He sought better preferment at court, but met with no success,
either in his own native place nor out of it. In Ronda itself he had
enemies, who pursued him with such calumnies and malignity that he
withdrew into a sort of voluntary exile, which, loving Granada as he
did, he bitterly lamented. He was at first a friend, and then an
attacker, of Cervantes, which circumstance does not redound to his
credit.[105] Lope de Vega speaks of his poetry with the approbation it
deserved. He was a musician as well as a poet, and added a fifth string
to the Spanish guitar. He died poor and in obscurity at Madrid, in 1634,
in the ninetieth year of his age. He describes himself in some spirited
and comic verses, as singularly ugly--a tub with a priest's cap at top,
a monster of fat;--large face, short neck, short arms, each hand looking
like a tortoise, slow of foot: "whoever sees me," he says, "so fat and
reverend-looking, might think that I were a rich and idle epicure.--What
a pretty figure for a poet!"
Another writer of the natural school; named the Anacreon of Spain, more
easy, sweet and spirited even than Vicente Espinel, was Estévan Manuel
de Villegas. He was born in the city of Nagera of Naxera, in the
province or Rioja, in Old Castile, in the year 1595. He was of a noble
and distinguished family. He spent his boyish years at Madrid. At
fourteen he was entered in the university of Salamanca, and studied the
law. His tastes inclined him, however, to the more agreeable parts of
literature: he was a proficient in Latin and Greek; and, at fourteen,
translated from Anacreon and Horace; and at the same time wrote original
anacreontics, which he published in 1618, in his twenty-third year.
On the death of his father, he returned to Nagera, to assist his widowed
mother, and attend to the interests of his estate. Here, in retirement
and peace, he dedicated himself to the acquirement of knowledge and the
cultivation of poetry. He married, in the year 1626, donna Antonia de
Leyva Villodas, a beautiful and distinguished lady. Having six children,
he endeavoured, by means of powerful friends, to obtain some employment
that might add to his scanty income, and give him leisure at the same
time to prosecute various designs in literature and poetry which he
projected on a large scale, but he only succeeded in being appointed to
a place of slight importance and emolument "Thus," says Sedano, "this
great man was, in common with almost every other person of eminence,
pursued by adversity, which was the cause that his talents did not shine
as brilliantly as they might have done, and that his name has not come
down with due celebrity to our days." At last, giving up hope of worldly
advancement, he retired to his estate, where he died in 1669, in the
seventy-fourth year of his age.
Although the conceits, the fashion of the age, sometimes deteriorate
from Villegas's poetry, he has more natural facility, added to classical
correctness, than almost any other Spanish poet. His verses flow on with
elegance and softness, joined to a nature and feeling quite enchanting.
His translations of Anacreon have the simplicity and pure unencumbered
expression of the original; that of the "Dove" breathes Anacreon
himself. For the sake of the Spanish reader it is appended at the bottom
of the page[106], and he can compare it with the Greek, and perceive
that Anacreon never found poet so capable of transfusing into another
language the vivacity, and grace of his lyrics.
His original Anacreontics may almost be said to deserve a place beside
the immortal Greek. We copy from Mr. Wiffen's pages one of his sapphics,
rendered pre-eminent by its delicacy and beauty:--
"TO THE ZEPHYR.
"Sweet neighbour of the green, leaf-shaking grove,
Eternal guest of April, frolic child
Of a sad sire, life-breath of mother Love,
Favonius, Zephyr mild!
If thou has learned like me to love,--away!
Thou who hast borne the murmurs of my cry;
Hence--no demur--and to my Flora say,
Say that 'I die!'
Flora once knew what bitter tears I shed;
Flora once wept to see my sorrows flow;
Flora once loved me--but I dread, I dread
Her anger now.
So may the Gods--so may the calm blue sky,
For the fair time that thou in gentle mirth
Sport'st in the air, with love benign deny
Snows to the earth!
So never may the grey cloud's cumbrous sail,
When from on high the rosy day-break springs,
Beat on thy shoulders, nor its evil hail
Wound thy fine wings!"
[Footnote 104: " Mil veces voy á hablar
á mi zagala,
pero mas quiero callar,
por no esperar
que me envie noramala
Voy á decirla mi daño
pero tengo por mejor,
tener dudoso el favor
que no cierto el desengaño;
y aunque me suele animar
su gracia y gala,
el temer me hace callar,
por no esperar
que me envie noramala.
Tengo por suerte mas buena
mostrar mi lingua á ser muda,
que estando la gloria en duda
no estara cierta la pena
y aunque con disimular
se desiguala,
tengo por mejor callar,
que no esperar
que me envie noramala."]
[Footnote 105: Viardôt, in his life of Cervantes, mentions that Vicente
Espinel became his enemy. I have not discovered on what he grounds this
assertion. In the postscript to the "Voyage to Parnassus", one of the
latest of Cervantes's works, he feigns that Apollo sent messages to
various Spanish poets "You will give my compliments," the God writes,
"to Vicente Espinel, as to one of the oldest and truest friends I
have."]
[Footnote 106: "Amada Palomilla,
¿ de dónde, di, ú adonde
vienes con tanta prisa,
vas con tantos olores?
¿ Pues a ti que te importa?
Sabras que Anacreonte
me envía a su Batílo,
Señor de todo el orbe:
que como por un himno
me emancipo Dione:
nómbrome su page,
y el por tal recibióme.
Suyas son estas cartas,
suyos estos renglones,
por lo qual me prometo
libertad quando torno.
Pero yo no la quiero,
ni quiero que me ahorre;
porque¿ de que me sirve
andar cruzando montes
comer podridas bacas,
ni pararme en los robres?
A mi pues me permite
el mismo Anacreonte
comer de sus viandas,
beber de sus licores:
Y quando vien brindada
doy saltos voladores,
le cubro con mis alas,
y el dulce las acoge.
Su citara es mi cama,
sus cuerdas mis colchones,
en quien suavamente
duermo toda la noche.
Mi historia es esta, amigo,
pero queda á los dioses,
que me has hecho parlera
mas que graja del bosque."]
GONGORA
1561-1627.
Don Luis de Gongora y Argote was born at Cordova on the 11th July 1561.
His father was don Francisco de Argote, corregidor of Cordova, his
mother was donna Leonor de Gongora, both of ancient and distinguished
noble families; and, as the name of his father was equally patrician
with that of his mother, his having given preference to the latter has
excited surprise among his Spanish biographers. At the age of fifteen he
entered the university of Salamanca, and studied the law; but his
inclination led him rather to the cultivation of poetry and general
literature; and while at Salamanca, he wrote many amatory, satirical,
and burlesque poems. At this time he had so severe an illness, that for
three days he was believed to be dead, and his resuscitation was
regarded almost as a miracle.
He passed his early life at Cordova, known and esteemed as a poet and a
man of talent. His spirit was high, his character ardent and
penetrating, and his pen ready, so that he was induced to indulge in
personal satire, a circumstance which in after years he deeply
regretted; and he changed so much that a friend of his writes, "he
became the most ingenuous, candid, and unoffending man in conversation
and writing that Spain ever saw." At the age of forty-five he took holy
orders, and soon after visited Madrid, invited by several nobles who,
esteeming his worth, and regretting his slender means, believed that he
would there be enabled to increase them. But though he frequented the
society of the great, he was but slightly benefited. However, through
the patronage of the duke of Lerma and the marques de Siete Iglesias, he
was named honorary chaplain to Philip III. He was held in much esteem by
those nobles who cultivated literature, on account of his great talents;
and he founded a sort of school of literature whose disciples were
bigoted, zealous, and intolerant.
He thus wasted eleven years at court, not deceived by vain hopes, for
his experienced understanding prevented his entertaining any such
illusions, but forced by necessity. He was then taken suddenly and
dangerously ill, while attending on the king in a journey to Valentia,
away from all his friends; the queen, however, hearing of his illness,
sent a physician to attend him. His head was attacked in a manner not so
much to destroy reason, as to take from him all memory; and in this
manner he continued lost to the end of his life. At one time, during a
short interval of comparative health, he returned to Cordova that he
might be buried in his native place. Not long after he died, on the 24th
May, 1627, at the age of sixty-six.
In person Gongora was tall and robust, his face large, his eyes
penetrating and lively, his whole appearance venerable, though severe
and adust, hearing marks of the causticity and satire of his
disposition, which however softened as he grew older. He was a
disappointed man. His talents, his understanding, the grasp of mind of
which he felt himself capable, nourished an internal ambition, which
being ungratified, turned to discontent. It was some satisfaction to his
imperious disposition to found a school of poetry, and attack the chief
writers of the day, Cervantes and Lope de Vega, the Argensolas and
Quevedo, in reply to their just criticisms on his inflated and tortuous
style; and it was balm to his pride to hear the applause of his
followers. But it is greatly to his discredit that, while heretofore the
disputes of the Spanish poets with regard to literature were conducted
with temper, and for the most part with urbanity, Gongora indulged in
scurrility and abuse. His excuse, Sedano tells us, is, that this sort of
insolence was the fruit of youthful arrogance: yet, as he was a year
older than Lope, and contemporary with most of the others, he could not
have been so very young when he entered the lists against them. However,
as he grew older, visited Madrid, went to court, and took orders, he
threw off the presumption he nourished in his native town, and became
gentle, humane, and modest, and regretted his former excesses of temper.
The terms in which his friends speak of him, prove that the honesty and
integrity of his disposition, and his great understanding, inspired them
with love and veneration; for, though their language be exaggerated,
still it bears marks of sincerity. A friend and disciple writing his
life, soon after his death, speaks of him as "the greatest man that not
only Spain, but the world ever saw." He laments his brief career, as he
names sixty-six years; but his praises being written in the excess of
the _culto_ style, it is impossible almost to understand--quite
impossible to translate them. In this style the literal translation only
offers nonsense: there is a hidden meaning which is to be guessed at,
and that, so metaphoric and obscure, that it very much resembles a
Chinese puzzle--difficult to put together, and, when, discovered and
arranged, not worth the trouble. The _cultoristos_ themselves nourished
unbounded contempt for any thing that was at all explicable to common
understandings in a common manner.
It is remarkable that in the early poetry of Gongora there is no trace
of this style which he afterwards invented (as his followers called it),
and insisted upon as a prodigy of good taste and poetic genius. His
early poetry is peculiarly simple and plain. He wrote redondillas or
seguidillas in the old Spanish style, on the most common-place topics,
which yet he treats with spirit and power; others of his poems are
softly pathetic; but all are written without inflation--without
conceits, but with all that fire and brilliancy--that gaiety and
poignancy which characterised his vivid imagination. Of the first
mentioned, those that even verge on the common-place, we may mention the
"Child's Address to his Sister," as to how they should amuse themselves
on a holiday; in which he describes the pleasures of Spanish children,
with infinite vivacity and nature. The subject of another, is the story
of Hero and Leander. He transforms the hero and heroine of this romantic
love story, into two poor peasants--she too poor to buy a lantern, he to
hire a boat. The catastrophe, the last swimming of Leander, his coming
to the dreary, stormy sea beach, and his throwing himself in--though
tarnished by vulgarisms, is lively and picturesque. In all that he wrote
there was fire and spirit, facility and a diction truly poetic. One of
his sweetest lyrics is the "Song of Catherine of Arragon," lamenting her
sad destiny; it will prepossess the reader in favour of Gongora's pure
style, and we therefore quote the translation of Dr. Bowring:--
"THE SONG OF CATHERINE OF ARRAGON.
"O take a lesson, flowers! from me,
How in a dawn all charms decay--
Less than my shadow doomed to be,
Who was a wonder yesterday.
I, with the early twilight born,
Found ere the evening shades, a bier,
And I should die in darkness lorn,
But that the moon is shining here.
So must _ye_ die--though ye appear
So fair--and night your curtain be;
O take a lesson, flowers! from me.
My fleeting being was consoled
When the carnation met my view:
One hurrying day my doom has told--
Heaven gave that lovely flower but two.
Ephemeral monarch of the wold--
I clad in gloom--in scarlet he;
O take a lesson, flowers! from me.
The jasmin, sweetest flower of flowers,
The soonest is its radiance fled;
It scarce perfumes as many hours
As there are starbeams round its head.
If living amber fragrance shed,
The jasmine sure its shrine must be:
O take a lesson, flowers! from me.
The bloody-warrior fragrance gives,
It towers unblushing, proud and gay;
More days than other flowers it lives,
It blooms through all the days of May.
I'd rather like a shade decay,
Than such a gaudy being be:
O take a lesson, flowers! from me."
The following song, sent with flowers, and asking from his lady a kiss
for every sting he received while gathering them, is tender and
elegant:--
"From my summer alcove, which the stars this morn
With lucid pearls o'erspread,
I've gathered these jessamines, thus to adorn
With a wreath thy graceful head.
From thy bosom and mouth, they, as flowers, ere death,
Ask a purer white, anti a sweeter breath.
Their blossoms, a host of bees, alarmed
Watched over on jealous wing,
Hoarse trumpeters seemed they all, and armed
Each bee with a diamond sting:
I tore them away, but each flower I tore
Has cost me a wound which smarteth sore.
Now as I these jessamine flowers entwine,
A gift for thy fragrant hair,
I must have, from those honey-sweet lips of thine,
A kiss for each sting I bear:
It is just that the blooms I bring thee home
Be repaid by sweets from the golden comb.[107]"
His poems in Spanish metres, his letrillas and romances, have the same
brilliancy of expression, warmth of emotion, and vivid colouring. The
"Ballad of Angelica and Medora" is particularly airy and fresh, but rich
and strong as a deep clear inland river that reflects the gorgeous tints
of the sky. Gongora surpasses every other Spanish lyrist, in the
brilliant colouring of his poetry, and the vivacity of his expression.
But all this he voluntarily set at nought. Instead of writing as a poet,
he adopted the crabbed critic's art, and, extreme in all things, gave no
quarter even to the beauties of his own compositions. He might reprove
the diluted interminable poems of Lope, and the unpoetic style of
Cervantes; he might have been displeased with the poverty of ideas and
enervated conceptions of many of his contemporaries; but he might have
been satisfied with his own ease, purity, and strength: he, however,
rejected even these, and instituted a system: a new dialect was
invented, a new construction adopted,--new words, a dislocated
construction, a profusion and exaggeration of figures were introduced.
"He rose," one of his disciples writes, "to the sublime height of
refinement (_cultura_), which ignorance holds in distaste, and
accomplished the greatness off 'Polyphemus,' the 'Soledades,' and other
shorter, but not less, poems." He grew almost frantic in the
dissemination of his system; and in his vehemence against its opponents,
he became lost to poetry, and lives, even to this day, more remembered
as a fantastic and ill-judging innovator, than as one of the most
natural, brilliant, and imaginative poets that Spain ever produced.
Lope de Vega has written a letter, or rather essay, upon Gongora and his
system, and gives the following account of both:
"I have known this gentleman for eight-and-twenty years, and I hold him
to be possessed of the rarest and most excellent talent of any in
Cordova, so that he need not yield even to Seneca or Lucan, who were
natives of the same town. Pedro Linan de Riaza, his contemporary at
Salamanca, told me much of his proficiency in study, so that I
cultivated his acquaintance, and improved it by the intercourse we had
when I visited Andalusia; and it always appeared as if he liked and
esteemed me more than my poor merits deserve. Many other distinguished
men of letters at that time competed with him:--Herrera, Vicente
Espinel, the two Argensolas, and others, among whom this gentleman held
such place, that Fame said the same of him as the Delphic oracle did of
Socrates.
"He wrote in all styles with elegance, and in gay and festive
compositions his wit was not less celebrated than Martial's, while it
was far more decent. We have several of his works composed in a pure
style, which he continued for the greater part of his life. But, not
content with having reached the highest step of fame in sweetness and
softness, he sought (I have always believed with good and sincere
intentions, and not with presumption, as his enemies have asserted), to
enrich the art, and even language, with such ornaments and figures as
were never before imagined nor seen. In my opinion he fulfilled his aim,
if this was his intent; the difficulty rests in receiving his system:
and so many obstacles have arisen, that I doubt they will never cease,
except with their cause; for I think the obscurity and ambiguity of his
expressions must be disagreeable to many. By some he is said to have
raised this new style into a peculiar class of poetry; and they are not
mistaken: for, as in the old manner of writing, it took a life to become
a poet, in this new one it requires but a day: for, with these
transpositions, four rules, and six Latin words or emphatic phrases,
they rise so high that they do not know--far less understand themselves.
Lipsius wrote a new Latin, which those who are learned in such things
say Cicero and Quintilian laugh at in the other world; and those who
have imitated him are so wise that they lose themselves. And I know
others who have invented a language and style so different from Lipsius
that they require a new dictionary. And thus those who imitate this
gentleman produce monstrous births--and fancy that, by imitating his
style, they inherit his genius. Would to God they imitated him in that
part which is worthy of adoption; for every one must be aware that there
is much that is deserving of admiration, while the rest is wrapt in the
darkness of such ambiguity as I have found the cleverest men at fault
when they tried to understand it. The foundation of this edifice is
transposition, rendered the more harsh by the disjoining of substantives
from adjectives, where no parenthesis is possible, so that even to
pronounce it is difficult: tropes and figures are the ornaments, so
little to the purpose, that it is as if a woman, when painting herself,
instead of putting the rouge on her cheeks, should apply it to her nose,
forehead and ears. Transpositions may be allowed, and there are common
examples, but they must be appropriate. Boscan, Garcilaso, and Herrera
use them. Look at the elegance, softness, and beauty of the divine
Herrera, worthy of imitation and admiration! for, it is not to enrich a
language, to reject its natural idiom, and adopt instead phrases
borrowed from a foreign tongue; but, now, they write in the style of the
curate who asked his servant for the "anserine reed," telling her that
"the Ethiopian licour was wanting in the cornelian vase." These people
do not attend to clearness or dignity of style, but to the novelty of
these exquisite modes of expression, in which there is neither truth nor
propriety, nor enlargement of the powers of language; but an odious
invention that renders it barbarous, imitated from one who might have
been an object of just admiration to us all."[108]
In addition to these grave and reasonable arguments, Lope attacked the
culto style with ridicule, better suited to explode the would-be
invention of the unintelligible. In several plays he alludes to it with
good humoured raillery. In one of them, a cavalier desirous of making
use of the talents of a poet to write for him, asks--
_Cav._ A plain or polished bard?[109]
_Poet._ Refined my style.
_Cav._ My secrets then remain with me to write.
_Poet._ Your secrets? Why?
_Cav._ For, with refinement penned.
Their meaning sure no soul shall comprehend.[110]
In another play, a lady describing her rival, ridicules her as,
"She who writes in that high polished style,
That language so charmingly Greek,
Which never was heard in Castile,
And her mother ne'er taught her to speak."[111]
In addition to these quotations, there are many more chance arrows let
fly at the absurdity, in his volume of burlesque poetry, written under
the name of Tomé de Burguillos, in the shape of parodies on this style.
We select one which however ridiculous it reads, is a very moderate
representation of the bombast Gongora brought into fashion.
"TO A COMB, THE POET NOT KNOWING WHETHER IT
WAS OF BOX OR IVORY.
"Sail through the red waves of the sea of love,
O, bark of Barcelona, and between
The billows of those ringlets proudly move,
And now be hidden there, and now be seen!
What golden surges, Love, who lurks beneath,
Weaves with the windings of that splendid hair!
Be grateful for thy bliss, and leave him there,
In joyance unmolested by thy teeth.
O tusk of elephant, or limb of box,
Gently unravel thou her tangled locks,
Gently the windings of those curls unfold,
Like the sun's rays, in parallels arrange them,
And through the labyrinth shape thy paths of gold,
Ere yet to silver envious time shall change them."[112]
While Lope on these occasions, and on many others, takes occasion to
reprehend and satirise this new system, his disciples held it up as the
wonder of the world; they called it the _estilo culto_, or refined
style, and themselves _cultoristos_: each phrase was to be twisted, each
word to receive a new and deeper meaning, while mythology, and all sorts
of phantastic imagery, gave a bombastic gilding to the whole; and when
they had written verses high in sound, but obscure and simple in
meaning, they fancied they had arrived at sublimity. Thus, a petty hill
assumes the proportions of a mountain in the evening mist. We may look
at it with wonder, we may lose our way or tumble into a ditch in
endeavouring to reach it; but; once at its summit, and we find ourselves
scarcely elevated above the plain.
The "Polyphemus" and the "Solitudes" of Gongora, are, as has been
mentioned, the poems written in his most exaggerated style. The
"Polyphemus" begins with a description of the giant, who "was a mountain
of members eminent." His dark hair was a "knotty imitation of the turbid
waves of Lethe; and, as the wind combs them stormily, they fly
dishevelled, or hang down disordered: his beard is a torrent, the
dried-up offspring of this Pyrenees! Trinacria has no wild beast in its
mountains armed with such cruelty, shod with such wind, whose ferocity
can defend, nor whose speed may save! Their skins, spotted with a
hundred colours, are his cloak; and thus he drives in his oxen to their
stall, treading the doubtful light of morn." His "Soledades" or
"Solitudes," commence even more in the _estilo culto_, and with such
very refined phrases and images that no one can make any thing of it. We
give a short passage with Sismondi's translation, and the Spanish, that
the reader may judge in what a jungle of interminable words, and
heterogeneous ideas, this mistaken poet lost himself:--
"'T was in the flowery season of the year,
When fair Europa's ravisher disguised,
(A crescent moon, the arms upon his brow,
And strewed with sunbeams all his glitt'ring skin),
Shines out the glowing honour of the sky,
And the stars pastures in the azure fields,
When he who well the cup of Jove might fill
Mure gracefully than Ida's shepherd boy,
Was wrecked--and scorned as well as far away,
The tears of love and amorous complaints
Gave to the sea, which he then pitying
Imparts to rustling leaves, that to the wind
Repeats the saddest sighs,
Soft as Arion's softest instrument--
And from the mountain top a pine which aye
Struggled with its fierce enemy the North,
There rent a pitying limb--and the brief plank
Became a no small dolphin to the youth
Who wand'ring heedlessly, was forced t'intrust
His way unto a Libyan waste of sea,
And his existence to an ocean-skiff,
At first sucked in, and afterwards thrown forth,
Where not far off a rock there stood, whose top
Was crowned with bulrushes, and feathers warm
With seaweed dank and foam besprent all o'er,
And rest and safety found there where a nest
The bird of Jove had built.
He kissed the sands, and of the broken skiff,
The portion that was thrown upon the beach
He gave the rock--and let the rugged cliffs
Behold his loveliness, for naked stood
The youth.--The ocean first had drunk, and then
Restored his vestments to the yellow sands,
And in the sunshine he extended them,
And the sun licking them with his sweet tongue
Of tempered fire, slowly invests them round,
And sucks the moisture from the smallest thread."[113]
Sismondi only gives half this sentence, but the latter part is the most
intelligible; and besides it was difficult to refrain from presenting
the reader with the refined image (_culta figura_) of the manner in
which the shipwrecked boy's clothes were dried. In a hurried translation
of this sort, the harmony of verse is not preserved; and that, it must
be remarked, is great, and one of Gongora's chief beauties. There is,
indeed, a sort of dusky gorgeousness throughout; but it makes the reader
smile, to be told that this style of poetry was new and unknown, and
"superior to aught that man ever before imagined or composed:" that it
was to supersede Garcilaso, Herrera, and Gongora himself in his better
days. Such was the faith of the _cultoristos_, such their hope in the
_estilo culto._
Sismondi's translation of the first part of this sentence runs
thus:--"C'était la saison fleurie de l'année dans laquelle le
ravisseur déguisé d'Europe, portant sur son front pour armes une
demie-lune, et tous les rayons du soleil disséminés sur son front,
devenu un honneur brillant du ciel, menait paître des étoiles dans des
champs de saphir; lorsque celui qui était bien plus fait pour
présenter la coupe à Jupiter que le jeune homme d'Ida, fit naufrage,
et confia à la mer de douces plaintes et des larmes d'amour; celle-ci
pleine de compassion les transmit aux feuilles qui répétant le triste
gémissement du vent comme le doux instrument d'Arion----" Here Sismondi
breaks off, for here Gongora becomes particularly obscure. We guess (it
is all guessing with the _cultoristos_), that the poet intends to say,
that the pitying waves repeated to the winds the complaints of the
wrecked youth, which in compassion tore from the pine the limb that
served him as a skiff to save him. Whether the instrument, soft as
Arion's, typifies the voice of the youth, or the waves, or the wind, or
the pine tree, is an enigma beyond our solving.
[Footnote 107: This translation is from Mr. Wiffen, to show how simply
and beautifully Gongora wrote in his young and unspoiled style, and we
give the Spanish of this last song:
"A UNA DAMA PRESENTANDOLA UNAS FLORES.
"De la florida falda
que oy de perlas bordó la Alba luciente,
tegidos en guirnalda,
traslado estos jazmines a tu frente,
que piden con ser flores
blanca a tus sienes, y a tu boca olores.
Guarda destos jazmines
de avejas era un esquadron volante,
ronco, si, de clarines,
mas de puntas armado de diamante,
puselas en huida
y cada flor mi cuestra una herida.
Mas Clori que he texido
jazmines al cabello desatado,
y mas besos te pido
que avejas tuvo el esquadron armado,
lisonjas son iguales,
servir yo en flores, pagar tu en panales."
_Obras de Gongora_, 1633.]
[Footnote 108: Discurso sobre la Nueva Poesia por Lope de Vega.]
[Footnote 109: Lord Holland's Life of Lope de Vega.]
[Footnote 110: _Lop._ Sois vulgar o culterano?
_Sev._ Culto soy.
_Lop._ Quedaos en casa
Y escribireis mis secretos.
_Sev._ Sus secretos! por que cansa?
_Lop._ Porque nadie los entienda.]
[Footnote 111: "Aquella que escribe en culto
por a quel Griego lenguage;
que no lo supo Castilla,
ni se enseñóle su madre."]
[Footnote 112: "A UN PEYNE, QUE NO SABIA EL POETA SI ERA DE BOX
O DE MARFIL.
"Sulca del mar de amor las rubias ondas,
barco de Barcelona, y por los bellos
lazos navega altivo, aunque por ellos
tal vez te muestres, y tal vez te escondas.
Ya no flechas, Amor, dorados ondas
teje de sus esplendidos cabellos;
tu con los dientes no lo quites dellos,
para que a tanta dicha correspondas.
Desenvuelve los rizos con decoro,
los paralelos de mi sol desata,
box o colmillo de elephante Moro,
y en tanto que esparcidos los dilata
forma por la madeja sendas de ora
antes que el tiempo los convierta en plata."]
[Footnote 113: "Era del año la estacion florida,
en que el mentido robador de Europa
(media Luna las armas de su frente,
y el Sol todos los rayos de su pelo)
luziente honor del cielo
en campos de zafiro pace las estrellas,
quando el que ministrar podia la copa
a Jupiter, mejor que el garçon de Ida
naufragò, y desdeñado sobre ausente
lagrimosas de Amor, dulces querellas
Dá al mar, que condolido
fue a las ondas, que al viento
el misero gemido,
segundo de Arion dulce instrumento
del siempre en la montaña opuesto pino,
al enemigo Noto
piadoso miembro roto,
breve tabla, Delfin no fue pequeño
al inconsiderado peregrino,
que a una Libia de ondas su camino
fio, y su vida a un leño
del oceano, pues antes sorvido
y luego vomitado,
no lexos de un escollo coronado
de secos juncos, de calientes plumas,
(Alga todo, y espumas)
hallò hospitalidad donde hallò nido
de Jupiter el ave,
besa la arena, y de la reta nave
aquella parte poca
que lo expuso en la playa, dio a la roca,
que aun se dexan las peñas
lisongear de agradecidas señas,
desnudo el joven, quanto ya el vestido
oceano ha bevido
restituir le haze a las arenas,
y al sol lo estiende luego,
que lamiendolo apenas
su dulce lengua de templado fuego
lento lo embiste, y con suave estilo
la menor honda chupa al menor hilo."]
QUEVEDO
1580-1645.
Spaniards may look back with pride to this epoch, so fertile in genius,
so prolific of the talent and high character that germinates in the
Spanish soul, and which it required unexampled despotism and cruelty to
crush and efface. Not that the inborn greatness of that people is lost,
but its outward demonstration, after this period, became the unheard and
sightless prey of political oppression. The words of Gray, wherein he
speaks of the heroes and poets who may have been born and died without
achieving distinction, or performing any act capable of winning it, is
so true, perhaps, in no country as in Spain: but with them it cannot be
said, that
"Chill penury repressed their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the soul."
It was the stake and the dungeon, a system of misrule, and the aspect of
the merciless deeds committed by their governors on helpless multitudes,
that destroyed the energies, and blighted the genius, of the people.
When we read of such acts as the banishment of the Moriscos, and the
history of all that high-hearted people suffered--torn from their
native vales and hills, and cast out upon the stranger--we wonder what
manner of men lived in Spain, and feel that these inhuman and impious
deeds must have poisoned the very air. But, politically speaking, it is
not the act, but its effects, that are so baneful; national crime
influences by causing the degeneracy of the race. The youth may live a
life of sin; it is the man that is the sufferer. And thus the heroes of
Spain of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, might glory in their
children of the sixteenth; but the infection of evil had touched these,
and their descendants made good the awful denunciation,--that the
children are to suffer for their parents' crimes--an annunciation of
divine will, so carried out in the vast system of the world, though
often omitted in particular instances, as to demonstrate that it is one
of the laws bestowed by heaven to govern the human race.
Among the men who, last of the Spaniards of renown, flourished at that
epoch, Quevedo deserves particular mention. He was a man of genius--a
man who acted as well as wrote, and displayed in both originality,
penetration and rectitude; whose character was as admirable as his
intellect. He was the victim, also, of the most frightful misrule; and
the fate of Quevedo alone might be brought forward as an example of the
infamy of the political institutions of Spain.
Don Francisco Gomez de Quevedo Villegas, was born at Madrid in September
1580. His father, Pedro Gomez de Quevedo, was a courtier. He had been
secretary to the empress Mary, and afterwards filled the same situation
to queen Anne, wife of Philip II. His mother, donna Maria de Santibanez,
also was attached to the court, and was a lady of the bedchamber to the
queen. They were both of noble family, and descended from the most
ancient landed proprietors of the Montana, in the Valle de Toranzo.
His father died when he was a child; and he was brought up in the royal
palace by his mother, but she also died when he was young[114], as we
gather from one of his ballads, in which he gives a jocosely bitter
account of the ill luck that pursued him through life. He went early to
the university of Alcalà, and there his passion for study developed
itself in all its intensity, so that we are told that he took his degree
in theology, to the wonder of every body, at fifteen. This seems almost
incredible; but it is plain he took it with credit, and a the expense of
great labour.
This science and success, however, did not satisfy him. He gave himself
eagerly up to the acquirement of other knowledge: civil and canon law,
medicine and natural history, the learned languages, and the various
systems of philosophy, were in the number of his studies and
acquirements: poetry was added to the list. His grasping and clear mind
became informed by all the learning of the times; it converted it all to
nutriment, and acquired power from the various intellectual weapons he
taught himself to wield.
His career was checked by a circumstance that may rather be looked on as
fortunate, since it forced him to quit the immediate atmosphere of the
court, and to make his way elsewhere, through his own exertions and
merits. He was, though so young, held in high esteem for his conduct,
and, as the most accomplished cavalier of his time, was often made the
arbitrator of quarrels: in which character he displayed his good sense
and good feeling by the care he at once took, to watch over the point of
honour and to reconcile adversaries. He himself wielded all weapons of
defence with singular dexterity; though, being born with both his feet
turned in, this deformity must have impeded the full developement of his
powers, which, nevertheless, exceeded those of most men in strength and
skill, and were aided by his bravery and greatness of mind. These
qualifications had brought him off the conqueror in several unexpected
and inevitable rencontres, where he had been obliged to defend or assert
himself. On one occasion a man, calling himself a gentleman, entirely
unknown to him, took advantage of the darkness in which churches are
plunged during the evening of Holy Thursday, to insult a lady (equally
unknown to Quevedo), in the church of St. Martin, at Madrid. Quevedo
came forward to her assistance, forced the insulter into the street,
and, reproving him for his brutality, they drew on each other, and
Quevedo ran his adversary through the body. The friends of the cavalier
endeavoured to seize him, and he was obliged to fly: he took refuge in
Italy, and thence, invited by the viceroy, repaired to Sicily.
At this time Don Pedro Giron, duke of Osuna and grandee of Spain, was
viceroy of Sicily. He was a man of singular character; and the career he
ran, in which Quevedo was involved, was as strange and various as was
his disposition and designs.[115] The character of the Spanish, under
the gloomy influence of Philip II., had become dignified, grave and
ceremonious. His son Philip III. was of a different character. His
father had taken pains to inculcate all his own bigotry in matters of
religion, and, at the same time, to inspire him with application,
judgment, and a knowledge of the arts of government. In the first part
of his education he succeeded; in the latter he wholly failed. Philip
III. was a weak prince and as such given up to favouritism. On coming to
the crown, he devolved all the labours of government on the marquis of
Denia whom he made duke of Lerma, who again entrusted much of the royal
patronage and power to Don Rodrigo de Calderon, a man of low birth, but
of high and haughty mind, who became count of Oliva and marquis de Siete
Iglesias. The court of Philip III., however, preserved much of the
dignity, the severe etiquette and solemn gravity brought in by Philip
II. In this serious and ceremonious circle the duke of Osuna was almost
regarded as a madman. He displayed the fervour and spirit of youth in a
gaiety and recklessness of manner and behaviour, wholly at war with
courtly decorum and seriousness. His wit was brilliant, his
understanding penetrating, his imagination full of fire and
extravagance; his temper ardent and joyous. He was often called insane,
and the sober tried to bring him into disesteem. His high birth and vast
fortunes, however, gave him rank and weight, and he had distinguished
himself in the wars of the Low Countries, not only by his bravery but by
his military skill. His disposition prompted him to love the trade of
war; and he made such use of his experience during the struggle carried
on in that disturbed country, that he became reputed fit to command an
army. His valour was undoubted; on one occasion he had three horses
killed under him, and the success that attended his enterprises
surrounded them with still greater lustre. He was licentious in his
habits, but so grossly so, that he was never the slave of love. His
ambition was unbounded; his designs vast: his imagination suggested a
thousand strange modes of satisfying it, and engendered schemes so wild
and daring that, while the world was amazed, and its repose disturbed,
their very singularity, in many instances, commanded success. His
military reputation was the cause, joined to the influence of Uzeda, son
of the duke of Lerma, who was his friend, that, notwithstanding his
indiscretions and levity, he came to be named viceroy of Sicily.
Quevedo was an invaluable acquisition to such a man. His gaiety and wit
recommended him as a companion: his understanding, his integrity, his
elevated character, his resolution, his capacity for labour, and his
great knowledge, caused him to be a useful servant to one, whose vast
designs required instruments of power and skill. The duke showed his
great confidence in his talents and fidelity by sending him as his
ambassador to Madrid, to recount his exploits and explain his designs.
Quevedo succeeded so well that, the king and council bestowed a pension
on him, and the duke of Osuna was advanced to the viceroyalty of
Naples--which opened a new scene for his schemes and a wide field for
his towering ambition. Osuna's first acts were directed against the
Turkish power, and he obtained several splendid victories in the
Mediterranean and on the coasts of Africa, but he had designs more at
heart than a victory over the Turks. The war of the Low Countries was
concluded, and there was peace between France and Spain. The Spanish
power, possessed of Sicily and Naples and Milan, threatened to become
omnipotent in Italy. Charles Emanuel, duke of Savoy, a gallant and
patriotic prince in vain endeavoured to make head against it: he was
forced to submit. Still in heart he was at war; and this sovereign and
the republic of Venice made a quiet but determined stand against the
encroachments of Spain in Italy. The Duke of Osuna set himself in
opposition to them, and, in particular, used every means he could
command, to weaken and injure the Venetians.
The methods he took were lawless and dishonourable, but they shewed his
despotic and daring spirit. He encouraged the Uscocchi, a tribe of
pirates who inhabited Istria, and infested the Mediterranean. A Spanish
fleet protected their attacks on the Venetians, intercepted the forces
of the republic sent against them, and seized upon their merchantmen in
the Adriatic. Corsairs and pirates of all nations brought their prizes
to the ports of Naples, and found shelter and protection: they were
permitted to trade; and Osuna thus gathered together a number of
desperate men whom he could use in the execution of any daring
enterprise. The fair traders and merchants of Naples however, finding
commerce decline, complained at the court of Madrid; the French also
made representations against the nefarious acts of the pirates protected
by Osuna; and the court, which had entered on a treaty of peace with
Savoy, and was negotiating one between Venice and Ferdinand of Austria,
sent an order to the viceroy to suspend all hostilities.
Osuna would not obey. He sent a fleet into the Adriatic, and threatened
with death any one who should dare carry complaints to Madrid. His
pretence was the alarm of an intended invasion by the Turks, while at
the same time he was endeavouring to induce the Porte to attack Candia.
This fleet was driven into port by a storm: but he had a number of
privateers which, notwithstanding Spain was at peace with Venice,
captured the vessels of that state; and, when he was ordered to restore
them, he obeyed by sending back the vessels and keeping the cargoes. In
vain did the Venetians complain. Osuna declared that he would persist
while he detected latent enmity to Spain in the councils of the
republic, and the Spanish ambassador was forced to allow that the
viceroy was beyond royal control.
But his designs did not end here; his heart was set on the destruction
of Venice: and, his daring and uncontrolled imagination suggesting the
wildest schemes, he set on foot another attempt even less venial than
his encouragement of the Uscocchi. It is true that Spanish historians,
and, among them, Ortiz, deny the complicity of Spain in the conspiracy
formed against Venice, and throw upon the Venetian senate the accusation
of trumping up a plot, for the sake of getting rid of the Spanish
ambassador: but all other nations concur in believing the conspiracy to
have been real, and in affirming that the interesting account Saint Real
gives, is, in the main, founded on undoubted facts.
The name of the Bedmar conspiracy against Venice is familiar to us
through Otway's play. This is not the place to go into minute detail.
The marquis of Bedmar was a man of great talent and acquirements. The
Spanish government held him in high esteem; he was sagacious and
discerning, and he had that zeal for the glory of his country, which in
that day distinguished the Spaniards: and it was of the first importance
to the prosperity of Spain to weaken, how much more to destroy the state
of Venice. His design was to introduce foreign troops surreptitiously
into the town--to fire the arsenal and other parts of the city, and to
seize on its places of strength. The senators were to be massacred; and
if the citizens offered resistance, artillery was to be turned on them,
and the city laid in ruins. The plot was discovered: it is not known
exactly how. It seems probable, that a conspirator, a Venetian, a
Jaffier, betrayed it through the suggestions of fear or humanity, and
Venice was preserved.
Bedmar, it is said, communicated his plot to Osuna, and they acted in
concert. There can be no doubt, but that both ministers were zealously
bent on weakening the power of Venice; and, as there appears ample proof
that this conspiracy originated in the marquis of Bedmar, so is it also
probable that he associated in it a spirit so lawless, a man so bold and
resolute as Osuna. Quevedo was the emissary that passed between them,
and if Osuna was privy to the plot, it seems certain that Quevedo also
was.
[Sidenote: 1618.
Ætat.
38.]
This is a painful circumstance. We hear so much of the integrity and
excellence of Quevedo's character, that we are averse to believe his
complicity in the nefarious attempt to destroy a rival state, not by the
fair advantages of war, but by conspiracy, incendiarism, and massacre;
that state also not only being at peace, but the plot originating in,
and carried on by one who bore the sacred character of an ambassador.
But, nurtured under the poisonous influence of the Inquisition, fraught
with a zeal, which does not deserve the name of patriotic, since the
true honour of their country was not consulted, the Spaniards nourished
a false conscience; and the men who could serve God by the murder of the
innocent and helpless, could serve their king by perjury and
assassination. During his various political services the life of Quevedo
had been several times attempted, and this also might tend to blunt his
sense of right: he might fancy that it was but fair retaliation to use
towards others the secret weapon levelled against himself. However this
may be, whether or not he were acquainted with the secret of the
conspiracy, and took a part in it, it is certain that he was in Venice
at the time that the plot was discovered. Many of his intimate friends
were seized and perished by the hands of the executioner; but he
contrived to elude the vigilance of the senate, and finally made his
escape in the guise of a mendicant.
Osuna continued viceroy of Naples, and it began to be suspected that he
intended to arrogate power independent of the king his master. His
success at sea against Venice raised him many enemies, as he gained it
through the destruction of all fair trade, and also by the imposition of
vast and burthensome taxes. The Neapolitan nobility were, in a body,
inimical to him; and all those disaffected to the Spanish rule made him
the apparent object of their hatred and complaints. He, aware of their
aversion, endeavoured to crush them; he visited all those crimes
severely which they had hitherto, under shadow of their rank, committed
unpunished. He excluded them from all offices of power and trust, and
took occasion when he could, to confiscate their property. He encouraged
a spirit of sedition among the common people; he surrounded himself by
foreign troops; he encouraged men of desperate fortunes--he commanded
the sea--and his power became unbounded. He utterly despised the king
his master, calling him the great drum of the monarchy, as if he had
been a mere tool and instrument, and possessed no real authority.
With all this it is not probable that he really conspired to seize on
Naples. He wished to rule absolutely and unquestioned, but did not go
beyond into forming designs of putting his power on a new and
independent foundation. His wild projecting brain was well known, and
caused many of his acts to pass unnoticed; but his enemies increased,
and their complaints at court were frequent. They fabricated accusations
to his dishonour, exaggerated his weaknesses and faults, and combined
together for his overthrow. Finding that he became aware of their
attempts, they, fearful of his revenge, renewed them with increased
fervour. Men of the highest rank in Naples visited Madrid, and put
themselves forward to misinterpret his actions. They art-fully
represented that the ruin of commerce, and the desolation of the kingdom
arose from his dissolute life and misrule. The king and his ministers
gave ear to these representations, and commanded Osuna to return to
Madrid. This was a great blow to the duke: though he received it with
apparent constancy, he neither liked to lose his place, nor, above all,
to lose it under dishonourable imputations, and he delayed obedience.
Thus colour was given to the idea that he meant to assert his
independence. The court of Madrid, therefore, proceeded more warily:
they contrived to get possession of his galleys and other vessels of
war; and orders were despatched to cardinal don Gaspar de Borgia, who
was named his successor, to proceed instantly from Rome, where he was
residing, to Naples, and to seize on the government. Borgia arrived at
Gaëta, but still Osuna protracted his stay under various pretences. The
nobles represented that he was endeavouring to raise an insurrection
among the populace and soldiers; and Borgia, to put an end to the
struggle, having gained the support of the governor of the Castel Nuovo,
introduced himself into that fortress by night. The following morning
the discharge of artillery proclaimed his arrival, and Osuna was obliged
to submit. He returned by slow journies to Spain. He presented himself
at court, and the king turned his back on him. Osuna eyed his sovereign
with contempt, muttering, "The king treats me not as a man, but as a
child." Not long after, Philip III. died. The enemies of Osuna were not
idle; fresh accusations of his treasonable intents at Naples were
perpetually made; and one of the first acts of the reign of Philip IV.
was to throw him into prison. The distress of his mind increased the
disease of which he was the victim, and he died in prison of a dropsy,
in the year 1624.
[Sidenote: 1620.
Ætat.
40.]
Quevedo was enveloped in his ruin. He had been a zealous and laborious
servant to Osuna and to his government. He had, by his attention to the
finances discovered various frauds, and brought large sums into the
treasury. He crossed the sea seven times as ambassador to the court of
Madrid, and fulfilled the same employment at Rome. He had been rewarded
by the gift of the habit of Santiago. He loved and revered Osuna, and
testified his attachment by writing several sonnets in his honour. One
is on his death, in which he says, "The fields of Flanders are his
monument--the blood-stained Crescent his epitaph: Spain gave him a
prison and death; but though his country failed him, his deeds were his
defence."[116] He wrote three other sonnets as epitaphs[117]: Ortiz
mentions them as containing an epitome of the duke's life. He says of
him that he was "The terror of Asia, the fear of Europe, and the
thunder-bolt of Africa. His name alone was victory, there where the
Crescent ruled. He divorced Venice and the Sea." In another he sums up
his achievements against the Turks:--"He liberated a thousand Christians
from the galleys; he assaulted and sacked Goletta, Chicheri, and
Calivia: the Danube, and Moselle and the Rhine paled before his armies."
The fall of Osuna included his own. There can be no doubt that he was
innocent of all participation in any treasonable designs of the viceroy,
but innocence was a slight resource in Spain against powerful accusers.
He was arrested and carried to his villa of Torre de Juan Abad, and
imprisoned there for three years and a half. He was confined with such
rigour, that in default of medical aid he fell severely ill, so that he
wrote to the president of the council, to represent the miserable state
of his health, and obtained leave to attend to his cure in the
neighbouring city of Villa Nueva de los Infantes. A few months after he
was liberated, under the restriction that he was not to appear at court.
But the total absence of all proof against him, caused this sentence to
be taken off soon after. Unfortunately he was not satisfied with freedom
from persecution. His fortunes had suffered during his imprisonment, and
he sought to mend them by claiming the arrears of his pension, the
payment of which had been suspended during his disgrace. This lighted
again the fire of persecution, and he was again exiled, and retired to
his villa of Torre Juan Abad, till after the lapse of another year he
was allowed to return to Madrid. No longer persecuted, and restored to
his proper place in society, he resided for some time at court, where he
enjoyed the reputation his talents, prudence, and conduct commanded, so
that the king, to reward his services, and compensate for his
sufferings, named him one of his secretaries.
[Sidenote: 1632.
Ætat.
52.]
But such honours had ceased to charm Quevedo. Misfortune and disgrace
had taught him to look with aversion on public employments; his long
imprisonment had accustomed him to study, and engendered a love of
tranquillity. Several places were offered him by the count-duke
Olivarez, minister and favourite of Philip IV., such as minister for
state despatches, and the embassy to Genoa, but he declined them and
gave himself up to study and philosophy. His writings were many, and
gained for him a high reputation; he was in correspondence with all the
most learned men of Europe, and was enriched by the revenue of several
benefices; thus for several years he enjoyed reputation and prosperity.
[Sidenote: 1634.
Ætat.
54.]
He gave up, however, his church preferments for the sake of marrying.
His wife was donna Esperanza de Aragon y la Cabra, Señora of Cetina,
and she belonged to one of the highest families in the kingdom. With her
he retired to Cetina; but he was not long allowed to enjoy the happiness
he promised himself: his wife died within a few months, and this last
misfortune, destroying the fabric of felicity he had erected, and
counted upon possessing to the end of his life, was the heaviest blow of
all. His resource and consolation was retirement and study. He took up
his abode at Torre Juan Abad, and gave himself up to the cultivation of
literature and poetry.
Several of his poems are expressive of the delight he felt at leaving
Madrid for the solitude of his villa which was placed in the Sierra of
La Mancha. One of his romances describes his progress from Madrid
through Toledo, la Mancha, and the Sierra, to his estate: the poem is
burlesque, and in ridicule of all he sees; but there are others in which
he dwells with satisfaction on his tranquil occupations. "Retired to the
solitude of these deserts," he writes, "with few but wise books, I enjoy
the conversation of the dead, and with my eyes listen to those who are
no more. The press gives into our hands those great souls whom death has
freed from injury. The hour takes its irrevocable Sight, but that is
spent best which improves us by reading and study."[118]
He was an excellent landlord, and a kind master; he exerted himself in
acts of charity towards his vassals, and conducted himself with
Christian humility and mercy. For a few years he was permitted to enjoy
this tranquillity; it was a sort of calm after storm, where the absence
of sorrow is called happiness. His active mind furnished him with
occupation, while his piety and philosophy taught him content. He might
now hope that he was assured of such a state of peace to the end of his
life,--for he had relinquished every ambitious project, and limited his
views to the narrowed sphere immediately around him. But Quevedo was one
of those men marked by destiny for misfortune. He playfully, and yet
with some bitterness, alludes to his evil fate, in a poem before quoted.
He says: "My fortunes are so black, they might serve me for ink: I might
be used as an image of a saint;--for, if the country people want rain,
they have but to turn me out naked, and they are sure of a deluge; if
they want sun, let me be covered by a mantle, and it will shine at
night; I am always mistaken for some object of vengeance, and receive
the blows intended for another. If a tile is to fall, it waits till I
pass under. If I wish to borrow from any one, he replies so rudely,
that, instead of borrowing, I am obliged to lend my patience. Every fool
prates to me; every old woman makes love; every poor person begs; every
prosperous one takes offence. When I travel, I always miss my road; when
I play, I always lose; every friend deceives, every enemy sticks to me;
water fails me at sea,--in taverns I find it in plenty, mingled with my
wine. I have given up all employments, for I know that if I turned
hosier, people would go bare-legged; if physician, no one would fall
ill. If I am gallant towards a woman, she listens to or refuses
me,--both are equally disastrous. If a man wished to die neither by
poison nor pestilence, he has but to intend to benefit me, and he will
not live an hour. Such is the adverseness of my star, that I submit and
try to propitiate its pride by my adoration."[119]
[Sidenote: 1641.
Ætat.
61.]
But worse luck was in store for him, and a misfortune so heavy, as to
put an end to his life, after exhausting him by suffering. He was
suspected of being the author of certain libels against the court, and
to the injury of public morals;--and an accusation was brought against
him, either by some malicious enemy, or officious and mistaken medler.
Happening to visit Madrid for some cause, and being in the house of a
grandee, his friend, he was arrested at eleven at night, in the month of
December 1641, and imprisoned in a dungeon of the royal Casa de San
Marcos de Leon, and his possessions seized on. His confinement was cruel
as well as rigorous,--his dungeon was damp;--a stream flowed through it
close to his pillow. He was allowed no money, and lived by charity; his
clothes became rags, and he could not renew them. This frightful
situation produced sores on his body, and not being allowed medical aid,
he was forced to dress them himself.
There are two letters of his extant, written in prison,--one addressed
to a friend,--the other, a memorial to the count-duke Olivarez,
soliciting inquiry into his case.[120] These letters are far less
interesting than might have been expected from so vivid a writer as
Quevedo, describing the squalid wretchedness of a dungeon, and the
horrors of his lot; but they are curious monuments of the manners of the
day, shewing how men endured the evils of misrule, and evincing the
resignation and dignity Quevedo could preserve throughout.
The first is addressed to a gentleman whom his biographers name his
intimate friend, don Diego de Villagomez, a cavalier of the city of
Leon; but the style is as cold and ceremonious as if written to an
archbishop. It begins by saying:--"I who am a warning write to you who
are an example to the world,--but different as we are, we both travel to
the same end,--and adversity has this of good, that it serves as a
lesson to others. Even in learning the military profession, you have
shewn yourself a good captain. For you have not left it, but attained
preferment. War endures to all men through life, for life is war; and to
live and to struggle is the same thing."--He then makes a religious
application of this maxim, saying, that to leave a worldly service for
that of Jesus, is to follow a better banner and to be assured of the
pay; and, after a long disquisition on this subject, and in praise of
St. Ignatius, he concludes by saying: "I can count, señor don Diego,
fourteen years and a half of imprisonment, and may add to this the
misery of this last dungeon, in which, I count the wages of my sins.
Give me pity in exchange for the envy I bear you; and since God gives
you better society, enjoy it, far from the solitude of your friend, who
lies in the grasp of persecution, far short in his account, though he
pays much less than he owes. And may God give you his grace and
benediction. From prison, the 8th of June, 1643."
The memorial to the count-duke is far more to the purpose, but, even
that is very diffuse and pedantic, though the facts he details were
impressive enough to obtain compassion without quotations from the
ancients; but such was the tone of that age.
"My lord," he writes, "a year and ten months have passed since I was
thrown into prison, on the seventh of December, on the eve of the
Conception of our Lady, at half-past ten at night; when I was dragged in
the depth of winter, without a cloak, and without a shirt, in my
sixty-first year, to this royal convent of San Marcos de Leon; where I
have remained all the time mentioned, in most rigorous confinement; sick
with three wounds, which have festered through the effects of cold, and
the vicinity of a stream that flow's near my pillow; and not being
allowed a surgeon, it has been a sight of pity to see me cauterise them
with my own hands. I am so poor that I have been clothed, and my life
supported by charity. The horror of my hardships has struck every one
with dread. I have only one sister, a nun among the barefooted
Carmelites, from whom I can hope nothing, but that she should recommend
me to God. I acknowledge (for so my sins persuade) mercy in this
cruelty. For I am myself the voice of my conscience, and I accuse my
life. If your Excellency found me well off, mine would be the praise. To
find me miserable, and to do me good, makes the praise yours; and if I
am unworthy of pity, your Excellency is worthy to feel it, and it is the
appropriate virtue of so great a noble and minister. 'There is nothing,'
says Seneca, when consoling Marcia, 'that I consider so meritorious in
those who hold a high station, as the pardoning many things, and seeking
pardon for none.' What worse crime can I commit, than persuading myself
that my misfortunes are to be the limit of your magnanimity? I ask time
from your Excellency to revenge myself on myself. The world has already
heard what my enemies can say against me; I desire now that they should
hear me against myself, and my accusations will be the more true from
being exempt from hatred. I protest, before God, our Lord, that in all
that is said of me, I am guilty of no other crime, than not having lived
an exemplary life, so that my sins may be attributed to my folly. Those
who see me, do not believe that I am a prisoner on suspicion, but under
a most rigorous sentence; wherefore I do not expect death, but live in
communion with it. I exist only through its generosity,--and I am a
corpse in all except the sepulture, which is the repose of the dead. I
have lost every thing. My possessions, which were always trifling, are
reduced to nothing, between the great expenses of my imprisonment, and
the losses it has occasioned. My friends are frightened by my calamity,
and nothing remains to me but my trust in you. No mercy can bestow many
years on me, nor any cruelty deprive me of many. I do not, my lord, seek
this interval, naturally so short, for the sake of living longer, but of
living well for a little while."
He then sums up, by quoting Pliny and Trajan on the merits of mercy, and
the preferability of being loved rather than feared.
This memorial had the effect of drawing attention to his cause and
sufferings. The accusation on account of which he was imprisoned was
examined, and it was discovered that he had been calumniated, and the
real author of the libel came to be known; on this he was set at
liberty, and allowed to return to court. His first labour was to recover
his property, the whole of which, except the portion he had entrusted to
his powerful friend, doctor Francisco de Oviedo, had been sequestered.
It was a work of difficulty; and, meanwhile, he found himself too poor
to live with becoming respectability at court, so he retired to his
country seat. Here he soon fell ill from the effects of neglect during
his last, long, and cruel imprisonment; and he was obliged to remove to
Villa Nueva de los Infantes, for the sake of medical treatment. He was
long confined to his apartment, suffering great pain and annoyance, all
of which he endured with exemplary patience. He made his will, and
prepared his soul for death. He named his nephew his successor, on
condition that he took the name of Quevedo. His death was lingering. To
the last he displayed fortitude and a tranquil spirit of resignation. He
died the 8th of September, 1647, at the age of sixty-five.
In person, Quevedo was of middle height, and robust, though his feet
were deformed. He was handsome in face, fair, and with curly hair
inclined to red. He was short-sighted--but his countenance was full of
animation. Notwithstanding his deformity, he was vigorous,--addicted to,
and excelling in, manly exercises.
His life was spent in a series of vicissitudes; at one time enjoying
power and reputation; at another, a prisoner, suffering all the evils of
poverty and neglect. He bore all with fortitude: his active mind gave
him employment, his genius caused him to find a resource in
writing;--and the vivacity and energy of his works display the unabated
vigour of his soul. Nearly fifteen years of his life he spent in prison,
as he mentions in his letter above quoted. Meanwhile his character
remained uninjured by adversity. His disposition was magnanimous, so
that he never revenged himself on any of his enemies: he was generous
and charitable to those in need; and so diffident of his own merit, that
the only poems he published saw light under a feigned name.
His integrity had been put to the proof at Naples, where bribes were
offered him to conceal the frauds practised on the royal revenue; but he
was far above dishonesty and peculation. The only slur on his character
is his possible complicity in the Bedmar conspiracy; but in those days
the advantage of the state to which a man belonged was deemed
preponderant to all the suggestions of justice and right. Quevedo also
acted on this occasion (if he did act) under the command of his
superiors; and believed that fidelity to his patron was his first duty.
Of his "Affaires du Cœur," the great subject with poets, we know
little. Several ladies are celebrated in his verses; but a great
proportion of his erotic poetry is dedicated to one, whom he names Lisi,
and to whom he appears to have been faithfully attached for a
considerable space of time. In one of his sonnets to her, he says that
ten years had taken their swift and noiseless flight since first he saw
her; and for these ten years the soft flame had warmed his veins, and
reigned over his soul; "for the flame," he says, "that aspires to
immortal life, neither fears to die with the body, nor that time should
injure or extinguish it." Many of his poems express great aversion to
matrimony, and when, at last, in advanced age, he did marry, we have
seen that he was widowed almost as soon as wed.
With the never-to-be-omitted exception of Cervantes, Quevedo is the most
original prose writer Spain has produced; but at the same time he is so
quaint, referring to local peculiarities, and using words unknown,
except colloquially, that he is often unintelligible, especially in his
burlesque poetry, to a foreigner. His countrymen esteem him highly. One
of the most pleasing stanzas of Lope de Vega's Laurel de Apolo is
dedicated to his praise. He speaks of him as "Possessing an acute but
gentle spirit; agreeable in his wit, and profound in his serious
poetry." He adopted something of the _culto_ style and conceits blemish
his verses. Quintana says of him, "Quevedo was every thing in excess; no
one in the same manner displays in the serious, a gravity so rigid, and
morals so austere; no one in the jocose, shows a humour, so gay, so
free, and so abandoned to the spirit of the thing. His imagination was
vivid and brilliant but superficial and negligent; and the poetic genius
that animates him, sparkles but does not glow, surprises but does not
move deeply, bounds with impetuosity and force, but neither flies nor
supports itself at the same elevation. I am well aware that Quevedo
often diverts with what he writes, and raves because it is his pleasure.
I know that puns have their proper place in such compositions, and that
no one has used them more happily than he. But every thing has its
bounds; and heaped together with a prodigality like his, instead of
pleasing they only create weariness.
"His verse, however, is for the most part full and sonorous, his rhyme
rich and easy. His poetry, strong and nervous, proceeds impetuously to
its end; and if his movements betray too much of the effort, affectation
and bad taste of the writer, their course is yet frequently seen to have
a wildness, an audacity, and a singularity hat is surprising.[121]"
To give some idea of Quevedo's style to the English reader we may liken
him to Butler; but it is Butler rather in his fragments than in
Hudibras, for a more elevated poetic tone is displayed in those. Quevedo
could be sublime, though only by snatches. Serious he could be, to the
depths of grave and profound disquisition, as his ethical and religious
treatises testify.
One singular circumstance appertains to Quevedo's literary career--that
he published none of his poetry himself, except that portion which he
gave to the world under the feigned name of the Bachiller Francisco de
la Torre. These are the choice of all. Being more elevated, more sweet,
more pure in their diction and taste, several critics would deprive
Quevedo of the merit of being their author. But who Torre was, if he
were not Quevedo, nobody can tell: while, these poems appearing under
his editorship, and the very name--Francisco being his own, and the
surname, "of the Tower," appropriate to his position, as the verses were
written while he was living secluded in his patrimonial villa of Torre
Juan Abaci, seems to fix them unquestionably on him. Of the rest, a
friend of Quevedo assures us that not a twentieth part of what he wrote
has escaped destruction. His dramas and historical works have perished;
by which he has lost the right to being considered the universal writer
his contemporaries name him. This friend, and afterwards his nephew and
heir, published his poems, distributed under the head of six muses,
pedantically headed with mottos from Seneca. There is Clio the historic,
consisting chiefly of sonnets on great events addressed to great people;
Polyhimnia the sententious; Melpomene, composed chiefly of epitaphs;
Erato the erotic, or as it is styled, "singing of the achievements of
love and beauty:" the greater part of which is dedicated to Lisi.
Terpsichore the light, gay and satirical, a large portion of which are
written in the jargon of the gypsies, and are unintelligible on this
side of the Pyrenees; and Thalia, longest of all, which sings, "de
omnibus rebus et quibusdam aliis."
It is as a prose writer, however, that Quevedo has acquired fame out of
his own country. And this not from his serious works; nor from his
"picaresco," in which he relates the life of the great Tacaño, or
captain of thieves, the type of a Spanish rogue. This tale, by its
familiarity with vice, squalid penury, and vulgar roguery, becomes
tiresome; nor is it to be compared in richness of humour to Mendoza's
history of Lazarillo de los Tormes. The letters of the "Cavallero de
Tenaza," or knight of the pincer, are very whimsical. They are in
ridicule of avarice, a sin, which Quevedo declares in another work to be
the most unnatural of all. They are addressed to a lady; and are lessons
to teach how little can be given, and how much preserved, by a man on
all occasions. This sort of dry humour turning on one idea amuses at
first, but at last becomes wearisome.
It is on his Visions however, his most original work, that his European
reputation rests. Nothing can be more novel, singular and striking. They
consist of various visions of the other world; where he sees the end of
earthly vanities and the punishments that await crime. They are full of
knowledge of human nature, vivacity, wit and daring imagination; they
remind the reader of Lucian; and if they are less airy and fanciful,
they are bolder and more sarcastic. They have the fault, it is true, of
dwelling too exclusively on subjects of mean and vulgar
interest--alguazils, attornies, ruffians, and all sorts of rogues of
both sexes; among which, tailors figure preeminently. Now that tailors
provide their own cloth, we have lost that intense notion of
"cabbaging," which was so deeply impressed on the minds of our
ancestors, when they only fashioned cloth sent to them. Tailors are with
Quevedo the very _ne plus ultra_ of a thief. As lord Byron styles a
pirate "a sea-solicitor," so Quevedo calls a robber "a tailor of the
highways." Several of these visions were written while their author was
comparatively young: (one, dedicated to the duke of Osuna, is dated
1610, when he was thirty years of age), and possess the glow and spirit
of early life. Nothing can be more startling and vivid than the
commencement of the "Vision of Calvary." The blast of the last trump is
described, and then he goes on to say: "The sound enforced obedience
from marble, and hearing from the dead. All the earth began to move,
giving permission to the bones to seek one another. After a short
interval, I beheld those who had been soldiers arise in wrath from their
graves, believing themselves summoned to battle: the avaricious looked
up with anxiety and alarm fearing an attack, while men of pleasure
fancied that the horns sounded to invite them to the chase. Then I saw
how many fled with disgust or terror from their old bodies, of which
some wanted an arm, some an eye; and I laughed at the odd figures they
cut, while I admired the contrivance of Providence, that all being
confounded together, no mistake was made. In one churchyard only, there
was some confusion and exchanging in the appropriation of heads; and I
saw an attorney who denied that his own soul belonged to him. But I was
most frightened at seeing two or three merchants who put on their souls
so awry, that all their five senses got into their fingers."
The commencement of the "Alguazil possessed" is equally spirited. A
spectator calling him a man bedevilled, the bad spirit, within, cries
out that "He is not a man but an alguazil; and you must know that it is
against their will that devils possess alguazils; so that you ought
rather to call me a devil be-alguazilled than an alguazil bedevilled."
He is almost as inveterate against duennas, a race of people peculiar to
Spain, and he disposes of them ludicrously enough in the infernal
regons. "I went a little further," he says, "and came to an immense and
troubled swamp, where there was so much noise that my head was
bewildered: I asked what it was, and was told that it proceeded from
women who had turned duennas on earth. And thus I discovered that those
who are duennas in this life, are frogs in the next, and like frogs, are
for ever croaking amidst the wet and mud; and very properly do they act
the parts of infernal frogs, since duennas are neither fish nor flesh.
I laughed to see them turned into such ugly things, with faces as
care-worn and wrinkled as those of duennas here on earth."
Such is the sort of wit that Quevedo indulges in; terse, pointed,
bitter, and driven home with an unsparing hand. Extravagant in its
imaginations, yet so proportioned to the truth of nature as to excite
admiration as well as surprise, and to be the model of a variety of
imitations, none of which come up to him in penetration, vivacity and
subtle felicity of expression.
[Footnote 114: "Murieron luego mis padres,
Dios en el cielo los tenga,
porque no vuelvan acà,
y a engendrar mas hijos vuelvan."
_Musa_, VI.--_Romance_, XVI.]
[Footnote 115: Cespedes.]
[Footnote 116: "Memoria immortal de D. Pedro Giron, duque de
Osuna, muerto en la Prisión." Musa I. Soneto 13.]
[Footnote 117: Musa III. Sonetos 4, 5, 9.]
[Footnote 118: The last three lines of this sonnet would serve admirably
for a motto to a time-piece in a library. The whole, from which the
above is an extract, runs thus:--
"Retirado en la paz de estos desiertos,
Con pocos, pero doctos libros juntos,
Vivo en conversacion con los difuntos,
Y escuchocon mis ojos à los muertos.
Sino siempre entendidos, siempre abiertos,
O enmiendan, o fecundan mis assuntos,
Y en musicos callados contrapuntos
Al sueño de la vida hablan despiertos.
Las grandes almas, que la Muerte ausenta
De injurias, de los años vengadora,
Libra, o gran Don Joseph, docta la emprenta.
En fuga irrevocable huye la hora;
Pero aquella el mejor calculo cuenta
Que en la lección y estudios nos mejora."
_Musa_ II. _Soneta_ 90.]
[Footnote 119: Musa VI., romance XVI.]
[Footnote 120: Vida de Quevedo por Tarsia.]
[Footnote 121: As a specimen of Quevedo's poetry, Quintana quotes a
sonnet, which Wiffen has translated, and which has the merit of force
and truth.
"THE RUINS OF ROME.
"Pilgrim, thou look'st in Rome for Rome divine,
And ev'n in Rome no Rome can find! her crowd
Of mural wonders is a corse, whose shroud
And fitting tomb is the lone Aventine.
She lies where reigned the kingly Palatine,
And Time's worn medals more of ruin show
From her ten thousand fights than even the blow
Struck at the crown of her imperial line,
Tiber alone remains, whose rushing tide
Waters the town, now sepulchred in stone,
And weeps its funeral with fraternal tears:
O Rome! in thy wild beauty, power, and pride,
The durable is fled; and what alone
Is fugitive, abides the ravening years!"]
CALDERON
1601-1687.
We draw to a close. Misrule and oppression had their inevitable results,
crushing and destroying the spirit and intellect of Spain; and after, by
an extraordinary harvest of writers, the soil had shown what it could
do, it became waste and barren. For a long time, the purists, the
Gongorists, the partisans of a glittering and false style, exerted their
influence. A critic and poet of eminence, Luzan, exerted himself to
restore Spanish poetry. He succeeded in exploding the false taste; and
Moratin, the author of some excellent dramas, followed in his steps:
but, latterly, the state of the country has been too distracted for
literature to gain any attention.
Before we close the series of Spanish Lives, however, one more is to be
added, and it is that of the greatest poet of Spain. Little, very
little, however, is known of him. We regret that we have not fuller
accounts of Cervantes. We search the voluminous works of Lope de Vega to
acquire knowledge of his character and of the events of his life; while
the career of one far greater than he, and, as a poet, infinitely
superior to Cervantes himself, is wrapped in such obscurity that we can
discern only its bare outline, and no one has endeavoured to fill up the
sketch, nor by seeking for letters and other documents, to give us a
fuller, and as it were coloured picture, of what Calderon was. This
partly arises from the prosperity of his life: adversity presents
objects that catch the attention and demand research: an even course of
happiness, like a campaign country, eludes description. The only
account we have of him proceeds from a friend[122], who commences with
blowing a trumpet, as if he were going to tell us much. "How can his
limited powers," he says, "describe him who occupies all the tongues of
fame? and ill will a short epilogue befit the man whose merits endless
ages cannot limit." And then he goes on to tell us that "his swift pen
shall comprise a brief sigh in a long regret, and raise an honourable
tomb to his sacred ashes; adopting for the purpose one of the many pens
which his fame furnishes, until others better cut than his shall publish
eulogies worthy of his name."
Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca was born in 1601[123]; thus coming into
the world of poetry at the moment when the plays of Lope de Vega were in
vogue, and when Cervantes was calling the attention of mankind to his
immortal work. His biographer takes the pains to preserve the
intelligence that he wept before he was born; "thus to enter the world
enshadowed by gloom, which he, like a new sun, was to fill with joy."
And he tells us that he collected "this important information from Donna
Dorotea Calderon de la Barca, his sister, a nun in the royal convent of
St. Clara at Toledo." The family of Calderon was illustrious, and
enjoyed an ancient hidalgoship (or _solar_) in the valley of Carriedo
among the mountains of Burgos; the very place, we may observe, where
Lope de Vega's ancestors resided, and whence his father emigrated, when,
driven by straitened means, he removed to Madrid. The family of Calderon
had migrated many years before, and were settled at Toledo. His mother's
name was Donna Ana Maria de Henao y Riaña, and her origin was derived
from an ancient family in the Low Countries, descended from the Seigneur
de Mons, and which had been settled in Spain for many years.
His childhood was spent under the paternal roof, and even as a hoy he
was conspicuous for his intelligence and acquirements. At the age of
fourteen he entered the university of Salamanca. He remained there for
five years, and rendered himself conspicuous by his ardour for study,
and by the progress he made in the most abstruse and difficult sciences.
Already also had he begun to write plays, which were acted with applause
in several Spanish theatres.
[Sidenote: 1620.
Ætat.
19.]
At the age of nineteen he left Salamanca. These dates are given us, but
the intermediate spaces are unfilled up. We are not told whether he
resided at Madrid or with his family at Toledo. His fame became
established as a poet, and began to rival that of Lope, whom indeed he
far transcended in the higher gifts of poetry, creative imagination,
sublimity, and force.
[Sidenote: 1626.
Ætat.
25.]
At the age of five and twenty he entered the military service, and
served his king first in the Milanese and afterwards in Flanders, the
old fields of war for Spain, whereon had fought and fallen so many
heroes of both countries, and so many human beings had fallen victims to
religious and political persecution. He spent ten years in this manner.
Sismondi says, that his life is sprinkled with few events. How do we
know this? Throughout these campaigns, during these years of youthful
ardour and enterprise, how much may have occurred, what dangers he may
have run--what generosity, what valour he may have displayed--how warmly
he may have loved, how deeply have suffered! As a poet and a master of
the passions he must have felt them all. But a blank meets us when we
seek to know more of these things. A poet's life is ever a romance. That
Calderon's was such we cannot doubt; but we must find its traces in the
loves, the woes, the courage, and the joys of his dramatic personages:
he infused his soul into these; what the events might be that called
forth his own personal interest and sympathy we are totally ignorant.
[Sidenote: 1637.
Ætat.
36.]
An order from his sovereign recalled him to court. Philip IV. was
passionately fond of the theatre, and himself wrote plays. Innumerable
dramas appeared under his patronage, the names of the authors being
utterly unknown; and even of those of acknowledged writers few have been
collected and published under the name of their author. Single plays, in
pamphlets, we find in plenty, all very similar the one to the other; a
better arrangement in the plot, more or less poetry or spirit in the
dialogue, being almost all the difference we find among them. Several of
the most entertaining are given forth as by a Wit of the Court (_un
Ingenio de esta Corte_), and attributed to Philip IV. himself; though
this honour has been disputed him. Moreto also, the gayest and most
comic of the Spanish dramatists, flourished at this time. Lope was dead;
but his place was filled up, not by one, but by many, who, under royal
patronage, were eager to pay the tribute of a play to the theatre of
Spain.
Philip IV. saw Calderon's dramas represented. He perceived their merit,
and thought he might serve his king much better by residing in Spain and
writing for the theatre, than by bearing arms in Flanders, where there
were so many men who could not write plays, much more fit to be knocked
on the head. He summoned Calderon to court, by a royal order, for the
sake of writing a drama for a palace festival; bestowed on him also the
habit of Santiago, and excusing him his military duties commanded him,
instead, to furnish a play. Calderon wrote the "Certamen de Amor" (the
Combat of Love), and "Zelos" (Jealousy), which were acted at the palace
of Buen-Retiro. Calderon wrote as he was commanded; but, unwilling to
leave the army, he obtained a commission in the company of the
count-duke of Olivarez, which he followed to Catalonia, and remained
till the peace, when he returned to court; when the king conferred on
him the pay of thirty crowns a month in the artillery.
[Sidenote: 1650.
Ætat.
49.]
On another occasion, while staying in the country with the duke of Alva,
the king sent for him to celebrate the festivals that occurred on his
marriage with Maria Ana of Austria.
At the age of fifty-one he quitted the military career, to which for
many years he had been passionately attached, and, being ordained, he
became a priest. The king, who always favoured him, made him chaplain of
a royal chapel at Toledo, of which he took possession on the 19th of
June of the same year.
[Sidenote: 1654.
Ætat.
53.]
But the king, dissatisfied with his distance from court, and his
consequent inability to assist properly at the royal feasts, gave him a
royal chaplaincy, and recalled him to Madrid; bestowing on him besides a
pension, derived from the revenues of Sicily, besides other presents and
rewards, the ever-renewing recompence of his labours. Calderon now wrote
a play at each celebration of the king's birth-day, not only for Madrid,
but for Toledo, Seville, and Granada. As he advanced in age, he obtained
other church preferments.
[Sidenote: 1687.
Ætat.
86.]
He died on the 29th of May, 1687, at the age of eighty-six. He left the
congregation of St. Peter heir to all he possessed.
In describing his character, his biographer indulges in Spanish
hyperbole instead of original traits. He calls him the oracle of the
court, the envy of strangers, the father of the Muses, the lynx of
learning, the light of the drama. He adds, that his house was ever the
shelter of the needy; that his modesty and humility were excessive;
attentive in his courtesy; a sure friend, and a good man.
Calderon never collected nor published his plays. The duke of Veragua at
one time addressed him a flattering letter, requesting to be furnished
with a complete list of his dramas, as the booksellers were in the habit
of selling the works of other writers under his name. Calderon, who was
then in his eightieth year, supplied the duke with a list only of "Autos
Sacramentales." He added, in a letter, that with regard to his temporal
dramas, of which he had written an hundred and eleven, he felt offended,
that in addition to his own faulty works, those of other authors should
be ascribed to him; and besides that his writings were so altered, that
he himself could not recognise even their titles. He also expressed his
determination of following the example of the booksellers, and to pay as
little regard to his plays as they did. He observed, that on religious
grounds, he attached more importance to his "Autos."
Several collections of Calderon's plays appeared during his life; one of
them being edited by his brother, and another by his friend and
biographer, Don Juan de Vera Tassis y Villarroel, who published a hundred
and twenty-seven plays, and ninety-five autos; but it is doubted whether
all these are really his. This doubt, of course, appertains to the more
mediocre ones. In the best, the stamp of Calderon's original genius
cannot be doubted.
Bouterwek and Sismondi have both entered into considerable detail with
regard to Calderon's plays, but we have no space to indulge in a similar
analysis, although, with our admiration for this great poet, we should
be glad to enter with minute detail on his merits; but we must confine
ourselves to some description of his characteristics.
Schlegel is an enthusiastic admirer of Calderon; and his observations on
his works are replete with truth. Other writers--among them the author
of an article on the Spanish theatre, in the twenty-fifth volume of the
"Quarterly Review"--are less willing to attribute high merit to him. We
confess that our opinion more nearly coincides with Schlegel. He carries
too far, we allow, his theory of the ideal of Calderon's morality,
piety, and honour. It is true, that these are too deeply founded on the
bigotry and falsehood of inquisitorial faith, and a false point of
honour; but with all this, within the circle which his sentiments and
belief prescribe, he is a master of the passions and the imagination.
There is a wild and lofty aim in all his more romantic plays, which put
barely down, despoiled of the working of the passions and the magic of
poetry, seems monstrous, but which, however different from our notions
of the present day, strike a chord that vibrates to the depth of the
heart. We may give as an instance, that supernatural machinery is
introduced into very many of Calderon's plays; and Shakespear himself
cannot manage the agency of the spiritual world as Calderon has done. He
enlists a sort of belief on his side, which it is difficult to describe,
but impossible to withstand. It is not a mere ghost that walks the
earth, but an embodying, at the same time, of the conscience and fears
of the person thus visited. Thus in the "Purgatory of St. Patrick:"
Ludovico Ennio, the villain of the piece, has for many years resolved to
assassinate an enemy. He has travelled through many countries,
nourishing the idea of vengeance, and returns to Ireland resolved to
accomplish it. He wraps himself in his mantle, and thus disguised, he
goes for three successive nights to the street where his enemy lives,
resolved to stab him: but, at the moment that he fancies that he shall
attain his aim, he is met by a man similarly disguised
(_embozado_--muffled up in a cloak) who calls to him; but when he
follows, the _embozado_ disappears so quickly, it seems as if the wind
were in his feet. Ludovico enraged, on the fourth night lays in wait
again, and takes his servant with him, that the disguised intruder may
not escape. He arrives again at the street, resolved on the death of his
enemy. At this moment the cloak-wrapped figure appears before him.
Exasperated by his appearance, he declares that he will take two
vengeances; one on his ancient enemy, the other on the intruder: the
figure calls him by his name, and bids him follow. Ludovico draws on
him, but pierces only the empty air; at once astonished and indignant,
he still pursues till they come to a desert place, when Ludovico
exclaims, "Here we are, body to body, alone, but my sword cannot injure
thee: tell me, then, who thou art; art thou a man, a vision, or a
dæmon! You answer not--then thus I dare throw off your mantle!" But,
hidden by the cloak is a skeleton only; and aghast with terror, he
exclaims, "Great God! what dreadful spectacle is this! Horrible
vision!--Mortal terror! what art thou--stark corse--that crumbled into
earth and dust, yet live? The figure replies, "Knowrest thou not
thyself?--I am thy portraiture--I am Ludovico Ennio!" These words, this
fearful sight, awaken horror and remorse in the criminal's mind; his
heart perceives the truths and how his crimes, indeed, had made him but
an image of death itself. He is thus prepared for the purgatory where
his sins are to be expiated. Many of the plays thus turn upon visions,
portions of the mind itself personified; while, at the same time, the
affections and the passions find a voice all truth and poetry, that
charms, agitates, and interests.
His autos are conceived in the same spirit. It is true, there is too
much theological disquisition and doctrine in them, and that "God the
Father plays the school-divine;" but, on the other hand, the poet often
appears to open a new world before us, which we view tremblingly at
first, till he leads us on by that mastery of the human imagination
which he possesses--knowing so well what it can believe, and what it
cannot disbelieve--and thus bringing heaven and hell palpably and
feelingly before us. The auto of "Life is a dream." (_La Vida es
Sueño_) more than any other, is an instance of that peculiarity, which
we imperfectly endeavour to describe, of clothing in sensible and potent
imagery, the thoughts of the brain, the feelings of the heart. Yet this
is not done in the German style. The Germans subtilise, mystify, and
cloud the real and distinct: they dissolve flesh and blood into a dream.
Calderon, on the contrary, turns a dream into flesh and blood: he gives
a pulse to a skeleton; he breathes passion from the lips of ghosts and
spectres. Which is the greater power, others must decide. The influence
of Calderon is greatest to us; he is master of a spell to which our
souls own obedience.
Calderon, as a poet, is diffuse and exaggerated at times, but he is
highly imaginative; and as he gives human sympathies to the impalpable
and visionary, so does he inform the visible universe with a soul of
beauty and feeling. A poet alone could translate Calderon. The only
translation we have, is a few scenes from the "Magico Prodigioso" by
Shelley. These breathe at once the Spaniard's peculiarities--his
fantastic machinery--his incomparable sweetness. Justina is one of the
most beautiful of his creations; a maiden, vowed to chastity, who being
in vain tempted by the love of many admirers, is assailed by the
seductions of hell itself. Nature--the birds, the leaves, and wandering
clouds, breathe of love, and endeavour to soften and corrupt her
heart.[124] The "Principe Costante" (the Constant Prince) seems to be
the most popular of Calderon's plays with his critics. "La Vida es
Sueño" (Life is a Dream)--not the auto, but the play--is another, full
of wild strange interest, original and sublime. "The Schism of England"
is among the most striking of his plays. One passage, where a cavalier
describes how he fell in love with Anna Bullen, is fraught with touching
sweetness and tender deep-felt passion.
Calderon is, besides, a great master of comedy. His "Gracioso" (or
Clown), is different from Lope's--more poetic and fanciful, more
vivacious and humorous. In the "Señora y la Criada" (the Lady and her
Maid), where a country girl is carried off in mistake for her mistress,
there is a comic mistake, most amusingly wrought.
It will be seen that we consider that, while Schlegel refines too much
upon the perfection of the art and the sublimity of the moral of the
poet, we think that the critic of the Quarterly Review rates his merits
at too low a standard. We do not agree that he "cannot admit us within
the gates of horror and thrilling fear." On the contrary, we think that
much of his power results from his mastery over these emotions. We can
scarcely allow that "the sacred source of sympathetic flows not at his
command." The simply pathetic is certainly not his characteristic; but
the tears may start forth in sympathy for the grandeur of soul exhibited
by the Constant Prince; the heart be charmed and interested by the
sweetness of Justina, and he touched by the fatherly sorrows of David,
in "Los Cabellos de Absolom."
Calderon is much more readable, much more interesting than Lope. He
rises higher. It is not only complexity of plot, endless variety of
situations, and well sustained dialogue, there is interest of a higher
kind; and, though it is true that perfect harmony is wanting in his
compositions, and that he riots too much "without constraint or
control," yet the colours of his poetry are so bright, and the music of
his verse so grand and enthralling, that we feel as we read that he is
one of the master geniuses of the world.
[Footnote 122: Fama Vida y Escritos de Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca
por Don Juan de Vera Tassis y Villarroel.]
[Footnote 123: Bouterwek and Sismondi give 1600 as the date of
Calderon's birth.--His Spanish biographer mentions 1601.]
[Footnote 124: Shelley's Posthumous Poems.--Translations. There is a
beautiful passage, drawn from the "Purgatorio de San Patricio,"
introduced into this author's tragedy of the Cenci.]
THE EARLY POETS OF PORTUGAL
RIBEYRA, GIL VICENTE, SAA DE MIRANDA, FERREIRA.
The same spirit that inspired the Spanish Cancionero, and animated the
people of Castile with the love of song, spread itself to the western
portion of the peninsula; and; from the earliest times, Portuguese poets
composed, and the population of Portugal sang, in their native dialect:
and thus using it as the medium for conveying their dearest feelings,
caused it to be perpetuated as a national language. Originally the
Portuguese tongue was the same as the Gallician; and, had Portugal
remained a province of Spain, its peculiar dialect had, like that of
Arragon and of Gallicia, been driven from the fields of literature by
the Castilian, and while (to use an appropriate metaphor) it might creep
in tiny rivulets here and there over the country, the Castilian had
flowed a mighty river, receiving all minor streams as tributaries. But
at quite the close of the eleventh century Alphonso VI., a Spanish
sovereign, celebrated for his victories over the Moors, gave the county
of Portugal as a dowry to his daughter on her marriage with Henry of
Burgundy, a prince of the royal family of France. The son of this
prince, Alphonso Henriquez, was the founder of the Portuguese monarchy.
He conquered all that portion of the peninsula that forms Portugal, with
the exception of the Algarve. He took Lisbon, and thus became possessed
of a powerful and rich capital, and he signalised his successes, by
changing the appellation of what had hitherto been a province, and by
naming his dominions a kingdom. From this time the Portuguese became a
separate nation from the Castilian; their institutions became national,
and their language asserted for itself a distinct existence.
The Portuguese were a poetic people, and the Portuguese language adapted
to poetry. It is softer than the Castilian, it discards more entirely
Latin consonants; but with all, there is something truncated and
incomplete in its sounds, very different from the sonorous beauty of the
Spanish. It did not adopt the Arabic guttural, but it acquired, no one
knows whence, a nasal twang, more decided and obtrusive even than that
of the French, which considerably mars its melody. Still it is
expressive, it is soft, and it is harmonious; and these qualities
rendered it applicable to verse: so that a poet found no difficulty in
clothing his ideas and emotions in the language of his native country.
Many poets flourished therefore at an early age, though we know little
of their productions. Endeavours have been made to find their ancient
_cancioneiro geral_[125], but they were unsuccessful, and a guess only
can be made as to the nature of their contents.
The Portuguese nation was as peculiar in its pursuits and character as
in its language. They were not an agricultural but a pastoral people;
and at the same time, their long extent of sea shore led them to the
pursuits of commerce and navigation. While the Italian republics were
enriching themselves by the trade of the Mediterranean, and while Spain,
under Ferdinand and Isabella was, by conquering the whole of its
territory from the Moors, laying the foundation of the brief grandeur of
Charles V., and the despotism and national degradation that followed,
the sovereigns of Portugal were encouraging their subjects in the
maritime discoveries, which in a short time changed the aspect of the
civilised globe: for the very expedition of Columbus was the offspring
of the Portuguese voyages. It was for the sake of discovering _another_
route to India, than the hitherto unsuccessful one along the coast of
Africa, that he sailed over the illimitable Western Sea. In 1487,
Bartolomeo Diaz doubled the Cape of Good Hope: many years had been
previously occupied in creeping along the shores of Africa; but the
moment this Cape was doubled, the navigators made a spring, and the
celebrated Vasco de Gama reached the renowned and unvisited shores of
India. In less than fifteen years from this time, Francisco de Almeida,
and Alfonso de Albuquerque founded a Portuguese kingdom in Hindostan, of
which Goa was the capital. We may imagine the spirit and enthusiasm that
animated this people; they found a new world overflowing with all the
precious treasures most valued in Europe; they did not content
themselves with trading with the people, a people highly civilised,
possessed of literature and all the appendages of an advanced state of
human political association; but by their valour they conquered them and
made a portion of the country their own. High notions of national
importance and future national glory filled their souls; it was a period
when each man could regard his native country with pride, and such a
time is peculiarly favourable to the birth of genius, and, above all, to
the developement of the spirit of poetry.
Bernardim Ribeyro is named the Ennius of Portugal. He was a man of an
enthusiastic and tender disposition; his poems, full of passion and
despair, emanated from an attachment to some unknown lady; some say the
infanta Donna Beatrice, the king's daughter. His eclogues are more known
than the rest of his works, and are considered the most excellent[126];
yet, though they are feeling, there is a poverty of ideas, and a want of
classical correctness and compression, that speaks of the infancy of
composition. But his most celebrated work is an unfinished prose
romance, in which, under feigned names and obscure allusions, he
narrates his own history and loves. We have not seen this work, and
borrow the account of it from Bouterwek, who observes, that "such is the
obscurity of the whole, that nothing can be comprehended of the
circumstances without the utmost effort of attention. The monotony of
incessant love complaints, renders the prolixity of the narrative still
more tedious; but even amidst that monotony and prolixity, it is easy to
recognise a spirit truly poetic, more remarkable however for
susceptibility than energy."
Other poets succeeded to Ribeyro, who also sang of love and pastoral
themes, and the poetry of Portugal as well as that of Spain, confined
itself to the language of sentiment and description--instead of assuming
an heroic and epic measure.
The reformation of Castilian poetry introduced into Spain by Boscan and
Garcilaso, penetrated into Portugal; and, singularly enough, the poets
who followed, quitted their native idiom to adopt that of the rival
country. The cause of so unpatriotic an adoption can only be guessed at.
Bouterwek attributes it to the more sonorous and complete sound of the
Castilian. Spain, it may be observed, was the larger country and in more
immediate connection with Italy; when, therefore, Italian forms of
poetic composition were introduced into the peninsula, they flowed, as
it were, through Spain, and arrived at the West clothed in a Spanish
garb. Perceiving the superior power and charm of the Petrarchist
compositions, their imitators at once adopted the very language in which
they were clothed. Saa de Miranda wrote his best works, his eclogues, in
Spanish, though the same spirit that led him to desert Latin, so long
the favourite of educated men, also induced him to write in his native
language, and Francisco Diaz names him the real founder of Portuguese
poetry. Saa de Miranda was a man of strong feelings, with something too
of an eccentric turn of mind. He insisted on marrying a lady neither
young nor handsome, whom he had never seen; but whose reputation for
discretion and goodness charmed him. He became so attached to her, that
when she died some years after, he remained that most rare of all men,
an inconsolable widower; giving up all the pursuits and purposes of
life--neither shaving his beard nor paring his nails--and three years
after following her to the grave. And Jorge de Montemayor altogether
cast aside his native language, and enriched the Castilian by a new form
of composition, the pastoral romance, which became a general favourite
throughout Spain, imitated by every writer, but not excelled by any.
In this brief summary of the predecessors of Camoens, introduced chiefly
to shew the state of national poetry when he appeared, we are unable to
do full justice to any of these writers, and are obliged to omit the
names of many. But we must not pass over Gil Vicente, who is styled the
Portuguese Plautus. Very little is known of him--the very period of his
birth only guessed at; it is supposed that he was born at the close of
the fifteenth century. He was an indefatigable writer, and furnished the
royal family and public with dramatic entertainments suited to the taste
of the age. He wrote entirely in the old national manner. He appears to
have been the inventor of _Autos_, or spiritual dramas, which raised
into a regular and poetic style of play the monkish or buffoonish
festive representations.
Doctor Bowring has introduced translations of several of this poet's
songs; these were written in Spanish, they are characterised by a
charming simplicity, and are peculiarly short; one chord of a lyre
struck, as it were, one emotion of the heart breathed forth in words;
without elaborate display or any attempt at imagery or metaphor beyond
the one single feeling that dictates the poem.
Antonio Ferreira must be mentioned as a classic poet of Portugal. He is
styled the Portuguese Horace. He was of noble family, and destined by
his parents to fill some high public office in the state. He took the
degree of doctor in the university of Coimbra, where he studied civil
law. He was an enthusiastic lover of his native language, and resolved
never to write in any other, at the same time that he founded his taste
and style on the study of Horace. He admired also the excellencies of
Italian poetry, and introduced the measure and structure of its verse
into the Portuguese. It was the object of his ambition at once to be
himself a classic poet; and to give to his native Portugal a classic
style of poetry. Ferreira was nine and twenty when he published the
first collection of his poetic works. He had friends who admired his
genius and joined him in his pursuits. He quitted the university for the
court, and filled a high place as judge, and was also appointed
gentleman of the royal household; he became an oracle of criticism, and
looked forward to brilliant prospects through life, when he died of the
plague which raged in Lisbon in 1569, at the age of forty-one.
Ferreira, without possessing the originality of Gil Vicente, his
sweetness or his genius, was eminently useful to the art of poetry in
Portugal. He taught the writers of that country to aim at correctness,
and to enrich their compositions by the knowledge acquired from the
writings of other countries; but not, for that purpose, to adopt a
foreign tongue, but to raise the Portuguese to the level of other
languages, and gift it with the purest and noblest poetic measures. He
is, himself, novel, however, rather in his style than in his ideas. His
epistles are his best work; the sentiments he expresses are elevated,
and his fancy and poetic verve graced them with a diction and imagery
which raises them in the class of such compositions. The distinctive
feeling however to be found in Ferreira, animating all he wrote, was
patriotism. The glory, the advancement and the civilisation of Portugal,
were the themes of his praise, and the objects which he furthered with
his utmost endeavours. He exhorts his friends not to permit the Muses in
Portugal to speak any thing but Portuguese. Of himself, he says, in
very beautiful verses, that "he shall be content with the glory of
loving his native land, and his countrymen." It was this enthusiasm that
elevated Ferreira into a great man. He is a little misplaced here, as he
was a few years younger than Camoens; but it shows the spirit that was
abroad in Camoens' time--a patriotic spirit that loved to express its
genuine sentiments in language warm from the heart and familiar to the
tongue. In this Camoens and Ferreira were alike; they loved their native
country, and were eager to adorn its literature with native flowers. In
other respects they were different. Ferreira's classic pages bear no
resemblance to the fire, passion, and rich fancy of Camoens, to whom we
now turn as to one of the favourites of fame, though he was the
neglected child of his country, and the victim of an adverse fate.
[Footnote 125: In Castilian _cancioneros general_ or general song books.
_Vide_ Bouterwek; Sismondi.]
[Footnote 126: Bouterwek.]
CAMOENS
1524-1579.
Camoens and Cervantes encountered, in several respects, a similar
destiny. They were both men of genius, both men of military valour; both
were disregarded by their contemporaries, and suffered extreme
misfortune. Camoens, indeed, has in this a sad advantage over Cervantes.
The latter lived in poverty, but the former died in want. Posterity
endeavoured to repair the injuries inflicted by ungrateful
contemporaries. The circumstances of the life of Camoens were carefully
collected. Several able native commentators wrote elaborate notes on the
"Lusiad," and lastly a magnificent edition of that poem was published in
1817. Nor have the English been unmindful of the great Portuguese poet.
Sir Richard Fanshaw translated the "Lusiad" as far back as Cromwell's
time; but the present popular translation is by Mickle. He bestowed
great pains on the work, and accompanied it by various essays relative
to its subject, and a life of Camoens. His version has great merit, as
will be hereafter mentioned, notwithstanding its want of fidelity and
the signal defect of being written in heroic couplets, instead of
eight-line stanzas, like the original. Lord Strangford appended a sketch
of Camoens' life to his translation of a portion of his "Rimas;" and,
lastly, Mr. Adamson has presented the English reader with an elaborate
biography, attended by all sorts of valuable collateral information and
embellishments.
The family of Camoens was originally of Gallicia, and possessed
extensive demesnes in that province. The old Spanish name of the family
was Caamaños--the etymology of which has occupied the commentators. We
are told, among others, that it was derived from Cadmus. There is
nothing extraordinary in this. All readers conversant with old national
annals, are aware that they usually derive their immediate origin either
from a son of Noah, or some well known Grecian hero: Ulysses, it was
said, founded Lisbon. It was probably adopted from the castle of Cadmon,
where they resided. The poet himself, however, refers it to a more
imaginative source. In ancient times, in Gallicia, there existed a bird
named the Camaõ, which never survived the infidelity of the wife of its
lord. The moment the lady went astray, the bird sought its master, and
expired at his feet. A matron of the house of Cadmon was unjustly
accused of ill faith--she entrusted her defence to the cadmaõ, and the
success of her appeal caused her husband, grateful for this restoration
to honour and domestic felicity, to adopt the name of the saviour bird.
This is a tale of romance and barbarism, of the days of ordeal and
degrading suspicion; but Camoens himself alludes to it, and it derives
interest from his mention.[127]
The family of Caamaños possessed a _solar_ or ancestral inheritance in
Gallicia, and reigned over seventeen villages near the promontory of
Finisterre. One of the lords of this family having killed a cavalier de
Castros, they were obliged to migrate, and settled at a fortress called
Rubianes; where Faria y Sousa tells us the family still remain, great in
birth, but of diminished means.[128]
Vasco Perez de Camoens, either brother or son of this Ruy, made a second
migration to Portugal in 1370. Faria y Sousa conjectures that it might
be from some such same cause as occasioned the first exile, while
Southey attributes it to his having sided with Pedro the Cruel against
his more infamous brother Henriquez II. However that may be, Fernando,
king of Portugal, received him with distinction, and gifted him with the
"villas" of Sardoal, Punhete, Maraõ, and Amendao, besides making him
one of the principal fidalgos of his court. Nor did the favours of
Fernando stop here. Vasco Perez received various other estates in gift,
and filled places of political and military importance.
After the death of Fernando, Vasco Perez became involved in a dispute
for succession, and he upheld the cause of the queen of Fernando,
Leonor, and his daughter, the queen of Castile. His power was great, and
his aid was held of importance, whichever side he espoused. Camoens
considered that his ancestor assisted the wrong cause, that of Castile
against Portugal. The latter was destined to triumph, and Vasco was the
sufferer. He lost all command, but retained a considerable portion of
his estates. A letter has been discovered by Sarmiento, written by the
marquis of Santillana, which intimates that Vasco Perez was a poet as
well as a warrior.
The descendants of Vasco Perez were of account, and married into the
richest and most powerful families of Portugal. His second son, Joaõ
Vaz, was the great-grandfather of the poet. He acquired glory by his
military services under Alfonso V., and was named his _vassal_--a title
of distinction in those days. He built a house at Coimbra, and there is
a marble monument erected to his memory in the chapel of the cloister of
the cathedral at Coimbra. Simaõ Vaz, the grandson of Joaõ Vaz, married
Dona Ana de Sa e Macedo, of noble descent, and sprung from the Macedos
of Santarem. Thus, in every way, Camoens was highly descended from
nobles and warriors; but, springing from the younger branch, he
inherited the blood and name without the estates of his family. As he
never married this branch of the family became extinct.
Coimbra and Santarem have both contended for the glory of having been
his birth-place, but without foundation; for he was born at Lisbon, most
probably in the district "da Mouraria," in the parish of San Sebastiaõ,
where his parents resided. The date of his birth has been disputed. A
friend and contemporary, Manoel Correa, gave that of 1517; but a
register, in the Portuguese India House, proves that he was really born
in 1524.[129] This entry also is conclusive on another point. It was
long believed that Camoens lost his father while a mere child. Simon Vaz
de Camoens was a mariner; nearly all the biographers of the poet agree
in stating that he lost a ship, of which he was commander, on the coast
of Goa, and, escaping from the wreck, died soon afterwards in that city;
though some aver that he fell in the combat in which his son lost an
eye. Camoens himself does not mention his father as being with him on
that occasion, nor during any of his adventures. This point, therefore,
is left in obscurity.
Camoens was born at Lisbon; he celebrates with fondness the parental
Tagus: "My Tagus," as he sometimes names the river. But most of his
early years were spent at Coimbra, where, as has been mentioned, his
father had a house. He often mentions the river Mondego in his verses.
To a poet, there is something in a river that engages his affections and
enlivens his imagination. Water is indeed the soul, the smile, the
beaming eye of a landscape; and as Camoens' only happy days were those
when he nourished hopes--hopes, as he says in a letter, which he
afterwards cast aside as coiners of false money--in his youth, he might
well record with fondness the hours he spent in the beautiful environs
of Coimbra on the banks of its lovely river. Thus, in his poems, the
nymphs of Tagus and of Mondego are both addressed; and in one remarkable
and most beautiful passage of the "Lusiad" he exclaims, "What, insane
and rash, am I about to do without ye, O nymphs of Tagus and Mondego,
through so arduous, long, and various a way? I invoke your favour, as I
navigate the deep sea with so contrary a wind, that, unless ye aid me, I
fear that my fragile bark must sink!" and then he goes on to describe
his misfortunes in India, turning to those streams that watered his
native land, and whose very names were full of blessed recollections of
life's prime, to give him fortitude and help.[130]
Camoens studied in the university at Coimbra. This university was
founded by king Diniz, in 1308. Camoens introduces mention of this
monarch in the "Lusiad," and alludes to the establishment of the
university under his fosterage:--
From Helicon the Muses wing their way:
Mondego's flowery banks invite their stay,
Now Coimbra shines, Minerva's proud abode;
And fired with joy, Parnassus' blooming God
Beholds another dear-loved Athens rise,
And spread her laurels in indulgent skies.[131]
The university, however, fell off, and it was don Manuel who exerted
himself for its re-establishment; and dom John, his successor, took
equal pains to raise it to its former prosperity, and in the first place
caused it again to be restored to Coimbra--for it had been transferred
to Lisbon--and founded several new colleges. The date when Camoens
entered it is uncertain. It has been supposed that he was twelve years
old. In that case he must have attended it while at Lisbon; for it was
only transferred in 1537[132] when Camoens was thirteen or fourteen.
Saa de Miranda had studied there, and Ferreira was also a student. He
was younger than Camoens by four years, and that, at a boyish age, makes
the difference of, as it were, a generation. There is no token that they
were known to each other, nor, indeed, are there any traces of Camoens'
life or pursuits at Coimbra, except such as we find in his poems; and
these are in some sort contradictory--agreeing, however, in the love
they express for the picturesque scenery in which this seat of learning
was placed, and affection for its beautiful river.
Mr. Adamson quotes a canzone, in which he dwells with delight on the
charms of the Mondego, and dates thence his earliest passion. Lord
Strangford asserts that he had never experienced the passion of love
while at Coimbra, and rests his assertion on expressions of the poet.
Both of course are right, and the poet is wrong. Nor is this assertion
paradoxical. When the heart of Camoens became susceptible to a master
feeling, that filled it and awoke its every pulse to a sense of love, he
would naturally wish to throw into the back-ground any boyish fancy; and
comparing its slight and evanescent emotions with the mighty passion of
which he was afterwards the prey, he might well say,--
All ignorant of love I pass'd my days,
Its bow and all its mad deceits despising,
and revert to that period as the time,--
When from the bonds of love I wander'd free--
For always was I not chain'd to the oar:--
Once liberty was mine--but that is o'er.
And I now dwell in bard captivity.[133]
This certainly contrasts strangely with the poem quoted by Adamson, but
it is a fair poetic licence, or rather a licence of the heart, which not
only would bring to its selected shrine every former emotion and
immolate them there, but is jealous that any such existed, and would
gladly expunge all trace of them from the page of life. The verses above
mentioned form his fourth canzone, and were written on taking leave of
Coimbra.[134] The following is a portion of it:--
Soft from its crystal bed of rest,
Mondego's tranquil waters glide,
Nor stop, till, lost on ocean's breast,
They, swelling, mingle with the tide.
Increasing still, as still they flow--
Ah! there commenced my endless woe.
* * * * * * * * *
Yet whisper'd to the murmuring stream,
That winds these flowery meads among,
I give affection's cheating dream,
And pour in weeping truth my song;
That each recounted woe may prove
A lasting monument of love.
There is another sonnet, in which he takes leave of the Mondego, but its
context renders it apparent that it was not written so early in life, as
when he first quitted the university. As his parents had a house at
Coimbra, it may be assumed that he frequently visited this place, and
wrote the following sonnet in a later and sadder day:--
Mondego! thou whose waters, cold and clear,
Gird those green banks, where fancy fain would stay,
Fondly to muse on that departed day,
When hope was kind, and friendship seem'd sincere--
Ere I had purchased knowledge with a tear.--
Mondego! though I bend my pilgrim way
To other shores, where other fountains stray,
And other rivers roll their proud career,
Still, nor shall time, nor grief, nor stars severe,
Nor widening distance e'er prevail in aught,
To make thee less to this sad bosom dear;
And Memory oft, by old affection taught,
Shall lightly speed upon the shrines of thought,
To bathe among thy waters cold and clear.[135]
There is nothing so attractive to a biographer as to complete the
fragments of his hero's life; and, almost as children trace the forms of
animals and landscapes in the fire, by fixing the eye on salient
particles, so a few words suffice to give "local habitation and a name,"
to such emotions as the poet has made the subject of his verse. To do
this, and by an accurate investigation of dates, and a careful sifting
of concomitant circumstances to discover the veiled event, is often the
art of biography--but we must not be seduced too far. Truth, absolute
and unshakeable, ought to be the foundation of our assertions, or we
paint a fancy head instead of an individual portrait. Truth is all in
all in matters of history, for history is the chart of the world's sea;
and if imaginary lands are marked, those who would wisely learn from the
experience of others, are led sadly astray. Petrarch has been the mark
of similar conjectures to a great extent; but his letters give a true
direction to our researches. We have no such guide in the history of
Camoens's attachment. He loved and was beloved; was banished, and his
lady died. Such is nearly all that we absolutely know.
[Sidenote: 1545.[136]
Ætat.
21.]
To return however from remark to history, Camoens left Coimbra for
Lisbon and the court. He had not lost his time at the University--he was
a finished scholar. He was a poet also then when poetry was held a high
and divine gift. With such acquirements and accomplishments, joined to
his gentlemanly qualities, his courtesy and wit, he was favoured by the
highest people at court; his handsome person also gained him the favour
and estimation of the ladies. His defect was his poverty, but that
defect might be remedied by the friendship of some great man, or the
favour of his sovereign. Asa young noble of illustrious descent, he had
a right to expect advancement. As a poet full of imagination and ardour,
at the very first glowing entrance to life, while (to speak
metaphorically) the Aurora of hope announced the rising sun of
prosperity, he might expect an ample portion of that happiness, which,
while we are young, appears to us to be our just and assured
inheritance.
Soon after his arrival at court he fell in love. One of his sonnets,
(commented upon by an almanack,) fixes the date when he first saw the
lady, as the eleventh or twelfth of April, 1545. He mentions that it was
holy week, and at the time when the ceremonies that commemorate the
death of our Saviour were celebrated. This sonnet is not one of his
best; but we quote Lord Strangford's translation, as it is a monument of
an interesting epoch--the commencement of that attachment which shed a
disastrous influence over the rest of his life--for by it his early
hopes were blighted, and they never flowered again:
"Sweetly was heard the anthem's choral strain,
And myriads bow'd before the sainted shrine,
In solemn reverence to the Sire divine,
Who gave the Lamb, for guilty mortals slain;
When in the midst of God's eternal fane,
(Ah, little weening of his fell design!)
Love bore the heart, which since has ne'er been mine,
To one who seem'd of heaven's elected train!
For sanctity of place or time were vain
'Gainst that blind Archer's soul-consuming power,
Which scorns, and soars all circumstance above.
O! Lady, since I've worn thy gentle chain,
How oft have I deplored each wasted hour,
When I was free and had not learn'd to love!
It is said that this occurrence took place in the church of Christ's
Wounds, at Lisbon.[137] There is so much resemblance of time and place
between this event and the first time when Petrarch records that he saw
Laura, that we might almost suppose that the later poet imitated the
earlier one; but there is no other resemblance between their attachment.
The name of the lady Camoens fell in love with, was dona Caterina de
Atayde, and she was a lady of the palace. Many researches have been made
to discover more of her parentage and station; dom Jose Maria de Sousa
made diligent search in the "Historia da Casa Real;" but he can do no
more than conjecture that she was a relation of dom Antonio de Atayde,
the first conde de Castanheira, a powerful favourite of John III. It is
guessed that she was not more than sixteen when Camoens first saw her.
She was unmarried; his attachment therefore was totally unlike the
Platonic, far-off worship of the lover of Laura de Sades. Camoens loved
as a youth who dedicates himself to one whom he may hope to make his own
in the open face of day--with whom he might spend his life, as her
protector and husband; but she was of high birth, and her relations had
lofty pretensions--a pennyless, though noble and accomplished gentleman
by no means suited their views. The love of Camoens was full of
difficulties: his ardour was excited by them; and, while unassured of
any return he was disposed to vanquish every obstacle for the sake of
seeing, and endeavouring to win the heart of the beloved object.
Youth and love aided the developement of a vivid imagination. There
never breathed a more genuine poet than Camoens, and now he poured forth
his soul in rhymes: canzoni and sonnets are dedicated to his lady,
describing her beauty, his sufferings, and the deep affection he
nourished. Notwithstanding the good old proverb, commentators are fond
of instituting comparisons, and the amatory poetry of Petrarch and
Camoens has been compared. Camoens had doubtless read and studied
Petrarch, but in no respect does he imitate him. There is more finish in
the compositions of the Italian, and for this there is an obvious cause.
While speaking slightingly of them, Petrarch was employed even in his
last days in the correction and polishing of his Italian poetry; while
the verses of Camoens, written in the first gush of inspiration, were
never collected by him, or if collected, the volume was lost: and
scattered over Portugal and India, it was with difficulty they were
brought together, nor were they published till after his death, and some
of those included in the collection are said not to be his.
There is a glow, a freshness, and a truth; a touching softness and a
heart-felt eagerness, in his verses on dona Caterina, which is very
winning. The language he uses does not charm the ear like Italian, but
it is capable of great melody and expression. We possess translations of
a small portion, but lyrics can never be translated; they have a _voice_
of their own which cannot be transfused into another language. Lord
Strangford's translations have this merit, that they read like original
poetry--but something of truth has been sacrificed in consequence.
It is from these poems that we gather almost all we know of Camoens'
attachment. As Petrarch did, he dedicates a sonnet to an emotion--which
to a lover's heart seemed an event, or in a _canzone_, dwells at length
on the course of his passion. One sonnet which describes the lady, is a
great favourite with the Portuguese: the translation is difficult; we
quote the one given by Mr. Adamson--
"Her Eye's soft movement, radiant and benign,
Yet with no casual glance; her honest smile,
Cautious though free;--her gestures that combine,
Light mirth with modesty, as if the while
She stood all trembling o'er some doubtful bliss,
Her blithe demeanour; her confiding ease,
Secure in grave and virgin bashfulness,
Midst every gentler virtue formed to please
Her purity of soul--her innate fear
Of error's stain; her temper mild, resigned;
Her looks, obedience; her unclouded air,
The faithful index of a spotless mind;
These form a Circe, who with magic art
Can fix or change each purpose of my heart."
He describes her charms in many of his poems. Dona Caterina had mild
blue eyes, and hair of a golden brown, and he dwells on the softness of
the former and the splendour of the latter with fond admiration; but the
poem which expresses most fervently the influence of her beauty is one
of which Dr. Southey has given a very exquisite translation, and which
we are irresistibly tempted to quote--
"When I behold you. Lady, when my eyes
Dwell on the deep enjoyment of your sight,
I give my spirit to that one delight,
And earth appears to me a Paradise.
And when I hear you speak and see you smile,
Full, satisfied, absorbed, my centred mind
Deems all the world's vain hopes and joys the while,
As empty as the unsubstantial wind.
Lady, I feel your charms, but dare not raise
To that high theme th' unequal song of praise;
A power for that to language was not given:
Nor marvel I when I those beauties view,
Lady, that he whose power created you,
Could form the stars and yonder glorious heaven."
The concluding lines of the above sonnet are conceived in the very truth
of love and ardour of imagination that stamps the lyrics and sonnets of
Camoens with a charm almost unequalled by any other poet.
The obstacles that were in the way of all intercourse with the lady
maddened his young and impatient spirit. Dona Caterina lived in the
palace, and Camoens violated some rule of decorum in endeavouring to see
her, and was exiled. We are not told what his fault was. Dona Caterina
was not insensible to his passion. He always speaks of her as mild and
retiring--modest and gentle; he never complains of her haughtiness nor
her pride: indeed, several of his sonnets speak of how oft he was happy
and content, and of "past sweet delights."[138] We do not venture too
far, therefore, in supposing that her relations discovered that she
returned her lover's attachment; and, as they were opposed to their
being married, they used their influence to get the youthful and, as
they deemed, presumptuous aspirant, banished.
Lord Strangford speaks decidedly of a parting interview, when the
horrors of approaching exile were softened by finding his grief and his
sorrow shared by her he loved. There indeed appears foundation for this,
though the noble biographer uses a few fancy tints, when, quoting the
twenty-fourth sonnet, he comments on it, by saying, "On the morning of
his departure his mistress relented from her wonted severity, and
confessed the secret of her long concealed affection. The sighs of grief
were soon lost in those of mutual delight, and the hour of parting was
perhaps the sweetest of our poet's existence." This may be true. The
poet speaks of "a mournful and a happy morning, overflowing with grief
and pity", which he desires should for ever be remembered, and he speaks
of "tears shed by other eyes than his."[139]
Camoens appears to have passed his exile at Santarem (the native place
of his mother), or in its neighbourhood. He was supremely unhappy;
banished from her he loved, banished from the court, where all his hopes
of advancement, were centred, the gates of life were closed on him. His
genius and his poetical imagination were his only resource and comfort.
He wrote many of his lyrics and sonnets here, and among the rest a very
beautiful elegy, in which he compares himself to Ovid banished to
Pontus, and separated from the country and the friends he loved. He
dwells on the Roman's misery, and proceeds--
"Thus Fancy paints me--thus like him forlorn,
Condemn'd the hapless exile's fate to prove;
In life-consuming pain, thus doomed to mourn
The loss of all I prized--of her I love.
"Reflection paints me guiltless though opprest,
Increasing thus the sources of my woe;
The pang unmerited that rends the breast,
But bids a tear of keener sorrow flow.
"On golden Tagus' undulating stream[140]
Skim the light barks by gentlest, wishes sped
Trace their still way midst many a rosy gleam
That steals in blushes o'er its trembling bed.
"I see them gay, in passing beauty glide
Some with fix'd sails to woo the tardy gale,
While others with their oars that stream divide
To which I weeping tell the Exile's tale."
At this period also he is supposed to have conceived and begun the
Lusiad. Passionately fond of his country, and proud of her heroes, he
believed it to be a glorious task to celebrate their deeds; and while
his heart warmed and his imagination was fired with such a subject, he
might hope that it would please his sovereign, and that his patriotic
labours would bear the fruit of some prosperity for himself. That he
hoped much, we know, and felt all the confidence in eventual happiness
which the young and ardent naturally feel is certain. How bitter and how
blighting was the truth, that as it brought to light, piece by piece,
year by year, the course of his life, shewed only barren tracks, storms,
and hardship--to end at last in abject wretchedness!
The gleams that a little irradiate the obscurity in which this portion
of the life of Camoens is enveloped, shed a very doubtful light upon his
motives. Faria y Sousa says, that he returned to Lisbon, and was a
second time exiled for the same cause, and then resolved on his
expedition to India. But there is no proof of his being banished a
second time by any royal order.
The simple facts appear to be these. In 1545 he left the university and
began life. He was twenty-one, ardent in his temper, high of hope, of an
aspiring but poetic temperament, that could bear all that called him
forth to action and glory, but was impatient of obscurity, and the dull
sleepy course of hopeless unvaried mediocrity of station and life. He
loved, and he was banished.
His heart then spent itself in rhymes, and he conceived the idea of a
poem which he deemed to be epic, which spoke of heroes, who were his
countrymen, who were but lately dead, and whose path to glory in the
east he even saw open before himself. Five years were passed since he
had left Coimbra; he was still poor and unprotected: he resolved to be
and to do something, and on this, formed the project of going to India.
He had formed an intimacy with dom Antonio de Noronha. Dom Alfonso de
Noronha (who must have been some relation to this young noble) was at
this time named viceroy for India; and the entry in the Portuguese East
Indian register shows that Camoens had taken his passage on board the
same vessel in which the viceroy sailed. From some reason, however, he
changed his intention. Dom Antonio was about to join the Portuguese army
in Africa. His father had discovered an attachment between him and dona
Margarita de Silva, a lady of high birth and great beauty, but from some
unknown cause, not approving of it, he sent his son to Ceuta. Nothing
was more natural than that dom Antonio should solicit his friend to
accompany him, instead of leaving his native country for the distant
clime of India. Other commentators say that the father of Camoens was at
that time in Africa, and sent for his son; but facts tend to negative
this. We have seen that Simon Vaz was his son's surety on his projected
voyage, on board the Don Pedro; nor have we any facility afforded us of
reconciling these contradictions.[141] There are several expressions in
his poems which indicate that the poet, though innocent, was obliged to
go to Africa.[142] These might allude to a paternal command, or simply
to the evil fate that pursued him, driven by which, he might term that
force, which was only a strongly impelling motive.
[Sidenote: 1550.
Ætat.
20.]
While with the troops at Ceuta, Camoens was actively employed, and
displayed great bravery on various occasions; on one, he was destined to
be a great sufferer, as he lost an eye in a naval engagement which took
place in the straits of Gibraltar.
Like Cervantes, Camoens fought for his country and was mutilated in her
wars, and received neither reward nor preferment. After passing some
time in the burning clime of Africa, he returned to Lisbon; but no
better fortune awaited him. He returned, deprived of an eye, and the
unfortunate mutilation rendered him an object of ridicule to those very
ladies who, eight years before, when he was in the prime of youth and
beauty, had welcomed him with distinction. At this period, the
biographers state that the object of his faithful and passionate
attachment died: this seems a mistake, as we shall afterwards mention;
but he was divided from her by obstacles as insurmountable as death. His
father was no more. He had sailed to India as commander of a vessel, was
wrecked on the Malabar coast, and, escaping from the wreck, arrived at
Goa; but did not long survive the loss of his fortunes.
[Sidenote: 1553.
Ætat.
29.]
Camoens cast hope to the winds, and embarked for India. Stricken by
disappointment, rendered despairing by hopeless love--his wearied fancy
could build no more airy fabrics of future good fortune to which to
escape during the tedious or fearful hours of a long and dangerous
voyage. His resource was his poem. He occupied himself with the Lusiad;
and, doubtless, found in the glow of inspiration, and in the exercise of
his imagination, some relief from sorrow and care, while traversing
those stormy and distant seas, which the heroes of his epic had before
sailed over, even though he went towards
"That long desired and distant land, which is
The grave of every poor and honest man."[143]
He sailed in the San Bento, in which the commodore Fernando Alvares
Cabral, who commanded the fleet then going to the east, also embarked.
It was the only one of the squadron that reached its destination; the
rest being destroyed by tempests. It reached Goa in the September of the
same year.
Then Camoens visited India the glorious days of Portugal were at an end.
Albuquerque, Almeida, and the heroic Pacheco, who like a fabulous
Paladin, withstood whole armies with his single arm, and who died
unregarded and unnoticed by his ungrateful sovereign in a hospital in
Lisbon, were no more; the disinterestedness, the honour and humanity,
that distinguished the administration of Albuquerque, was not imitated
by his successors. He had taken Goa, and founded an empire, which the
corrupt government of Portugal has caused us to inherit. The local
governors too often sought only to enrich themselves; the viceroys were
involved in wars occasioned by their tyranny and extortion; and that
which Albuquerque intended should be a political and vast dominion
tributary to his native land, sunk into mere commercial or piratical
speculations. In the same way, the trade with China was stained by
oppressions and rapine.
Dom Alfonso de Noronha was still viceroy on Camoens' arrival. He was
avaricious and tyrannical. At this time the king of Cochin had applied
to the Portuguese for protection against the king of Pimenta. An
armament was sent in November; and Camoens, without giving himself time
to repose from his long voyage, accompanied it. The artillery of the
Portuguese gained for them a signal victory, and the king of Cochin soon
sued for peace. "We were to retale an island," Camoens writes in his
first elegy, "belonging to the king of Porca, and which the king of
Pimenta had seized; and we were successful. We departed from Goa with a
large armament, which comprised all the forces there, collected together
by the viceroy. With little trouble we destroyed the quiver-armed
people, and punished them with death and fire. We were detained in the
island only two days, which was the last for some, who passed the cold
waters of Styx."
Thus he enrolled his name at once among those adventurers who sought by
their gallantry to conquer fortune, and to acquire prosperity and
reputation by the sword. Camoens was full of military ardour, but he was
a poet, and his disposition was gentle as it was fearless; and Southey
well observes, that his better nature induced him, while recording this
victory, to envy those happier men whose lives were spent in the
exercise of the arts of peace.
On his return to Goa, he was saddened by the news of the death of his
young and dear friend, dom Antonio de Noronha. He perished in an
engagement with the Moors, near Tetuan, on the 18th of April, 1553.
Antonio had been driven from his native country to fall in the
destructive African wars, through the obduracy of his father. He was
miserable in his exile; as Camoens pathetically describes:--
"But while his tell-tale cheek the cause betrays,
To him who marks it with affection's eye,
And speaks in silence to a father's gaze
The fatal strength of love's resistless sigh;
Parental art, resolved, alas! to prove
The stronger power of absence over love."
Unimaginative people fancy that when a poet laments in song; his heart
is cold. How false this is, persons even of the chilliest fancy can
judge if they call to mind, how, in times of vehement affliction, they
are more alive, and the world is more alive to them, in images that hear
upon their grief, than during periods of monotony. The act of writing
may compose the mind; but the boiling of the soul, and quake of heart,
that precede, transcend all the sufferings which tame spirits feel.
Camoens wrote a sonnet[144] and an elegy on this loss, which he sent in
a letter to a friend.
"I wish so much for a letter from you," he says in this letter, "that I
fear that my wishes balked themselves--for it is a trick of fortune to
inspire a strong desire for the very purpose of disappointing it. But as
I would not have such wrong done me, as that you should suspect that I
do not remember you, I determined to remind you by this, in which you
will see little more or less than that I wish you to write to me from
your native land; and in anticipated payment I send you news from this,
which will do no harm at the bottom of a box, and may serve as a word of
advice to other adventurers, that they may learn that every country
grows grass. When I left Portugal, as one bound for another world, I
sent all the hopes I had nourished, with a crier before them, to be
hanged, as coiners of false money, and I freed myself from all the
thoughts of home, so that there might not remain in me one stone upon
another. Thus situated, in the midst of uncertainty and confusion, the
last words I uttered were those of Scipio Africanus--'Ingrata patria,
non possidebis ossa mea.' For without having committed any sin that
would doom me to three days of purgatory, I have endured three-thousand
from evil tongues, worse intentions, and wicked designs, born of mere
envy,
"to view
Their darling ivy, torn from them, take root
Against another wall."[145]
Even friendships softer than wax have been warmed into hatred and set
alight, whence my fame has received more blisters than the crackling of
a roasted pig. Thus they found in my skin the valour of Achilles, who
could only be wounded at the sole of the foot; for they were never able
to see mine, though I forced many to show theirs. In short, Senhor, I
know not how to thank myself for having escaped all the snares with
which circumstances surrounded me in that country, except by coming to
this, where I am more respected than the bulls of Merciana[146], and
live more peacefully than in the cell of friar. This country, I say,
which is the mother of rascals, and the mother-in-law of honest men. For
those who seek to enrich themselves float like bladders on the water;
but those whose inclinations lead them to deeds on arms, are thrown, as
the tide throws dead bodies on shore, to be dried up first, and then to
decay."
He then proceeds to speak of the women. The Portuguese whom he finds
there, he says, are old; and of the natives he dislikes their
language--"for if you address them," he continues, "in the style of
Petrarch and Boscan, they reply in a language so sown with tares, that
it sticks in the throat of the understanding, and would throw cold water
on the most burning flame in the world. And now no more, Senhor, than
this sonnet, which I wrote on the death of dom Antonio de Noronha, which
I send as a mark of how much it grieved me. I wrote an eclogue on the
same subject, which appears to me the best I have written. I wished also
to send it to Miguel Diaz, who would be glad to see it, on account of
his great friendship for dom Antonio, but being occupied by the many
letters I have to write to Portugal, I have no time."
Camoens could not remain inactive; he had left a country which,
notwithstanding all he had suffered, he fondly loved, because no career
was open to him. He sought one in India, and when none presented itself,
he cast himself in the first expedition set on foot, however dangerous
or tedious it promised to be, and with all the bravery and ardour of his
soul, using both pen and sword, endeavoured to fight or write himself
into reputation and preferment.
[Sidenote: 1554.
Ætat.
30.]
The year following his arrival at Goa, Noronha was succeeded in his
viceroyalty by dom Pedro Mascarenhas, who soon after died, and Francisco
Barreto acted as governor. The cruising of the Mahometans in the straits
of Mecca was very detrimental to the Portuguese trade, and expeditions
were sent out to protect the merchantmen, under the command of Manoel de
Vasconcellos. On the second occasion, Camoens offered to serve as
volunteer, and accompanying Vasconcellos, shared the great hardships of
the expedition.
[Sidenote: 1555.
Ætat.
31.]
On his return to Goa, he wrote a most beautiful _canzone_, the ninth,
descriptive of the wretchedness he endured, in which he pourtrays that
corner of the world, "neighbouring a barren, rocky, sterile mountain;
useless, bare, bald and shapeless, abhorred of nature, where no bird
flies, nor wild beast crouches--where no stream flows, nor any fountain
springs, and whose name is Felix. Here my hapless fortune placed me;
here, in this remote, rugged, and rocky part of the world, did fortune
will that a short space of my short life should be spent, that it might
be scattered in pieces about the world; here I wasted my sad, solitary,
and sterile days, full of hardship, grief, and resentment; nor had I, as
my only adversaries, life, a burning sun, and chilling waters, a thick
and sultry atmosphere, — but also my own thoughts. They assailed me,
bringing the memory of some passed and brief delight, which once was
mine when I inhabited the world, to double the asperity of my adversity,
by showing me that many happy hours may be enjoyed; and thus, in these
thoughts, I wore out time and life."
Camoens returned to Goa, only to again encounter the enmity of fate and
malice of men. It was natural for him, to behold with indignation and
contempt the extortion and tyranny of the Portuguese government; and he
is said to have been excited by these feelings to express his dislike of
various individuals that composed it in a satire, which he named
"Follies in India," (_Disparates na India_), in which, in general terms,
he lashes many potent individuals for their misdeeds. This made him
enemies; and being suspected of composing another satire, still more
distasteful to several who were named in it, as instituting a feast of
canes in honour of the new governor, and getting drunk on the occasion;
the persons aggrieved, fearing Camoens' sword as well as his pen,
applied for redress to Barreto, and he was glad of the pretence to
arrest and banish him to China[147]; or rather, Southey says, we should
express it, ordered him to another station; but this is often the worst
exile; when a man has sought a new country, where he has friends and
prospects, it is an arbitrary and cruel act that drives him out to seek
his fortune on unknown shores, where he arrives a stranger, and may be
looked on as an intruder; his name already stigmatised by the very
circumstances of his removal.
[Sidenote: 1556.
Ætat.
32.]
Camoens departed from Goa in the fleet which Barreto despatched to the
South. He felt this arbitrary act bitterly. He denounced it as unjust,
and went, he says, "loaded with his recollections, his sorrows, and his
fortunes, which were for ever adverse." He disembarked, at first, at one
of the Molucca Isles; Ternate, as it is supposed: the term of his stay
there is uncertain, but there is every reason to suppose that he soon
proceeded to Macao.[148] He here held the office of "Provedor dos
Defunctos," or commissary for the effects of the deceased; and here
again we find a similarity with Cervantes, who was driven to maintain
himself by accepting a clerkship; but in this Camoens was more fortunate
than the Spaniard; the situation he held was of greater emolument, and
he amassed a little fortune while holding it[149]; nor was it a place
that demanded much time for the fulfilment of its duties. Camoens found
leisure to retire from the details of business, and to pursue his
poetical occupations. He was wont to spend much time in a grotto which
commanded a view of the sea, and where, apart from the rest of the
world, he wrote a great portion of the "Lusiad." This spot is still
shown to strangers who visit Macao, as the grotto of Camoens; and an
English visitor thus describes it: "It is pleasantly situated on the
western shore of the promontory of Macao, and faces the harbour, which
divides it on that side from the main land. This promontory is a narrow
neck of land, whose stony and barren surface is only rendered habitable
by the sea breezes, that blow from three quarters of the compass, and
somewhat temper the natural heat of the climate." At this day, the
English possessor has beautified it by a plantation of trees, and
crowned it with a small Chinese temple, built on the rock, which is a
sort of cromlech; the excavation beneath is the cave, or natural grotto,
to which the poet resorted, bare in itself, but commanding a beautiful
and extensive view:--"the wide sea flecked with verdant isles, the
harbour busy with vessels, the line of woody and cultivated coast,
bounded by the majestic Montagna, whose pyramidical form and dark aspect
add no small charm to the scenery."
Here Camoens continued the "Lusiad;" here Southey supposes that the
happiest years of his life were spent. It may be so, but airy and
cameleon-like must that happiness have been. His imagination, his desire
of fame, the grasp he held of it, as he added to his immortal work,
doubtless often fired his soul with that rapture which poets only know;
and, as he gathered together some of the world's pelf, he might dream of
dona Caterina, of his native Lisbon, and hope to make her his own when
he should return; he could look upon the sky and sea, and the beautiful
earth, and feel the loveliness of the creation breathe peace and love
around him. But still he was exiled and he was alone; his food was hope;
far off expectation, and that too of blessings, which he was never
doomed to possess; and as doubtless the human soul does unconsciously
receive shadows or sunbeams from the future, so his melancholy mood may
often have made him wonder, why on an earth so lovely; beneath so
sublime a heaven, he should be doomed to solitude and misfortune.
Thus several years were passed. Whatever the emoluments of his place
were, or whatever fortune it was that he amassed, or whatever were the
charms of his abode, they did not seduce him to stay a day longer than
he was obliged. He obtained leave to return to Goa from, or was invited
to do so by, dom Costantino de Braganza, the new viceroy, who had known
and entertained friendship for him in Portugal. He embarked carrying
with him his little fortune. But here fate at once displayed her
unmitigated persecution; he was wrecked at the mouth of the river Mecon,
and with difficulty reached the shore; carrying in one hand the
manuscript of his poem, while he swam with the other. Every thing else
that he possessed in the world was lost.[150]
Camoens was kindly received by the natives who lived on the banks of the
Mecon; though he says of them with some scorn--
"The near inhabitants brutishly think
That pain and glory, after this life's end
Even brute creatures of each kind attend."
yet this very belief may have made them more sympathetic and charitable.
He remained on this coast for a few days after his wreck. And here all
commentators agree that he wrote what are called his marvellous and
inimitable rendondilhas, which commence by an allusion to the Hebrew
psalm of exile, "By the waters of Babylon." Southey rejects absolutely
the possibility that this beautiful poem could have been written at such
an hour of tumult and uncertainty, and brings as proof, that not only,
he does not mention his wreck, nor the kindness he received, for which
he evidently felt grateful, but speaks of himself as living in exile.
He soon pursued his voyage to Goa, where the viceroy received him with
kindness and distinction; and hope might dawn again upon his heart, and
he might expect preferment under dom Constantine de Braganza's
patronage, who loved him as a friend. But we are almost forced to
believe in the influence of a star, and that which ruled the fate of
Camoens was full of storm and wreck, and miserable reverses. Dom
Constantine, with whose viceroyalty, Faria tells us, ended all good
government in India, the succeeding governors being unable to stem the
tide and avarice of extortion, was soon replaced by don Francisco de
Coutinho, Conde de Redondo. The poet's enemies took advantage of this
change to urge against him an accusation of malversation in the exercise
of his office at Macao. Don Francisco was said to be the friend and
admirer of the poet, but Mickle, in reprobating his general character,
accuses him also of deceit towards Camoens--at least he afforded him no
protection on this occasion, and this thrice unhappy man was thrown into
prison.
In the seventh canto of the Lusiad, the poet breaks off suddenly in the
narrative, as if oppressed by the sense of his own woes; and, forced to
give a voice to the anguish that wrung his soul, he recalls images of
home and bids them assuage the bitterness of his grief, while he
recapitulates the various disasters he had sustained--exclaiming,--
"But, O, blind man
I! that, unwise and rude, without your clue,
Nymphs of Mondego and the Tagan stream,
A course so long, so intricate, pursue.
I launch into a boundless ocean,
With wind so contrary, that unless you
Extend your favours, I have cause to think
My brittle bark will in a moment sink.
Behold, how long, whilst I strain all my powers
Your Tagus singing, and your Portugal,
Fortune, new toils presenting and new sours,
Through the world drags me at her chariot's tail:
Sometimes committed to sea's rolling towers,
Sometimes to bloody dangers martial!
Thus I, like desperate Canace of old,
My pen in this, my sword in that hand hold.
Now by declined and scorned poverty
Degraded, at another's board to eat;
Now in possession of a fortune high,
Thrown back again, farther than ever yet;
Now 'scaped, with my life only, which hung by
A single thread, even that a load too great;
That 'tis no less a wonder I am here,
Than Judah's king's new lease of fifteen year.
Nay more, my Nymphs, I thus being made an isle
And rock of want, surrounded by my woes,
The same, whom I swam, singing all the while,
Gave me for all my verses, but coarse prose:
Instead of hoped rest for long exile.
Or bays, to crown my head which bald now grows,
Unworthy scandals they thereon did hail,
Which laid me in a miserable jail.[151]
Camoens was easily enabled to prove the falsehood of the charges of
which he was accused. And he would have been set free, but Miguel
Rodrigues Coutinho, a man of wealth and consequence, but nicknamed
Fios-seccos, detained him in prison for a trifling debt; not more, at
the very largest computation, than twenty pounds. He petitioned for his
release from the viceroy in some sportive verses, in which he ridicules
the character of his creditor. The request was such as a man in
adversity might prefer to a friend in power, without humiliation; and
though the biographers are chary of attributing the merit of his release
to the viceroy, and Mickle even asserts that he owed it "to the shame
felt by the gentlemen of Goa," it seems likely that dom Francisco did
shew his friendship by enlarging him.
He continued in India, and pursued his military career as a volunteer.
On all occasions he displayed undaunted bravery; and his companions in
arms loved him for the heroic as well as cheerful spirit which he
displayed in all reverses, and during every hardship.
At this period he is supposed to have heard of the death of dona
Catarina de Atayde[152], who, in her grave, was not more lost to him
than on earth, while such far seas lay between them; yet the thought of
her was dear and consolatory. When recording that two blows befell him
at the same time, the one the loss of fortune, he continues:--
"And greater ill--the other blow destroyed
The gentle one, whom I so deeply loved,
Perpetual Recollection of my soul!"[153]
Of Catarina's story we may say, as Shakspeare's Viola does of her own
history, it was "a blank." She loved, she wept, she died. Her lover won
her heart, and then was driven by fate to other lands at an immeasurable
distance, and the course of long years promised no return. He fondly
laments and commemorates her loss in poems which breathe tenderness and
love in all its purity and truth.[154] He addressed her in that heaven
which she had reached, and adjured her:--
"Prefer thy prayer
To God, who took thee early to his rest,
That it may please him soon amid the blest
To summon me, dear maid, to meet thee there."
He had lost all; poverty clung to him, and the last hope of seeing her
he loved again, was taken away. Fame and glory only remained. His poem
was finished; and weary of hard services in wars--whose objects he
condemned, and in reward for which he received but the slender pay of a
volunteer--he desired to return to his native country, to publish his
poem, and to receive the welcome of his friends, and perhaps the reward
of his sovereign. He had left Portugal with an embittered spirit; but
his misfortunes in India made him turn with a longing eye to his native
land, where he might hope that his enemies would cease to persecute him,
and he obtain favour from his sovereign.
Pedro Barreto (a name unlucky for the poet) was appointed governor of
Sofala, in the Mozambique, and invited Camoens to accompany him. Whether
he offered him an office, or only allured him with the hope of
facilitating his return to Portugal, Sofala being on the way, we are not
told. It seems likely that Camoens went, induced by the latter motive,
and trusting to the friendship of a low-minded and hard-hearted man.
Arrived at Sofala, he obtained no situation; it was his place to dine at
the governor's table, to follow in his train, and to tell the world that
he, a gallant soldier and a poet, who inherited immortality, was the
dependant of Pedro Barreto. His proud spirit revolted, and he was
content to endure the extreme of poverty, rather than play the servile
part of parasite and hanger-on. It is probable that some absolute
quarrel ensued, or at least that Barreto was so ill pleased with the
independent deportment of the man whom he believed that he held in his
power, that he expressed his dissatisfaction with an insolence which
Camoens resented. At this juncture some of his Indian friends arrived in
the Santa Fé; they found him in a most deplorable condition, dependent
on others for his subsistence; in want of clothes and every necessary.
They supplied his wants, and invited him to accompany them, a proposal
Camoens gladly accepted; when the dastardly and malevolent Barreto
refused to permit his departure, until he had been paid 200 ducats,
which he alleged he had spent in his behalf. The newly-arrived
gentlemen, indignant at this meanness, were only the more eager to
rescue their friend out of such a person's hands: they subscribed the
money, and as Faria expresses it, "ransomed him; so that at the same
time the person of Luis Camoens, and the reputation of Pedro Barreto,
were bought and sold at the same price;" and if, as men of genius and
virtue fondly think, renown for good or ill in this world is an
acquisition to be sought, or to be avoided, even with the loss of life,
Pedro Barreto, as he counted his paltry ducats, had better have cast
them and himself into the sea, than have put them into his pocket; but
even the sea could not have washed out the stain of moral infamy. These
friends of Camoens were cavaliers, who loved literature and honoured the
writer. Their names have been preserved: Hector da Sylveira, Duarte de
Abreu, Diogo de Couto, Antonio Cabral, Antonio Serram, and Luis de
Veyga. He was the intimate friend of Hector da Sylveira, who showed
himself the most active and friendly, and who contributed the largest
share to the payment of the debt, even if he did not, as has been
asserted, pay the whole. Sylveira is mentioned in a Barmecide feast,
Camoens describes as having given at Goa; and they composed redondillhas
and other light verses together. The reputation of Couto is known. He
was an historian of great merit.
Camoens felt keenly the depth of adversity in which he had sunk. "Oh,
how long drawn out," he exclaims in a sonnet, "year by year, is my weary
pilgrimage! I go hastening towards age, while my ills increase; every
bright hope becomes a dark deceit, and I follow a good which I never
reach. I fail midway in the path, yet falling a thousand times, I have
still hoped." And in another, driven by despair into feelings unlike his
natural ones, he asks, "where he may find a desert place, unvisited even
by the brute creation; some gloomy wood or darksome forest--a place as
dismal as his own thoughts, wherein to dwell for ever!"
During the voyage home, however, his spirit revived, refreshed by the
kindness and admiration of his friends. They read, they praised, and
anticipated success for the "Lusiad." Couto wrote a commentary on it,
which was unfortunately lost; and the same writer tells us that Camoens
employed himself, on the passage, in composing a work of great erudition
and philosophy, which he entitled "Parnasso de Luis Camoens," and which
Couto says was stolen from him, and irretrievably lost. Late
commentators suppose that this must have been a collection of his minor
poems: but as Couto speaks of its erudition, and had read it, he would
have been aware of this, and expressed himself differently.
The sanguine spirit of the poet, to whom kindness was medicine, and the
hope of fame the dearest joy, again dared look forward--again he
trusted.
[Sidenote: 1569.
Ætat.
45.]
A young and gallant monarch had just ascended the throne, and he hoped
to propitiate his favour by his patriotic work. The moment of his
landing, however, was unfavourable; for the plague was raging at Lisbon,
and the minds of even the great and prosperous were absorbed by the fear
of death. The political state of the kingdom was also disadvantageous.
Sebastian had succeeded to the crown when only three years old. The
queen, Catherine of Austria, had been appointed regent by the will of
the late king; but the cardinal Henrique, uncle to the infant sovereign,
so disgusted her with his intrigues, that she resigned her power in his
favour. Henrique did not show himself unworthy of the trust; but as
Sebastian grew up, the courtiers around him were eager that he should
take the government of the kingdom into his own hands. Sebastian's own
heart was set on military glory and conquests in Africa: a project
favoured by all the young and ambitious, and deprecated by the
experienced, who saw only a useless expenditure of life and money in the
design. The cardinal, meanwhile, endeavoured to prolong his sway.
Camoens must have found it difficult to trim his sail between the actual
power of the cardinal and the anticipated influence of the favourites of
the king. He wrote the verses in which he dedicates his poem to the
young monarch; he corrected and polished it; but the publication
lingered, and it was two years after his return to his native country
before it appeared. It was hailed with enthusiasm, and reprinted within
the year.
[Sidenote: 1571.
Ætat.
47.]
The king heard of it, it is said, and granted the poet a pension of
15,000 reis--about five pounds sterling--and required him to live within
the precincts of the court, and obtain its payment half-yearly. A
soldier who had fought as Camoens had done for his country, would have
had his sufferings and mutilation better rewarded. It has been
impossible to discover what occasioned the paltriness of the grant; if,
indeed, it was not his half-pay as a military man, rather than a pension
given to the poet. Some commentators fancy that the cardinal scowled on
the poem, as likely to excite the martial ardour of the king, which he
wished to repress. This fear almost seems to have gone the length of
withholding the book altogether; for had Sebastian read the poem, he
would surely have found in it a voice that echoed the emotions of his
own heart, and would have regarded its writer with more favour; and when
he sailed on his ill-fated expedition to Africa, and selected Diego
Bernardes to accompany him as his poet, he would rather have chosen a
man who could so well achieve and so well describe deeds of arms, as
Camoens had proved that he could do.[155]
But in mentioning this we anticipate. Sebastian did not undertake his
fatal expedition until the lapse of several years. Meanwhile the darkest
shadows clouded the poet's fate. No court favour, no preferment was
extended to him. Her he loved was dead; his poem was finished,
published, read, admired; yet it proved barren of any advantage, except
what he must have felt to be empty reputation, to its unfortunate
writer. The poetry of his life faded before realities the most
heartbreaking and oppressive. He continued to reside at Lisbon. He did
not write, for he had fallen into a state of ill-health, the consequence
of the many hardships he had endured, and the climate of India. He
lived, he says, "in the knowledge of many, and the society of few." He
enjoyed the acquaintance and conversation of some learned men, who
belonged to the convent of S. Domingos de Lisboa, near which he lived.
The most melancholy circumstances attended his last days. He was sick
and poor; his very life was supported by charity. His servant Antonio, a
native of Java, by whom some say his life was saved when wrecked on the
coast of Cochin, whom he had brought with him from India, was accustomed
to steal out at night, and beg for bread, to support his miserable
master during the following day.
While in this afflicting state, a fidalgo, Ruy Diaz de Camara, paid him
a visit in his wretched dwelling, to complain that he had not fulfilled
a promise which the poet had made of translating the penitential psalms.
Camoens regarded with resentment the man who could urge him to write
while starving. "When I wrote those verses," he replied, "I was young,
well off, and in love; I possessed the affection of many friends, and
was favoured of ladies, which imparted a poetic fire. Now I have neither
spirit nor peace of mind for any thing. There stands my Javanese, who
asks me for two pieces, to buy fuel, and I have none to give him." We
are told, though it seems incredible, that "the cavalier closed his
heart and purse and quitted the room." Thus shewing himself as
base-minded as he was silly. Yet even in this state, so keen and
patriotic were the poet's feelings, that his illness is said to have
been increased by the tidings of Sebastian's overthrow and death in
Africa.
Prophesying that the ruin of his country would result from this defeat,
he says, in a letter written at that time,--"At least I shall die with
it!"--and this sad reflection was a consolation. Southey conjectures
that those friends who were kindest to him perished in this defeat, and
that thus he lost that aid which had hitherto stood between him and
absolute want.
[Sidenote: 1778.
Ætat.
54.]
At length illness and suffering reduced him to so low a state that he
was incapable of all exertion. He felt that his death was near, and, as
a last effort, he expressed in a letter some of the bitter feelings
excited by the miserable circumstances with which it came attended.
[Sidenote: 1779.
Ætat.
55.]
"Who ever heard," he says, "that fortune should wish to represent such
vast misfortunes on the little theatre of a poor bed! and I, as if they
were not sufficient, make myself her ally; for it would appear
effrontery to attempt to resist such ill."
But the last scene was saddest of all. He breathed his last in an
hospital. The month and day of his decease are alike unknown. The sheet
in which he was shrouded was the gift of a noble, Don Francisco de
Portugal, whose name deserves no praise for so meagre an offering to the
dead, whose life a small portion of wealth might have rendered easy. A
moralising monk watched his last hours. "How miserable a thing," he
writes, "to see so great a genius so ill rewarded! I saw him die in a
hospital at Lisbon, without possessing a shroud to cover his remains,
after having borne arms victoriously in India, and having sailed 5500
leagues:--a warning for those who weary themselves by studying night and
day without profit, as the spider who spins his web to catch
flies."[156]
After his death his body was removed to the church of Santa Anna, where
he was interred; but no tomb or monumental inscription marked the spot,
till sixteen years after his death, don Gonçalo Coutinho placed a stone
to his memory, with this inscription--
HERE LIES LOUIS DE CAMOENS,
PRINCE OF THE POETS OF HIS TIME.
HE LIVED POOR AND MISERABLE,
AND THUS DIED,
IN THE YEAR MDLXXIX.
D. GONÇALO COUTINHO ORDERED
THIS STONE TO BE PLACED HERE,
UNDER WHICH
NO OTHER PERSON SHOULD BE BURIED.[157]
We are told that Camoens was handsome in person; and Faria y Sousa
speaks of him as elegant and prepossessing in person before he went to
India. Hardships and disappointments on his return bowed him down,
destroyed his cheerfulness, and made him old before his time.
Camoens was a great man, not only as poet, but in the qualities of his
mind and heart. He entered life full of aspiration after the good and
beautiful. He loved tenderly and fondly one who was as pure and good as
she was lovely; and in absence, and through hardship and sorrow, still
he worshipped her idea and mourned her fate. He was gallant and brave in
doing, as well as in the harder task of bearing. No mean, no servile, no
even dubious act is recorded of him, during the course of many
misfortunes, when spirits less high might have bowed before the rich and
powerful. He was naturally cheerful, friendly, and fond of society,
which he enlivened and adorned by his wit and genius. Fortune warred
with him long in vain, but she conquered at last, when poor, and sick,
and friendless, he grew melancholy and despairing. At the commencement
we compared his fortunes with those of Cervantes; but the career of
Camoens was the most disastrous. Every act of his life had an adverse
termination. In the early season of youth he loved tenderly and
ardently; and this feeling had not injured his fortunes, if his
attachment had not been returned. A modern poet asks, "What makes it
fatal in this world of ours, to be loved?" It was the love that Dona
Catarina bore the poet, that awakened the enmity of her powerful
relations, and cast his whole life into shadow. From the hour he was
banished for her sake, he succeeded in nothing. He fought for his
country in Africa, only to be maimed and deformed for life. He visited
India only to encounter the same hardships in a worse climate; he
amassed a fortune, and lost it in shipwreck; he trusted to the kind
feelings of the powerful, and found himself reduced to absolute want.
The most adverse period of Cervantes' life was his captivity at
Algiers[158], when he had the spirit of early manhood, the love and
admiration of his companions, his own conscience, and stirring hopes and
fears to animate him. The happiest portion of Camoens' existence, we are
told, were the years he spent at Macao, away from every friend, with
hope only to cheer him, and his imagination, while he looked over the
wide distant sea that separated him from the dearest objects of life. In
his last moments, Cervantes had wife and relation near; and, when dying,
he said farewell, to joy; farewell to his friends. In Camoens' last hour
his spirit was broken: want and penury, in their most loathsome guise,
were his death-bed companions, in a wretched hospital. Southey justly
remarks, however, that he is not to be considered a martyr to
literature; for he in no way depended on that for bread. He was a martyr
to that political system which created a body of men, (the younger sons
of the nobility), who, if they inherited no property, could acquire a
livelihood only by court favour; and that is never bestowed upon the
worthiest. He sought advancement, as well as the "bubble, honour, at the
cannon's mouth." He gained the latter only; and unless his spirit now
enjoys the fame which he desired during life, it was a bubble indeed,
without substance to support him in his necessity. Had he lived a little
longer, we are told Philip II. desired to see him when at Lisbon; and he
would have found assistance in him. Many is the reprieve fate sends to
the suffering after they are dead, as if to show her power, and to
impress us with the idea that all depends on her fiat. Wherefore Heaven
has established a law, that the best men are to suffer most in this
life, is a mystery. All we know is, that so it is, and so learn at least
to revere those cast in adversity, and to glory rather than feel shame
in the frowns of fortune.[159]
It seems strange that men should let a fellow-creature die as Camoens
died; a man, too, who possessed the much-coveted advantage of birth, who
had fought for his country, and celebrated her glories in his verse.
Long did these very verses--the "Lusiad," and the reputation it
promised--bear him up; yet some hope he lost as he concluded it, and at
last he breaks off impatiently,--
"No more, my Muse, no more; my harp's ill strung,
Heavy and out of tune, and my voice hoarse--
And not with singing, but to see I've sung
To a deaf people, and without remorse.
Favour that wont t'inspire the poet's tongue,
Our country yields not: she minds the purse
Too much; exhaling from her gilded mud
Nothing but dross and melancholy blood.
Nor know I by what fate or duller chance,
Men have not now the life or general gust,
Which made them with a cheerful countenance,
Themselves into perpetual action thrust.
* * * * *
While I, who speak in rude and humble rhyme,
Nor known, or dreamt of by my king at all,
Know yet from mouths of little ones sometime
The praise of great ones does completely fall
I want not honest studies for my prime,
Nor long experience, since to mix withal;
I want not wit, such as in this you see,
Three things which rarely in conjunction be."
An arm to serve you, trained in war have I,
A soul, to sing you, to the Muses bent;
Only I want acceptance in your eye,
Who owe to virtue fair encouragement
We have dwelt so long on the various and melancholy circumstances of
Camoens' lot, that small space is left to speak of his works. Of his
lesser poems, his lyrics, and sonnets, such mention has been made in the
foregoing pages as have informed the reader of their high merit.
Impassioned yet tender, earnest, yet soft--full of heart, and all the
better feelings of the soul, they are the type of Camoens, and deserve
the same praise as he himself merits.
Patriotism, warmed by the heroic deeds of the discoverers of the passage
to India, inspired him with the idea of the Lusiad. He named it "Os
Lusitanos," that is to say, the Lusitanians or Portuguese. It opens with
the arrival of Vasco de Gama in the Mozambique; it carries him thence,
after many dangers, to Calicut, and brings him thence home. Episodical
narrations vary the poem. It has faults.[160] Its mythology is clumsy.
While bringing forward Christians as Moslems in contention, the
introduction of the heathen deities, of Bacchus and Venus, is
ridiculous; yet the description of Venus presenting herself to Jupiter,
in the second canto, may make any lover of the beautiful pardon the
incongruity. The Lusiad is full of beauties: stanzas that rise to
sublimity, touch the heart by their pathos, or charm it by descriptive
beauties, abound. Above all, there is fire, a heart, a soul--flesh and
blood, enthusiasm, and the poet's best spirit, to adorn it with
magnanimous sentiments, patriotism, and piety.
As such, the Lusiad is an immortal poem, and Camoens a poet that the
world may be proud to have brought forth. He has been considered such,
and his poem translated into many languages. In English Mickles' is the
modern and popular one; but it has no pretension to fidelity; and,
though Mickle was a man of taste and a poet, we turn impatiently from
his paraphrase to the truer, though uncouth version of Fanshaw.[161]
[Footnote 127: Experimentou-se alguã hora
Da Ave que chamaõ Camaõ,
Que, se da Casa, onde mora,
Ve adultera a Senhora,
Morre de pura paixaõ.]
[Footnote 128: Lord Strangford dates the migration of this family from
the time of this Ancestor Ruy de Camoens--and speaks of him as a
follower of king Fernando. Ferreira is his authority, but other
commentators give a different account See Vida del Poeta por Faria y
Sousa, III. IV.]
[Footnote 129: Faria y Sousa, in his second life of Camoens appended to
his "Rimas," mentions having found, in the registers of the Portuguese
India House, a list of all the chief persons who sailed to India. In the
list for 1550, there is this entry: "Luis de Camoens, son of Simon Vaz
and Ana de Sa," inhabitants of Lisbon, in the quarter of la Monraria,
escudeiro (a name equivalent to our esquire), with a red beard; he gave
his father as surety--and sails in the ship San Pedro los Burgalezes.]
[Footnote 130: Lusiad, Canto VII. 78. Further mention will be made
hereafter of this passage.]
[Footnote 131: It is curious to compare the smooth, even, and (so to
speak) _unindividualized_ verses of Mickle with the rugged and even
uncouth stanza of Fanshaw. Both are unlike Camoens. He wrote with fire,
and each word bore stamp of the man; but his style is elevated and truly
poetic--different from the Pope--like flow of Mickle, and the almost
vulgar idiom that Fanshaw too often adopts. This is the stanza in the
original Portuguese:
Fez primeiro em Coimbra exercitarse
O valeroso officio de Minerva;
E de Helicona as Musas fez passar se,
A pizar de Mondego a fertil herva.
Quanto pode de Athenas desejarse
Tudo o soberbo Apollo aqui reserva:
Aqui as capellas dá tecidas de ouro,
Do baccharo, e do sempre verde louro.
_Canto_ III. 97.
"He was the first that made Coimbra shine
With liberal sciences, which Pallas taught;
By him from Helicon the Muses nine,
To bruise Mondego's grassy brink were brought:
Hither transferr'd Apollo that rich mine,
Which the old Greeks in learned Athens wrought:
There ivy wreaths with gold he interweaves,
And the coy Daphne's never fading leaves."
_Fanshaw's Translation._]
[Footnote 132: Cancam, VII. See also Cancam, II.]
[Footnote 133: Soneto, VI.]
[Footnote 134: The translation is from Mr. Adamson's pages; it has the
fault of being in longer measure than the original, and therefore losing
some of its simplicity.]
[Footnote 135: Lord Strangford's translation, p. 94.]
[Footnote 136: Faria y Sousa, says 1542--other commentators give 1545.
The latter seems the more likely date.]
[Footnote 137: Mr. Adamson says, that "The sonnet does not allude to any
particular situation but certainly the line
Eu crendo que o lugar me defendia,
alludes to its being a church, which, as is well known, is in Catholic
counties, where young ladies are so much shut up, a usual place for
falling in love.--Lope de Vega alludes to this circumstance and the
similarity between the loves of Petrarch and Camoens--
El culto celestial se celebrava
Del mayor Viernes en la Iglesia pia,
Quando por Laura Franco se encendia,
y Liso por Natercia se inflamava.
Liso and Natercia were the anagrams which Camoens framed of his own and
his lady's Christian name--his own, Luis, being frequently spelt Lois.]
[Footnote 138: Soneto 25.]
[Footnote 139: Lord Strangford's translation is not literal, but it
retains all the feeling of the original, and is very beautiful:--
"Till lovers' tears at parting cease to flow,
Nor sundered hearts by strong despair be torn,
So long recorded be that April morn
When gleams of joy were dashed with showers of woe.
Scarce had the purpling east began to glow,
Of mournful men, it saw me most forlorn;
Saw those hard pangs by gentle bosom borne,
(The hardest, sure, that gentle bosoms know!)
But oh, it saw love's charming secret told
By tears fast dropping from celestial eyes,
By sobs of grief, and by such piteous sighs
As e'en might turn th' infernal caverns cold
And make the guilty deem their sufferings ease,
Their torments luxury--compared to these!"]
[Footnote 140: These verses are peculiarly beautiful in the original.
The translation, though flowing, does not embody the ideas of the
Portuguese with exactitude, or with equal energy of expression.]
[Footnote 141: While Camoens was in Africa his father sailed to India,
and died at Goa on his arrival. Is it not possible that Simon Vaz,
instead of being in Africa, was in Lisbon, as indeed seems certain, as
he was surety for his son; and that his projected voyage caused Luis to
entertain the design of going to India also, though hopes of preferment
induced him rather to wish to sail with the viceroy than on board his
father's vessel. But the invitation of his youthful friend, the
reluctance he felt to give up every hope of seeing dona Caterina again,
made him prefer an expedition to Africa. Simon Vaz died on his arrival
at Goa, but voyages in those days were long and uncertain: and when Luis
actually sailed for India, he probably had not heard of his father's
fate, and went out with the intention of joining him.]
[Footnote 142: Don Jose Maria de Sousa.]
[Footnote 143: There is a singular story told by Faria y Sousa, that he
found among the old books on the stall of Pedro Coelho, at Madrid, a MS.
copy of the first six cantos of the Lusiad, written before Camoens went
to India. The copy at the conclusion contained this note: "These six
cantos were purloined from Luis de Camoens, from the work which has
commenced on the discovery and conquest of India by the Portuguese: they
are all finished except the sixth;--the conclusion of that is here
given, yet it wants the story of the history of his loves that Leonardo
relates during his watch, which ought to follow at stanza 46., where the
loss of it is felt, for the conversation of those on watch becomes in
consequence shorter and duller, and the canto is shorter than the
others." Faria y Sousa adds that he found several stanzas in this MS.
wanting in the printed copies, but as the Lusiad was published under the
inspection of Camoens, it is to be doubted, whether a late commentator
(Sousa) is right in reproaching his predecessor for not preserving the
new ones, since it would appear that they were expunged by Camoens
himself.]
[Footnote 144: The sonnet has been translated by lord Strangford.]
[Footnote 145: These lines are quoted from the first eclogue of
Garcilaso de la Vega. It is supposed that Camoens meant, that his
enemies were angry to see the reputation they coveted, possessed by him.
The language and style of this letter is so very obscure as to be almost
untranslatable.]
[Footnote 146: A place a few miles from Lisbon, where bulls are bred for
the bull-fights. He seems to use these expressions ironically.]
[Footnote 147: A discussion has arisen concerning the cause of Camoens'
banishment. Fario y Sousa, who lived near the time of Camoens, (he was
born in 1590,) says that Barreto took offence at this second satire, and
adds with great candour and good feeling: "There is not anything
reprehensible in all my master's actions, except his having written
these satires, for in doing so he lost sight of prudence, independence,
and the bearing of a cavalier; as not any of these qualities belong to a
satirist. Barreto, likewise, who was a man possessing a great mind, did
not appear to advantage in revenging himself so sternly upon a man of
such abilities, and in treating him with such rigour." The late
biographer Sousa resents this account. He says, "the satire was falsely
attributed to Camoens, since no spark of his genius appears,--nor is he
found either before, or after that time, indulging in that species of
composition." Southey warmly takes Faria's part, (whom he names one of
the most upright and high-minded men that ever ended his days in
honourable poverty) and blames Camoens. Adamson is inclined to side with
Sousa. We must remember that Barreto was a cruel, arbitrary, and
extortionate man: and the sense Camoens evinces of his banishment, makes
us willing to believe that he was supported by a lofty sense of
innocence. He calls his banishment an unjust decree, in the Lusiad,--and
in more energetic language in another poem, he wishes that the
remembrance of his exile might, in punishment of those by whom it was
obtained, be sculptured in rock or adamant.]
[Footnote 148: The description which he gives of the place where he
spent the greater part of his exile, as doctor Southey justly remarks,
applies decidedly to Macao and not to Ternate, as Mr. Adamson supposes.
Cercada esta de hum rio,
De maritimas aguas saudosas,
Das herbas que aqui nascem,
Os gados juntamente, y es olhos passeml,
Aqui minha ventura
Quiz que huma grande parte,
Da vida----se passasse.
"It is surrounded by an ocean-stream of salt water. On the herbage that
it produces the flock and the eye jointly pasture. Here fortune willed
that a considerable part of my life should be passed."]
[Footnote 149: That Camoens, banished by Barreto, held a profitable
situation under him seems a contradiction; yet since he amassed a sum of
money that seemed wealth to him, he must have been appointed during the
governorship of Barreto. The Quarterly Review, bent on admiring the
virtues of power, deduces arguments in favour of Barreto: but Camoens
could not have denounced him as he did had he been under obligations to
him, obligations too, which the whole world in India would have
considered full compensation for his exile from Goa. Sousa considers
that his stay was of longer duration at Ternate than we assign, and that
he did not fill the place at Macao till a later period, when it was
given him by Barreto's successor. But then he would not have had time to
amass a fortune. Here therefore is an enigma, whose solution we cannot
discover, unless it be (and it seems the probable conjecture) that the
local governor of Macao preferred Camoens to this place, and Barreto had
nothing at all to do with it.]
[Footnote 150: To this wreck, and to his escape he refers in the
prophetic song in the tenth Lusiad when he speaks of the river Mecon--
"Upon his soft and charitable brim
The wet and shipwrecked song receive shall he,
Which in a lamentable plight shall swim
From shoals and quicksands of tempestuous sea,
The dire effect of exile,--when on _him_
Is executed the unjust decree,
Whose repercussive lyre shall have the fate
To be renowned more than fortunate."
_Lusiad_, canto X. stanza 128.--_Fanshaw's Translation._]
[Footnote 151: We cannot help preferring the faithful and nervous,
though uncouth and even obsolete, translation of Fanshaw to the more
diluted stream of Mickle's heroics. Southey speaks of "the elaborate and
curious infidelity of Mickle's version;" at the same time that he
praises it highly. Desirous of understanding the soul of Camoens, it is
not from his smooth expressions, that the reader unacquainted with
Portuguese can be informed.]
[Footnote 152: Don Joze Faria y Souza, the latest Portuguese
commentator, first suggested this as the probable epoch of dona
Catarina's death, in contradistinction to all other biographers, who
place it on his return from Ceuta. He founds his notion on the internal
evidence of Camoens' lyrics and sonnets, and has made converts of
Adamson and Southey, and will of all future biographers. There is this
of agreeable also; that Camoens is rescued from the charge, that
otherwise lies at his door (and is mentioned by Lord Strangford), of
forgetting dona Catarina as soon as she was no more, and addressing
another lady in the language of constant love. But these poems show by
their context that they were addressed to his first love, who still
lived.]
[Footnote 153: Perpetuo saudade da alma mia.
The word _saudade_ is peculiar to the Portuguese language--it includes
much--a recollection accompanied by affection, and regret, and pleasure:
friends when they write, send saudades instead of our remembrances to
others, and it speaks of more tender and kind feeling.]
[Footnote 154: One of the most perfect and beautiful of Camoens' poems,
is a sonnet which many have preferred to the one of Petrarch on the same
subject, or even to his Trionfa, which also narrates the visionary visit
of his lost love. The following is Mr. Hayley's translation:--
"While prest with woes from which it cannot flee,
My fancy sinks, and slumber seals my eyes,
Her spirit hastens in my dreams to rise,
Who was in life but as a dream to me.
O'er the drear waste, so wide no eye can see
How far its sense-evading limit lies,
I follow her quick step; but ah, she flies!
Our distance wid'ning by fate's stern decree.
'Fly not from me, kind shadow,' I exclaim;
She with fixed eyes, that her soft thoughts reveal,
And seemed to say, 'Forbear thy fond design,'--
Still flies.--I call her, but her half-formed name
Dies on my falt'ring tongue.--I wake and feel
Not e'en one short delusion can be mine."]
[Footnote 155: Southey has given the following account of his
rival:--"Diego Bernardes, one of the best of the Portuguese poets, was
born on the banks of the Lima, and passionately fond of its scenery.
Some of his poems will bear comparison with the best poems of their
kind. There is a charge of plagiarism against him, for having printed
several of Camoen's sonnets as his own: to obtain any proof on this
subject would be very difficult: this, however, is certain, that his own
undisputed productions resemble them so much in affecting tenderness and
sweetness of diction, that the whole appear like the works of one
author."--_Notes to Southey's Don Roderick._ Bernardes, however, had no
reason to congratulate himself on the choice having fallen on him. He
was taken prisoner in the battle in which Sebastian fell; and then he
blamed the unfortunate king, and deplored his own fate--a captive doomed
to labour and chains. He obtained his liberty, and died at Lisbon in
1596, and was buried in the same church a Camoens. Vide Adamson.]
[Footnote 156: Lord Holland possesses a copy of the first edition of the
Lusiad, in which these words were written by the friar Josepe Judio, who
left it in the convent of the barefooted Carmelites of Guadalaxara.]
[Footnote 157: This admirable inscription runs thus in its own native
Portuguese on the stone itself--
AQUI JAZ LUIS DE CAMÕES,
PRINCIPE DOS POETAS DE SEU TEMPO,
VIVEO POBRE E MISERAVELMENTE,
E ASSI MORREO,
ANNO DE MDLXXIX.
ESTA CAMPA LHE MANDA AQUI,
POR D. GONÇALO COUTINHO,
NA QUAL SE NAÕ ENTERRARA
PESSOA ALGUMA.]
[Footnote 158: We may remark that Camoens died while Cervantes was still
a captive at Algiers. He was dead when the Spaniard joined the army at
Lisbon two or three years after.]
[Footnote 159: "The poet's life is one of want and suffering, and often
of mortification--mortification, too, that comes terribly home; but far
be it from me to say that it has not its own exceeding great reward. It
may be late in coming, but the claim on universal sympathy is at last
allowed. The future, glorious and calm, brightens over the grave; and
then, for the present, the golden world of the imagination is around it
Not one emotion of your own beating heart but is recorded in
music."--_L. E. L._]
[Footnote 160: Doctor Southey has, in his article on the 'life of
Camoens', in the twenty-seventh volume of the "Quarterly Review," given
an account of the attack made by Jose Agostinho de Macedon on the
Lusiad, and the poem he wrote in rivalship on the same subject. Macedo
was an acute critic: as such, he could more readily detect defects than
beauties. He saw with discerning eye the faults of plan in the
Lusiad;--but he was not warmed by its fire, nor elevated by its genius.
The most entire vengeance a friend of Camoens could take, he himself
achieved when he wrote his poem, whose machinery and plan are no better,
and which possesses none of the transcendant merits of its predecessor.
To subvert a national idol, is an invidious task--to set himself upon
the same pedestal, a ridiculous pretension. A poet of the present day,
whom the Portuguese, of whatever political creed, agree in admiring,
Almeida Garrett, has written a poem, entitled "Camoens," worthy of his
great countryman.]
[Footnote 161: Fanshaw's poem was published without his own corrections.
Southey observes on this, that "though he might have sometimes improved
the harmony of his verses, and sometimes have changed a word or
expression for the better, the main fault is not one he was like to have
corrected," that fault being the imitating the Italian poets in mingling
familiar and burlesque expressions with the grave and ideal. This
observation is singularly true: the copy of sir Richard Fanshaw's Lusiad
which we have consulted, contains manuscript corrections in his own
hand. In this he has frequently changed a word or transposed it; but not
one of the faulty passages is amended.]
END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.
INDEX
A.
ABDORBHAMAN III., his efforts for
the advancement of literature,
III. 4.
Abreu, Duarte de, III. 324.
Acciajuolo, the seneschal, of Naples,
I. 142.
Acquaviva, cardinal, III. 125.
Aga, Hassan, dey of Algiers, III.
138.
Aguirre, Lope de, III. 110.
Agyropylo, Giovanni, I. 163.
Alfieri, Vittorio, his birth and parentage,
II. 250. His early education;
placed at a public school
at Turin, 252. System of education
pursued at the academy, 253.
Progress of his education, 255.
Circumstances of his life greatly
altered, 256. Anecdote characteristic
of the obstinacy of his
disposition, 258. Visits his mother
at Genoa, 259. Admitted
as ensign into the provincial
regiment of Asti, 260. Visits
Rome and Naples under the care
of an English catholic, 261. Regards
coldly those objects which
render Rome a city of absolute
enchantment, 262. Visits France
and England, 263. Singularities
of his character, 261. Circumstances
of his entrance into Paris,
265. His enthusiasm on visiting
London, 266. Becomes really in
love, 267. Disappointed in a
matrimonial project proposed to
him by his brother-in-law, 268.
Comes of age, according to the
laws of his country, and sets out
on his travels with an income of
1200_l_. a-year, and a large sum
in ready money, 268. Visits
England; his attachment to a
lady of rank, 269. Is challenged
by her husband, 270. Leaves his
unworthy mistress, and pursues
his travels, 271. Anecdote characteristic
of the violence of his
temper, 272. Becomes a cavalier
servente to a lady of rank, 273.
Determines to break off the disgraceful
intercourse, 274. Gives
the first token of the spirit of
composition, in a sonnet in commemoration
of the freedom he
had acquired, 274. At the age
of seven and twenty, enters into
the difficult engagement with the
public and himself, to become the
writer of tragedies, 275. Difficulties
which he had to overcome,
276. Resolves to pass six months
in Tuscany, to learn, hear, and
feel Tuscan only, 277. His labours
in literature confined
chiefly to formation of style, 278.
Commencement of his friendship
with Gori, 279. Commencement
of his attachment to Louisa
Stolberg, countess of Albany, 280.
Energy and conciseness the distinguishing
marks of his dramas,
282. Outline of his tragedy,
entitled "Philip," 284. Takes
up his residence at Rome, 286.
Remarks on his sacred dramas,
287. His continued intimacy
with the countess of Albany, 288.
Goes into voluntary exile, to prevent
any actual measures of prohibition
and banishment, 290.
Returns to Italy after two years,
absence, 291. Outline of his
tragedy, entitled "Myrrha," 292.
Accompanies the countess of
Albany to Paris, and establishes
himself there, 293. Betakes
himself to writing the memoirs
of his life, 294. Remarks on his
translation of the Æneid, 295.
Driven from France by the revolution
of 1791, 296. Returns
to Florence with the countess of
Albany, 297. His translation of
"Sallust," an excellent specimen
of style, 293. At the age of forty-six,
applies himself with ardour
to the study of the Greek language,
299. His melancholy increased
by the irritation caused
by political events, 300. His last
illness and death, in the fifty-sixth
year of his age, 301. Translation
from a sonnet, in which he describes
his own person, 302.
Alfonso, duke of Ferrara, I. 207.
Allegri, Francesco, I. 145.
Alphonso X., his zeal for literature;
his poetry, III. 11.
Alphonso XI., his poems, III. 12.
Amalasunta, the Gothic queen of
Spain, III. 3.
Andrea, prince of Hungary, I.
91.
Angelo, Michael, I. 34.
Angulo, doctor Gregorio de, III.
201.
Antiquário, Jacopo, I. 165.
Aquinas, Thomas, I. 9.
Archimedes, II. 3.
Aretino, I. 11.
Ariosto, Ludovico, his birth, parentage,
and early education, I.
196. Composes a drama on the
story of Pyramus and Thisbe,
197. Becomes eminent among his
contemporaries for the critical
skill with which he elucidated
obscure passages in Horace and
Ovid, 198. The golden age of his
life shortened by the death of his
father, 199. Obliged, at the age
of four and twenty, to turn from
quiet to active duties, and exchange
Homer for waste books
and ledgers, 200. Remarks on
his satires, 201. Courted, admired,
applauded, and of course envied,
in the first circle of Italian
society, both for his conversation,
his learning, and his poetry, 202.
Remarks on his work, entitled
"Astolpho's Journey to the
Moon," 203. Remarks on his
"Orlando Furioso," 204. Sent by
the duke of Ferrara, as ambassador
to Rome, to pacify the wrath of
Julius II., 205. His second embassy
to Rome, and uncourteous reception
from the pontiff, 206. Singular
manner in which the duke
retaliates for the indignity shown
to himself and his representative,
207. Causes for the principal
interruptions in his literary labours,
208. Refuses to accompany
the cardinal Hippolito to
visit his archbishopric in Segovia,
209. His whimsical letter to his
brother Alessandro on the subject,
212. Persuaded to enter
into the service of the duke of
Ferrara, 217. His literary pursuits
retarded by his struggles
against the solicitudes, discomforts,
and mortifications of narrow
and precarious circumstances,
218. His curious reasons
for not taking priest's orders, 219.
Is patronised by Leo X., 219. His
own account of Leo's ingratitude,
220. Extracts from his satires,
222. His description of his visit
to Rome, and his specious reception
by Leo, 223. Further extracts
from his satires, 224. Simple,
yet facetious, style of his
fables, 225. Appointed to the
government of Graffagnana, a
mountainous district, lying between
Modena and Lucca, 226.
Story of a rencontre with some
of his uncouth neighbours, 227.
Extract from his Fifth Satire, 229.
Invited to accept a third embassy
to Rome, 230. His reason for
refusing, as given in the Seventh
Satire, 231. After three years,
being released from the cares of
his government, he returns with
entire devotion of his time and
talents to the "Sacred College of
the Muses," 232. Anecdote,
characteristic at once of his
phlegm and his acuteness in his
art, 233. Critique on his Seven
Satires, 233. His last illness and
death, 234. His person and character,
236. No poet of any age
has more inseparably identified
his conception with his language,
238. Impossibility of translating
them, 239. Anecdote of, 241.
Whimsical peculiarities of his
personal habits, 242. His last
hours, 243. Monuments to his
memory, 244. Remarks on his
works in general, 245. Review
of his "Orlando Furioso," 250.
Immoral tendency of his writings, 254.
Aristotle, II. 5.
Attila the Hun, I. 2.
Audibert de Noves, I. 68.
Ayala, III. 12.
B.
Barbariccia, I. 15.
Barbato, the chancellor of the king
of Naples, I. 120.
Bardi, cavalier de, I. 6.
Barlaam, Bernardo, I. 91.
Barreto, Pedro, governor of Sofala,
III. 323.
Barrili, Giovanni, I. 120.
Basseville, Hugh, II. 314.
Bazan, Don Alvaro, III. 113.
Beatrice Portinari, I. 6.
Bella, the mother of Dante, I. 2.
Bellarmine, cardinal, II. 33.
Bembo, Bernardo, I. 35.
Bembo, cardinal, I. 204.
Benavides, don Diego de, III. 141.
Bene, Sennucio del, I. 90.
Benedict XII., pope, I. 89.
Bermudez, Geronimo, a monk of
the order of St. Dominic, author
of the first original tragedy published
in Spain, III. 97.
Berni, Francesco, his birth and
early life, I. 188. Notice of his
writings, 189.
Bianchi, I. 18.
Bibbiena, cardinal, I. 188.
Boccaccio, Giovanni di, his birth
and parentage, I. 116. His early
education, 117. His sensations
on visiting the tomb of Virgil,
119. His first meeting with Petrarch,
120. His own account of
his attachment to the lady Mary,
natural daughter of Robert, king
of Naples, 121. Description of
her person, 122. Outline of his
poem, entitled "Filocopo," 123.
The first to render the _ottava
rima_ familiar to the Italians, 124.
Obliged to return to Florence,
125. The "Decameron," a
model of the Tuscan dialect, 125.
Writes his "Ameto," a composition
of mingled prose and verse,
the first of the kind, 126. Returns
to Naples on his father's
second marriage, 126. His description
of the plague in Florence,
129. His works preached
against and prohibited by Salvanorola,
130. Returns to Florence
on the death of his father.
Commencement of his intimacy
with Petrarch, 131. Sent on
various embassies, 132. His political
negotiations, 133. His
letter to Petrarch, expressing his
regret and disappointment on his
having taken up his abode at
Milan, under the protection of
Giovanni Visconti, 133. Petrarch's
moderate answer, 134.
Popularity of the "Decameron,"
134. His disinterested love of
letters, and extraordinary efforts
to create and diffuse a knowledge
of the Greek language and
writers, 135. Spends large sums
of money in the acquisition of
ancient manuscripts, 136. Anecdote
illustrative of his anxiety
for the possession of them, 136.
His unwearied and successful
labour in the cause of Hellenic
literature, 137. Obtains a decree
from the Florentine government
for the erection of a Greek professorship
in their university, 138.
Beneficial change in moral habits
brought about by the admonitions
and example of Petrarch,
138. The work begun by Petrarch,
achieved by a singular
circumstance, 139. His letter to
Petrarch on the subject, 140.
Adopts the clerical dress, and
endeavours to suppress those
writings which scandalised the
pious, 142. Retreats from Florence,
and takes up his abode at
the castle of Certaldo, 143. Brief
review of his later works, 144.
Appointed, on two occasions, ambassador
to pope Urban V., 145.
His letter to Petrarch, describing
his visit to the daughter and son-in-law
of that poet, 146. Retires
to the quiet of Certaldo, where
he busies himself in the publication
of his work of the "Genealogy
of the Gods," 147. Appointed
by the Florentine government
to the professorship for
the public explanation of the
"Divina Commedia," 148. His
last illness and death, 149.
Bojardo, Matteo Maria, his birth,
parentage, and early life, I. 181.
His marriage and death, 182.
Abstract of the story of his
"Orlando Innamorato," 183.
Boniface, pepe, VIII., I. 66.
Borgia, Cæsar, his early life, I. 265.
His remorseless cruelty, 267.
His conversations with Machiavelli,
268. Anecdote characteristic
of his system of government,
279. His downfal, 281. His
imprisonment and death, 284.
Boscan Almogaver, Mosen Juan,
the first Spanish poet who introduced
the Italian style, III. 21.
Outline of his life, 22. Circumstances
which induced him to introduce
the Italian style, 23.
His translation of Castiglione's
"Libro del Cortigiano," 24. Commencement
of his friendship with
Diego de Mendoza, 25. Translation
of his epistles in imitation
of Horace, 26. His death, 32.
His person, 33. Review of his
writings, 34.
Boutervek, III. 8.
Bowring, Dr. his translation of the
Spanish Cancionero, III. 9.
Bozzole, Federigo da, II. 66.
Bracciolini, Poggio, I. 151.
Brossana, Francesco, I. 105.
Bruni, Leonardo, I. 18.
Bruno, Giordano, II. 4.
Bubwith, Nicholas, bishop of Bath,
I. 8.
Bulgarelli, Marianna, the prima
donna, II. 191. Her friendship
for Metastasio, 192. Her death,
198.
Buondelmonte, Zanobi, I. 304
Burchiello, the word "burlesque"
derived from his name and the
style of his writings, I. 180.
Burney, Dr., his account of his
visit to Metastasio in 1772, II.
210.
C.
Cabassoles, Philip de, bishop of
Cavaillon, his intimacy with Petrarch,
I. 83.
Cabral, Antonio, III. 324.
Cabral, Fernando Alvares, III. 311.
Cacciaguida, I. 2.
Caccini, his personal attack upon
Galileo from the pulpit, II. 31.
Cassalpinus, Andrew, the celebrated
botanist, II. 3.
Cæsarini, Virginio, II. 37.
Caffarelli, general, II. 375.
Calderon, don Pedro, his birth,
parentage, and early education,
III. 279. His fame established as a
poet, 280. Enters the military service
at the age of five and twenty,
280. Summoned to court by a
royal order, for the sake of writing
a drama for a palace festival,
281. Quits the army, and becomes
a priest, 281. His death
and character, 282. Review of
his writings, 283.
Calistus II., pope, I. 169.
Caloria, Tommaso, I. 87.
Caluso, the abate, II. 274.
Camara, Ruy Diaz de, III. 327.
Camerlingo, cardinal, II. 163.
Camoens, Vasco Perez de, his birth
and parentage, III. 296. Extract
from his "Lusiad," 299. Translation
of a sonnet in commemoration
of that attachment which
shed a disastrous influence over
the rest of his life, 303. Compared
with Petrarch, 304. Dr.
Southey's translation of one of
his sonnets, 306. His exile, 307.
Mutilated in the wars of his
country, but receives neither reward
nor preferment, 310. His
pathetic description of his friend
Noronha's exile, 312. Offers to
serve as a volunteer, and accompanies
Vasconcellos in his expedition
against the Mahometans,
315. Suspected of composing another
satire; arrested, and banished
to China, 316. Retires
from the details of business, to
pursue his poetical occupations,
317. Obtains leave to return to
Goa; is wrecked at the mouth
of the Mecon, 315. Pursues his
voyage to Goa, where he is received
by the viceroy with kindness
and distinction, 320. Extracts
from the seventh canto of
the "Lusiad," 321. His poem commemorating
the death of Caterina
d'Atayde, 322. Accompanies
Baretto, when he was appointed
governor of Sofala, 323. Returns
to Portugal, 324. Political
state of the country disadvantageous
to him, 325. Writes the
"Parnasso de Luis Camoens,"
325. A pension of 15,000 reis
granted to him, 326. His illness
and poverty, 327. His interview
with the cavalier Camara, 328.
His death, 329. His person, 329.
Review of his life, 330. Review
of his writings, 332.
Campaldino, the battle of, I. 14.
Camporese, the renowned philosopher,
II. 189
Cancionero, the, III. 9.
Canigiani, Eletta, the mother of
Petrarch, I. 61.
Caprona, the siege of, I. 15.
Carafa, Federigo, III. 41.
Carnescecchi, Pietro, II. 81.
Caro, Rodrigo, III. 83.
Casavecchia, Filippo, I. 296.
Castañeda, Gabrièl de, III. 133.
Castelli, Benedetti, II. 28.
Castillano, Diego, III. 138.
Castillejo, Cristoval, III. 93. Specimen
of his style, 94.
Cavalcanti, Guido, I. 19.
Cavalcanti, Mainardo de', I. 134.
Caza, Francesco della, I. 263.
Celsi, Lorenzo, doge of Venice, I.
105.
Cervantes, III. 120. His birth and
parentage; little known of his
early life, 123. Enters a student
in the university of Salamanca,
124. His poems published at
Madrid, 125. Leaves Madrid in
the service of cardinal Acquaviva,
125. Visits Rome; changes
the whole course of his life; and
volunteers to be a soldier, 126.
His services during the Turkish
war, 127. Wounded in the battle
of Lepanto, 128. Receives an
increase of pay, and is passed
into a company of the tercio of
Figueroa, 128. Visits Rome, Florence,
Venice, Bologna, Naples,
and Palermo, 129. Taken prisoner
by an Algerine squadron
on his return to Spain, 130. Interesting
details of his captivity,
131. Makes several attempts to
regain his liberty, 133. Detected
in planning his escape; is sentenced
to the bastinado, 137.
His courage and heroism excite
the respect of the friars of the
Order of Mercy, who resided at
Algiers for the purpose of treating
for the ransom of the Christian
captives, 139. Ransomed for
500 golden ducats, and left free
to return to Spain, 140. Determines
to refute certain calumnies
of which he was the object, 141.
Returns to his native land depressed
by poverty, and obscured
by want, 142. Becomes again a
soldier by profession, 143. First
appears as an author in the year
1584, 144. His marriage with
donna Catilina de Palacios y
Salazar, 145. Commences writing
for the theatre; endeavours to
rectify the deficiencies of the
stage and scenery, 146. Accepts
the situation of commissary, and
sets out with his family for Seville,
147. His office abolished;
he becomes the agent to various
municipalities, corporations, and
wealthy individuals, 148. During
his distasteful employment at
Seville, acquires the bitter view
of human affairs displayed in
Don Quixote, 149. Translation
of his verses to the monument of
the kings at Seville, 150. Various
annoyances which he suffered
in his financial occupations
at Seville, 151. Anecdote, displaying
the style in which justice
was carried on in Spain, 152.
Removes with his family to Valladolid,
153. His poverty the great
and clinging evil of his life, 153.
His letter to his uncle during his
imprisonment at La Mancha, 154.
Writes "Don Quixote" during his
imprisonment, 155. Fails in his
attempt to introduce himself to
the duke of Lerma, 156. Difficulties
which he encounters in
publishing "Don Quixote," 157.
The "Buscapié" attributed to
him, 158. Success of "Don Quixote"
excites the enmity of the
men of letters of his day, 160.
Suspected of murder, and thrown
with his entire family into prison,
162. Is set at liberty, 162.
Publishes his "Voyage to Parnassus,"
164. Anecdote, showing
the high esteem in which "Don
Quixote" was held, 165. Brings
cut his "Twelve Tales," which
raises yet higher his character
as an author, 167. His portrait
of himself, in his preface to the
"Twelve Tales," 168. His account
of the origin of the Spanish
drama, and the amelioration
that he in his younger days introduced,
169. Publishes his
"Persiles and Sigismunda," and
the second part of "Don Quixote,"
170. His dedication of it
to the count of Lemos, 171. His
last illness, 172. His interview
with the student of Toledo, 173.
His farewell letter to the count
of Lemos, 174. His death, in the
sixty-ninth year of his age, 174.
His character, 174. Brief review
of his works, 175. Extract
from his "Numantia," 176. Extract
from the comedy of "Life
in Algiers," 178. Extract from
his "Voyage to Parnassus," 184.
Cetina, III. 93.
Charlemagne, I. 2.
Charles of Valois, I. 20.
Chiabrera, Gabbriello, his birth,
parentage, and early education,
II. 163. Enters into the service
of cardinal Camerlingo, 163.
Writes some odes in imitation of
Pindar; makes the Greek lyrical
poets his models, 164.
Wishes to transfuse the spirit of
the Greeks into the Italian language,
165. Style of his poetry,
166. Specimen of his serious
style, as translated by Wordsworth,
166. His death and character, 168.
Chiaramonte, Scipio, II. 44.
Chrysoloras, Emanuel, I. 151.
Ciani, a Carthusian monk; his visit
to Boccaccio, I. 139.
Clement VI., pope, I. 89.
Colombe, Lodovico delle, II. 28.
Colonna, Giacomo, commencement
of his friendship with Petrarch,
I. 66.
Colonna, cardinal, I. 73.
Colonna, Vittoria, her birth, parentage,
and marriage, II. 77.
Her letter to her husband during
his imprisonment, 78. Her grief
at his death, 79. Extracts from
her poems, 80. Her death, 81.
Conrad III., emperor, I. 2.
Consalvo, the Spanish general, I.
284.
Convennole, I. 63.
Copernicus, II. 7.
Corregio, Azzo, I. 87.
Coutinho, Miguel Rodriguez, III.
321.
Couto, Diogo de III. 324.
D.
Dante Alighieri, his parentage, I.
1. Born in the spring of 1265, 2.
Fable concerning his birth, 3.
Extracts from his "Paradiso,"
and his "Inferno," 4. His early
education, 5. Enters upon his
noviciate at a convent of the
Minor Friars, but withdraws before
the term of probation was
ended, 6. Story of his early love
for Beatrice, 7. Pursues his
studies in the universities of
Padua, Bologna, and Paris, 8.
Supposed to have visited Oxford,
8. High estimation in which
his works were held in England,
9. His progress in the schools
of divinity and philosophy, 9.
His marriage with Madonna
Gemma, 10. Style of his poetry,
11. His domestic discomforts,
12. His character as a citizen, a
soldier, and a magistrate, 13.
Serves among the cavalry in the
battle of Campaldino, 14. His
extraordinary valour during that
engagement; his allusion to it
in Canto XII. of the "Inferno,"
15. Is again in the field
at the siege of Caprona, 15. Extract
from Canto XXI. of the
"Inferno," alluding to this action,
16. Traditional account of
his embassies to the courts of
Hungary, Naples, and France,
16. Chosen in the year 1300, by
the suffrages of the people, chief
prior of his native city, 17. His
endeavours to put down the factions
of the Bianchi and Neri,
18. Appeals to the people at
large to support the executive
government, 19. Accused of partiality
to the Bianchi, 20. Undertakes
an embassy to Rome, to
solicit the good offices of the
pope towards pacifying his fellow
citizens without foreign interference,
21. Anecdote of, 21.
During his absence, his dwelling
demolished by the Neri, his property
confiscated, and a fine of
8000 lire decreed against him,
with banishment for two years,
22. Joins himself with the
Bianchi, who transfer their affections
to the Ghibellines, deeming
the adherents of the emperor
less the enemies of their country
than their adversaries, 23. Withdraws
from the confederacy in
disgust, 23. Extract from his
"Del Paradiso," in allusion to
this subject, 24. Extract from
his "Purgatorio," 25. Endeavours
to obtain a reversal of his
unrighteous sentence, 25. Appeals
to Henry of Luxemburgh;
dedicates his political treatise,
entitled "De Monarchia," to
that prince, 26. A third decree
passed against him; he retires to
France, 27. Anecdotes of his
caustic humour, 28. Compared
with Marius, 29. His mental
sufferings during his nineteen
years' banishment, 30. His letter,
refusing the conditions offered
by the Florentine government,
31. His death, on the 14th
of September, 1321, 33. His
splendid funeral, 34. Monuments
raised to his memory, 35.
His confiscated property restored
to his family, 35. His memory
execrated, and his writings proscribed
by pope John XXII., 35.
His person, as described by Boccaccio,
37. Anecdote of, 38. His
family, 39. Notice of his writings,
40. Origin of the "Divina
Commedia," 42. Dramatic character
of the work, 44. Extract
from Canto X. of the "Inferno,"
46. His character as a man and
a poet, 54. Character of his
poetry, 58.
Demisiano, II. 15.
Demourier, General, II. 315.
Digby, Sir Kenelm, II. 11.
Donati, Corso, I. 12.
Donati Lucretia, I. 156.
Dramatists, the, of Spain, III. 95.
E.
Elia, the faithful servant of Alfieri,
II. 266.
Enriquez, Feliciano, III. 141.
Enzina, Juan, style of his writing,
III. 17. Translation of one of his
songs, 18.
Ercilla, don Alonzo de, III. 103.
His birth, parentage, and early
education, 103. Appointed page
to prince Philip, 104. Leaves the
personal service of the prince to
join the expedition sent against
the Araucanos, an Indian tribe,
in South America, which had
risen against Spain, 106. His
account of the expedition, 107.
Narrowly escapes an early and
disastrous end, 108. Leaves Chili
in disgust, without having been
duly rewarded for his services,
110. Proceeds to the Terceiras,
and thence to Spain, 111. His
marriage, 111. Appointed chamberlain
to Maximilian, 112.
Anecdote of, 112. Only known in
the literary world by his poem,
"La Araucana," 113. Critique
on his poem, 114.
Espinel, Vicente, his birth and
parentage, III. 239. His death,
240.
Este, cardinal Hippolito d', I. 203.
Anecdote illustrative of his cruelty, 209.
Esto, Bianca d', II. 76.
Exarch, Onofrio, III. 138.
Ezpeleta, don Gaspar de, III. 161.
F.
Fabricius, John, II. 25.
Fabbroni, II. 10.
Faggiuolo, signori della, I. 28.
Faliero, Marino, doge of Venice, I.
105.
Falucci, the conti, I. 28.
Fantoni, Sebastian, II. 51.
Farinelli, the singer, his friendship
for Metastasio, II. 209.
Farnese, Orazio, III. 62.
Fedele, Cassandra, II. 76. Her
death, 76.
Feliciana de Vega, III. 227.
Fermo, Oliverotto da, I. 266.
Ferranti, Pietro, I. 21.
Ferrara, Cieco da, his writings, I.
179.
Ferreira, Antonio, mentioned as
the classic poet of Portugal, III.
292. His death and character,
293. Style of his writings, 294.
Ficino, Marsiglio, I. 152. His birth
and early education, 159. Brief
review of his works, 160. His
death, in the sixty-sixth year of
his age, 161.
Figueroa, don Lope, III. 127.
Filicaja, Vincenzo da; his birth,
parentage, and early education,
II. 180. His marriage, 181. His
enthusiastic piety, 181. His characteristics,
facil dignity, and
clearness, 182. Fills several law
offices of great power and emolument,
183. His death, in the
sixty-fifth year of his age, 184.
Foscarinus, Paul Anthony, II. 51.
Foscolo, Ugo, his birth and parentage,
II. 354. His early education,
355. Resolves to follow the steps
of Alfieri, and to acquire fame as
a tragedian; produces his drama
of "Thyestes" at the early age
of nineteen, 356. Political allusions
that gave it its chief interest,
357. Extracts from his
work, entitled "Letters of Jacopo
Ortis," 358. Leaves Venice,
and takes the road to Tuscany,
360. Pursues his way to Milan,
the then capital of the Cisalpine
republic, 361. His indignation at
the sentence passed by the great
council against the Latin language,
362. Falls in love with a
young lady of Pisa, 362. His attachment
not fortunate; he suffers
all the throes of disappointment
and grief, 363. Becomes an
officer in the Lombard legion,
363. His bravery during the
siege of Geneva, 364. His letter
to Napoleon, 364. Returns to Milan
after the battle of Marengo,
365. Increases his fame by the
publication of his "Last Letters
of Jacopo Ortis," 365. Outline
of the piece, 366. Its success
immediate and striking, 369.
His person, as described by Pecchio,
369. Anecdotes of, 370.
Publishes an oration to Bonaparte,
371. Its style forcible and
rhetorical, 372. Enters on the
study of the Greek language;
undertakes the translation of
Sterne's "Sentimental Journey,"
373. His egotistical account of
his own singularities, 374. Undertakes
to make a new edition
of the military works of Montecucoli,
with notes, 375. Writes
his "Ode on Sepulchres;" outline
of the poem, 376. Publishes
his translation of the first book of
the Iliad, 377. Installed professor
in the university of Pavia, 377.
His introductory oration on the
origin and use of letters, 378.
Retreats from the university, to
the seclusion of the Lake of
Como, 378. Commences his
"Ode to the Graces," 379. Political
tendency of his writings,
380. Submits to an exile from
Milan, and again visits Tuscany,
381. Style of his writings in
general, 382. Resumes his military
duties; promoted to the
rank of colonel, 384. His conversation
with Pecchio; leaves
Italy in disguise, and takes refuge
in Switzerland, 385. Repairs
to England, and is received
with open arms by the Whig
party, 386. Ceases to be a lion,
and retires to the neighbourhood
of St. John's Wood, near the Regent's
Park, 387. Supports himself
chiefly by writing for the Quarterly
Review, 387. Outline of
his tragedy of "Ricciarda," 388.
Delivers a course of lectures on
Italian literature, 389. Obliged
to provide for daily necessity, by
writing for various reviews and
magazines, 390. His illness, 391.
His death, 392. His character
and literary merits, 393.
Francesca, daughter of Petrarch,
I. 106.
Frangipani, I. 1.
Franzesi, don Juan, III, 62.
Fuccarius, II. 13.
G.
Gærtner, II. 15.
Gassendi, II. 15.
Galileo, the history of his life and
labours, pregnant with a peculiar
interest to the general reader, as
well as the philosopher, II. 1.
His birth and parentage, 2. His
early years spent in the construction
of instruments and pieces of
machinery, which were calculated
chiefly to amuse himself and his
schoolfellows, 2. Music, drawing,
and painting, the occupations
of his leisure hours, 3. Papers
from the elementary works of
geometry to the writings of Archimedes,
3. Writes an essay on
the hydrostatical balance, 3. Engaged
to investigate the centre
of gravity in solid bodies, 4.
Appointed lecturer on mathematics
at Pisa, 4. His reiterated
and successful attacks against the
followers and doctrines of Aristotle,
5. Resigns his professorship
at Pisa, and is appointed to
fill the chair of mathematics in
the university of Padua, 6.
Obliged to add to his income by
the labours of his pen, 6. His
own account of his conversion to
the Copernican system of philosophy,
7. Teaches the Ptolemaic
out of compliance with the popular
feeling, after he had convinced
himself of the truth of
the Copernican doctrines, 8. His
reputation widely extended over
Europe, 9. Completes the first
period of his engagement at
Padua, and is re-elected for other
six years with an increased
salary of 320 florins, 9. His observations
on the new star, which
attracted the notice of astronomers
in 1604, 10. Again appointed
to the professorship at
Padua, with an augmented stipend
of 520 florins, 10. His attention
occupied with the examination
of the properties of the
loadstone, 10. In 1607, he first
directs his telescope to the heavens,
11. Solicited by Cosmo de'
Medici to return to Padua, 12.
The professorship conferred on
him for life, and his salary raised
to 1000 florins, 13. Invents that
form of telescope which still
bears his name, 14. Interest
which the exhibition of the
telescope excited at Venice, 15.
The first celestial object to which
he applied it, was the moon, 15.
His observations on the moon,
16. His examination of the fixed
stars and the planets, 17. His
discovery of the Medicean stars,
18. Dedicated his work, entitled
the "Sidereal Messenger," to
Cosmo de' Medici, 19. Reception
which his discoveries met
with, 20. Resigns his professorship
at Padua, and takes up his
residence at Florence as philosopher
and principal mathematician
to the grand duke of Tuscany, 21.
The first and sole discoverer of
Jupiter and satellites, 22. Excites
the curiosity of astronomers by
the publication of his first
enigma, 23. Visits Rome, where
he is received with honour by
princes, cardinals, and prelates,
24. Erects his telescope in the
Quirinal Gardens, 24. His solar
observations, 26. Publishes his
discourse on floating bodies,
chiefly remarkable as a specimen
of the sagacity and intellectual
power of its author, 28. His
discoveries place him at the
head of the great men of his age,
29. His letter to his friend and
pupil, the abbé Castelli, to prove
that the Scriptures were not
intended to teach us science
and philosophy, 31. Publishes a
longer letter, of seventy pages, defending
and illustrating his former
views respecting the influence
of scriptural language on
the two contending systems, 32.
Summoned before the inquisition,
to answer for the heretical
doctrines which he published, 33.
Acquitted on condition that he
renounced the obnoxious doctrines,
and pledged himself that
he would neither teach, defend,
nor publish them in future, 33.
His controversial discussion at
Rome, 34. Discovers a method
of finding the longitude at sea,
35. Unable, from illness, to partake
in the general interest excited
by the three comets, which
visited our system in 1618, 36.
Replies to the attack of Oratio
Grassi, in a volume entitled "Il
Saggiatore," 37. Undertakes a
journey to Rome, to congratulate
his friend Barberini upon his
elevation to the papal chair, 38.
Endeavours to bespeak the good
will of the cardinal towards the
Copernican system, 39. His
theory of the tides, 40. Ties
which bound him to the Romish
hierarchy, 41. Publishes a work,
demonstrating the Copernican
system, 42. Influence of this
work on the public mind, 43.
Summoned a second time before
the inquisition, 45. His trial, 46.
His defence, 47. Sentence of the
court, 49. His abjuration of his
doctrines, 50. The sentence of
abjuration read at several universities,
and his friends and his
disciples summoned to witness
the public degradation of their
master, 52. Returns to Tuscany,
58. His melancholy and indisposition,
53. Obtains leave from
the pope to return to Florence,
54. Publishes his "Dialogues on
Local Motion," 55. Discovers
the moon's diurnal liberation, 55.
Becomes totally blind, 56. Renieri
undertakes to arrange and
complete his observations and
calculations, 57. His death, 58.
The inquisition disputes his
right of making a will, and of
being buried in consecrated
ground, 58. His character as a
man of science, and as a member
of the social circle, 60. His
person, 61.
Gamba, Marina, II. 10.
Gano, of Mayence, I. 170.
Garci Sanchez, remarks on his
poetry, III. 13.
Garibay, Esteban de, III. 162.
Gavasa, Alberto, III. 231.
Geraldi, Cinthio, I. 28.
Giacomo, king of Majorca, I. 147.
Gil, Juan, III. 140.
Gilbert, Dr., II. 11.
Giovanni, queen of Naples, I. 91.
Goldoni, Carlo, his birth and parentage,
II. 213. His predilection
for the drama, 214. Placed at
school at Perugia, 215. Taken
by his father to Rimini, to pursue
his studies under a celebrated
professor, 216. Leaves Rimini
with a company of strolling
comedians, 217. Arrives at
Chiozza; his dislike to the medical
profession, 218. Repairs to
Venice to study law under his
uncle, 219. Enters the university
of Pavia, 220. Expelled the
college for writing a satire; accompanies
his father to Udine,
where he studies law under an
eminent advocate, 221. Proceeds
to Modena to pursue his
legal studies, 222. His letter to
his parents, declaring his resolve
of entering the order of Capuchin
monks, 223. Returns to Chiozza,
cured of every wish to shut himself
up in a cloister, 223. Appointed
to a situation under government,
224. His account of
his first love, 224. Enters the profession
of barrister at Venice,
225. Incident which occurred to
destroy his prospects, 226. Leaves
Venice; obtains letters of introduction
at Milan, 227. Failure
of his opera, entitled "Amalasunta,"
228. Appointed gentleman
in the palace of signor
Bartolini, 229. Dismissed from
his situation; sets out for Modena,
where his mother resided,
230. Attacked by robbers on his
journey, 231. Installed poet to
the theatrical company at Venice;
success of his "Belisarius," 232.
Accompanies the manager to
Genoa and Florence, 233. His
marriage, 233. Commences his
long meditated reform of the
Italian theatre, 234. Obtains the
Genoese consulship at Venice,
235. Embarks for Bologna; his
journey full of accidents by flood
and field, 236. Returns to Rimini,
237. Becomes a pleader
once again, and for three years
practices at the Pisan bar, 238.
Outline of his tragedy, entitled
"La Donna di Garbo," 239. His
drama on the subject of Richardson's
novel of "Pamela," 240.
Writes sixteen comedies in the
course of one season, 241. His
illness occasioned by his extraordinary
exertion, 242. Becomes
the censor of the manners and
satirist of the follies of his country,
242. Outline of his comedies,
243. Invited to Rome during
the carnival, 244. Receives an
offer from the French court of an
engagement for two years, on
very advantageous terms, 245.
His debût as an author in the
French capital, 246. His death,
in the eighty-fifth year of his
age, 246.
Gongora, don Luis de, III. 243. His
birth, parentage, and early education,
243. His death, in the
sixty-sixth year of his age, 244.
His person, 245. Specimen of
his style, 246. Lope de Vega,
essay upon him and his system,
248.
Gonzaga, cardinal, I. 35.
Gori, Francesco, II. 278.
Grassi, Oratio, II. 37.
Gravina, Vincenzo, the celebrated
jurisconsult, II. 185.
Grazia, M. Vincenzo di, II. 28.
Gualdo, Paolo, II. 14.
Guarini, Battista, his birth, parentage,
and early education, II.
82. Named counsellor and secretary
of state by Alfonso, duke of
Ferrara, 83. Sent by him to negotiate
his election to the Polish
throne; his letter to his wife on
the subject, 83. His letter to a
friend on the subject of his "Pastor
Fido," 87. Extract from Fanshawe's
translation of the poem,
the "Pastor Fido," the principal
monument of his poetic genius,
88. Review of the poem looked
on as second only to Tasso among
the poets of the age, 91. Returns
to his post at court; sent on a
mission to Umbria and Milan, 92.
His pecuniary difficulties and
domestic afflictions; leaves Ferrara
privately and in haste, 93.
Establishes himself at Florence,
where he is honourably received
by the grand duke Ferdinand, 94.
His irascible temper, 94. His
death, in the seventy-fifth year
of his age, 95.
Gubbio, Busone da, I. 27.
Guevara, Antonio de, III. 147.
Guicciardini, Francesco, his birth
and parentage, II. 63. At an
early age takes a doctor's degree
in law; and is appointed by the
government to read the Institute
in the university of Florence, 61.
His marriage, 64. Sent by the
republic as ambassador to Ferdinand,
king of Aragon, 65.
Sent to receive the pope at Cortona,
65. Named by the pope
consistorial advocate, also governor
of Reggio and Modena,
66. Prudence, firmness, and
severity, the characteristics of
his administration, 67. Named
lieutenant general of the pontifical
army in the ecclesiastical
states, 67. Enters, with all the
zeal of personal resentment, into
the cause of the Medici, 69.
Named by the pope governor of
Bologna, 70. Retires from the
government on the death of Clement
VII., 71. Withdraws himself
from public life, and retires
to his country seat at Montici,
72. Solicited by Paul III. to leave
his retreat, and to enter again on
public life, 73. His death, 73.
His person and character, 74.
Guiducci, Marco, an astronomer of
Florence, II. 36.
H.
Halam, Robert, bishop of Salisbury,
I. 8.
Harrington, Sir John, the first
English translator of Ariosto, I.
216.
Harriot, Thomas, II. 22.
Herrera, Fernando date of his birth
and family unknown, III. 83. Critique
on his poetry; list of his
prose works, 84. His "Ode to
Sleep," 87.
Hohenzoller, cardinal, II. 38.
Hoyos, Juan Lopez de, III. 124.
Hugh de Sâde, I. 68.
Huygens, Constantine, II. 57.
I.
Immola, Benvenuta da, I. 2.
Isotta of Padua, II. 76.
Istria, count Capo d', II. 392.
Isunza, Pedro, III. 148.
Ivaldi, don, II. 251.
J.
Jane, queen of Naples, I. 125.
Jansen, the inventor of the Dutch
telescope, II. 13.
John I. of Aragon, III. 6.
John of Florence, canon of Pisa, I.
65.
John II. of Aragon, his love of
poetry and learning secure him
the affections of his adherents;
and, in the midst of civil commotion,
despite his deficiency of
resolution, gathers round him a
court faithful to his cause, and
civilised by its love of letters, III.
12.
John XXII., pope, II. 101.
Jordí, Mosen Jordi de Sant, the
first and best known of the Spanish
troubadours, III. 6.
Jovius, Paul, I. 257.
Julius II., pope, I. 264.
K.
Kepler, II. 19.
L.
Labadini, Lazzaro, II. 169.
Landino, Christofero, I. 152.
Latini, Brunetto, tutor to Dante, I.
4.
Laura de Sâde, her first meeting
with Petrarch, I. 68. Her death,
95.
Leon, Luis Ponce de, his birth,
parentage, and education, III. 71.
Style of his writings, 72. Made
doctor of theology by the university
of Salamanca, 72. Elected
to chair of St. Thomas, 72. Confined
in a dungeon of the inquisition
for translating the
Scriptures into the vulgar tongue,
73. Translation of his "Ode to
the Virgin," composed during
his imprisonment, 74. Liberated
at the end of five years, and
restored to all his honours and
employments, 76. His death, in
the sixty-fourth year of his age,
76. His person, 76. His amiable
character, 77. Brief review of
his writings, 78. Mr. Wiffen's
translation of his "Ode on the
Moorish Invasion," 79.
Lippa Ariosta, I. 196.
Lobeira, Vasco, author of the first
romance of chivalry, III. 10.
Louis of Bavaria, I. 133.
Lima, Simon Freire de, III. 151.
Luna, don Juan de, III. 61.
M.
Machiavelli, Niccolo, his birth and
parentage, I. 257. Placed as
secretary under Marcellus Virgil,
258. Elected chancellor of the second
court, 259. Named secretary
of the Council of Ten, 259. His
missions to various sovereigns and
states, 259. Convulsed state of
Italy at this period, 260. His mission
to Caterina Sforza, 262. His
letters to the state during this
and all his other missions, 262.
The great doubt that clouds his
character, regards the spirit in
which he wrote the "Prince,"
263. Accused of being the confidant
of Cæsar Borgia in his
plots, 264. Sent by the Florentine
government to the duke of
Imola, 267. His letter to his
government on the subject of
his mission, 268. His letter to
the signoria of Florence, 269.
His minute details of his conversations
with Borgia, 270. His
unsuccessful solicitations to be
recalled, 271. His efforts to discover
Borgia's secret views, 272.
His letters to the government,
earnestly desiring to be recalled,
273. His letters, describing Borgia's
movements, 274. His account
of Borgia's treacherous
and cruel act of revenge, 276.
Expressions in his letter, characteristic
of Italian policy and
morals at that period, 277. Returns
to Florence, and is replaced
by an ambassador of more authority,
278. Outline of "The
Decenal," 278. Anecdote relating
to Borgia's system of government,
related in the "Prince," 279.
Sent on a legation to Rome, just
at the time of the downfal of
Cæsar Borgia, 280. His frequent
interviews with the fallen
prince, 282. His succeeding embassies,
284. Succeeds in persuading
the signoria of Florence
to form a native militia, 285. His
embassy to the emperor Maximilian,
286. His observations on
the state of Germany, 286. Employed
to convey to Mantua the
money composing a part of the
subsidy to the emperor, 287. His
letters during this mission disclose
a curious system of bribery
with regard to the minister of
Louis XII., 287. His interview
with the French king at Blois,
288. His letter, detailing the expedition
of the allies against the
republic, 289. Review of his
fourteen services, 290. His imprisonment,
and liberation, 291.
His letter to the Florentine ambassador,
292. Review of his
private correspondence, and his
other writings, 293. His letter
to Vettori, the Florentine ambassador,
294. Analysis of his
work, entitled the "Prince,"
298. Review of his "Essay on
the First Decade of Livy," and
his other works, 304. His despairing
letters to Vettori, 305.
His "Essay on the Reform of
the Government of Florence,"
written at the request of Leo X.,
306. His correspondence with
Francesco Guicciardini, the celebrated
historian, 307. Commences
his "History of Florence;"
receives a regular but
limited salary as historiographer,
from Clement VII., 308. Employed
to inspect the progress of
the fortification of Rome, 309.
Returns to Florence full of hope,
and is disappointed, 310. His
death, 311. His person, _ib._
Madonna Gemma, wife of Dante,
I. 10.
Malegucci, Sigismondo, I. 204.
Malespina, the marchese, I. 28.
Manrique, Jorge, remarks on his
poetry, III. 13.
Manrique, don Geronimo, grand
inquisitor, III. 193.
Manso, marquess of Villa, II. 159.
Manuel, don Juan, brief review of
his works, III. 12.
Maraffi, Luigi, II. 31.
Marcias, remarks on his poetry,
III. 13. His melancholy death.
Mariner, Vicente, III. 199.
Marini, Giambattista, his birth and
parentage, II. 174. Encouraged
by Tasso to pursue his poetic
career, 174. Publishes a volume
of lyrical poetry, which establishes
his fame, 175. His literary
quarrels, 176. Publishes his
"Adone" while at Paris; outline
of the story, 177. Returns
to Italy; is again involved in
literary squabbles, 178. His death,
in the fifty-sixth year of his age,
179.
Marmont, general, II. 318.
Marotto, Domenico, I. 227.
Mary, natural daughter of Robert,
king of Naples, I. 122.
Marzemedici, archbishop of Florence,
II. 28.
Mascheroni, Lorenzo, a celebrated
mathematician, II. 323.
Mathew Corvino, king of Hungary,
I. 160.
Matrapillo, Morato Raez, III. 138.
Mayer, Simon, II. 21.
Medici, Cosmo de', founder of the
Medicean library, I. 152.
Medici, Lorenzo de', his early life,
I. 152. Devotes most of his time
and fortune to the cultivation of
literature and the fine arts, 153.
Institutes a yearly celebration of
the anniversary of Plato's birth
and death, 153. His chief merit
derived from the revival of his
native language, 154. Commentary
on his first sonnets, 155.
Extract of a translation of one of
his sonnets, 156. Brief review of
his other poems, 157. His death,
at the early age of forty-four, 159.
Memmi, Simon, I. 84.
Mena, Juan de, the most renowned
of the early writers, III. 14. Review
of his works, 15. His death,
15. Extracts from his poems, 16.
Analysis of the "Labyrinto," 17.
Mendoza, don Diego Hurtado de,
his birth and parentage, III. 58.
His early education, 59. His
"Lazarillo de Tormes" declaratory
of the originality of his
genius, 59. Deputed by Charles
V. to attend the council of Trent,
60. Confirms the opinion already
entertained of his talents by a
learned and elegant oration, 60.
Sent as ambassador to Rome;
named governor and captain-general
of Siena, and ordered to
introduce a Spanish garrison, and
to build a citadel for its protection,
61. Becomes the object of universal
hatred by his haughty and
unfeeling conduct, 62. Repairs
to Rome, to influence the election
of a new pope, 62. Named
gonfaloniere of the church, 62.
Recalled from the government of
Siena to Spain, 63. His philosophical,
political, and poetical
works, 64. Shows himself an enthusiastic
lover of learning, and
a liberal patron of learned men,
64. Anecdote of, characteristic
of the vehemence of his temper,
65. His "History of the War of
the Moriscos in Granada," the
most esteemed of his prose works,
66. His death, 67. His character
and person, 68. Brief review of
his writings, 68.
Metastasio, Pietro, his birth and obscure
origin, II. 185. At an early
age attracts by his talents as improvisatore,
185. Writes a tragedy,
entitled "Giustino," at the
early age of fourteen, 186. Continues
to improvisare verse in
company, 187. Evils that result
to the intellect perpetually bent
on so exciting a proceeding, 188.
Sent to study at Magna Græcia,
189. Returns to Rome, and gives
himself up to the study of poetry,
189. Removes to Naples; determines
to give up poetry, and
to study the law, 190. Commanded
by the viceroy to write a
drama to celebrate the birthday
of the empress Elizabeth Christina;
success of the piece, 191.
Quits the law, and again devotes
himself to the Muses, 191. Receives
a commission to furnish
the Neapolitan theatre with an
opera for the carnival of 1724;
success of the piece, 192. Receives
a letter from prince Pio of
Savoy, inviting him to become
the court poet of Vienna, 193.
Fulfils his engagement of supplying
the Roman theatre with
two pieces for the carnival,
and makes his appearance at
Vienna, surrounded by the halo
of a recent triumph, 194. Appointed
treasurer to the province
of Cosenzo, worth annually
350 sequins, 195. His feelings
ingenuously expressed in his letters
to Marianna Bulgarelli, 196.
His letters to his brother on
hearing of her death, 198. Peculiar
merits of his poetry, and excellencies
of his dramas, 200. The
"Grazie agli inganni tuoi," and
the "Partenza," among the best
of his productions, 203. His ill
health attributed to change of
climate, 204. His life only to be
found in his letters, 205. His
letters to his brother, 207. His
enthusiastic friendship for Farinelli,
the singer, 208. His manner
of living at Vienna, 210. His
letter to Farinelli, 211. His
death, in the eighty-fourth year
of his age, 211.
Miranda, Saa de, a Portuguese
poet, born in 1494, and died in
1558; his connection with Spanish
poetry, III. 88.
Mirandola, Giovanni Pico della,
his birth and early education, I.
161. Character of his writings,
161. His death, in the thirty-second
year of his age, 162.
Moneada, don Miguel de, III. 127.
Mondejar, the marquis de, III. 41.
Montalvan, friend and disciple of
Lope de Vega, III. 189.
Monte, cardinal del, II. 4.
Montefalcone, Niccolo di, I. 147.
Montemayor, Jorge de; his birth
and parentage, III. 89. Establishes
his fame as an author, by
writing his "Diana," 89. Outline
and style of the poem, 90.
His death, 92.
Monti, Vincenzo, his birth and parentage,
II. 305. Anecdote of his
childhood, 306. His early education,
307. Gives up every
other pursuit, and dedicates himself
wholly to the cultivation of
literature and poetry, 308. Accompanies
cardinal Borghese to
Rome, 309. Want of political
integrity, and ready worship of
ruling powers, the great blot of
his character, 310. Continues
to cultivate his poetic tastes, 311.
Success of his tragedy entitled
"Aristodemo," 312. Outline of
the piece, 313. His marriage,
314. Celebrates the death of his
friend Basseville, in a poem entitled
"Basvilliana," 315. Outline
and style of the poem, 316.
Leaves Rome for Tuscany; his
familiar intercourse with general
Marmont, 318. Becomes a revolutionary
poet, 319. Appointed
to the survivorship of the professor's
chair at Brera, 321. Falls
into a deplorable state of destitution,
322. Celebrates his return
to his beloved Italy by a beautiful
hymn, 323. Outline of his
poem entitled "Mascheroniana,"
324. Appointed to a professorship
in the university of Pavia;
named court poet and historiographer,
326. Made cavalier of
the iron crown, member of the
Institute, and of the legion of
honour, 327. Celebrates the
event of Napoleon being crowned
king of Italy in a poem, entitled
"Il Benificio," 328. His poem
in celebration of the attempted
usurpation of the Spanish throne,
329. Remarks on his poem entitled
the "Sword of Frederic,"
331. His translation of Ceruti,
332. Writes, by command, a
cantata entitled "Mistico Omaggio,"
334. The marriage of his
daughter, one of the most fortunate
incidents of his life, 335.
His observations on the subject
of a reform of the national dictionary,
336. Extracts from his
letters to Mustoxidi on the subject,
336. To another friend, on
the same subject, 339. His
literary disputes with Mazza,
Cesarotti and Bettinelli terminate
in mutual friendship and
esteem, 341. His letter on the
subject of the classic and romantic
schools, 341. His letter
to his wife, 343. His letter to
his friend Mustoxidi, on the
death of his son-in-law, 347.
Publishes the last volume of his
"Proposta," 348. His last illness,
and death, in the seventy-fourth
year of his age, 349. His
public and private character, 350.
His person, 351.
Montoya, Luisa de, III. 162.
Mora, Rodrigo de, III. 127.
Mosti, Agostino, II. 153.
Muñoz, Fernando, III. 192.
Murtola, Gasparo, II. 175.
Mustoxidi, II. 333.
N.
Naharro, Bartolomé Torres, one of
the earliest Spanish dramatists,
III. 97. Mentioned by the editor
of Cervantes' comedies, as the
real inventor of the Spanish
drama, 98. His reforms in the
Spanish theatricals, 99.
Navagero, Andrea, III. 39.
Nasi, Alessandro, I. 287.
Negrete, doctor Juan de, III. 226.
Neri, I. 18.
Noronha, dom Alfonso de, III. 309.
Nozzolini, Ptolemy, II. 28.
O.
Obizzo III., marquis of Este, I.
196.
Oliva, Perez de, one of the earliest
Spanish dramatists, III. 96.
Orsino, Paolo, I. 246.
P.
Pacheco, Francisco, the celebrated
painter, III. 148.
Pachione, Philippo. I. 227.
Pajares, Alonso Diaz, III. 122.
Panizzi, Dr., I. 168.
Pastrengo, William da, I. 84.
Paul II., pope, I. 180.
Pedrosa, Luis, III. 138.
Pellicer, don Juan Antonio, III. 121.
Pellicer, don Joseph, III. 202.
Pepoli, Geronimo, II. 71.
Perticari, count, II. 336.
Perugini, Paolo, I. 120.
Petracco, Pietro, I. 23.
Petrarch, Francesco, his birth and
parentage, I. 61. His early life,
62. Sent to study at the university
of Montpellier, 63. Sent to
Bologna; makes considerable
progress in the study of the law,
64. Recalled to France by the
death of his father, 64. Abandons
the law, and devotes himself to
the clerical profession, 65. His
sedulous attention to dress, 65.
Becomes the favourite and companion
of the ecclesiastical and
lay nobles who form the papal
court, 65. Commencement of his
friendship with Giacomo Colonna,
66. His description of
Colonna, 67. His character, 67.
His first meeting with Laura de
Side, 68. Endeavours to merge
the living passion of his soul into
the airy and unsubstantial devotion
of Platonic attachment, 70.
His poetic life dated from the
time of his attachment to Laura,
71. His predilection for travelling,
72. Becomes an inmate in
the house of cardinal Colonna;
his unbounded ardour for acquiring
knowledge, 73. Visits
Paris; continues his travels
through Aix-la-Chapelle and Cologne,
74. Visits Rome; his sensations
on entering the eternal
city, 75. Leaves Italy, and travels
through Spain to Cadiz, and
northward as far as the sea-coast
of England, 76. Makes an excursion
to Mont Ventoux, one of
the highest mountains in Europe,
76. His letter to father Dionisio
Robertis, giving an account of
the expedition, 77. Retires to
Vaucluse, 78. His manner of life,
79. Extract from a translation of
one of the canzoni, as a specimen
of his style, 80. Character of his
mistress, 82. His intimacy with
Philip de Cabassoles, bishop of
Cavaillon, 83. His letter to Giacomo
Colonna, on his soliciting
him to go to Rome, 84. Receives
letters from the Roman senate
and the university of Paris, inviting
him to receive the laurel
crown of poetry; he decides in
favour of Rome, 85. Repairs to
Rome, and is crowned in the
capitol with great solemnity, in
presence of all the nobles and
high-born ladies of the city, 86.
Returns to Avignon; takes on
himself the office of barrister, and
pleads the cause of the Corregio,
against their enemies the Rossi,
before the pope, and succeeds in
obtaining a decision in their favour,
87. His grief on hearing
of the death of Thomas of Messina:
his extraordinary dream,
88. Named prior of Migliarino,
in the diocese of Pisa, 89. His
unabated love for Laura, 90. Applies
himself to Greek, under
Bernardo Barlaam, 91. Writes
his work entitled "The Secret of
Francesco Petrarca," 91. Sent as
ambassador to Naples, to establish
the papal claim, 92. Writes letters
full of encouragement to
Rienzi, the tribune, 93. Repairs
to his house at Parma; his extraordinary
dream, 94. His grief
on hearing of the death of Laura,
95. His record of her death, 95.
Gives large sums in charity for
the sake of her soul, and causes
many masses to be said for the
same purpose, 97. Receives a
decree of the Florentine republic,
reinstating him in his paternal
inheritance, together with letters
inviting him to accept of a professor's
chair in their university,
99. His letters to pope Clement
VI.; again solicited to accept the
lace of apostolic secretary, which
e again refuses, 100. His treatise
"On Solitary Life," 101.
Induced by the solicitations of
Giovanni Visconti to remain in
Milan, 102. His conversation
with the emperor Charles V., 102.
Sent to Vienna to negotiate a
peace, and afterwards sent to
Paris to congratulate John, 103.
His manner of life at Milan, 104.
His record of the death of his
son; takes up his abode at
Padua, 105. His writings compared
with those of Dante, 106.
His description of Laura's death,
107. Continues to interest himself
deeply in the political state of
his country, 109. His letter to
Boccaccio; his congratulatory
letter to Pope Urban V., 110. Is
seized with a violent illness on
his way to Rome, 111. His treatise,
entitled "On my own Ignorance
and that of others," 112.
His opinion of the "Decameron"
of Boccaccio, 113. His death,
114. His will, 114.
Peraga, Bonaventura da, I. 114.
Petroni, Pietro, I. 139.
Pickler, Giovanni, II. 314.
Pietro, Francesco Santo, III. 127.
Pignoria, Lorenzo, II. 13.
Pineda, don Juan de, III. 108.
Pio, prince of Savoy, II. 193.
Pistofo, M. Bonaventura, I. 230.
Pistoia, Cina da, I. 64.
Pletho, Gemisthus, I. 151.
Polenta, Guido Novelio da, lord of
Ravenna, I. 29.
Politian, II. 15.
Poliziano, Angelo, his birth and
parentage, I. 162. Review of his
writings, 163. Appointed tutor
to the children of Lorenzo de'
Medici, 164. At the age of
twenty-nine appointed to the professorship
of Greek and Latin
eloquence in the university of
Florence, 165. His death, 167.
Porras, doctor Mathias, corregidor
of the province of Canta, in Peru,
III. 213.
Porta, Baptista, II. 14.
Portugal, early poets of, III. 288.
Pulci, Bernardo, remarks on his
works, I. 167.
Pulci, Luca, his works, I. 167.
Pulci, Luigi, style of his writings,
I. 168. Extract from his "Morgante
Maggiore," 171. Outline of
the poem, 173.
Q.
Quarqualio, Luca, I. 159.
Querenghi, his letter to cardinal
D'Este, giving an account of
Galileo's controversial discussions
at Rome, III. 34.
Quevedo, don Francisco Gomez de,
his birth, parentage, and early
education, III. 246. His career
checked by a circumstance which
may be considered as fortunate,
257. Obliged to fly; takes refuge
in Italy, and thence, invited by
the viceroy, repairs to Naples, 258.
Sent by him as his ambassador to
Madrid, to recount his exploits,
and explain his designs, 259. Accused
of joining in the Bedmar
conspiracy against Venice, 261.
Continues to escape the vigilance
of the senate, and makes his escape
in the guise of a mendicant,
262. His political services, 264.
His literary productions; his imprisonment
and liberation, 265.
Several places offered to him, all
of which he declines, and gives
himself up to study and philosophy,
266. Gives up his church
preferments, for the sake of marrying,
266. His playful yet bitter
poem, alluding to his evil fate,
267. Suspected of writing libels
against the court, arrested, and
imprisoned in a dungeon of the
Royal Casa de San Marcos de
Leon, 268. His letter, describing
the squalid wretchedness of his
dungeon, 269. His memorial to
the count duke Olivarez, 270.
His death, 272. His person and
character, 272. Critique on his
writings, 273.
R.
Real, Lorenzo, II. 56.
Renieri, the friend and pupil of
Galileo, II. 57.
Ribeyro, Bernardim, one of the
earliest of the Portuguese poets,
III. 290.
Riccardi, Nicolo, II. 41.
Ricci, Giuliano, I. 312.
Ricci, Ostillo, II. 3.
Riego, the canon, II. 391.
Rienzi, Nicola di, I. 92.
Rioja, Francisco de, III. 223.
Rios, don Vicente de los, III. 121.
Robert, king of Naples, I. 86.
Robertis, Father Dionisio, I. 77.
Robertson, Dr., II. 22.
Rollo, Paolo, I. 238.
Romena, count Alessandro da, I.
23.
Roxas, Fernando de, III. 95. Author
of the first genuine Spanish play,
96.
Rucellai, Cosimo, I. 304.
Rueda, Lope de, celebrated as an
actor and pastoral poet, III. 98.
Ruiz, Juan, arch-priest of Hita;
brief review of his works, III.
12.
S.
Salvani, Provenzano, I. 24.
Salvanorola, I. 130.
Salvatico, conte Guido, I. 28.
Salvi, Giulio, III, 60.
Santillani, the marquess of, remarks
on his poems, III. 13.
Scala, Can' Grande de la, I. 27.
Scala, Alessandro, II. 75.
Scheiner, professor of mathematics
at Ingoldstadt, II. 25.
Schlegel, III. 234.
Scotus, Duns, I. 9.
Serram, Antonio, III. 324.
Serrano, señor Bachiller, III. 122.
Serraville, Giovanni da, bishop of
Fermo, I. 8.
Settimo, Guido, I. 63.
Sforza, Caterina, I. 262.
Sforza, Ippolita, II. 75.
Signa, Martino da, I. 149.
Sixtus IV., pope, I. 160.
Soderini Pietro, I. 288.
Sotomayor, don Alonzo Lopez de
Zuniga y, III. 157.
Spain, early and anonymous poetry
of, III. 1.
Spini Christofano, II. 180.
Stolberg, Louisa de, countess of
Albany, II. 280. Her attachment
to Alfieri, 285.
Strada, Giovanni da, I. 117.
Strozzi, Oberto, I. 188.
Sylveira, Hector da, III. 321.
T.
Talleirand, cardinal, I. 100.
Tasso, Bernardo, his birth and
parentage, II. 98. His early life
and ill-directed love, 99. At the
age of forty-one, appointed secretary
to Ferrante Sanseverino,
prince of Salerno, 99. His marriage,
100. Commences his poem,
entitled "Amadigi," 100. His letter
to his sister Afra, 101. Summoned
away from the delightful
retirement of Sorrento to join his
patron in the war which had
broken out between the emperor
Charles V. and Francis I., 102.
Returns from the army, and enjoys
a brief prolongation of his
domestic quiet, 103. Declared a
rebel, and his estate confiscated,
along with the adherents of the
duke of Salerno, 104. His letter
to his daughter, 108. Flies from
Rome to Ravenna; invited by
the duke of Urbino to Pesara,
where he affords a welcome but
temporary asylum from the persecution
of his enemies, and the
pressure of indigence, 111. Repairs
to Venice to publish his
work entitled "Amadigi," 113.
Failure of the poem, 119. Places
his son at Padua to study jurisprudence,
122. His interview
with his son at Mantua, 130.
His death, in the seventy-sixth
year of his age, 131.
Tasso, Torquato, review of his life,
II. 96. His birth, 101. Nursery
traditions of, 103. His progress
in the rudiments of knowledge,
under the superintendence of his
mother, 104. His beautiful and
touching lines on his separation
from her, when called away from
Naples to join his mother at
Rome, 105. Compared with
Cowper, 106. His religious sentiments,
107. Prosecutes his
studies with indefatigable assiduity
at Rome, 108. His letter
to Vittoria Colonna, on the subject
of his sister's marriage, 109.
Removes to Bergamo, 111. Commencement
of his friendship with
the son of the duke d'Urbino,
112. Diversities of circumstances,
scene, and company,
calculated to cherish and confirm
all his natural aspirings, 114.
Remark upon a line of Boileau
which has done more injury to
his reputation than all the splenetic
criticisms of Sperone, 115.
Critique on his Writings, 116.
Studies the works of his great
Italian predecessors, 117. Employed
by his father in transcribing
his multitudinous poems and
letters, 118. Sudden and passionate
admiration with which his
"Rinaldo" was hailed throughout
Italy, 119. Placed at Padua
to study jurisprudence, 122. Gives
up the law, and devotes himself
to philosophy and the Muses, 123.
His reply to his father's remonstrance,
124. The appearance of
his "Rinaldo" the dawn of a
new day in the literature of
his country, 124. All the characteristics
of his peculiar genius
perceptible in the incidents, style,
embellishments, and conduct of
this juvenile essay, 126. Repairs
to Bologna to pursue his natural
studies, and indulge in his
poetical passion, 127. Expelled
from Bologna for a literary squib,
128. Removes to Padua, where
he is inrolled member of the
Academy degli Eterei, 129. Devotes
much of his attention to
the works of Aristotle and Plato,
129. Remarks on his "Discourse
on Heroic Poetry," 130. Nominated
one of the personal attendants
of the duke of Ferrara, 131.
Arrives at Ferrara, and is received
into the service of the duke's
brother, 132. Commencement of
his acquaintance with the princesses
Lucretia and Leonora of
Este, 133. His description of
his own emotions during his first
visit and sojourn at Ferrara, 134.
Writes an epithalamium on the
marriage of the princess Lucretia,
136. His attachment to the
princess Leonora, 137. Accompanies
the cardinal Luigi to the
court of France, 138. Personal
anecdotes of, 139. Accompanies
the embassy to Rome; his interview
with the pope, 140. Prosecutes
that splendid crusade of
his Muse the poetical siege of
Jerusalem, 140. His "Aminta"
received with universal admiration
throughout all Italy, 142.
Illness occasioned by his anxiety
about his "Gerusalemme Liberata,"
144. Charged with heresy
against Aristotle and good taste
on one hand, and on the other
with heresy against the church
and good morals, 145. Escapes
from his splendid captivity to
Rome; appointed historiographer
to the house of Este, 146. Incident
which exhibits him not
less in the character of a hero than
he had hitherto figured in that of
the laureate of poets, 147. Growing
symptoms of a mind diseased, 148.
His strange melancholy, 149.
Flies secretly to Ferrara to visit
his sister at Sorrento, 150.
Anecdote of, 151. Committed to
St. Anne's Hospital as a lunatic;
his letter to Scipio Gonzaga
during his confinement, 152. His
representation of the treatment
which he experienced during his
confinement, 153. His sonnets
to the cats of the hospital, imploring
them to lend him the
light of their eyes to write by,
154. Pursues his studies with
unabated ardour and intensity,
155. His wild imaginations, 156.
Liberated at the special intercession
of the prince of Mantua,
157. His controversy with the
Della Cruscan Academy during
his imprisonment, 158. Remarkable
circumstances of his last
days, 159. Visits Rome, 160.
His death, in the fifty-first year
of his age, 161. His personal and
poetical character, 161.
Tassoni, Alessandro, his birth, parentage,
and early education;
studies jurisprudence at Ferrara,
II. 169. Enters the service of
cardinal Colonna; publishes his
"Considerations on various Subjects,"
171. Outline of the principal
episode of. "Secchia Rapita,"
172. His death, in the
seventy-first year of his age, 173.
Timoneda, III. 99.
Tiraboschi, I. 179.
Torella, Damigella, II. 76.
Tormes, Lazarillo de, III. 101.
Tornabuoni, Lucrezia, I. 167.
Torres, Balthazar de, III. 133.
Torricelli, II. 58.
Turpin, archbishop, I. 169.
U.
Ubaldi, Guido, II. 4.
Ugo IV., king of Cyprus and Jerusalem,
I. 144.
Urban V., pope, I. 145.
Urbino, Gentile d', bishop of Arezzo,
I. 152.
Urbino, captain Diego de, III. 127.
Urbino, donna Isabel de, her marriage
with Lope de Vega, III. 199.
Her death, 200.
Usategui, Luis de, III. 227.
V.
Vega, Garcilaso de la, his birth and
parentage, III. 37. His early predilection
for poetry and music,
38. Commences his career of
arms in the war declared against
France by Charles V., 39. Incurs
the displeasure of the
emperor, and is exiled to an
island of the Danube, 39. His
ode in commemoration of his imprisonment
characteristic of his
disposition, 40. Is recalled, and
attends the emperor in his expedition
against Tunis; is severely
wounded, 41. Extract from one
of his elegies to Boscan, 42. Appointed
by the emperor to command
eleven companies of infantry,
in the expedition against
France, 45. Killed in an engagement
at Muy, near Fréjus, in
the thirty-third year of his age,
46. His person and character,
47. Review of his poetry, 48.
Mr. Wiffen's translation of his
ode "To the Flower of Gnido,"
53.
Vega, Lope de, compared with
Cervantes, III. 189. His birth
and parentage, 190. Early indications
of talent, 191. Anecdote
characteristic of his vivacious
disposition, 192. His intimacy
with the grand inquisitor; enters
the university of Alcala, 193.
Enters the service of the duke
of Alva, 194. Writes the "Arcadia"
at the request of the
duke of Alva, 195. Style and
story of the poem, 196. His
marriage, 198. Engaged in a
duel, which obliges him to leave
Madrid, 199. Returns to Madrid,
becomes a soldier, and joins the
In vincible Armada, 200. Southey's
translation of his sonnets, 202.
Outline of his work entitled
"Dorotea," 204. His animated
description of the setting forth of
the Armada, 208. Writes the
"Beauty of Angelica" on the
deck of the San Juan, 210. Story
of the poem, 211. His extravagance
and prodigality, 212. His
advice to his son, 212. His
domestic afflictions, 214. Leaves
the gaieties of secular life, and
prepares for the priesthood, 215
Visits Toledo, and takes orders;
says his first mass in a Carmelite
church, 216. Becomes a familiar
of the Inquisition, 216. His rising
character as an author, 217.
His amiable character, 217. Rises
higher and higher in the estimation
of the public, 219. Writes a
poem on the death of Mary
queen of Scots, entitled "Corona
Tragica," which he dedicates to
the pope, 220. Exaggeration with
regard to the number of verses
written by him, 221. Anecdote
of, 221. His epistles and other
poems a picture of the tranquillity
of his life as he advanced in age,
222. His amiable disposition and
placid temper, 224. His last illness,
225. His death, 226. His
person and character, 227. Review
of his writings, 228. Analysis
of the "Star of Seville,"
233.
Vella, Antonio de la, III. 140.
Velser, Mark, II. 25.
Vettori, Francesco, I. 292.
Veyga, Luis de, III. 324.
Viardôt, his exertions to discover
the yet hidden circumstances of
Cervantes' life, III. 121.
Vicente, Gil, styled the Portuguese
Plautus, III. 292. Style of his
writings, 293.
Villalobos, physician of Charles V.,
one of the earliest of the Spanish
dramatists, III. 96.
Vellégas, Estévan Manuel de,
named the Anacreon of Spain,
III. 240. His birth and parentage,
240. His death, 240. His translation
of Anacreon, 241. Translation
of his original Anacreontics,
242.
Villena, the Marquis of, so celebrated
for his acquirements in
natural and metaphysical knowledge,
that he was looked on as
a magician, also admired as a
poet, III. 13.
Virgil, Marcellus, I. 257.
Visconti, Giovanni, I. 101.
Visconti, Galeazzo, I. 103.
Vitelli, Vitellozzo, I. 266.
Viviani, II. 68.
Voss, Gerard, II. 7.
W.
Wachenfels, II. 19.
Wiffen, Mr., his translation of
Garcilaso de la Vega's poems,
III. 49. His translation of Luis
de Leon's ode on the Moorish
invasion, 79.
Z.
Zach, baron, II. 22.
Zeno, Apostolo, I. 168.; II. 192.
Zenobio, I. 117.
Zuniga, doña Elena de, her marriage
with Garcilaso de la Vega,
III. 39.
THE END.
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