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THE
CABINET CYCLOPEDIA.
LONDON :
Printed by A SIMM iis,\>oou^.
New-Street-Square.
THE
CABINET CYCLOPAEDIA.
CONDUCTED BY THE
REV. DIONYSIUS LARDNER, LL.D. F.R.S. L. & Iv
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-RO\V :
AND JOHN TAYLOR,
UPPER GOWEH STREET.
1837-
'} \
J)JL
KONT.
1837.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION: Page
MOSEN JORDI - 6
THE
, , . . (
ALPHONSO .v. A NT. H-S COURT'
; s
i >
11
ALPHONSO XI. AN'I- HIS 'Cot^T ', ' -' - - 11
'* '. -' * '> -
JUAN DE MENA ' - - 14
,
JUAN DE ENZINA **'''->-. c ; ^-',^ 17
I 1 -5 >' ) -,
BOSCAN .:. A " ,'-.''' '.'' '. . 21
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA 36
DIEGO HURTADO DE MENDOZA - 58
LUIS DE LEON 70
HERRERA - - 83
JORGE DE MONTEMAYOR 89
CASTILLEJO 92
THE EARLY DRAMATISTS 95
ERCILLA - 103
CERVANTES - 120
LOPE DE VEGA - - 189
VICENTE ESPINEL ESTEBAN DE VIL-
LEGAS
V1 CONTENTS.
Page
GONGORA . . 043
QUEVEDO - - - 255
CALDERON _ 278
EARLY POETS OF PORTUGAL . 288
RlBEYRA . _ 290
SAA DE MIRANDA - _ 291
GIL VICENTE - . . 292
FERREIRA - 292
CAMOENS - - _ 295
':-; :";/
v . .:j
::.*::
LIVES
OF
EMINENT
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
INTRODUCTION.
MOSEN JORDI. CAXCIONERO. ABPKOVFO .'&! A^D HIS
COURT. ALPHO>0' >t T . A> THIS '^OURY. " ^ JffAN DE
MBNA.
IN every other country, to treat G its ?itorary men is
at the same time to give a history of its .literature. In
Spain it is otherwise. \V:ei have no *trae,e ixf 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 im-
mortality 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 litera-
ture 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 indepen-
VOL. III. B
2 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
dence, an enthusiasm, .411 the Spanish character that
distinguishes them from every other people. Des-
potism,. and . the Inquisition, ignorance and supersti-
tion, 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 bears testimony to this taste, when with
all the arrogance o^ assumed superiority he speaks of
the verses sung by the Gallicians in their native dialect,
' Y barbara mine patriis ululantem carmina linguis,"
and Str.ibo. alludes to immemorial ballads sung by
the ii?'r)ar>ita''its n i Betica.' ; .When the Spaniards
shared the renneinentfe ' and Isjv.rimg of the capital,
several names. .becMTne. .distinguished. Lucan was a
native of Cordova.' ' \\~fc ea'n- fancy that we trace the
. , , , t J
genuine Spanish .spirit iri this poet earnestness, en-
thusiasm, Vgaudiiiess;. .'axvl* ;an j inveterate tendency to
diffuseness. The two SeneSas, .were natives, also, of the
same town.* 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.
* " Duosque Senecas, unicumque Lucanum,
Facunda loquitur Corduba." Martial, ep. Ixii. lib. i.
And Statius records the same fact :
" Lucanum potes imputare terris,
Hoc plus quam Senecam dedisse mundo,
Aut dulcem generas.se Gallionem.
Ut tollat rcfluo-; in atra fontes
Grajo nobilior Melete Banis." Genelhliacon.
Retrospective Review, vol. iii.
INTRODUCTION. 3
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 con-
jectured that one of the causes why the Moors, after
conquering Don Roderic 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 pos-
sessed a more refined and exalted mind than the men
of her time, \vas 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." *
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, w r ith 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. f
At length the Gothic power feh 1 the Moors entered,
overran, and conquered Spain. At first the resistance
they met was not at all proportionate to what we
* Retrospective Review, vol. Hi- t Boutervek.
4 LITERARY AN'D SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 de-
veloped, 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 ro-
mance 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 emi-
nent scholars came from the East to grace their schools,
and introduced a spirit of inquiry and a love of know-
ledge 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. Ma-
hometanism 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 *, this hapless nation
* " 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 ?pirit which
caused Lope de Vega to recur with satisfaction to the old Gothic law :
" The sceptre was denied of yore, " Vedando el consilio Toledano,
T<> the elected king, until he swore tomar el cetroal rev sinque primero
With liis 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 \il 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.
INTRODUCTION. 5
doubtless welcomed the Moors gladly; and finding toler-
ation 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 ro-
mances. Before we recur to them however, we will men-
tion the connection between the troubadour and Provencal
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 Provencal,
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
K 3
6 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Provencal. 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 Provencal 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 be-
came celebrated ; Mosen Jordi de Sant Jordi is one
of the first and best-known. Petrarch read and, per-
haps, imitated him.*
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
* 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 '1 cielo, e giaccio in terra,
E nulla stringo e tutto il mondn abraccio,
E ho in odio me stesso e amo altrui.,
Se non e amor, cose 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 eel, e nom movi de terra,"
And both Italian and Provencal 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
; urns up aJ!, not by selling himself to the devil, but concluding piously,
.But right oft flow.- from darkness-covered wrong,
And good may spring from seeming evil here.
INTRODUCTION. 7
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 nobJes.
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.* Bou-
* "All verses consisting of four trochaic feet appear to have been origin,
ally 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 w.<s paid to cor-
rectness in the distinction of long or short syllables, as in the rhyme.
When one of the poetic narratives, distinguished by the name ol romances
B 4
8 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
tervek imagines that they may be considered a^ a relic
of the songs of the Roman soldiers. There was something
was sung, line followed line without constraint, the expression .'lowing
with careless 1'reeilom, a* feeling pave 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 ad-
vantageous to introduce divisions and periods, which gave rise to regular
strophes (eatanc/as and capias"*. Lines, for the sake of variety, were short-
ened 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 con-
sonant and assonant verses, which has been converted into a rhythmical
beauty unknown to other nations. The period of the invention of the
redon'dillas was also nearly that of the dactylic stanzas called versos de
artc mayor, because their composition was considered an art of a superior
order. As the inventors of these stanzas were ignorant of the true prin-
ciples 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 improve-
ment 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 maijor." 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 conso-
nante 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, tbs 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
I\Ir. Lockhart's Introduction to his Ancient Spanish Ballads.
Thus, instead of printing it, as is usual,
" Fizo hazer al Rev Alfonso
el cid un solene juro,
delante de muchos grandes,
que se hallaron en Bruges "
this ought to run
" Fizo hazer al Key Alfonso, el cid un solene juro,
delante de muchos grandes, que se hallaron en Bruges."
The u, in the penultimate syllable of juro, and in Brugos, makes the
assonance of the redondilla. \Ve 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 sen-
tence that (nils with one; nerescary to the otherwise obscure construc-
tion of the Spanish : as for instance,
"i Buelas al fin, y al fin te vas lloraudo? "
INTRODUCTION. 9
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 com-
positions. The most singular circumstance is, that they
are nearly all anonymous. No doubt, as language im-
proved, they were altered and amended from oral tra-
dition, 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 senti-
ments were simple, yet heroic ; the action was always
impassioned, and sometimes tragic.
Doctor Bowring, who has a happy facility in ren-
dering the poetry of foreign nations into our own,
has been more felicitous than any other author in trans-
lating 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 untrans-
lateable 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.'
10 LITERARY ANT) SCIENTIFIC MEX.
'Lady ! he wns but a traitor,
And his tale was all untrue,
In Castille 1 never entered
From Leon too, I withdrew
When I was in early boyhood,
And of love I nothing knew.' " *
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. Ac-
cording 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; how
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 fic-
titious cavalier.
Already, however, had various kings and nobles of
Spain cultivated letters. The first authors whose names
* " ' 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 fue la culpa, amigo
vuestra t'ue, que mia no,
enviastes me una earta
con un vuestro servidor,
y en lugar de rccaudar
el digera otra ra/on,
que eruilo casado, amigo,
alia en tierras de Leon,
que teneis muper liennosa
y hijos coino una flor.'
' Ouien os In dijo, Sefiora,
no vos dija verdad, no
(jiie yo nimca entrt' in ( astilla
ni en las tivrra:- de Leon,
sino ciKimin cr;i pcquriio
que no sabia do amor.' "
INTRODUCTION. 1 1
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 know-
ledge. Eagerly curious ahout 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 in-
terest 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 ob-
solete 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 pub-
lic 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 pro-
duction of the same man and age. The most useful work
that owed its existence to his superintendence was the
Alphonsine Tables, containing calculations truly extra-
ordinary for that period.
Alphonso XI. followed in his footsteps in the culti-
vation of the Castillian language. He is said to have
12 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC -MEN.
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;
" Ouien te conseja encobrir de tus amigos,
engaunrte quiera assaz, y sin testigos."
(C 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 sera. Politically, his reign was disastrous
and stormy. The monarchy was threatened with de-
struction, and the king had not sufficient firmness to
make himself respected. His love of poetry and learn-
ing, 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 reso-
lution, 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
INTRODUCTION". 13
so celebrated for his acquirements in natural and me-
taphysical 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 JEneid, 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 w r e 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 w r hen 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
14- LITEKARY AND SCIENTIFIC .MEN.
throw his lance at him as he stood at a window. Mar-
cias 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, grc wn into a proverb, is still the synonyme in
Sp^in 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 uni-
versity, had just been recovered by the Christians.
Juan de Mena was spruiig from a respectable though not
noble family ; at the age of twenty- three he fulfilled
some civil office m Ins native city, of which in after
times he spoke with affection, as we find these lines in
one of his poems :
*' Thou flo-ver oi wisdom and of chivalry,
Cordova, mother mine! forgive thy son,
If in tiie music of my lyre, no tone
Be sweet and loud enough to honour thee.
Models of w'siiom and of bravery
I see reflected through thy annals bright.
1 will not praise thee, praise thee though I might,
Lest I of flattery should suspected be."*
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. Sis-
mondi says, u On becoming acquainted with the poetry
of Dante, his imagination received no inspiration, and
his taste was spoilt. His greatest work is called El
* " O flor dc saber y cabelleria,
Cordoba madre, tu hijo perdona,
si en los cantares, que agora pregona
no divulgri: tu salmiuria.
De sabios, valient.es loarte podria
qui fucron espejo muy maravilloso;
por .--cr de ti rnismo, sere sopechoso,
diran que los pinto mejor que debia."
ll'/jtfin's Life of Garcilaso.
INTRODUCTION. 15
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 in-
structing of their fellow-creatures. The great Tuscan
poet,, in his Divina Com media, had the design of compre-
hending 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 pene-
trating 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 San-
tillana 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 inter-
esting monument of Spanish poetry in that age, which
left all contemporary writers far behind him. ' B ut after
all, it is a mere specimen of the poetic art of those days :
16 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
not like Dante, could he 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 Pro-
vidence 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 1 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. *
* " 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 ce>sava.
Vi que debaxo de todos e?tava
caida por tierra grand gentc 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 r
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 compliiia palahra ;
a mi guiadora, rogando que me abra
figura que yo no entendia."
INTRODUCTION. 1 7
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 Com media, 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 alle-
gorical 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 notlend
itself to any but the Spanish style; and he never dreamt,
as Boscan afterwards so admirably succeeded in doing, of
V0 r j. Ill, C
18 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 rill
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." *
que todo hoy nos hartemos,
* " Hoy comamos y bebamos, pues rnanana ayunaremos.
y cantemos y holguemos
que mailana ayunaremos. Honremos a tan buen santo
que mafiana viene la muerte,
Por honra de San Antruejo comamos, bebemos huerte
paremonos hoy bien anchos, que mafiana habra quebranto
embutamos estos panchos, comamos, bebamos tanto
recalquemos el pellejo hasta que nos reventemos,
que costumbre es de concejo pues mauana ayunaremos."
INTRODUCTION.
Meanwhile the state of Spain had wholly changed. The
struggle with the Moors had ended, and its civil dissen-
tions were -no more. The union of the crowns of
Aragon and Castile under Ferdinand and Isabella
placed the country under one sovereign ; and the con-
quest 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 mani
festations 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 circum-
stance 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 achieve-
ments 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 tlie 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,
20 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
if they had not heen 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 birth-
place 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 th*e fifteenth, or at
the very commencement of the sixteenth century, and
accordingly were contemporaries of Charles V.
21
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, heing a genuine poet, he could ani-
mate the harmony and grace of his versification w r ith
earnest sentiments and original thought. Restrain him-
self 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, heing a Catalonian, the very lan-
guage of Castile, which, as having become the classic
language of his country, he adopted, was to a certain de-
gree a foreign tongue, and he could more easily abandon
the peculiar rhythm of its national poetry for versifi-
cation, such as was to be found in the productions of
the Provencal 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 fond-
ness 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
c3
22 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Drained for him such ill renown. That he *vas so, is
o *
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 .tor his
magnificence and his talents, while his very bigotry was
considered a virtue. When, therefore, Sedano men-
tions this circumstance, he speaks of it with pri.je,
saying, <( Boscan's rank, joined to his blameless man-
ners 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 versifi-
cation 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.* A state of
melancholy ensued, only to be alleviated by travel. He
was familiar with Greek and Latin literature, and cul-
tivated 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 destruc-
tion 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
Wiffen's Life of Garcilaso de la Vega : who gives us translations of
some very pleasing Latin verses by Navagero.
BOSCAN. 23
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 : " Con-
versing one day on literary subjects with Navagero
the Venetian ambassador (whom I wish to men-
tion 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 Cas-
tilian, 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 gra-
dually 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 under-
taking.''
Every thing combines to give us the idea of Boscan
as a good and a happy man, enjoying so much of pro-
sperity 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 disposi-
tion, happily married, living contented, he possessed ad-
vantages that must have added greatly to his happiness,
through the good fortune which gave him accomplished
and noble friends, addicted to the same studies, delight-
ing in the same pursuits, sympathising in his views, and
c 4
24 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
affording him the assistance of their applause and imi-
tation. What we know of Boscan, indeed, is princi-
pally through the mention made of him by his friends.
Garcilaso de la Vega, superior to his friend as a poet,
iv as 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 re-
pute 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 ec-
logue. 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 Severe who is gazing on the urn of
old Tormes.
" Next as his looks along the sculptures glanced,
A youth with Phoebus 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 Severe 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,
\Vith all the generous courtesies enshrined
In the fair temple of Fernando's mind.
BOSCAN. 25
When well surveyed his name Severe 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 unt'elt away." *
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 tran-
quil 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 perfec-
tion, attended on by his wife, who plucks for him the rarest
grapes and ripe fruit, the fresh and sweet gifts of sum-
mer, 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 diffuse-
ness ; I have therefore endeavoured in some degree to
compress the rambling of the poet, while I suppress no
sentim'ent, nor introduce a new idea. Little used to versi-
fication, my translation wants smoothness; but present-
ing, as it does, a picture of domestic life, such as was
passed at a distant age and in a distant land, yet resem-
bling 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 com-
mending 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 :
* Wiffen's translation of Garcilaso's poems.
26 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Tis peace tliat makes a happy life ; *
And that is mine through my sweet wife;
Beginning of my soul and end,
I've gain'il 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,
\Vhich 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
*" Y asi yo por seguir aquesta via,
heme casado con una muger
que es principle 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
a mi, y las otras no me convenian ;
a esta tengo yo, y ella me tiene.
En mi la 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
finnes, 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 dafiados.
Ahora el bicn 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 satistecho 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 m( de paz durable
dos almas hay conformes en un pecho.
La mesa en otro tiempo abominable
y el triste pan que en elia yo comia,
y el vino que bebia iamentable ;
infestamlome siempre alguna harpia
que en mitad del tieleyte mi vianda
con amargos putayes envoi via,
BOSCAN. 2?
Now the content that foolish I
Still miss'cl 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 't is t' philosophise,
And learn a lesson truly wise,
Prom lowing herd and bleating flock,
Than from some men of vulgar stock ;
Ahora el casto amor acude y manda
que todo se me haga muy sabroso,
andando siempre todo como anda.
De manera, Senor, 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 tanvanos
ella los va borrando con el dedo,
y escribe en lugar de ellos otros sanos.
* * *
Dejenme estar contento entre mis cosas
comiendo en compauia mansamente
comidas que no scan sospechosas.
Conmigo y mi muger sabrosamente
este, 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.
Pasaremos asi nuestra Jornada
ahora en la ciudad, ahora en la Aldea,
porque la vida este mas descansada.
Quando pesada la Ciudad nos sea
ire"mos al Lugar con la compafia
A donde el importuno no nos vea.
Alii se viviracon menos mafia,
y no habra el hombre tanto guardarse
del malo o del grosero que os engana.
Alii podra mejor filosafarse,
con los bueyes y cabras y ovejas
que con los que del vulgo han de tratarse.
28 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
And rustics, as they hold the plough,
May often good advice bestow.
Of fove, too, we may have the joy
For Phoebus 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,
('Tjs 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,
Alii no seran malas las corusejas
que contaran los simples labradores
viniendo de arrastrar las duras rejas.
cSera pues malo alii tratar de amores
Viendo que Apolo con su gentileza
Anduvo cnamorado entre pastores ?
< y Venus no se viu en grande estrechez?
por Adonis vagando entre los prados ?
segun la antiguedad asi lo reza ?
^ y B.ico no sintio fuertes cuidados
por la cuitada que quedo durmiendo
en mitad de los monies despoblados?
Las ninas por las aguas pareciendo,
y entre las arboledas las Driadas
ge ven con los Faunos rebullendo.
Nosotros seguiremos sus pisadas ;
digo yo y mi muger, rios andaremos
tratando alii las cosas namoradas.
A docorra alguri rio nos iremos,
y a la sombra de alguna verde haya
a do estemos mejor nos sentaremos.
Tenderme ha alii la alda de su say a
y en regalos de amor habra portia
qual de entrambos hara mas alta raya.
El rio correra por do es su via
nosotros correremos por la nuestra
sin pensar en el nocne ni en la dia
El ruisefior nos cantara a la diestra
y vendra sin el cuerbo la paloma
haciendo a su venida alegre muestra.
BOSCAN. 29
Of Italy, tlio 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,
./Eneas' 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.
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 ?
1 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 ;
No tendremos envidia al que esta en Roma
ni a los tesoros de los Asianos,
ni a quanto por aca de la India asoma.
Tendre'mos nuestros libros en las manos
y no se cansaran de andar contando
los hechos celestiales y mundanos
Virgilio a Eneas estara cantando,
y Homero el corazon de Aquiles fiero,
y el navigar de Ulises rodeando.
Propercio vendra alii por compailero
el qua! dir& con dulces armonias
del arte que a su Cintia amo primero.
Catulo.acudira por otras vias,
y llorando de Lesbia los amores
sus trampas llorara ychocarrerias.
Esto me advertira de mis dolores
pero volviendo a mi placer prcsente
tendr mis escarmientos por mejores.
Ganancia sacar^ del accidente
que otro tiempo mi sentir turbava
trayendome perdido entre la gente.
c Que hart* de acordarme qual estaba
viendome qual estoy, que estoy seguro
de mmca mas pasar lo que pasaba ?
En mi fuerte estare dentro en mi muro
sin locura de amor ni fantasia
que mi pueda veneer con su conjuro.
Como digo estare en mi compailia
en todo me hara el camino llano
su alegria mezclando con la mia.
Su mano me dara dentro en mi mano,
y acudiran deleytes y blanduras
de un sano corazon en otro sano.
Los ojos holgaran con las verduras
de los monies y prados que veremos
y con las scuibras de las espesuras.
El correr de las aguas oiremos
JO LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEM
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 tanning us, the evening breeze,
Plays gamesomely among the trees;
While bleating flocks, as day grows cold,
Gladly seek their shclt'ring fold.
And "when the sun is on the hill,
And shadows vast the valleys till,
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,
y su blando venir por las montafias
que a su pasp vendran dpnde estaremos
El ayre movera las verdes canas
y volveran entomes los ganados
balando por llegar 6. sus cabanas.
En esto ya que el sol por los collados
sus largas sombras andara encumbrando,
enviando reposo a los cansados,
nosotros nos irt-mos paseando
acia al lugar do esta. nuestra morada,
en cosas que veremos platicando.
La compana saldra regocijada
a tomarnos entonces con gran fiesta
diciendo a mi muger si esta 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 vendran alii trayendo
viandas naturales y gustosas
que nuestro gusto esten todo moviendo.
P'rutas pondran maduras y sabrosas
por nosotros las mas de ellas cogidas,
embucltas en mil flores olorosas.
Las natas por los platas estendidas
acudirati y el bianco requeson,
y otras que dan cabras paridas.
Despues de esto vendra el tierno lechon
con el conejo gordo, y gazapito,
y aquellos polios que de pastoson.
vendra tambien alii el nuevo cabrito
que a su madre jamas habra si'giiido
por el tiempo de tierno y de chiquito.
Despues que todo esto haza venido,
BOSCAN. 3 J
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,
\Vhich 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
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 alia manana
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 sera de vida entera
viviendo en el aldea como cuento.
Tras esto ya que el corazon se quiera
desenfadar con variar la vida
tornando nuevo gusto en su manera,
a la ciudad sera nuestra partida
a donde todo nos sera placiente
con el nuevo placer de la venida.
Holgaremos entones con la gente,
y con la novedad de haber llegado
trataremos con todos blandamente.
Y el cumplimiento que es siempre pesadt
a lo menos aquel que de ser vano,
no es menos enojoso que escusado ;
Alaballe estera muy en la mano,
y decir que por solo el cumplimiento
se conserva en el mundo el trato humano.
Nuestro vivir asi estar& contento,
y alcanzaremos mil ratos gozosos
en recompensa de un desabrimiento.
Y aunque a veces no faltan enojos,
todavia entre nuestros conocidos
iiul(-f's eran mas y los sabrosos.
32 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 Dura) 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 !
Pues ya con los amigos mas queridos
que sera el alborozo y el placer
y el bullicio de ser recien venidos.
Que sera el nunca hartarnos de nos ver,
y el buscarnos cada hora y cada punto
y el pesar de buscarse sin se ver.
Mosen Dural alii estera muy junto,
haciendo con su trato y su nobleza
sobre nuestro placer'el contrapunto.
Y con su buen burlar y su llaneza
no sufrira un momento tan ruin
que en nuestro gran placer muestre tristeza.
No faltera Geronimo Augustin
con su saber sanroso 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 hara durable.
Las burlas andaran por el mezeladas
con las veras asi con tal razon
que unas de otras seran bien ayudadas.
En esto acudira el buen Monleon
con el qual todos mucho holgaremos,
y nosotros y guantos con el son.
El nos dira, y nosotros gustaremos,
el reira, y hara que nos riamos,
Y en esto enfadarse ha de quanto haremofc.
Otras cosa habra 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 deshaccrse
no sera, y os prometo, este el postrero."
BOSCAN. 38
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 1 543 ; 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 con-
sidered an imitator of the Italian style which he intro-
duced. It is true he adopted from the Italians their versi-
fication 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 a man ; less enthusiasm but a plainer and com-
pleter 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 dclci 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 some-
thing ethereal and goddess-like. How graceful, how full
of true poetic fire and love's enthusiasm is that inimi-
table stanza !
VOL. III. D
34) LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Still dear to Memory! when, in odorous showers,
ScMtterinx their balmy flowers
To summer airs, th' o'ershadowing branches bow'd,
The while, xvith 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 sen-
timents 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, pic-
turing 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 un ornamented 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 pre-
sents 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
BOSCAN.
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 sur-
passing beauty, which makes you pause, imbibe the
whole conception of the poet, and exclaim, This is
perfection !
D a
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA.
15031536.
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 know-
ledge ; 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.* The miscreant having
attached the Ave Maria to his horse's tail, all the
knights of Spain were eager to avenge the injury done
* This anecdote is usually told as appertaining to the father of the poet;
but the name was assumed by the fainily at an earlier date. There is a
romance introduced in the Guerras Civiles de Granada, commpinbrating
this action. Soriano and Wiffen are the authorities on which this biography
ii grounded. Bouterwek tells only what Sed.-mo had done before him ; in
the earlier portion of his work, Simondi i> scarcely more than a rifacciaraento
of Bouterwek.
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA. .3?
to our lady. Although a mere youth,, Garcilaso tri-
umphed, 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.* 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 sur-
rounding 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. Hit
* " 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."
D 3
LITKIIARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 Fle-
mish 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.* He was candidate for the distinc-
tion of captain-general of the Germanada or Brother-
hood (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.
* Wiffen.
GARCILASO DE LA VEG.\.
f< 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 1 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.
1 1 would appear, that after this battle Garcilaso re-
turned for a time to his native country. Since it was
soon tfter, 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 sup-
porter. At the age of four-and-twenty, in the year
1528, he married Dona 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 va-
rious 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 be-
friended 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 im-
prisonment which he commemorates in an ode, of which
we may quote some stanzas from Mr. Wiffen's transla-
D 4
40 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
lion, 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 j
Whose utter want of sympathy, and haughtiness austere,
Has been the cause of this from me thou very soon shall 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 Barba-
rossa. 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 deso-
lated many a Christian family, put himself at the head
of an armament to invade Tunis. Barbarossa exerted
GARCILASO DB LA VEGA. 41
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 Barba-
rossa 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 mar-
quis 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 fonvard 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, w r ho 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.* 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 in-
fluence. There Petrarch was examined by king Robert,
and declared worthy of the laurel crown ; there he de-
livered 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 djing day. There (and Garcilaso
* Wiffen.
42 LITERAHY AND SCIENTIFIC MEX.
seems to have felt deeply the influence of these poets)
Virgil and Sannazar wrote. The Spanish poet particu-
larly loved and admired Virgil. Imbued by his spirit,
he emulated his elegance and harmony, while he sur-
passed 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 be-
tween 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, Caesar'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 1 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,
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA. 43
Is not still sworn against me ? this strong fear
It is that cliill> 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 I
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 tlice !
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 fpr 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 : <e Signer 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 con-
sidered 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
44- LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 de-
voted 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 im-
possible 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 percep-
tion, 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 your-
self, or one on whom they would confer superior be-
nefits."
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA. 45
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 him-
self 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 in-
vade a country whose armies, however he might meet
victoriously in other fields, he could not hope to van-
quish 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 lighter
and gayer style than is usual with him ; while he dwells
with affectionate pleasure on the tie 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 thpu may'st new 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. "
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC 31 EN.
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 Avar. 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 Aries,
was obliged to retreat through a country roused to ex-
asperation 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 pas-
sage 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 Chris-
tian 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, tAventy-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 DE LA VEGA. 47
Garcilaso is always represented as the model of a
young and gallant soldier,, adorning his knightly accom-
plishments with the softer graces of a poet ; as an ima-
ginative 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. Wif-
fen 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 se-
cond 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 w r as banished to Oran
for a lampoon, and died on the passage. The only
daughter of the poet, donna Sancha de Guzman, mar-,
ried 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 produc-
tions 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. Emu-
lating Virgil in his refinement and dignity, Garcilaso
surpassed him in tenderness ; and certainly the ex-
pression of regret and grief was never more affectingly
48 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
and sweetly expressed than in the laments that com-
pose 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 Ne-
meroso, who mourns the death of his. It is supposed
that, under the name of Salicio,, Garcilaso personifies
himself, and commemorates the feelings which he ex-
perienced., when suffering from the inconstancy of a lady
whom he loved in his youth.
Nothing can exceed the living tenderness of the de-
serted 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
ba found in the following verses, wherein Salicio com-
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA. 49
plains of his Galatea's inconstancy, recalling the while
the dear images of her former tenderness.
" Through thee the silence of the shaded glen, *
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.
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 ! 'tis 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
1 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 xvaters 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.
* " For ti el silencio de la selva umbrosa,
por ti la esquividad y apartamiento
del solitario monte me agradava :
por ti la verde hierba, el fresco viento,
el bianco lirio y colorada rosa
y dulce primavera deseaba.
J Ay quanto me enganaba!
j 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 lagrimas corriendo.
; Quantas veces durmiendo en la floresta
(reputandolo yo por desvarlo)
vi mi mal entre suenos desdichado !
Soilaba, que en ei tiempo del estio
llevaba, por pasar alii la siesta.
a bever en el Tajo mi ganado ;
y despues de llegado,
sin saber de qu&l 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 lagrimas corriendo.
VOL. III. E
50 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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.
I Tu dulce habla en cuya oreja suena ?
& Tus claros ojos a quien los volviste ?
( For quien tan sin respeto me trocaste ?
< Tu quebrantada fe do la pusiste ?
(, Qua! es el cuello, que corno en cadcna
de tus hermosos brazos anudaste ?
No hay corazon que baste,
aunque fuese depiedra,
viendo mi amada yedra,
de mi arrsncada, en otro muro asida,
y mi parra en otro olmo entretegida,
que no se estfe con llanto deshaciendo
hasta acabar la vida.
Salid sin duelo lagrimascorriendo.
* * *
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
sueflo por escuchar mi llanto triste.
Tu sola contra mi te endurciste,
los ojos aun siquiera no volviendo
a lo que tu hiciste.
Salid sin duelos lagrimas comer.do.
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA. 51
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
\Vith 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 in-
constancy ruffles though it does not distort these sweet
stanzas. But there is more of soft melancholy in Ne-
moroso, more of the entire melting of the heart in sad
unavailing regret,
" Smooth, sliding waters, pure and crystalline, *
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,
* " Mas ya que a soceorrerme aqui no vienes,
no dejeS el lugar que tanto amaste ;
que bien podras venir de mi segura
yo dexare el lugar do me dejaste :
ven,si por solo este le detienes.
Ves aqui un prado lleno de verdura,
ves aqui unaespesura,
ves aqui una agua clara,
en otro tiempo cara,
a quien de ti con lagrimas me quejo,
quiza aqui hallaras, pues yo me al ejo,
al que todo mi bien quitarme puede:
que pues el bien le dejo,
no es mucho que el lugar tambien le quede.
Corrientes aguas, puras, cristalinas :
arboles, que os estais mirando en ellas :
verde prado, de fresca sombra lleno :
aves, que aqui sembrais vuestras querellas :
yedra, que por los arboles caminas,
torciendo el ^aso por su verde scno ;
yo me vi tan ageno
del grave mal que siento,
que de puro contento
E 2
52 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
With what delicious ease and pure content,
Your peace 1 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 comrnand,i
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 Eiiza ! 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.
con vuestra soledad me recreaba,
donde con dulce sueCo reposaba :
6 con el pensamiento discurria,
por donde no hallaba
sino memorias llenas de alegria.
* * *
,; Do estan agora aquellos claros ojos,
que lleveban tras sf como colgada
mi anima, do quier que se volvian ?
6 Do esta la blanca mano delicada,
llena de vencimientos y despojos
que de mi mis sentidos la ofrecian ?
Los cabellos, que vian
con gran desprecio al oro,
como a menor tesoro.
<; Adonde estan ? <; Adonde el bianco pecho ?
do la coluna, que el dorado techo
con presuncion graciosa sostenia ?
aquesto todo agora ya se encierra
por desventura mia,
en la friadesierta ydura tierra.
* V * *
Una parte guardt; de tus cabellos,
Elisa, envueltos en un bianco pafio,
que nunca de mi seno se me apartan :
aescojolos, y de un dolor tamano
enternecerme siento, que sobre ellos
nunca mis ojos de llorar se hartan.
Sin que alii se partan
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA. 53
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 forgetfulncss of grief."
Although this quotation has run to a great length, 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 ex-
quisite simplicity of the original; hut that is a charm
difficult indeed to transfer from one language to another.
Of the subject of the ode we receive the following ac-
count from the commentators. " The title of this ode
is derived from a quarter of a city of Naples called II
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. *
X.
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,
con suspiros calientes,
mas que la llama ardentes,
los enjugo del llanto, ye de consuno
casi los paso, y cuento uno a uno :
juntandolos con un cordon los ato :
tras esto el importuno
dolor me deja descansar un rato."
*'A LA FLOR DI GNIDO.
Si de mi baja Lira
tanto pudiese el son, que en un momenta
apla^case la ira
del animoso viento,
y el furia del mar, y el movimiento:
E 3
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
The lion's fiery soul entrance,
And lead along with golden tones
The fascinated trees and stones
In voluntary dance ;
n.
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.
in.
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
Pale as a lily clipt 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,
y en asperas montafias,
con el suave canto enterneciese
ias fieras alimufius,
los arboles moviese,
y al son confusamente los truxese :
No pienses que cantando
seria de mi, hermosa Hor de Gnido.
el h'ero Marte ayrado,
a muerte convertido,
de polvo, y sangre, y de sudor tefiido ;
ni aquellos capitanes,
en la sublime rueda colocados,
por quen los Alamanes
el fiero cuello atados,
ylos 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 ti sola
y por tu gran valor, y hermosura,
convertida in viola,
llora su desventur.i
el miserable amante en tu figura.
Hablo de aquel cautivo
de quien tener se deve mas cuidado,
que esta muriendo vivo
al remo condcnado,
en la concha de Venus amarrado.
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA. 55
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 Guide,
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
For ti como, solia,
del aspero caballo no corrige
la furia y gallardia
ni con freno le rige,
ni con vivas espuelas ya le aflige.
For ti, con diestra mano,
no revuelve la espada presurosa,
y en el dudoso llano
huye la polvorosa
palestra, come sierpe ponzouosa.
For ti su blanda Musa,
en lugar de la citara sonante,
tristes querellas usa,
que con llantd abundante
hacen bafiar el rostro del amante.
For ti 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 a la razon perdida
que pon/ouosa fiera
nuca fue aborrecida
tanto como yo del, 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 si destierra.
B 4
56 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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
Hagate temerosa
El caso de Anaxarete, y cobarde,
que de ser desdeiiosa
se arrepintio 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 alii tendido,
y al cuello el lazo atado,
con que desenlazo de la cadena
el corazon cuitado, .
que con su breve pena
compi6 la eterna punicion agena.
Sintio alii convertirse
en piedad amorosa el aspereza,
; O tarde arrepentirse !
jO, ultima terneza !
i como te sucedio mayor dureza?
Los ojos se enclavaron
en eJ tendido cuerpo, que alii vieron,
los huesos se tornaron
mas duros, y crecieron,
y en si toda la carne convirtieron.
Las en t ran as eladas
tornaron poco a poco en piedra'dura :
por las venas cuitadas
la sangre, su fignra
iba desconociendo, y su natura.
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA. 5?
Was wholly into marble changed ;
On which the Salaminiana gazed,
Less at the prodigy amazed,
Than of the crime avenged.
Xf.
Then tempt not thou Fate's angry arms,
By cruel frown, or icy taunt ;
But let thy perfect deeds and charms
To poets' harps, Divined, 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.
Hasta que, finalmente
en duro marmol vuelta, y transformada,
hizo de si la gente
no tan maravillada,
quanto de aquella ingratitud vengada.
No quieras tu, Sefiora,
de Nemesis ayrada las saetas
probar por Dios agora;
baste que tusperfetas
obras, y hermosura a los Poetas
den inmortal materia,
sin que tambien en verso lamentable
celebren la miseria
de algun caso notable,
que por ti pase triste y miserable."
58
MENDOZA.
15001575.
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 degene-
rated into severity, and his valour into vehemence of
temper. He was shrewd, worldly and arrogant, but im-
passioned 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 v
and his ambassador to Venice, Rome, England, and the
council of Trent, captain-general of Siena, and gon-
falonier 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
MKNDOZA. 59
was destined for the church, and from his most ten-
der years received a literary education. He was sent
to the university of Salamanca, where he studied theo-
logy, and became a proficient in the Latin, Greek, He-
brew, and Arabic languages, to which he applied him-
self 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 som-
bre master whose actions were all mysteries, and whose
locked-up wealth, used with so much secrecy and dis-
cretion, 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 Bias ;
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 states-
man ; and particularly in the latter capacity his talents
were appreciated by the emperor Charles V. He was
appointed ambassador* to Venice ; and, in the year
* The penetration with which Mendoza saw through the lofty pre-
tensions of diplomacy, and the keenness of his observation, which strip-
ped this science of all its finery, is forcibly expressed in one of his epistles.
He exclaims
" O embaxadores, purps majaderos,
que si los reges quieren eiiganar,
comiengan por noi-otros los primerofi.
Nuestro major negocio es, no dafiar,
y jamas hacer cosa, ni dezilla,
que no corramos riesgo de enseilar."
O ye ambassadors ! ye simpletons ! \Vhen 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.
60
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC -MEN.
1545, was deputed by his sovereign to attend the coun-
cil 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 whicn Siena was invariably a partisan. The Spaniards
prevailed. At the treaty of Cambria, the emperor be-
came possessed of acknowledged sway over a large por-
tion of that fair land : over the remainder he exercised
an influence scarcely less despotic. Florence,, adhering
with tenacious fondness to her ancient republican insti-
tutions, 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 em-
peror 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
MENDOZA. 6l
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 intim-
ation 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 en-
deavour to throw off the foreign yoke. On the 6th of
February 1 545, 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 after-
wards, 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 re-
solved to reduce the city to unqualified submission. Men-
doza was then ambassador at Rome. Charles named him
captain -general of Siena, and gave him orders to intro-
duce a Spanish garrison, and even to build a citadel for
its protection. Mendoza obeyed : as the subject of a des-
potic sovereign, he felt no remorse in crushing the
02 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
liberties of a republic. He did not endeavour to con-
ciliate, nor to enforce respect by the justice of his mea-
sures. 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. Com-
plaints against him were carried to the emperor, and,
when these remained without effect, his life was at-
tempted by assassination : on one occasion his horse
was killed under him by a musket shot, aimed at him-
self. But Mendoza was as personaUy 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
Home 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 in-
trigues 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 be-
tween 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 pro-
tracting 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
MENDOZA. 63
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 so-
licited 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 be-
sides 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 em-
peror's favour. Mendoza, distrusting the motive of his
offers, rejected them. He applied to the pope for as-
sistance : 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 them-
selves 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, pro-
claimed 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
64f LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC SfEX.
in which he was held, caused the emperor not long after
(1554) to recall him to Spain.
\Vhile 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 ma-
nuscripts at Florence, Sedano tells us there exists a
volume in quarto entitled, C( 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 ac-
quisition 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 dis-
tinguished 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 bitter 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
v/ould, doubtless, if consulted, tell us more about him
MENDOZA. 6.5
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, Men-
doza 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 seri-
ous offence, and Spanish etiquette caused it to be re-
garded 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 ad-
dressing the lady of his love in various redondillas.
Much of the latter part of his life was spent in re-
tirement 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 ex-
ceedingly pure. He took the Latin authors Sallust and
Caesar 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, al-
though 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
VOL. III. F
66
LITERARY AXD SCIENTIFIC MEN.
their revolt, " the inquisition began to persecute them
more than ever. The king ordered them to quit the
Moi'isco 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
oiT 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, Avere already interdicted ; and these new regu-
lations were published without augmenting the guards,
without sending troops, without reinforcing the garrisons
or establishing new ones." *
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 moun-
* Mendoza felt himself obliged in his own person to refrain from all cen-
sure 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 fol-
lowing 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
(very hour that they shall be taken from the arms of their mothers and
the bringing up of their father.*, and carried into distant lands, where they
will forget our customs, and learn to become the enemies of the fathers
\vho begot them, and the mothers who bore them. We are ordered to cast
oft' our national dress, and to adopt the Castilian. Germans dress after
cru- 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 ? "
MENDOZA. 67
tains of the Alpujarra : they chose forking the young
Fernando de Valor, descended from their ancient sove -
reigns, 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. ; Men-
doza'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 ter-
ritory into slavery. This total destruction of the Mo-
risco 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 repu-
tation caused him to be admired as an oracle ; his eru-
dition 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 Ambas-
sador. " 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,
F 2
68 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
his zeal, his integrity, his deep policy, his penetra-
tion, 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, ex-
pressed 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 li-
centious 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
MENDOZA. (]()
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.
70 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
LUIS DE LEON.
15271591.
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 li-
terary men of Spain, through the neglect of their con-
temporaries 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 Bos-
can 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 con-
centrated, 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 cha-
racter, more heroic, more soft, more romantic. Men-
doza, 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
LUIS DE LEON. 71
not earthly love pure and high-hearted, with the nobility
of genius stamped on his brow, but with religious i f-
signation 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
therebel 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 en-
thusiasm, 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
rnind : as it is, we know little, except that as his com-
positions 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
)f the inquisition, he touchingly speaks of his abandon-
ment in infancy, saying :
My mother died as soon as I was born,*
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
ht 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 resig-
nation, a taste for retirement, and pleasure in fulfilling
* " Luego como naci, murio mi madre :
a tl quede yo niuo encomendado:
dejoteme mi madre por tu'ora :
del vientre de mi madre en ti fue echado;
murio mi madre, dcsechome mi padre,
tu sola eres padre y madre al'.ora."
7~ LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 re-
spect, 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 ad-
mired 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 h?
taken, and it thus became spread abroad. Who was
the machinator of the disaster that ensued we are n<t
told ; but he was accused before the tribunal of the
inquisition of heresy, for disobeying the commands f
the church, in translating Scripture into the vulgir
tongue. He was seized^ and thrown into the prison f
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 dun-
geon, without light or space cut off from com-
munication 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.
LUIS DE LEON. 73
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 re-
duced. 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 imprison-
ment :
If I look back, I feel a wild despair *
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 1 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,
" 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 esta hiriendo,
mientras aquel en ver que me maltratan
contentos esta haciendo,
pero tristes en ver que no me matan.
c A' qual hombre jamas le fue negada
licencia de decir el mal quesiente ?
Que parece que alivia su tormento
fe mi, porque mi mal mas me atormiente,
la boca fuertemente me es corrada,
para que no publique el mal que siento ;
que es tal que si lo cuento,
74' LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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.
W T reck'd is my vessel on a shoreless sea,
W'here 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,
d un corazon mas duro
que una roca, u un muro,
6 sierpe, 6 basilisco, 6 tigre hircana,
sin duda hard llorar, y muy de gana
en sefial que mi mal les enternece ;
pero la furia insana
de los que me persiguen siempre crece.
En ningun hoinbre hallo ya consuelo :
la lumbrc de mi ojos no es conmigo
el mas estrecho, fiel, y caro amipo
huir& la tierra, el mar, el alto cielo,
a trueco de se ver de mi apartado.
Si mirb al diestro lado,
no hallo solo un hombre
que sepa ya mi n ombre;
y asi yo mismo dl tambien me olvido,
y nose mas de mi de que hube sido ;
si mi troquo, si soy quien antes era,
aun nunca lone sabidp,
que no me d& lugar mi suerte ficra.
Metido estoy en este mar profundo,
d6 no hay quien me socorra, quien me ayudc ,
dd no hay quien para mi tienda su mano.
Llamo a los hombres, mas ninguno acude :
no tengo hombre algunoen todo el mundo
estoy ronco de dar voces en vano :
tom<? un consejo sano
despue* de tanto acuerdo,
que el mal me hizo cuerdo :
LUIS DE LEON. 75
Bids mo, O Virgin ! trust to thec 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 jny poor mother's dying prayer ;
A second parent thou, () 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 con-
trast with these laments, we have a description of an-
other mood of mind, which he gives in an epistle to a
friend on hi? 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.
& ti sola pedir socorro quiero,
que delos que tellaman no te escondes :
pues me ves que me muero,
I como, piadosa Madre, no respondes ?
* * *
Luego como naci muriu mi Madre ;
6. ti qued yo niflo encomendado :
dejoteme mi madre por tutora ;
del vientre de mi madre en ti fueechado :
muri.i mi madre, desech6me el padre,
tu sola eres padre y madre ahora ;
i y puede ser, SeOora,
que un hijo tuyo muera
muerte tan lastimera,
siendo por ti mil otros socorridos ?
6 Porque me cierras, Virgen, los oidos ?
e^Porque no escucharme? < Di, porque te abscondes ?
Y si oyes mi gemidos,
6 como, piadosa Madre, no respondes ? "
7t> LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 employ-
ments." It is some consolation to find that his im-
prisonment 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 edify-
ing 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
15.91, 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, de-
spite 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
LUIS DE LEON.
objects that ever called his attention from pious con-
templations ; 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 reli-
gious 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 exer-
cised such barbarous sway, was visited by its cruelty
and injustice, to prove that no obedience and no excel-
lence 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 hu-
mility, 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 curio-
sity. 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 in-
tervened 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 per-
secution. 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." And thus
* " Dicebamus hesterno die : Pro suis insignibus habet salicem, ad cuius
pedem secuta et hjec verba: Per damna per caedes. VrrUiosum enico
78 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
he adopted for his emblem, a pruned tree with the knife
ts foot, and the motto " Ab ipso ferro."
a tlu'olodan, 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
ts. He was well versed in Hebrew, Greek, and
Latin, besides being entire master of his native Casti-
lian. His poetry is held in great estimation : the purity
and elegance of his style are unsurpassed. Those Spa-
niards, 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 pro-
priety of his ideas, and the truth and simplicity the
extreme ease and animation, of his style. It is unorna-
mented 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, Ti-
bullus, and Theocritus. He translated all the Eclogues
of Virgil, and the first book of his Georgics. 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 Casti-
lian. In an inferior poet this attempt had been indis-
creet 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.
II > is chiefly blamed because the beauty of his para-
phrases is so great: and they have taken such hold of
i zermon oritur ex passionil.'iis ct summis cruciatibus.
litur, et nuei* L-erininans, ramos extollitur ; et
itur : sahx, isahei:0.<.>, et ceieritate crescendi."
LUIS DE LEON. 79
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, *
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 !
* " Folgaba el rey Rodrigo,
con la hermosa Caba en la ribera
de Tajo sin testigo :
El pecho saco fuera,
El rio, y le hablo 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 ceCido.
SO LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
' O what wail and weeping spring
Inrth from this, thine hour of mirth,
From yon 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, tierce 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.
' ;Av esa tu alegria
que llanto acarrea ! y esa hermosa,
que vio el sol en mal dia,
a Espafia ay quan llorosa,
y al ceptro de los Godos quan costosa !
' Llamas, dolores, guerras,
muertos asolamientos, fieros males,
entre tus brazos cierras,
trabajos immortales
a ti y a tus vasallos naturales.
A' los que en Constantina
rompen el fertil suelo, a los que bafla
El Ebro, a la vecina
Sansuefia, 6 Lusitafia,
a toda la especiosa y triste Espana.
Ya desde Cadiz llama
el injuriado Conde, a la venganza
atento, y no a la fama,
la barbara pujanza
en quien, para tu daCo, no hay tardanza.
Oye que al cielo toca
con temcroso son la trompa fiera,
que en Africa convoca
el Moro a la vandera
que el ayre desplegada va li~era.
LUIS DE LEON. -' 1
' See their spears tlie Arabs shako,
Smite the wind, the war demand ;
Millions in a moment wake,
Join, and swarm o'er all the sand.
Underneath their sails, the MM
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 jEolus 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?
' !n 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 j
Dart abroad thy flashing brand,
Bare thy fatal scimitar.
' 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 cr'ece,
el polvo roba el dia y le obscurece.
' ; Ay que ya presurosos
Suben las largas naves, ay que tienden
los brazos vigorosos
a los remos, y encienden
las mares espumosas por do hienden .'
' El Eolo derecho
hinchela vela en popa, y larga entrada
por el Herculeo estrecho
con la punta aceraria
el gran padre Xeptuno da a la Armada.
' ! Ay triste y aun te tiene
el mal dulce regazo, ni ilamado
a! mal que sohreviene
no acorres ! < Ocupado
no ves ya al puerto a Hercules sagrado ?
VOL. III. G
82 LITERARY AXD SCIENTIFIC MEN.
' 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 shall 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 I thy doom is seal'd
Madden madden in thy chains ! ' "
' Acude, acorre, buela,
trapasa el alta sierra, occupa el llano,
no perdones la espuela,
no dez paz a la mano,
menea fulminando el hierro insano.
' l Ay quanto de fatiga !
; Ay quanto de dolor estd presente
al que biste loriga,
al Infante valiente,
a hombres, y 6 caballos juntamente !
' Y, tu, Betis divino,
de sangre agena y tuya amancillado,
daras al mar vecino
; quanto yelmo quebrado!
; quanto cuerpo de nobles destrozado
' El furibondo Marte
cinco luces las haces desordena,
igual a cada parte :
la scxta ; ay! te condena,
6 cara pat'ria, 6 barbara cadena I ' "
S3
HERRERA, SAA DE MIRANDA, JORGE DE
MONTEMAYOR, CASTILLEJO, THE DRA-
MATISTS.
15001567.
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
clown 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 j 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, en-
titled " 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.
G 2
84 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 colour-
ing, powerful and forcible as well as elegant and beauti-
ful ; 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 c 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 ; Fran-
cisco 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 ad-
mirer 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 em-
ployed himself on a general History of Spain, to the time
IIEURERA. 85
of the emperor Charles V., which he brought up to the
year 1 590. 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 mo-
deration of his fortune ; for though every one praises
merit, few seek and fewer reward it."*
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 deVega
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
*. Sedano.
G 3
86 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the subjects he celebrates in his poetry, and the dignity
of his verse.
Herrera is a great favourite with those Spanish cri-
tics \vho 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 ex-
pression. Lope de Vega held Herrera's versification in
high esteem : quoting a passage from his odes, he ex-
claims, " 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 ban-en, wanting in suavity and flow, and in-
j ured 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
v.-e 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
poetiy of the bead rather than the heart. And thus,
BERBER A. 8?
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 feel-
ing, feelingly expressed.
i" Suave sueno, tu que en tarde buelo
las alas perezosas blandamente
bates, de adormideras coronaclo,
por el puro, adormido, vago cielo,
ven a la ultima parte de Ocidente,
y de licor sagrado
bana mi ojos tristes que cansado
y rendido al furor de mi tormcnto,
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 ofrecio, tu Ninfa bella.
Divino Sueno, gloria de mortales,
regalo dulce al misero afligido :
Sueno amoroso, ven a quien espera
cesar del egercicio de sus males,
y al descanso bolver todo el sentido.
I Como sufres que muera
lejos de tu poder quien tuyo era ?
<j No es vileza olvidar un solo pecho
en veladora pena,
que sin gozar del bien ohe al mundo has hecho,
de tu vigor se agena ?
Ven, Suefio alegre : Sueno, 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 fue'rza tiene el pesar mio :
y mi frente humidece,
que ya de fuegos juntos el Sol crece.
Torna, sabroso SueCo, 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 Sueno, de tus flores
ofrezco : tu 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 Sueno, los desppjos.
Ven pues, amado Suefio, ven liviano,"
que del ruo Oriente
Despunta eltierno Febo el rayo cano,
Ven ya, Sueno clemente,
y acabara el dolor ; asi te vea
en brazos de tu cara Pasitca."
G 4
S8 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
SAA DE MIRANDA.
AT this same period, so fertile "in Spain with poetic ge-
nius, there flourished two Portuguese poets, whose names
are introduced here from their connection with Spanish
poetry. Saa de Miranda was born in 1494, and died
in 1558. His Spanish poems are bucolic, and more
truly imbued with rural imagery than thatof 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 some-
times mingled a higher tone of description with his rural
pictures ; thus imitating nature, who associates the terri-
ble with the lovely, the storm and the soft breath of
evening. At the same time, none excels Saa de Mi-
randa 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.*
Nor does his poetry want the charm of melancholy sen-
timent, nor the vehemence of passion ; while all that he
writes has the peculiar merit of a harmony and grace all
his own.
* " 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. 89
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 Ger-
many, Italy, and the Low Countries, having in his
suitea 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.
90 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
This lady in other poems is called Marfida : 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, contem-
poraries 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 por-
tions.
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 resig-
nation 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. ]n the second, events of more action are intro-
duced : the scene even changes to a sort of fairy tale ;
but though the machinery of the story alters, the sen-
timents remain the same, conceived in the language of
p;i-sion 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
JORGE DE filONTEMAYOR. 91
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 senti-
ments, 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 ex-
pression of real feeling.
The " Diana " superseded for a time the books of chi-
valry, of which the Spaniards were so fond. Since
Amadis first appeared, no work had been so popular.
Cervantes, who imitated it in his <e 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 : <c 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 : <e Let us
begin by the Cf Diana " of Montemayor : 1 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."
92 LITERARV AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Such was the reputation that Montemayor acquired
by this romance, that the queen of Portugal was de-
sirous 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 *, where, even, is not known ; for some say in
Portugal, some in Italy : the dates tolerably agree,
those named being 156l and 1562, so that he was
scarcely more than forty at the time of his death.
CASTILLEJO.
To give a catalogue raisonnee 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 Fernanda 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 lan-
guage 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
sl.iiio tells us that the queen Catalina of Portugal, on recalling him,
rred on him an honourable situation in the royal household. The
< <>t' his drath is ascertained through an elegy which is printed in all the
itions of the "Diana -," and which mentions that he died in 1562
CASTILLEJO. 93
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 Espanol." 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 com-
positions, 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 fyrue 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
^i LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
To castigate in native Spain
A heresy as bad as any
That Luther, to our grief and pain,
lla> introduced in Germany.
The Anabaptists' crime they share,
And well deserve their punishment :
Petrarchists the new name they bear,
\Vhich they assume with bad intent - f
And they are renegades most fierce
To the old Castilian measure;
Believing in Italian verse,
Finding there more grace and pleasure.*
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 ap-
pear 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 ani-
mation and wit which is the proper charm of poetry of
this class.
" Pues la santa Inquisicion
suele ser tan diligente,
en castigar con razon
qualquier secta y opinion
levantada nuevamente :
resncitese luzero
a castigar en Espaila
una inuy nueva y estraila,
como a quello de Lutero
en las paries de Alemafia.
Bien se pueden castigar
a cuenta de Anabaptistas
pues por ley particular
se tornan & baptizar
y se Uaman Petrarquistas
Han renegade la te
de la trobas Castellanas
y tras las Italianas
su pierden, diziendo, que
son mas ricas y gakmas."
FERNANDO DE ROXAS. 95
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 men-
tioned : 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. Be-
sides 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 un-
known 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 commu-
nication 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 in-
9C LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC BIEN".
creases the romantic and tragic interest of the tale. Celes-
tina introduces herself into Melibea's house. She cor-
rupts 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 com-
position ; 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 shadow-
ing forth the passions and events they themselves ex-
perienced.
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 to-
wards improving the drama, was an attempt to in-
troduce 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 <c La
\ I'^anza 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 io read this sentence, and to turn to the bald
THE DRAMATISTS. 97
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
Berinudez, 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 in-
terest, 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 jus-
tice, 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 w r hich is the
vengeance the infante don Pedro took on her mur-
derers 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 histori-
cally 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 Bartolome Torres Naharro, a native of Es-
tremadura, 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 reput-
VOL. III. H
98 LJTERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
ation 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 doubt-
less represented in that city, whither Naharro himself
removed, driven from Rome by the difficulties in which
his satirical works involved him.*
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 ex-
cellent 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 re-
mained 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 con-
versations, 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
* Bouter-.vck. Pellicer.
THE DRAMATISTS. 9
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 mu-
sicians, 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 gen-
erally consist of ridiculous quarrels, in w T hich a clown
plays the principal part.* 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 un-
masked 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.
* Bouterwek.
H 2
100 LITERAUY AND SCIENTIFIC 3IE.V.
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 liter-
ature at this time. The infancy of Spanish poetry was
such as might have been expected from a chivalrous na-
tion; its themes were love and war, its heroes national, and
its style such as to render it popular. The continued strug-
gle 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 dis-
position and retired habits, naturally dwelt with compla-
cency 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. Men-
doza, 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
LITERATURE UNDER CHARLES V. 101
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 compo-
sitions.
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 dis-
tinctive 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 imagin-
ations 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, LazariD.o
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 ima-
ginations, the most ardent and the most wild, the most
true and the most beautiful, found expression.
All the authors hitherto mentioned were born 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
H 3
102 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC ME.V.
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; author-
ship became general ; and poetry grew into one of the
chief pleasures of the court.
103
ERCILLA.
15331600.
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 ad-
mitted 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 qua-
lities in which, 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, occasion-
H 4
104 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
ally 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. QNote 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 gene-
rally 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,
Doha Leonor de Zuniga (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 trans-
ferred 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 nienino QNote 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 en-
abled 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 ' ' gentle-
man" and "soldier" were at that time nearly synonymous;
and Don Alonso, though bred a courtier, and following
his royal master in that capacity, \vas probably con-
ERCILLA. 10/>
sidered 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*, 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 suc-
cessor, he aspired to the crown of England for the future
king of Spain. A marriage between Philip and the Eng-
lish 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 ap-
peared 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
Srcilla's adventurous disposition, this opportunity of
nilitary honour was too tempting to be resisted. He
left the personal service of the prince, to follow the ade-
* Araucana, canto xxxvi.
106 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
lantado in his distant expedition, and girded on his
sword *, as he himself says, for the first time,, being then
in the twenty-first year of his age. Geronimo de Al-
derete, 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 indi-
viduals 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
Canete, was at that time viceroy of Peru ; a man belong-
ing 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 Arau-
canos. 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 re-
gions. 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 perse-
vering. 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
* Araucana, canto xiii.
ERCILLA. 1 07
to other Indian tribes, as well in the strength of their
frames as in the vigour of their intellects; strong, fero-
cious, arrogant ; filled with a generous spirit, and thus
averse to subjection, to avoid which they readily peril
their lives.* " Though masters," says Ercillat, " 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 free-
dom." Their gallant stand against the invaders of Ame-
rica was at last crowned with success. Instead of the
subjects, they became the honourable foes, and in pro-
cess of time the allies and friends, of the Spanish mo-
narchy. 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 se-
vered the colonies from their mother-country, the Arau-
canos 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 emi-
nently distinguished, according to the testimony of nearly
all the Spanish writers QNote 6.], and to his own rather
boastful account. He had an ample opportunity to in-
dulge 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
* Cristobal Suarez de Figueroa, Hechos de Don Garcia Hurtado de
Mendoza, edit Madrid, 1613, p. 18.
t Araucana, Preface, p. iv. Madrid, 1776.
108 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
insufficient for his aspiring ambition, and as little
did the matter for observation on men and coun-
tries, although the supply was unusually copious, sa-
tisfy the cravings of his inquisitive mind. Determined
to accomplish more, he penetrated into the further-
most 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 archi-
pelago of Ancudbox ; and in the same manner, though
with less of gasconade Note 1.~\ than was long after
shown by an enterprising French traveller, in an oppo-
site 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 con-
sequence 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, chival-
rous 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 con-
fusion. 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
ERCILLA. 109
prison; and the irritated general, being desirous of mak-
ing 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 inform-
ation having convinced Don Garcia that the quarrel had
been accidental, the severe sentence was revoked.* 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 t ; 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 un-
sheathed his sword, which he never drew without being
most clearly in the right. 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 , 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. || 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.51
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 adula-
tory 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 state-
* Suarez de Figueroa, Hist, of Don Garcia, Madrid, 1613, pp. 103, 104.
f Arauc. canto xxxvii. J Arauc. canto xxxvi.
$ Suarez de Figueroa, pp. 104. 121. |[ Ibid. p. 104. H Ibid.
110 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
ment 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 w r as under many obligations
to Don Garcia * ; 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 nar-
ration 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 furi-
ously enraged against each other, and fought with in-
human ferocity, till ultimately the prince prevailed." t
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
* Suarez de Figueroa, p. 104. f Herrera, decada vii. lib. i. cap. i. p. 2.
EllCILLA. 1 1 1
memory of an unsuccessful rebel. In the style of the
age, Ercilla compares him to Herod and Nero *; 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 re-
turn 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 Ter-
ceiras, 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 ac-
cordingly 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.t Having gone back to Spain,
he married, at Madrid, Dona 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 him-
self 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 judg-
ment 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 Doi'ia Maria, a
branch of the stem of Bazan."
Though the emperor and queen of Spain had stood
* Arauc. canto xxxvi. f Arauc. canto xviii.
112 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
sponsors to the happy pair QNote 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 dis-
regard 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 with-
held from him ; a consciousness which is itself a.
reward, of which the man of rectitude and honour can
never be deprived by external circumstances.*
The following anecdote is recorded respecting Er-
cilla 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 w r ell
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 t), and the king granted his
request.
What the nature of this request \vas it is impossible
to ascertain, because Ercilla constantly complains of his
having been totally neglected and forgotten. The anec-
dote, 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
stern disposition of Philip appears to have struck even
* Araucana, canto xxxvii. f Avisos para Palacio, p.lD4.
ERCILLA. 1 1
t>
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.* 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, t 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 com-
memorate 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 ex-
isted, 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 Espahol^, 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, impa-
tient 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 abo-
riginal natives, than was evinced by the generality of
* Most of the celebrated Spanish dramatists (Lope de Vega, Calderon,
Morcto, and others,) became clergymen in their old age, and deplored that
they had written for the stage.
f Araucana, canto xxxvii. J VoL ii. p. 199.
VOL. III. - I
i I ! LITEIIAKY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
his fellow-soldiers and fellow-writers. That this arose
from his discontent has heen malignantly asserted by
his enemies, but without sufficient evidence. The exe-
cution of Caupolican, the Indian general, which he so
indignantly condemns, was a fact of glaring and atro-
cious 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 con-
quests j 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 pub-
lished, but it is stated in an article in the Quarterly
Review *, that there exists one in manuscript from the
pen of Mr. Boyd, known as one of the English trans-
lators of Dante. The writer of Ercilla's life, in the
French Biographie Universelle, speaks of a French
translation by M. Langles, 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. t Of the excellence of the
speech so praised (without meaning to enter into a com-
parison with Homer) no doubt can exist, and the judg-
ment passed upon it by Voltaire deserves the more to be
Oiiarterly Ilcvicw, n.
t Voltaire, JCssai sur la Poesie Epique, liv. 8. Raynouard, p. 40G.
ERCILLA. 1 1 5
relied upon, as, according to Bouterwek's acute remark *,
he was a better judge of rhetorical than of poetical ex-
cellence. 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 Er-
cilla's poem. Latterly the writer in the Biographie
Universelle already quoted has expressed a more favour-
able opinion of the Araucana, and has perhaps erred on
the other side, psote 10.]
It is to Hayley that the English are indebted for a
knowledge of the work in question : his analysis and par-
tial 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, per-
haps, 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, be-
sides, 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 Spen-
serian stanza, or with the Italian and Spanish octava, so
happily adopted by Fairfax in his Tasso, how far the
mechanism of this measure affects thf 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 ori-
ginally adapted to the former must appear distorted
when brought by a forced adaptation to the latter.
* Bouterwck, Hist, of Spanish Literature, trans. Lend. 1823, p. 412.
i 2
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC 3IEN.
From the discordant opinions of critics of all nations
respecting the Araucana, we may safely infer that, al-
though 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 preten-
sions 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 sub-
jects 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 w T rite 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.
T>on Alonso, however, w r as 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 ex-
press 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 work-
, of the human heart. His warlike habits directed
his attention to those fierce passions which rage in the
.ior'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
ERCILLA. 11?
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 pourtrayedj
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 pecu-
liar 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 physi-
ognomy 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 cf 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 cer-
tainly be found tedious ; but parts of it may be pe-
rused 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.
i 3
118 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 Biographic 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
Espanol : 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.
N IE 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 co-
lumns 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*. 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 G. Licentiate Cristoval Mosquera de Figueroa speaks of Er-
cilla's prowess at the battle of Millarapue, and the engagement at Puren,
where, followed by eleven fellow-soldiers, he climbed up a mountain de-
fended 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
right or field-day (p. 60.) ; but he was prejudiced against him.
NOTE 7. The last line of the inscription here alluded to,
Hie 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, at-
tended 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, re-
turning 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.
1 ti order to accommodate them to measure and rhyme, the author is often
driven to very curious shifts, and strange phraseology.
ERCILLA. 1 I f)
NOTES. Luis de Salazar Advertcncias Historicas, p. 1,1. 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.
NOTED. Dictionnaire Historique de Moreri, art. ERCILLA. The sub-
ject 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 Gierusalemme, and superior to Voltaire's Hen-
riade. 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 fol-
lowing 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 Arau-
cana, 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 recom-
mendation of an epic poem !
i 4
120 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN
CERVANTES.
15471616.
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 in-
finitely increases the pleasure it affords, yet so does its
mere meaning speak to all mankind, that even a trans-
lation 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 con-
sistent with humanity, and that he tasted to its full the
triumph due to the writer of the most successful book
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 com-
miserate 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,
CEllVAXTES. 121
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 un-
daunted 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 con-
temporaries 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
Viardot. 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 examin-
ation 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 forti-
tude 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
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 Alcala 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, 1 547, the
reverend sefior 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 Bias
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 Alcala ; however, it would seem
that the different families of these two towns were con-
nected, 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 nincontrovertibly in favour of Alcala:
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 1 547, 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 Alcala de Henares, and the son of Rodrigo
Cervantes and donna Leonora de Cortina. Thus the
question is set at rest; and it becomes matter of positive
CERVANTES. 123
history that Cervantes was born at Alcala 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 Galicia, and afterwards
established in Castile, belonged to the same class in
society, in which he places Don Quixote. They were
hidalgos (hijos de algo, sons of somebody,) and, there-
fore, 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 distri-
butions 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 Ossuna. 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.*
Very little is known of his early life. The town of
Renares 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
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
* Viardflt
124 LITKRAKY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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.* 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 ac-
quired, 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 at-
tained 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 en-
couraged 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 hap-
pened 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
* Tliis circumstance is mentioned by M. Viardot only; and was an.
known to every other biographer.
CERVANTES. i - ->
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 Cas-
tilian redondillas on the death of her majesty, which, as
appears, indulge in rhetorical imagery, and at the con-
clusion 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 Espincsa, also written by Cervantes.
Neither of these poems give promise; they are common-
place, worcly, and deficient both in sentiment and imagi-
nation.
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, receiv-
ing 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. 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, 15(59.
and securing a patron for life. We may believe that 52tat.
the recommendation of De Hoyos, and the talents of the - 1 -
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
1~? LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
which he afterwards described in his writings, and which
he at no other time had an opportunity of visiting.
What hopes and views he nourished in his own heart
jtat. on visiting Rome we cannot tell. He was now in his
L '~ 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. l( The war against the Turks," his bio.
grapher, Los Rios, observes, "which was declared in
3 570, 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.
1570. To return to the Turkish war, during which he served.
ALtaL The sultan Selim, being desirous of possessing himself
1>s - of the island of Cyprus, broke the peace which he had
made with the Venetian republic, and sent an arma-
ment for the conquest of this island. The Venetians
implored the aid of the Christian sovereigns. Pc;v
Pius V., in consequence, sent a force, commanded by
Marco Antonio Colonna, duke of Paliano. Cervantes
enlisted under this general, and served during the cam-
paign, which began late in the year, the object of which
was to succour Cyprus, and raise the siege of Nicosia.
The dissensions 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.
1571. During the following year greater efforts were made
l - by the Christians. The combined fleet of Venice, Spain,
'~' 1 - and of the pope, assembled at Messina. Marco Antonio
CERVANTES. 127
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 Aus-
tria, 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 againt 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 Mes-
sina, where the combined fleet met. In the distribution
now made of the troops on boartl 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.*
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 ?th October, in
the entrance of the gulph of Lepanto. The battle
began about noon : the confederates achieved a splen-
did victory ; but it was a very sanguinary one, and, not
being followed up by other successes, it remained a use-
less trophy of Christian valour.
Cervantes was at this time suffering from an inter-
mittent 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
Viardftt
J2S LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN'.
Kirvpt. In this bloody fray Cervantes received three
arqurbuse \vc-innls ; two in the chest, and one that
hro'.c and destnued his left hand. He always,, how-
ver, P. -arded this loss with pride, and says, in one of
his \\orks, that the honour of having been at the battle of
Lepanto was cheaply bought by the wounds he there
receiv. '.
The advance of the season, the want of provisions,
tin 1 number of their wounded, and the express orders of
king Philip, prevented the victorious fleet from follow-
ing up its victory; and don John returned to Messina
on the 3 1st 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. Den 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 Viardot has discovered
mention of various small sums given him by the pay
office (pagaduria) of the fleet, under the dates of the
l.~th and l J.~>th of January, and the 9 tn and 17th of
March, 1572. When at last he recovered, an order was
addressed by the generalissimo, on the 2f)th 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.
157'J. 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
the 6th of June for the Archipelago, with a part
of the allied fleet ; and, among others, the thirty-six
galleys df the marquis of Santa Cruz, on board of which
- embarked the regiment of Figuerca, in which
C< rved.
' John sailed on the 9 tn f August following;
but t:'.<- on; /prise they attempted was an unsuc-
:ul assault en the castle of Navariuo ; thus the
CERVANTES. 129
account given of this disastrous campaign in the story of
the captive in "Don Quixote" was related by Cervantes
as an eye-witness.
During the following year the Venetians signed a 1573.
peace with Selim ; and the league being broken up, -dEtat.
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, there-
fore, 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,
15 T^j he obtained leave from don John of Austria to
return to Spain, after an absence of seven years. Viardot
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.
Cervantes, now twenty-eight years of age,having served 1 575
in many campaigns, maimed and enfeebled, no doubt -<tat.
pined to revisit his native country. He had left it to 28-
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 j ever
expecting his slender pay, which he seldom receives,
VOL. III. K
1 .']Q LITER.MIY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
or is obliged to seize on, at the hazard of his life,, and
to the injury of his conscience ; the hardships he en-
counters, the dangers he risks, and the small reward he
rain-. yet he looks on all these circumstances as re-
dounding 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.*
Such recommendations promised fair. Cervantes em-
barked 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
piiMt'.-s, who possessed themselves of Algiers and Tunis.
The horror of this warfare had excited the emperor
Charles V. to undertake to crush it. Pie made two
ditions into Africa, the second of which was unsuc-
* Viardot.
CERVANTES. 131
essful, and the Algerine corsairs pursued their nefarious
traffic with greater cruelty and success than ever : every
particular connected with it was frightful and deplora-
ble : 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, par-
ticularly, 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 Alge-
rines, and the system to which they reduced their
practice of slavery, raised them to a ' f bad height" in
this war of reciprocal cruelty. None, also, were more
pitiless than the renegades ; Christians who, taken pri-
soners, bought their freedom by the sacrifice of their
faith. These men, often the most energetic and pros-
perous 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 w r ere treated at Algiers.
He says, " There is a prison or house, which the Turks
call a bagnio, in which the Christian captives are con-
fined, those belonging to the king as well as to various
inviduals ; 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 be-
lt 2
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC JIEX.
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 indi-
viduals place their slaves in this bagnio, and principally
those whom they expect to be ransomed, because they
art- kept there more securely. The captives of the
kiiiL r , 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
c.iu-e: 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
v-antonness, 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 lil>erty, 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."*
In these terms dees Cervantes speak of himself in
his captivity ; and so often are writers accused of boast-
ing that this might have been brought forward as a
proof of his vanity merely, but that we have another
mony in a book named "Topography and general
rwek says, rrronemi^y, that Los Rios has interwoven Cervantes's
1 ' into his biography, as being authentic, and relating
to linn.-cif. This is a mistake : Lc- Rios conceives, indeed, that the men-
iptive 'if "a solii'u r, !>y name Saaveiira," alludes to
ii that surname, as of course he does ; but
tho hi>tiry I , "vitvis drawn from other sources, such as
, u.tli vur.e additions, for the present narrative.
CERVANTES. 133
History of Algiers, by Father Diego cle Haedo*," 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 disco-
vered 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 cap-
tives refers to those best off. The rest were either em-
ployed 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. His first attempt
was made in conjunction with several others, under the 1576.
design of reaching Oran (a town of Africa, then in posses- -^ tat -
sion 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
Gabriel de Castafieda, were ransomed in the middle of
the year 1576. Castaneda took letters from the captive
brothers to their father, Rodrigo Cervantes, describing
* Topographia y Historia general de Argel, repartido en cinco tratados,
do se veran cases estranos, muertas espantoas, y tormentas exquisitas,
que convier.e se entiendan en la christianidad : con mucha doctrina y
elegancia curiosa. For el iMaestro Fray Diego de Haedo, Abad de Funes-
tra. Fol. Valladoiid, 1611.
K 3
1.11, LIir.KAKY AND SCIENTIFIC 3IF.X.
their iiiUTahle situation. He instantly sold or mort-
... -<1 hi* littk- property, and, indeed, every thing he
sed, even to the dowry of his daughters, who were
not yet married ; the whole family being thus reduced
to penury. The entire sum, unhappily, did not suffice
1577. for the redemption of both brothers. Miguel accord-
' iiiiily nave up his share to secure the freedom of Rodrigo,
set free in August, 1/577. 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
rtiect 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 cap-
tives 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
\ ilia de Melilla, a small -town of Barbary, subject to
the kin- 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
Mirnainrd el Dorador, or the Gilder, had it particularly
in eharge to supply the fugitives with food and necessa-
. buying them with the money given him, and bring-
ing them sivretly to the cavern.
J lie runaways had now been hidden for seven months :
confineiiKnt was irksome and unhealthy, and they
CERVANTES. 1 :',~>
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
llaedo says, " what these men suffered in the cavern, and
what they said and did, would deserve a particular ac-
count/' Several fell sick, and all endured incredible hard-
ship ; while through all they were supported and encou-
raged 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 Viana, accustomed
to the sea, and well acquainted with the coast of Bar-
bary, 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 con-
certed, 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, cry-
ing 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 disap-
pointment, they still supported themselves with the hope
of succeeding at last in their attempt. Unfortunately the
K 4?
136 LITFllARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Porador 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
Malu.iiK'tan, and asked his permission ; while, as a proof
s J. .7 X i
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 gar-
dener ; they then made for the cave, and captured all the
Christians.
The traitor Dorador had mentioned Cervantes, whom
Ilaedo names " a distinguished hidalgo of Alcala 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 pos-
sible, 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 extort
ing money.
But all his endeavours were vain ; and though his
merciless disposition gave Cervantes every cause to ap-
prehend a cruel death, he, with undaunted firmness,
CERVANTES. ~l"7
continued to reiterate that the whole enterprise ori-
ginated 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.
Soon after Hassan Aga himself purchased him from 1573.
Mami, either hoping to gain through his ransom, or to JLtat.
keep a betterwatch over his restless attempts. At one time 31.
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 unfor-
tunate man was condemned to be impaled, and Cervantes
was sentenced to the bastinado ; but, from some undis-
covered influence, his punishment on this occasion,
as well as every other, was remitted.*
This ill success did not daunt his courage. In Sep- 1579.
tember, 1579^ he formed acquaintance with a Spanish /Etat.
renegade, the licentiate Giron, born at Granada, who 3i *.
had taken the name of Abd-al-Rhamen. This renegade
was eager to return to his native country, and reassume
* Viardfit.
LITKKAKY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the Christian faith. With him Cervantes concerted a
new plan of escape : they had recourse to two Valen-
cian merchants, established at Algiers, Onofrio Exarch ;
and Hatluuar de Torres: they assisted in the plot;
and the former contributed 1.500 doubloons for the
price of an armed frigate with twelve banks of oars,
which Abd-al-Khamen bought under the pretence of
p'ing 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 con-
fiscate 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 mak-
ing 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 bag-
nio, and was hidden at the house of one of his old mili-
tary comrades, the ensign Diego Casti llano. 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 inter-
cession of a Murcian renegade, Morato Raez Matrapillo,
who was a favourite with Hassan Aga. The dey de-
manded the names of his accomplices of Cervantes, and
threatened him with immediate execution if he refused.
; \ antes 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. lie 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
<>f his countryman's conduct, exclaims on this, that his
CERVANTES.
noble conduct deserved " renown, honour, and a crown
among Christians."
The dey had now become thoroughly frightened. Cer-
vantes's late plots were not limited merely to the attainment
of freedom; he aimed at raising the whole captive popula-
tion 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 se-
cure, while he keptthat 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 Tri-
nity, 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 com-
pliment 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.
I 10 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
a widow, coull only contribute 250 ducats, his sister 50
more. This sum was placed in the hands of the friars
Juan (iil and Antonio de la Vella, who arrived in Algiers
in Mav, 1 .">SO, for the purpose of treating for the re-
demption of various captives. For a long time they
wi-rc unable to bring the dey into any terms with regard
to Cervantes: the sum of 1000 golden ducats was ex-
orbitant, 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.*
* For the sake of the curious we append a translation of the registry of
Cervantes'8 liberation, as found by Los Rios in the archives of the order
of mercy, ar.d quoted by him in his" "Proofs of the Life." These documents
onMst 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 oCO ducats,
at eleven rials each ducat, being 250 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 Alcala, now
in this court ^t/iis cxprcssinn is always used to signify Madrid), to con-
tribute to the ransom of Miguel de Cervantes, an inhabitant of the said
city, MID 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
Jrmn (hem they received two obligations and receipts, and received the
said .-inn before me, the notary, being witnesses, Juan de Ouadros and
.lu MI ilc la IVfia Corrector, and Juan Fernandez, residing in this court:
in faith of which the said witnesses, friars, and I, the said notary, sign our
nan
The sicond register is as follows :
In the city of Algiers, on ihe Ijith of September, 1580, in presence of
me, the said notary, the rev. father friar Juan Gil, the above named re-
r, ran nned Miguel de Cervantes, a native of Alcala de Henares,
thirty-three, son of Rodrigo de Cervantes and of donna Leonora
Cortm:ts and an inhabitant of Madrid ; of a middle size, much
'ard. maimed of the left arm and hand, taken captive in the galley el Sol,
ind fn.m \ .,]>!<, to Spam, where he had been a long time in the service
M. Me wa> taken 'jr.th September, lf>7">, being in the power of
>an Pacha, king : his ransom cost ;"UU crowns of gold in Spanish gold ;
CERVANTES. 141
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 en-
treated 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 dis-
tinguished among the captives, in answer. These ex-
aminations, 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 sacri-
fices he made to his companions in misfortune, which
gained for him so many friends.
Viardot, 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 w T as mentioned to him as
honourable, noble, virtuous, of excellent character, and
beloved by all the other gentlemen. Benavides culti-
vated 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
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 re-
maining 280 collected from the charities of the redemption. Three hun-
dred ducats were given in aid ; and they were assisted by the charity of
Francisco de Caramanchel, of whom is the patron the very illustrious
Seilor Domingo de Cardenas Zapata, of the council of H. M., with fifty
doubloons, and by the general charity of the order Ihey were assisted by
fifty more ; and the remainder of the sum, the said order engaged to re-
pay, being money belonging to other captives, who gave pledges in Spain
for their ransom ; and, not being at present in Algiers, they are not ran-
somed ; 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.
1 12 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
bavins; discovered the falsehood of an accusation made
a-jainst Cervantes, he, in common with all the other
captives, became his friend; his noble, Christian, up-
right, and virtuous conduct raising a sort of emulation
among tbem. 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 addi-
tion., 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.
i.'fil. Cervantes landed in Spain early the following year..
uEtat. fie so often expresses the excessive joy imparted by a
' L 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 con-
tribute 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
tit-t look upon literature as a resource by which to live.
1 1 was still a soldier in heart, and such he became again
by prnfr^ion, though it would seem that his long capti-
vity erased die recollection of, and deprived him of all
reward for, his past services.
CERVANTES. 1 43
At this time Portugal had heen recently conquered by
the duke of Alva. It was now tranquil,, but still occu-
pied 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 cir-
cumstance 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. The fol- 1582.
lowing 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, whichhad 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. In tho campaign of 1 583 he and his 1583.
brother were at the taking of Terceira, which was carried >Etat.
by assault. Rodrigo distinguished himself greatly on 36<
this occasion, and w r as one of the first to spring on
shore; for which, on the return of the fleet, he was pro-
moted to the rank of ensign.
It is characteristic of Spanish manners that, although
only serving in the ranks, Cervantes mingled in the so-
ciety of the nobles of Portugal. He was an hidalgo and,
as such, freely admitted to the circles of the weh 1 born,
despite his poverty. He was engaged in a love affair at
] 14 LIIKKAUY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Lisbon : the name of the lady is not known : it seems
likely, from attendant circumstances, that she was not
possosfd 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.
in the year 1584 Cervantes appeared as an author.
' He seems to have written rather under the excite-
ment of his natural genius, which impelled him to
composition, than under the idea of earning a liveli-
hood by his pen. The most popular works then in
Spain were the "Diana" of Montemayor, and the continu-
ation of the same work by Gil Polo. This last was a par-
ticular 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 en-
chanted water, and almost all the poetry written in versos
Hiiniort-x, and let the prose remain, and the honour it
uijoys 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 c 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 con-
cludes 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."
U hi-n pastorals were the fashion, there was some-
thing vi-ry attractive in the composition of them to a
poi-tic mind. The author, if he were in love, could so
>.i-'Iy 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. Munic-mayor and Gil Polo had
CERVANTES. 145
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 mar
ried. She figured as the lovely shepherdess Galatea.
Lope de Vega asserts that Cervantes introduced him-
self as Elisio, the hero of his work. Viardot says, " It
cannot be doubted but that the other shepherds intro-
duced in the romance as Tirsis, Damcn, Melisa, Siralvo,
Lauso, Larsileo, Artidoro, are intended for Francisco de
Figueroa, Pedro Lainez, don Diego Hurtado de Men-
doza, 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 ; suf-
fice it new 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. Scon 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 per-
sons to call themselves after one to whcm 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
VOL. III. L
14-6' I.1TKRARY AND SCIENTIFIC fllEN.
marriage bearing date of August 9th, 1586. This por-
tion we find to consist of a few vineyards, a garden., an
orchard, several beehives, a hencoop, and some house-
hold furniture, amounting in value to 182,000 mara-
vedis, or about 53()0 reals, being, in English money,
about ()()/. This property was settled on donna Cata-
lina, 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 Es-
quivias, 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 endea-
voured to rectify these deficiencies, and in some mea-
sure succeeded. " I must trespass on my modesty,"
he says, in one of his prefaces, " to relate the perfec-
tion to which these things were brought when ' The Cap-
tives 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 person-
CERVANTES. 1 47
ages 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 puhlic
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 re-
mained 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 daughters despite his vine-
yard, his orchard, and his hencoop, despite also his
theatrical successes he felt himself straitened in cir-
cumstances. At this time, Antonio de Guevara, coun-1588.
cillor of finance, was named purveyor to the Indian ^Etat.
squadrons and fleets at Seville, with the right of naming
as his assistants four commissaries. He was now em-
ployed 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.*
Cervantes lived for many years at Seville fulfilling
* It is usually said, and Viardot repeats it, that Cervantes was driven
from his theatrical labours by the success of Lope de Vega. This is not
the fact Lrpe 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, suc-
cessful 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. After-
wards, 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 jtjune
plots and uninterwoven incidents, however, adorned by poetry and the
majesty of passion, were thrown aside and forgotten.
L 2
1 IS LITKRARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
,-,,, the duties of his employment. He served at first for
];,,,.. tin \ears under Guevara, and then for two more under
! i. his successor, lYdro de Isunza. That he was not con-
tented with the situation, and that it was an insignifi-
tat cant one> j s p r0 ved by his having solicited the king to
give him the place of paymaster in New Granada, or of
corregidor in the small town of Goetemala. His request
bears the date of May, 1 590. 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 recourse 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 l:ecame 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 Cigale's.
\Ve 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 Velas-
quez, was then frequented by all the men of education
in Seville : the painter was also a poet, and Rodrigo
( aro mentions that his house was an academy resorted
to by all the literati of the town. Cervantes was num-
bered 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 .FaureLrui, who also cultivated painting, painted his
portrait, and was numbered among his friends. Here
(Vr\ antes became the friend of Herrera, who spent his
life in Seville, secluded from the busy world, but vene-
: ed and admired by his friends. Cervantes, in after
da\s, wrote a sonnet to his memory, and mentions him
with fond praise in his " Voyage to Parnassus." Viardot
CERVANTES. 1 49
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 com-
position. 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 as-
pirations 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 scrae recruits gathered toge-
ther 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 won-
derful funereal monument," says a narrator of the
ceremony, e< 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 ca-
tafalque: could provincial town have better cause to strut
and boast?* The Andalusians, also, are addicted to gasco-
* This monument excited attention in rhe capital Lope de Vega in his co-
medy 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 obiects which heaven or earth contains "
L 3
I "0 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
nading, and Cervantes could not resist the temptation of
ridiculing l>oth the monument and its vaunting erectors.
In his "Voyage to Parnassus/' Cervantes calls this sonnet
" the chief honour of his writings." After such an an-
iioumvinent it is bold to attempt a translation. This
sort of witty hurlesque can never he transfused into
another language , for its point consists rather in asso-
ciation 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 Estrambote, having three verses
more than the proper fourteen. The following trans-
lation 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 I
(.'mild I describe it, I would give a crown
Ai.d who, that paz^s on it in the town,
But stands aghast to see its wond rous size:
K.irh part ;i million cost, I should devi.-e ;
'What pity 't is, ere centuries have flown,
Old Time will mercilessly cast it down !
Thou rival't-t Rome, O Seville, in my eyes!
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 lellow tall, on deeds of valour bent,
My CM Initiation heard, "Bravo!" he cried,
" Sir Soldier, what you say is true, I vow,
And he who says the contrary has lied I "
With that, he pulls his hat upon his brow,
i hi- ^word's hilt he Ins hand does lay,
And frowns and nothing does, but walks away.*
The financial occupations of Cervantes at Seville were
full of various annoyances ; and it seems to have been his
-tiny 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 po-
1 ty \\.is his best defence, but it required other cir-
* " AL TUMULO DEL KEY EN SE VILLA.
i Hi'>s (jue me espanta esta grnndeza,
y mif dicra uu doblon poi dcicribilla,
CERVANTES. 151
cumstances to prove his innocence, and his honest heart
and lofty soul must have been tortured by all the detail
of accusation and defence. Viardot 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, ex-
cept as happening to Cervantes, and showing how like
the equal'y unfortunate but more imprudent Burns, he
was occupied by transactions antipathetic to his tastes
and vocation. The first circumstance recorded by
Viardot is indeed a mere mercantile casualty, full of an-
noyance at the time, but whose effects even to the suf-
ferer, 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/.) was in-
trusted 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 be-
came bankrupt, and had fled from Spain. Cervantes hast-
ened back to Seville, and found the property of his debtor
seized on by other creditors. He addressed a request
porque < a quien no suspende y maravilla
esta maquina insigne, esta braveza?
For Jesu Christo \ivo, cada pieza
vale mas que un millon, que es mancilla
que esto no dure un siglo. O gran Scvilla ;
Roma triunfante en animo y riqueza.
Apostare que e! anima del muerto,
por gozar esto sitio, hoy ha dexado
el Ciclo de que goza i-ternamentt' !'
Esto oyo un valenton, y dixo : ' Es cierto
lo que dice voace, st or soldado,
y quien dixere lo contrario miente.'
Y luego en continente
calu el chapeo, requirio la espada,
miro al soslayo, fuese, y no liubo nada."
L 4
l.VJ LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
to the king, and a decree was published on the 7th of
August 1 :">f)5, ordering doctor Bernardo de OlmediHa,
judge of /off Grtulos 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 cf November 1596.
The next anecdote is of more interest, and displays
tlie st\le in which justice was carried on in Spain.
Cervantes wrote from his heart and from bitter experi-
ence, 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 contadmia examined the
treasury accounts with the greatest severity, emptied as
it had been by the various wars which had been carried
1597. on, and by financial experiments which had failed. The
TEtat. inspector- general, of whom Cervantes was merely the
, 50 - 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 SO/. He
offered security for this sum, and was set at liberty,
on condition that in thirty days he should 'appear
before the coiit<nlnrin, and liquidate his accounts. In all
tlii-. it is evident that no real accusation was levelled
against ( i rvantes, and that it was only the clumsy and
arbitrary prni'irdings of Spanish law that occasioned his
imprisonment.
CERVANTES. 153
Some years after the claim of the treasury was
revived ; the inspector of Baza, Caspar Osoi io de
Tejada, sent in his accounts, at the end of l6'02 ; these 1602.
included an acknowledgment from Cervantes, proving, vEtat.
that that sum had been received by him in 1594-, when 5o -
he was commissioned to recover claims in arrear on that
town and district. Having consulted on this point, the
judges of the court of the treasury made a report, dated
Valladolid, January the 24>th, l()()3, 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. It ap-
pears that in this very year, 1603, Cervantes removed 1603,
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 house-
hold and wardrobe of a don Pedro de Toledo Osorio,
marquis of Villafranca, lately returned from an expe-
dition 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
1 ."> ! LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 IK- had several relations, acting as agent for various
]H'rsnns,and executing such commissions as were intrusted
to him, and which brought in some small income. But
adveisity 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 pre-
cedence, which they pursued with such acrimony and
vehemence, that the population of the province became
diminished.
To some such litigious proceeding Cervantes was pro-
bably 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 Arga-
masilla 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 Barnabe de Saavedra, a
citizen of Alcazar de San Juan, asking for protection and
assistance. \Ye 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 sUvpU'-s nights wear me out in this prison, or rather
l'-t me call it cavern." In record of his ill-treatment here,
hi- at the same time placed the residence of Don Quixote,
in Argamasilla de Alba and refrained from mentioning
CERVANTES. 1 .0.0
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 in-
nate 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 j when we consi-
der 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 ani-
mated a creation.
He himself speaks more modestly. " What," he
says, in his preface to "Don Quixote," "could my bar-
ren and uncultivated understanding engender except
the history of an offspring, dry, tough, and whimsi-
cal, and full of various fancies which had never en-
tered 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
l.")6 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN'.
u> that if Cervantes had never written more than the
first chapter, his genius and originality had been ac-
knowledged 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 amuse-
ment and change. To turn exhausted from the written
I
page, and find solitude and a dungeon walls about him,
might well make him feel that imagination sterile, w T hich
was indeed exhausted by the very fertility and beauty of
its creations.
Ifi04. In l604 3 Cervantes returned to what in Spain is
JEtat. ca lled 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 periodhehad never thought of ob-
taining 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 w r as 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 01 uv the humiliating task of seeking his favour.
His best and immediate resource was to print his
hook. But not only the fashion of the times demanded
that it should l )e introduced under the nominal patron-
age of soi i a- great man, but the very title and nature of
CERVANTES. 157
(c Don Quixote" rendered it necessary that in some way
the public shoul 1 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 ques-
tion was a romance of chivalry, or that it was a bur-
lesque, 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 w r ork. It is
added, that a morose priest, who was religious director
of the duke, was shocked at the immorality of the w r ork,
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. What-
ever 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.
Tradition preserves the story, that even when pub- 1605,
lished, "Don Quixote " met with no popularity^ and was -^ tat -
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
l.'iS LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 "Buscapie," (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 w r ell known persons ;
at the same time, not mentioning who or what these
personages were.
The existence of the " Buscapie " has been disputed,
as well as that Cervantes was its author. Tradition as-
serted 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*: " I
saw the ' Buscapie" in the house of the late count de
Saceda about sixteen years ago, and 1 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
tlicre,} 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
K'lt no inclination to read it, conceiving that it was
only one of the romances of the day, or that its author
* Los llios Truebas de la Vida.
CERVANTES. 1 5$
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 curi-
osity, he bought it, and having read it once, he felt
impelled to read it a^ain with more pleasure and atten-
tion ; 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 great-
est dexterity and cleverness, for the purpose of dispelling
the enthusiasm which the nation in general, and princi-
pally 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 cham-
pion, 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 wea thy region of former times. The author
went on to compare the incidents ; and, although he art-
fully disguises some, h^ nevertheless plainly showed
that he had in view die 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 " Buscapie,"
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 " Buscapie,'' we will not
decide; though I own I am led to reject it as un-
]()() L1TKUAHY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
worthy. < ervantes 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 tirst excited no attention, and then, suddenly
coming into vogue, it was devoured with insatiable
lo'05. cur i os ity. 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.
Hooks 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 ob-
livion, or drowned in the quantity of eulogies and
defences heaped on him by men of talent, who con-
tinued 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 na-
tion 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 al-
most all set themselves in array against him. Lope
de Yeira, 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
( ervantes were not devoid of grace or style. Don Luis
CERVANTES.
de Gongora, a man of whom further mention will he made
in this work,, was his most virulent critic. Figuero,
and Villegas both contributed their mite of disapproba-
tion. 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 plea c ure,
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. * The circumstances accompanying this 1605.
letter show that he was settled and had a house in
that city. Philip III. had established his ccurt
there, and doubtless Cervantes thought that in the
first flush of success his being in its immediate neigh-
bourly od might occasion some noble to become his pa-
tron. 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. He was received with the ut-
most 'magnificence : bull fights, tournaments, masked^605.
balls, religious ceremonies all of feasting and splen-
dour 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 w r ere scarcely over when an event
occurred greatly to distress Cervantes, who seems to
have been marked out by fortune fo* 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, 16'05, 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
*"\Vhen I was at Valladolid, a letter was brought to my house which cost
a rial. It contained a I ad, silly discourteous sonnet, without wit or point,
speaking ill of ' Don Q.tixote,' so that I grudged the rial infinitely."
Postcrijjt totfie " / 'oi/age to Parnassus."
VOL. III. M
l(rJ LITFRARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 Ga-par 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 b?d. 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 ex-
pired on the following day. An inquest was held by
the alcayd de casa y corte, Cristoval de Villai oel, who,
like ail 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'
I'alacios y Salazar ; his daughter donna Isabel de Saa-
veilra, twenty years of age ; his sister donna Andrea
de Cervantes, who was a widow, with a daugh-
ter named donna Costanza de Ovando, twenty-eight
years of age ; a nun called donna Magdalena de Soto-
mayor, 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 Se~,or de
Ci gales, and a Portuguese, Simon ?Iendez, made their
depositions, and were indiscriminately thrown into pri-
son. 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 confine-
it of eight days, and a vast quantity of interrogation
t!:<-y were, on giving security, set at liberty. The
depositions taken on this occasion show that Cervantes
still employed as an agent. When we consider that
lie maintain'.'d all these relations, we wonder less at his
poverty, while we admire his liberality and kindness of
CERVANTES.
163
heart. Nor can we help remarking from this enu-
meration of his household, that Cervantes had that
predilection for women's society which characterises
the gentler and more gifted of his sex.
Though it is impossible to fix dates with any pre-1606,
cision, there is reason to believe that when tlie court ^tat.
returned to Madrid in 1606, Cervantes followed it, 59 *
and continued to inhabit that city to the end cf his
life. The freedom and society of a capital is always
agreeable to a literary man ; and his native town of
Alcala 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 Mag-
delena; a little after, behind the college of NuestraSeilora
de Loretto ; in June, 1610, at 9 Calle del Leon ; in 1614
in Cal'e de Las Huertas; afterwards, in the Calle de el
Duque de Alva, at the corner of St. Isidore ; 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 Sandc-
val y Rojas, archbishop of Toledo, and don Pedro Fer-
nandez 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.* At this time despotism and bigotry were
extending their influence. Spain had degenerated,
and letters, cultivated not long before with enthu-
siasm, were falling into neglect. The nobility sur-
rounded themselves with jesters and flatterers, ne-
glecting 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 ;
* 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.
M 2
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
tlit.- 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
thun, assisting them at their need with unlimited
generosity.
In KJ10 the count of Lemos was named viceroy of
Naples ; and here again Cervantes was doomed to dis-
appointment. The count of Lemos held in high esteem
the two Argensolas. These brothers, Lupercio and Bar-
tolome Leonardo de Argensola, were of a family origin-
ally 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 versimilitude and regularity, and not
elevated by the merits of poetry. Philip III. appointed
him historiographer of the kingdom of Aragon. Bar-
tolome, 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 Na-
ples and requested that his brother should accom-
pany 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 count's taste, selected
various poets for this purpose.
< 'ervantes was their friend ; he had reason to hope
that they would use their interest when arrived at Na-
ples to advance him. But he was disappointed. He takes
a gentle revenge in his " Voyage to Parnassus." Mer-
cury bids him invite the two Argensolas to assist in the
conquest of Parnassus, but Cervantes excuses himself,
Baying, (( 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 Mich a journey. They have fulfilled none of
the many promises they made me at parting. Much I
CERVANTES. 1 C)~j
hoped for they promised much ; but perhaps their
new occupations have caused them to forget what they
then said." *
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 que-
rulousness 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 Cer-
vantes 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 stand-
ing 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 him-
self every now and then with strange gesticulations and
bursts of laughter. The king exclaimed, " Either that
man is mad, or he is reading e Don Quixote.' ' The
* The Argensolas were men much esteemed in their day, and are so often
mentioned by Cervantes and Lopede Vega, that they must not be passed
over in silence. But as there is notiiing 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, dieii in
that city in 16I3,atthe age of forty-eight. He founded an academy atNaples,
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. Bartolome
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 Barto-
lome are his sacred Canzoni. He died at Saragossa, in the year 1631,
at the age of sixty. five.
M 3
i (>'()' LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
courtiers around, eager to confirm their sovereign's saga-
city, 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 sove-
reign 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 censor-
ship of the work was intrusted. He relates that in
10' 15, 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 arch-
bishop 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 Den 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 de-
light, while a thousand questions were asked concern-
ing the age, profession, rank, and situation of Cer-
vantes. 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 ex-
claimed, " Is it possible that Spain does not maintain
such a man, in honour and comfort from the public
pursi-r" \\hile another, with less warmth of heart,
CERVANTES.
167
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 com-
fort,, with the hope of fame, one whose life was clouded
by penury and neglect.
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, 61.
and among these he could forget the carelessness of those
who considered all reputation and prosperity to be in-
closed 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, mean-
while, in a variety of works which appeared after-
wards 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 t:> 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
M 4
lfi8 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 w r ell-
propoi tinned nose ; with a beard now silver, but which
twenty years ago was golden ; thick mustachios and small
mouth ; ill-forme 1 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
C;rsar Caporal, the Perugian, made a voyage to Par-
nassus, and wrote other works, which wander lost,
even with their master's name. He is usually called
Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. He Avas 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.
1G14. These tales established more firmly than ever the
.Ken. high reputation of Cervantes, and he now ventured to
67. publish his " Voyage to Parnassus ;" and after this the
lea^t successful of his publications, or, rather, that which
is the "idy failure among them his volume of " Co-
ined ins y Kntremeses." which he composed according to
the iieu- school introduced by Lope de Vega, but which
were never acted. In his preface to this work he gives
CERVANTES.
some account of the origin of the Spanish drama, and
the amelioration that he, in his younger clays, 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 ex-
pected 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 dark-
ness, 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
17<> LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN".
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. "
("nfortunately, the author was right the pieces are
very bad ; so bad, that when Bias 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.
1615. Cervantes published another slight work in this
Etat. 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 l6l 4-, canonised the famous Saint Theresa, her apo-
theosis was given as the subject for competition. Lope
de Vega was named one of the judges. Cervantes en-
tered 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 employedCervantes at this time "Persiles
andSigismunda," 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 Cer-
vantes : 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 s'ill occupied in adorning them \vith fresh deeds
an.! thoughts, all his own, is a sort of theft no talent
coul;l excuse, Avellanada's "Don Quixote" is not desti-
tute of talent ; but it is impossible to read it - - the mind
of the ri'adi-r is tormented by rinding another knight, and
another esquire, whom he is called to look upon as the
CERVANTES. 171
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, andSanchoisa 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 on his spurs, and is hasten-
ing to kiss the feet of your excellency. I am afraid
he will arrive a little out of humcur, because he lost
his way, and was ill-treated at Tarragona : neverthe-
less, 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 em-
peror, 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 rec-
torships."
This was the last work that Cervantes published.
He had finished " Persiles and Sigismunda," and medi-
tated ihe " Second Part of Galatea," and two other works,
whose subjects we cannot guess, though he has mentioned
17- LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the titles ("Bernardo" and "LasSemanas delJardin");
but of the-e no trace remains. He published the ''Second
Part of Don Quixote" at the end of l6l 5, and being then
si \ty-eitiht years of age, he was attacked by the malady
1.51G. which not long after caused his death. Hoping to find
J.tat. relief in the air of the country during spring, on the 2d
69- of the following April he made an excursion to Es-
quivias, 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 prebend 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 sefior 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,
tb is is the able hand, the famous being, the
drlightful writer, and, finally, the joy of the muses!'
As for me, hearing him accumulate praises so rapidly,
CKRV ANTES. 1 73
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, ' I am indeed Cer-
vantes, 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, c This is a dropsy, which not all the water
of the ocean, could you turn it fresh and drink it. would
cure. Sefior 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,' I 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 w r ith 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 ar-
rived 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 plea-
santry ; 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.
17't- LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC -MEN.
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, l6l6.
" 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 stir-
rup, and feeling the agonies of death, I write you, great
lord, this letter. Yesterday extreme unction was ad-
ministered 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 in life. How-
ever, 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, l6l6, aged sixty -nine. In his will,
he named his wife, and his neighbour, the licentiate
Francisco Nunez, his executors. He ordered that he
should be buried in a convent of nuns of Tiinity,
founded four years before, in the Calle del Humiliadero,
where his daughter donna Isabel had a short time
before taken the vows. No doubt this last wish of
Ceiva:,tes 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 s;one, no
tomb, no inscription marks the spot. We have to regret
uUo 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
lite, we are struck by the equanimity of temper preserved
throughout. As a soldier, he showed courage; as a
CERVANTES. 1 7 5
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 ren-
dered him admirable and praiseworthy to all men to
the end of time.*
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, "Ga-
latea," 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 : cc 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
* Coleridge's summary of the character and life of Cervantes, though
not correct in letter, is admirable in spirit : " A Castilian of refined man-
ners ; 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 Lrpanto,
and lost his arm, and was captured. Endured slavery, not only with forti-
tude, but with mirth ; and, by the superiority of nature, mastered and over-
awed 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 " PerMlesand Sigi.munda"
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."
17<> LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN*.
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 entangle-
ment of plot, sustained only by impassioned dialogue and
situations of high-wrcught 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 Numan tines 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.'?
l.iru. I'm thinking how thy dream of pleasure
And mine so fast away are sinking ;
It \\ill not fall beneath the hand
Of him who wastes our native land.
I or long, or t-'er the war be o'er,
My hapless life shall be no more.
CERVANTES. 177
Joy of my soul, what has tliou said?
Lira. That I am worn with hunger so,
That quickly will th' o'erpowering woo
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 mv stronger vouth
*
Its waiting force hath better met.
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 shall not die,
So long as I retain my life.
I offer here from yon 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 '11 snatch away and bear to thee ;
For, oh ! 'tis worse than death to see,
Lady, thy dreadful state of woe."
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
* Quarterly Review, vol. xxv.
TOL. III. N
178 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 Puero, VTar, 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
CERVANTES. ] 7<)
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 torn 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.
N 2
ISO LITKUAltY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
.V< rcliitiit. Say what thou wilt ; 't is the last time thou canst.
.M.tlnr. Alas! it is the first that e'er I felt
Such woe.
Ji/nti. Mother, keep me with thee ;
Suffer me not to go, 1 know not where.
Mnf/t,T 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.
. 1t/<hir. Hark to the Christian what advice she gives !
Tboud'st have him lost as thee, false infidel !
Junii. My mother, let me stay let not these Moors
Take me away.
My treasures go with thee.
In faith, I fear these men !
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 thv faith amidst this race
J
Of infidels teachers of lies.
Cri< r. 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.
U'lu'n 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
tin- captives, and the universal joy the Christians feel ;
< Vrvaiitrs had felt such himself, and well could paint it.
"he whole play, though without plot, and rendered wild
and strange by the introduction of allegorical personages,
jret is full of the interest of pathetic situations and na-
tural feelings,, simply, but vividly represented ; such,
CERVANTES. 181
doubtless, roused every sentiment of horror and com-
passion, 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 abhorrenqe for its name. Such, Cer-
vantes could not feel ; and in reading his works, and
those of all his countrymen, nothing jars with our feel-
ings so much as the praise ever given to the most savage
cruelties of the Dominicans, and the merciless reproba-
tion 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 ro-
mances 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 vir-
tuous as the greatest of the men whom he imitates : had
he attempted the career of knight errantry, and after-
wards 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
N 3
! 8',' LITKRARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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,, venders 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 draw-
back, 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 (C 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, 1 look
upon it as the most admirable book in the whole
world." In Coleridge's (l 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 understand-
ing. 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
l.i- 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 complete-
ness, each has at times a mastery over the other ; for
the common sense, though it may see the practical
CERVANTES. 183
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 im-
personate 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 j 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 Exem-
plares, 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 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 Senora
Cornelia" and "LasDosjDoncellas"), and so adopted them
as to follow them line for line, and scene by scene.
There is a very beautiful interview in "LasDosDoncellas/
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.*
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,
* There is an excellent translation of ten from among them ; we may also
mention that there is an admirable old English translation of Don Ouixote,
by Shelton.
N 4
18-t LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC BIEN.
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.'' Pie arrives at Carthagena, and sees Mer-
cury, 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 fan-
cifully described :
And lo ! of verses framed, the bark,*
From th 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 a -ts, 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
I'.v elegies most sad and lung,
More apt for tears than gladsome song.
* " DC la quilla a la gavia, 6 estraua cosa !
toda de versos era fabrirada,
sin que se entremiese alguna prosa.
Las ballestera* eran de ensal :da
de glosas, todas hechas a la boda,
de la que se II am 6 Malmaridada :
era la chusma do romances toda
gente atrevida, empero necesaria
pues a todas acciones se acomoda.
La popa de materia extraordinaria,
bastarda, y de legitimos sonetos,
de labor pereu-rina en todo y varia.
Eran dos valentisimos tercetos
los espaldares de la izquierda y diestra,
para dar boga larga inuy perfetos.
Hecha ser !a cruxia se me muestra
de una luenga y tristisima elegia,
que no en cantar, si no en 1 orar es diestra,
1'or esta entien<io yo que se diria
lo que suele, decirse a un desdichado,
qiKindo lo pasa mal, pa>6 cruxia.
Kl arbol hasta cl cielo levantado
CERVANTES. 185
Tho mast that rose unto the sky
An ode embodied, long and dry,
Tarr'd o'er with songs <>f 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 g,ty and tree;
So that more easy it might be.
The ropes and tackle rigging all
Of seguidillas light and small,
E-ich 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 son ;
"While the pennants, flying lightly,
Love songs framed so gny 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
de una dura cancion prolixa estaba
de eanto de seis dedos embreado.
El y la entena que por el cruxaha
de duros etrambot<?s la inadera
de que eran hechos claro se mostraba.
La racamenta. que es siempre parlera,
Toda la comnonian de redondillas
Con que el'.a se mostraba mas ligera.
las xarcias parecian seguidillas,
de disparates mil y mas compuesras
Que suelen en el alma hacer c<>squ lias.
las rumbadas, fortisimas y honestas
estancias, eran tablas ponderosas,
que llevan un poema y otro a cuestas.
Era cosa i'e ver las bulliciosas
vanderillas que a ayre tremolaban,
De varias rimas algo lic.'nciosas.
Los grumetes, que aqui y alii cruxaban
de encadenados versos parecian,
puesto que como libres trabajaban,
todas las obras muertas componian
O versos sueltos. 6 scxtinas graves
que la galeru mas gallarda hacian."
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 im-
pelled 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
\Vhich breathed upon us from behind
Eaeer 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 compHmentarily, 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
CERVA.N 7 TES. 187
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 pre-
sents 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 dif-
ferent manners. A battle, at last, ensues between the
real and would-be poets ; while Cervantes, full of an-
noyance, hurries aw r ay, seeking out his old and dusky
dwelling, and throws himself wearied upon his bed.
There is a whimsical postcript to the ee Voyage to Par-
nassus," 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 Mecaenas, the great
count of Lemos at Naples : another token that Cer-
vantes \vas disappointed in not receiving an invitation.
The last of Cervantes's works, the one he was occu-
pied upon up to the hour of 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 imagi-
nation ; and showing thus, how in his advanced age, he
had forgotten none of his youthful tastes. He wrote it
188 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
in imitation of Ilcliodorus : 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 Avill scarcely find readers sufficiently
persevering, and sufficiently fond of the fabulous and
strange, to dwell upon its enchainment of impossible ad-
ventures.
189
LOPE DE VEGA,
15621635.
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 unre-
pining; to the last hour of his life he displayed light-
ness 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 immedi-
ately on his death. His friend and disciple Montalvan
adopts a phraseology very similar to that in use with
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the emperor of China, when he is styled "Brother of the
sun'' and "Tncle 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 excel-
lent, 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 (~te Vegi Carpio was born at Madrid*, in the
house of Geronimo de Soto, near the gate of Guada-
laxara, on the 20'th of November, 1562, on the day of
St. Lope, bishop of Verona, and was baptized on the
()th of December following, in the parish church of
San Miguel de les Octeos. His parents were in the
* Tn an epistle bo 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, ami 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 dc sn zelosa phantasia.
I'.n h'n por zclos soy ; que nascimiento!
imaginalde vos, que haver nacido
dc- tan iii'iuic-ta causa fue portento."
Eclardo d Amarylis.
LOPE DE VEGA.
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 im-
planted 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 16'01.*
Felix de Vega was also a poet, as his son informs us
in the " Laurel de Apolo,' 5 in some verses of respectful
and graceful allusionf ; 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
* Pellicer, Tratado sobre el origen de la Comedia.
f " Efectos de mi genio y mi fortuna,
que me esenastes versos en la cuna,
dulce memoria del principle amado
del ser que tengo, a 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 obligac'ion me fuerza, amor mi inflama.
Ma si Felix de Vega no la tuvu,
basta saber que en el Parnaso estuvu,
haviendo hallado yo sus borradores,
versos eran a Dios llenos de amores ;
y aur.que en el tiempo que escribio los versos,
no eran tan crespos como ahora y tersos,
ni las Musas tenian tantos brios,
mejores me parecen que los mios."
Laurel de Apolo.
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN T .
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 compo-
sition, both in prose and verse. To the latter accom-
plishment 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 dispo-
sition 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 Mufioz, who was filled with a similar desire:
they both provided as well as they could for the neces-
sities of the journey, and went on foot as far as Segovia,
where they bought a mule for 1 5 ducats ; with this
they proceeded to Lavaneza, and Astorga where meet-
ing, we may guess, with several of those various dis-
comforts we find detailed in " Lazarillo de los Tormes,
and other ;>/a/msro works, as inevitable in Spanish inns,
they became disgusted, and made up their minds to
return. \\ hen they had got back as far as Segovia,
then 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
LOPE DE VEGA. 193
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, dou-
bloons, 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
M "
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 protege) 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. Mon-
talvan 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 j but there is no trace of
any being played. Meanwhile, feeling that his knowledge
was slight, and his education unfinished, with the assist-
ance 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 examina-
tions.
VOL. III. O
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
On leaving the university of Alcala, he entered the
service of the duke of Alva*, 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 remorse-
less 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 Radaman-
thus 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 Avars."
* Lope often mentions having been a soldier in early youth. These
pxprc.-Muns are generally used in reference to his having served on
bo.ml the Invincible Armada, but there is a stanza in the " Hucrto Des-
hecho/' that intimates that he had entered the army at fifteen.
" Ni mi fortuna muda
ver en tres lustros de mi edad primera
con la e-pada desnuda
al bravo Portugues en la Tercera,
ni despues en las naves INpauoIas
del mar Ingles los puertos y las olas."
.n the following stanza he calls himself " Soldado de una gucrra."
In tli'--' V( i-i-s, and in many others indeed in which he speaks of himself,
hi< 61 - arc so obscure, and the whole stanza so ill worded, that it
ble to guess even at what he means. The translation of
to he : " Nor did my fortune change on seeing me in
lird hiBtre of my tender age, with a drawn sword among the brave
l'"rt' ' 'IVrrcr i.nor at'terwai is in the English ports and waves on
-h fleet."
LOPE DE VK(;A.
At the request of the duke of Alva he wrote his
te Arcadia." It has been mentioned how the imitations
of Sannazaro's pastoral had become the fashion in Spain.
The e 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 if 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.* Anfrisio and Beli-
sarda are lovers ; Anfrisio is of so high descent that
he believes Jupiter to be his grandfather ; but Beli-
sarda 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
* Quarterly Review, vol. xviii.
o 2
lf)f) LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 ma-
gician, who promises to grant him any wish he may
express, however impossible. Anfrisio, with a modera-
tion 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 re-
venging her perfidy by putting her to death ; but Dar-
danio 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 be-
tween her and Anfrisio, but it is too late. Anfrisio's sole
resource is to forget j and by means of the sage Poli-
nesta, through a visit to the Liberal Arts, and an ac-
quaintance with the lady Grammar and the young
ladies Logic, Rhetoric, Arithmetic, and Geometry, and
others not less agreeable --Perspective, Music, Astro-
logy, and Poetry --he arrives at the temple of Disen-
gafio, or Dis-illusion ; where things are seen as they are,
the passions cease to influence, the imagination to de-
ceive, and the lovelorn shepherd becomes a rational man.
The composition of this story has given rise to a
singular conjecture. When Montemayor wrote IC Diana,"
and Gil Polo continued it, and Cervantes composed " the
robe in which the lovely Galatea appeared to the eyes
<>f 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 protegt to immortalise
his early loves in the manner other poets had done their
n. A good deal of testimony is brought in support
LOPE DE VEGA. 197
of this hypothesis.* In the commendatory verses pre-
fixed to the " Arcadia /' there is a sonnet from Anfri-
sio to Lope de Vega/' which addresses him by the name of
Belardo, under which he personified himself in the pas-
toral ; 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 Fran-
cisco Pacheco, in the eulogy that accompanies his por-
trait of Lope, speaking of the " Arcadia," says that the
poet e: 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 ec mysterious enigma of elevated subjects, con-
cealed 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 an-
other, 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 con-
clusion he comes forward as Belardo, addressing his
pipe, and taking leave of the tale on which he was occu-
pied. In this he talks of leaving the banks of the
Manzanares (the river of Madrid), and seeking a new
master and a new life. ei What is better," he says, "when
one has lost a blessing, than to fly from the spot w r here one
enjoyed it, so not to see it in the possession of another?
My fortunes are dubious ; but Avhat evil can befall him
who has once known happiness ? I lost that which was
* Quarterly Review, vol. xviii.
o 3
198 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
mine, more from not being worthy of it, than from not
knowing its value ; but I console myself with the ex-
pectation of fresh disasters."
As the i( Arcadia" was written in early life, but not
published till 1 /><)8, it is impossible to say to what parti-
cular 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 ima-
gery 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 sur-
passed 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
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
1 )icgo de Urbino, king-at-arms. The marriage took place
to the satisfaction of the friends of both parties ; and the
In this and other quotations the reader must not expect sense. Even
reprehending Gongora for obscurity, from carelessness or froni a
notion <>t line writing. Lope's meaning can very often only be g ccsed at.
1 ;>.irtly be attributed to misprints; in his best poems he is, for a
niard, singular; perspicuous.
LOPE DE VEGA.
lady is praised as beautiful and discreet. He did not. how-
ever, long enjoy Ins domestic happiness. " It happened,"
says Montalvan, cf that there was a sort of half-and-half
hidalgo * (for there is a twilight in the origin of nobi-
lity 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, riot 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 de-
picted 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 im-
mediate 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 occa-
sion 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 doubt-
less 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 de-
serve the name of abuse, and show that the Spanish
cavalier could descend, as so many literary men have
before, to calling names, as argument. t
* 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."
t Lord Holland's Life of Lope de Vega. Were these MSS. examined,
e might discover the real history of Lope's life at this period.
w
o
200 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
A fter 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 new-
found 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 rela-
tive 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 to-
gether.
1588. Almost immediately after he became a soldier, and
jEtat. joined the Invincible Armada.
The causes of this apparent freak are differently re-
presented. 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.*
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 pub-
lishing his verses, he has perpetuated the memory of his
* I'iilc Sonnets 46. 66. 82. 92. &c. of Rimas Humanas, parte 1.
LOPE DE VEGA. 201
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 au-
thor of that article, in mentioning Lope's second marriage,
says, lf 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 c Dorotea; 7
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
f Doroiea' 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 ob-
scurity 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 nothave 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.* Montalvan, in speaking of his flight to
* " Criome don Geronimo Manrique :
estudie en Alcala, bachillereme,
y aun estuve de ser clerigo a pique :
cegome una muger, aficioneme,
perdoneselo Dios, ya soy casado,
quien tiene tanto mal, ninguno teme."
Epistola undecima.
202 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEX.
Valencia, mentions, in addition to the duel, youthful
scrapes, which his enemies took that opportunity of bring-
ing against him.* In a funeral eulogium, written on
Lope by don Joseph Pellicer, there are these expres-
sions:--" 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." f
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 cir-
cumstances 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." J
'' Este y otros desayres de la fortuna, ya negociados de su juventud, y
ya cnc"arecedos de sus opuestos, leobligaron a dejarsu casa, su patria y sn
esposa, con hartosentimiento." Fama'.Postuma u la J'ida de l.opede f r ega.
t Bouterwek says that all the panegyrics and epitaphs written on Lope,
ought to be carefully consulted as to the circumstances of his life. \Ve ac-
cordingly 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
'la, 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.
J " Sirvio Jacob los siete largos afios,
breves, si al fin, qual la esperanza fuera,
LOPE DE VEGA. 203
" 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-plared hopes attend
Another's life, and who till that shall pass
In hopeless expectation wastes his own."*
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 w r ife 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 e< 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 fortfy himself. And
ii Lia goza y a Rachel espera
otros siete despues, llorando enganos,
assi guardan palabra los estranos.
Pero in efecte vive, y considera
que la podra gozar antes que muera,
y que tuvieron termino sus dailos ;
triste de mi, sin limite que mida
lo que un engafio al snfrimiento cuesta,
y sin rimedio que el agravio pida.
Ay de aquel alma a padecer dispuesta
que espera su Rachel en la otra vida,
y tiene a Lia para siempre en esta."
Parte I. de las Rimas Humanas de Lope
de Vega, 1604. Soneto v.
* " Quando la Madre antigua reverdeze,
bello pastor, y a 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 quees espejo
de la cierta verdad 6 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.
204- LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 in-
creased 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*, yet that it
was written at Valencia in his youth. t
"Dorotea" is not a play; it is a story told in dia-
logue, 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 inco-
herent and obscure in parts, and contains the story
of the intrigues of a young man, wiiom it has been con-
jectured 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 ; w r ith the niece, named Marfisa, Fernando
fell, in some sort, in love. Unfortunately she was obliged
to marry a gentleman of some rank arid 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 de-
scription. 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
* " 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 cl Bu~no."
Ecloga 6 Claudio,
t Prologo del Editor.
LOPE DE VEGA. 205
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 en-
riched, Fernando departs for Seville.
Dorothea remains: she talks of her lover, and her
hard fate, with her maid Celia. Among other things,
Celia says, (f The scandal that arose was greatly occa-
sioned 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
206 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
of Valencia ; and the river Ezla and herself are immor-
talised by his pen. And the same has happened to the
Philida of Montalvo, the Galatea of Cervantes,, the Ca-
mila 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 Do-
rothea 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 ; (l 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
LOPE DE VEGA. 207
against Dorothea ; and fate puts the occasion in his
hands. By mistake he sends her a letter from Marrisa 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 per-
secuted by Dorothea and her mother, and thrown into
prison, but afterwards liberated and banished ; before
this he wih 1 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 banish-
ment 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 honour-
able employment, but she will soon again be a widow,
and then marrying a Spanish soldier, she will be very un-
happy, 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 hap-
piness 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 con-
208 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
tempt. He takes the money of Dorothea, and then angry
at the first mention she makes of her mother's inter-
ference, he flies from her rather in revenge than in
grief: throughout he is selfish and ungenerous.
Whether Lope shadowed forth himself is very doubt-
ful. 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 hey-
day 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 \vhich 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 be-
coming 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 em-
barked 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."*
* In his epistle to don Antonio de Mendoza, Lope alludes to his
military life, but without assigning any cause for it* assumption. "True
it is'' in- -ays, "that in early life I left my country and friends to en-
counter the vicissitudes of war. I sailed on a wide sea towards foreign
l.inil when- 1 served first with my sword, before I described events with
my ITU. My inclinations caused me to break off the career of arms, and
the Muses gave me a more tranquil life."
LOPE DE VEGA. 209
It is well known with what sanguine expectations of
glorious victory the Invincible Armada sailed. The priva-
teering 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 partici-
pated 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 fa-
vourite 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 ; aU 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.* Of
* There is a very obscure stanza following this, it runs thus :
" ,; Quien te dixera che al exento labio,
que apenas dc un cabello se ofendia,
amanciera dia
de tan pcsado agravio
que cubierto den ieve agradecida ?
i no sepamos si fu e eometa 6 vida!"
VOL. III. P
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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
anus, " 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 com-
mencement 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. (C The Beauty of Angelica" is a con-
tinuation 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 Clori-
narda, 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
In the- Quarterly Review this is translated. " Who would have thought
that tli s chin which hail scarcely a hair upon it, should have somtiines
lii-cii tn'iiul in the morning so shagged with snow that it might have been
iiii-taki n for a comet '; '' This i obviously wrong. He alludes to his youth
at ilu- tun.- nt'>;i'ling with the Armada, and his age at the time of writing
the ivlcixur toClauilio; and the swiftness with which the interval had
" Who could have told thee that there should come a day when
the hp tin ii -carci ly deformed by a hair, should be so heavy covered with
welcome -now [his beard turned white), Tand that so swiftly that], we do
n.t knrr.v whether it was a comet or life?'' Nothing, however, can be
so ill expressed and obscure.
LOPE DE VEGA. 211
" 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."*
Many candidates arrive, the old and ugly and de-
crepit, leaving their homes, and braving every danger,
to claim the reward of beauty. Among them, but sur-
passing all in charms, Angelica and Mecloro 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.
On his return from the Armada, he quitted the 1590.
career of arms, and entered the service, first, of the ^Etat.
marquis de Malpica, and 'soon after of the count of 2S - .
Lemos, leaving him only on occasion of his second
marriage to donna Juana de Guardio, a lady of Ma-
drid, of whom he thus speaks :
' Who could have thought that I should find a wife,
When from that war I reached my native shcre,
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." f
* Quarterly Review, vol. xviii.
Ecloga a Claudio. Quarterly Review, xviii,
p 2
212 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 (C 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 lan-
guage. He bids him follow his studies without imped-
ing them with poetry, because he who had addicted
himself to it was ill rewarded. He continues <c 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 ac-
quired 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 affec-
tion 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.* From his own pen we give an
Montalvan and the other biographers mention only one daughter,
Feliciana, the child of his second wife. The reader will presently see
LOPE DE VEGA, 213
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 fre-
quent mention of these circumstances in his epistles,
and we subjoin extracts, which we are sure must in-
terest 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, Sefior Doctor, and without dying
went to the other world, I have passed my life in me-
lancholy 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 I" He
then goes on to speak of his early loves and sor-
rows, and of the power of beauty, and continues,
ff 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 sin-
cere 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
that we derire 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 1 mentions that Marcela
was fifteen. She entered a convent and was perhaps dead when Montalvan
wrote.
p 3
214 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 Ijonest and liberal mediocrity gave us
sufficing sustenance. But fierce Death deprived me of
this ease 3 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 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 te Arca-
dia," to Amaryllis.* In this he gives a sketch of portion?
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 befel me I now feel ; but as I loved a beauty
never to- .be mine, J had recourse to study, and thus the
poet destroyed the love that destroyed him. Favoured
* That unknown ladies should write anonymous letters to poets expressive
of their admiration and sympathy, is, it seems, no mere modern fashion. The
epUtle from Amaryllis to Be'arclo, was certainly not written by Lope him-
self it is too lull of enthusiastic praise; and the style is not his. It is
well written, and intere.-ting. Amaryllis addresses "him from the New
\YciIil. 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
celib.icy, .through she does appear to be a nun; she loves and cultivates
She writes to Lope de Vega to offer her friendship una alma
/in, -it d in i'ii/o>- rendidn accepfa 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 parti-
cular reveremv. Lope replies with praises of her talents, and enters into
'met 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
tin- freedom proves my friend.-hip for you." He concludes by in-
viting her to celebrate St. Dorothea herself, and bids her immortalise the
memory ot her heroic ancestors, and bestow on them the eternal laurel of
her pen
LOPE DE VEGA. 215
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 extrava-
gant 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 w r as prudent to examine her wish, since ac-
cident 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 mar-
chioness 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
p 4
2 If) LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 there-
fore appear that several years elapsed after his return to
Madrid before he married a second time. As diligent a
researcher as M. Viardot 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, as-
sumed 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 per-
formance 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 conscien-
tious in the exercise of his office. To his other sacred
employments he added that of being a familiar of the in-
quisition. 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 ft', 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
LOPE DE VEGA. 217
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 re-
ward, but above one could not be gained by the same per-
son. Lope succeeded in the hymns ; but he had tried in all.
He wrote a poem of ten cantos in short verse, number-
less sonnets and ballads, and two comedies. These were
published under the feigned name of Tome de Bur-
guilos, 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," w r ritten long before.
Afterwards he published others of his younger produc-
tions ; for it is singular that he printed nothing while a
very young man, and that he had established his repu-
tation by his plays before he deluged the world with his
lyric and epic poetry. The " Hermosura de Angelica"
did not see light till l604<; and thus \vas it with many
other of his productions, which he wrote probably at Va-
lencia 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 esti-
mation ; he was generally applauded almost adored. The
abundance and facility of his verses, and the amiableness
of his character, \vere in part the occasion of this ; but the
eminentcause 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 con-
sidered 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
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
unwilling to acknowledge that Lope wrote better, nor
did he, as a master of the human heart, and as pre-
senting more affecting situations; but he did, as compre-
hending 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 dis-
plays contempt for his pastorals and epics, and sar-
castically alludes to his superabundant fertility. How-
ever, 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.*
His war with Gongora was of a more grave descrip-
tion, and we defer farther mention of it till in the life of
<i<>ngora we give some account of his poetic system.
.Meanwhile Lope rose higher and.higher in the estima-
Pellicer.
LOPE DE VEGA. 219
tion of the public. There is scarcely an example on record
of similar popularity. Grandees, nobles, ministers, pre-
lates, 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 pro-
verb ; 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 some-
times have dreaded a reaction of popularity, he felt at
times nettled and uneasy. His part was, however,
warmly taken by his adherents. Their intolerance was .ZEtat.
such that they gravely asserted that the author of the 54 -
Ci Spongia," who had severely censured his works and ac-
cused him of ignorance of the Latin language, deserved
death for his heresy.*
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 fre-
quently 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 1621.
" By a Wit of the Court" (Por un Ingenio de esta 32tat.
Corte), are ascribed to him. Lope published at this 59<
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
* Lord Holland.
220 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 per-
verted), 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 unacknow-
ledged " 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 Tra-
gica, 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 imprinted still remains." *
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 ft Arte
de Hacer Comedias," that he had brought out 4-83.
There are extant 497. Some may be lost certainly, but
not so many as this computation would assume. Many
* The translation is from Lord Holland. The Spanish runs thus:
" Oue no es minimo parte, aunque es exceso,
De lo que esta por impnmir, lo impreso."
LOPE DE VEGA. 221
of h.is 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 feh 1 under his own experience. Roque de
Figueroa, a writer for the theatre of Madrid, found him-
self on an occasion without any new play, and the doors
of his theatre w r ere obliged to be shut a circumstance
which shows the vast appetite for novelty that had arisen,
and the cause wherefore Lope was induced to w r rite 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, w r ished
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
222 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC 3IEN.
an hour ago. I breakfasted on some rashers of bacon,
and wrote an epistle of fifty triplets,, and having watered
my 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 pre-
ferments. 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 super-
induces 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 gene-
rous 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 be-
stowed 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
whore no annoyance troubles me. My little garden in-
spires fancies drawn from fruits and flowers, and the
contemplation of natural objects." In the epistle before
|iioied to Amaryllis, he says, "My books are my life,
and humble content myactions unenvious of the riches
LOPE DE VEGA. 223
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 : t( My garden
is small ; it contains a few trees, and more flowers, a
trained vine, an orange tree, and a rose bush. 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 \vaste 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 form-
ing others. His heart was the source of his disquiet
2'24- LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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
UK , 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 men-
tions 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 de-
stroys 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
In- was ever prepared to meet it. His piety indeed was
ti Mired with superstition; but he was a catholic and
a Spaniard, and dwelt fervently on the means of satis-
fying the justice of God in this world, so as to secure
LOPE DE VEGA. 225
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.
His health was good, till, within a very short time 1G35.
before he died, he fell into a state of hypochondria, -^tat.
which clouded the close of his existence.* His friend,
Alonzo Perez de Montalvan, seeing him thus melan-
choly, asked him to dine with him and a relation, on
the day of Transfiguration, \vhich was the 6th of August.
After dinner, as ah 1 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, ' f 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 physi-
* Montalvan.
VOL. III. Q
226 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
cians 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. (C If
you advise this," said Lope " there must be a necessity;"
and that same night he received the sacrament. Ex-
treme 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 ap-
plause 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 w r ere
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
LOPE DE VEGA. 22?
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 lega-
cies 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 coun-
tenance ; 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 per-
haps, but always amiable and true. Generous to pro-
digality 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.
Q 2
'J-.2S L1TERAKY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
In drawing up Lope's character, Montalvan * 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 hos-
pitable, and exceedingly well bred. His temper, he
says, was never ruffled but by those who took snuff
before company ; with the grey w r ho 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 " Dragon tea" 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 fu-
rious and personal; the marriage of Philip II. with
*. We cannot take leave of Montalvan without saying something of his
merits as an author, ami noticing his career. He was regarded by Lope as his
favourite pupil and friend. He was notary to the inquisition. At the
a^i- of seventeen he wrote plays in the style cf his friend and teacher, and
continued to write after the death of Lope, with an assiduity and speed
Hi it rivalled him. He died in 1639, at the age of thirty-five only ; and had
I ready written nearly a hundred comedies and autos as well as seve-
rul novels. These last are imaginative and entertaining. His comedies
are not so finished nor well arranged as Lope's, but they havegreat 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' per-
fection.
LOPE DE VEGA. 229
bloody queen Mary, having caused much intercourse be-
tween 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 ima-
gined 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 Coeur de Lion is the hero, though the
English of course are rendered subordinate to the
Spaniards. We have not read it. Lord Holland pro-
nounces 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 begin-
ning, 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 anyjnjury 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 un-
der wood 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 en-
tered into the lists to win the prize instituted for poems
in celebration of the event. Isidro had been elevated
Q 3
230 LITERARY AXD SCIENTIFIC MEN.
into a saint at the solicitation of Philip III., who had
IH rn cured of a fever by the body of the defunct mi-
racle-maker being brought to him. Every Spanish
port 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 Bur-
guillos. These were all burlesque ; but subsequently
Lope continued to adopt the name, and published se-
veral poems under it, among others, the " Gatomaquia,
or War of Cats," a mock heroic, which is a great fa-
vourite 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 impos-
sible 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 cruised 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
LOPE DE VEGA. 231
furious, and the drama only became tolerated by mak-
ing over the theatres to two religious corporations, one
a hospital, and the other of flagellants ; and the wicked-
ness of the stage was permitted* 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 farm-
yard, 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 gentle-
men 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 may be observed, the
clergy nourished a prejudice against it, censured Lope for
* Pelicer Tratado sobre el Origen de la Comedia. Quarterly Review,
No. 117.
Q 4
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
being the occasion of much sin, and caused him on his
denth bed to express his regret at having written for the
stage, and to promise that if he recovered he would do
so no more.
( Vrvantes 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 aston-
ishing : 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 cir-
cumscribed. He says himself
" Should I the tides 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 H) entirely did he possess the ear and favour of
the audience, that many a play of which he was inno-
cent was brought out under his name, and thus obtained
applause.
I lie causes of his success are easily discovered.
LOPE BE VEGA. 233
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 in-
terest 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
234 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MKN.
well and happy. If a husband is jealous, it is not that
he doubts the fidelity of his wife, or even her attach-
ment, 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 " Cer-
tain 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 Henri quez 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 hus-
band." Accordingly assassins are commissioned to
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 lov-
ing 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 break-
ing 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 de-
LOPE DE VEGA. 235
monstrations, 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 xnvn 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 tend-
ing 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 Sacra-
mentales. 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 personae.
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 pre-
tend. 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
236 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
piece of one act. French and English writers have
consulted him as a mine. In him originated also the in-
troduction 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 con-
venient 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 * :
" 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 en-
* Arte de hacer Comedias. Lord Holland's Translation.
LOPE DE VEGA. 23?
gaged 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. Stih 1 Lope's works are a mine of wealth for
any dramatist, whence to draw situations, plots, and dia-
logue. Dryden borrowed much from him ; and, not-
withstanding 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.
238 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
VICENTE ESPINEL.
1 544 _ 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 hope-
less 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. Des-
cription, moral reflection, where no originality nor bold-
ness 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 plea-
sure are songs, madrigals, redondillas, and romances,
which are often fresh and sparkling- - warm from the
ii'Mrt, cither dancing with animal spirits or soft with
I.-it Ill-tic- tenderness. Among the writers of such, none
-Ili-d Vicente Espinel. The following is a specimen,
:ind may IK- taken as an example of that style of Spanish
VICENTE ESPINEL. ESTEBAX DE VILLEGAS. 239
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 ori-
ginal :
" A thousand, thousand times, I seek *
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?
Xo, 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 Gra-
nada, in the year 1 544. He was of poor parentage, and
left his native town early to seek his fortunes. A coun
* " Mil veces voy a hablar
a mi zagala,
pero mas quiero callar,
por no esperar
que me envie noramala
Voy a decirla mi dailo
pero tengo por mejor,
tener dudoso el favor
que no cierto el desengailo ;
y aunque me suele anirnar
su gracia y gala,
el temer me hace callar,
por no esperar
que me envie noramala.
Tengo por suerte mas buena
mostrar mi lingua a 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."
240 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC WEN.
tryinan, don Francisco Pacheco, bishop of Malaga, so
far favoured as to ordain him, and he became a be-
neficiary 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 at-
tacker, of Cervantes, which circumstance does not
redound to his credit.* 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 Ana-
creon of Spain, more easy, sweet and spirited even than
Vicente Espinel, was Estevan Manuel de Vill u 'gas.
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 en-
tered 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 ana-
creontics, which he published in l6l8, in his twenty-
third year.
\ i irdi'.t, in his life of Cervantes, mentions that Vicente Espinel became
^lis enemy. 1 have not discovered on what he grounds this assertion. In
Mir postscript to the" Voyage to Parnassus", oiie of the latest of Cervantes's
works, he- ii-ifjiis that Apollo sent messages to various Spanish poets :
YOU will give my compliments," the God writes, "to Vicente Espinel,
s to one of the oldest and truest friends 1 have."
VICENTE ESPINEL. ESTEBAN DE VILLEGAS. 241
On the death of his father, he returned to Nagera, to
assist his widoAved mother, and attend to the interests of
his estate. Here, in retirement and peace, he dedicated
himself to the acquirement of knowledge and the cultiv-
ation of poetry. He married, in the year 1 626, donna An-
tonia de Leyva Yillodas, 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 im-
portance and emolument. " Thus/' says Sedano, " this
great man was, in common with almost every other per-
son of eminence, pursued by adversity, w T hich 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, some-
times deteriorate from Villegas's poetry, he has more
natural facility, added to classical correctness, than al-
most 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*, and he can compare it with the
Greek, and perceive that Anacreon never found poet so
capable of transfusing into another language the viva-
city^ and grace of his lyrics.
* " Amada Palomilla,
<; de donde, di, u adonde
vienes con tanta prisa,
vas con tantos olores ?
f, Pues a ti que te importa?
Sabras que Anacreonte
me envia a su Bat-ilo,
Senor de todo el crbe:
VOL. III. R
212 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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,
Fuvonius, 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 ' Idle!'
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!"
que como por un himno
me cmancipo Dione :
n6mbrome su page,
y el por tal recibiome.
Suyas son estas cartas,
suyos estos renglones,
por lo qual me prometo
lihertad quando torno.
Pero yo no la quiero,
ni quiero que me ahorre;
porque.- de que me sirve
andar cruzando monies
comer pod rid as bacas,
ni pararme en los robres ?
A mi pues me permite
el mismo Anacreonte
comer de sus viandas,
beber de sus licores :
Y quaiulo vien brindada
doy saltos voladores,
le cubro con mis alas,
y el (iulce las acoge.
Su citara es mi catna,
sus cuerdas mis colchones,
en quien suavamente
duermo toda la noche.
Mi historia es esta, amigo,
peroqueda a los dioses,
que me has hecho pnrlera
mas que graja del bosque."
243
GONGORA.
15611627.
DON Luis DE GONGORA Y AUGOTE was born at Cordova
on the llth July 156l. 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 en-
tered 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 un-
offending 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 chap-
lain to Philip III. He was held in much esteem by
those nobles who cultivated literature, on account of his
R. <?
Iv ,*
A\- LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
great talents ; and he founded a sort of school of litera-
ture whose disciples were bigotted, zealous, and into-
lerant.
Ho thus wasted eleven years at court, not deceived by
vain hopes, for his experienced understanding prevented
his entertaining any such illusions, but forced by neces-
sity. 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 \vhole appearance
venerable, though severe and adust, bearing marks of
the causticity and satire of his disposition, which how-
ever softened as he grew older. He \vas 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 dis-
position to found a school of poetry, and attack the chief
writers of the day, Cervantes and Lope de Vega, the
Argensolas andQuevedo, in reply to their just criticisms
on his inflated and tortuous style ; and it was balm to
- pride to hear the applause of his followers. But it
ready to his discredit that, while heretofore the dis-
putes of the Spanish poets with regard to literature were
"iiducted with temper, and for the most part with
urbanity, (iongora indulged in scurrility and abuse. Plis
, Sedano tells us, is, that this sort of insolence
waa the fruit of youthful arrogance : yet, as he was a
: older than Lope, and contemporary with most of
the others, he could not have been so very young when
GONGORA. 245
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
' c 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 meta-
phoric 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 under-
standings in a common manner.
It is remarkable that in the early poetry of Gongora
there is no trace of this style which he afterwards in-
vented (as his followers called it), and insisted upon as a
prodigy cf good taste and poetic genius. His early
poetry is peculiarly simple and plain. He wrote redon-
dillas or seguidillas in the old Spanish style, on the most
common-place topics, which yet he treats with spirit and
power j 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 them-
selves on a holiday ; in which he describes the plea-
R 3
21-6 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
sures of Spanish children, with infinite vivacity and nature.
The subject of another, is the story of Hero and Leander.
lit- transforms the hero and heroine of this romantic love
>tory, 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
beach, and his throwing himself in though tar-
nished 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 trans-
lation 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,
Fourd ere the evenine shades, a bier,
And 1 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 ;
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
1 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 gayj
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."
I he following song, sent with flowers, and asking
from his lady a kiss for every sting he received while
.-athcring them, is tender and elegant:
GONGORA. 247
" From my summer alcove, which the stars this morn
With lucid pearls o'ersprcad,
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, and 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.*"
His poems in Spanish metres, his letrillas and romances,
have the same brilliancy of expression, warmth of emo-
tion, and vivid colouring. The c( Ballad of Angelica
and Medora" is particularly airy and fresh, but rich and
strong as a deep clear inland river that reflects the gor-
geous 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 alopted 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
* This translation is from Mr. Wiffin, to show how simply and beau-
tifully 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 perks bordo 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 desataclo,
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.
B 4
2 IS LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 exag-
geration of figures were introduced. " He rose," one of
his disciples writes, cf to the sublime height of refine-
ment (cn/fiirti), which ignorance holds in distaste, and
accomplished the greatness of c Polyphemus/ the ' Sole-
dailes,' 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 remem-
bered as a fantastic an 1 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 contem-
porary 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 com-
peted with him : Herrera, Vicente Espinel, the two
AigensolaSj 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
GOXGORA. 249
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 trans-
positions, 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, w r hich
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 gentle-
man produce monstrous births and fancy that, by imi-
tating his style, they inherit his genius. Would to God
they imitated him in that part which is worthy of adop-
tion; 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, fore-
250 LITEHAHY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
head 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
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 expres-
sion, 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." *
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 ? f
Pcet. 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.
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."
Discurso sohre la Nueva Foesia por Lope de Vega,
f Lord Holland's Life of Lope de Vega.
I Lop. Sois vu'lgar o culterano ?
Sev. Culto soy.
Lop. Ouedaos en casa
Y escribireis mis secretos.
\ ". Sus secretos! por que causa ?
/."/' 1'orquo nudic los entienda.
" Aijuella cjue escribe en culto
p<:r a <|uul Griego lenguage ;
<iuc no ID supo Castilla,
m se eiisuiiule su madre."
GONGORA. 251
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 Tome 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 ofHhe 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 tliou 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."*
While Lope on these occasions, and on many others,
takes occasion to reprehend and satirise this new r system,
his disciples held it up as the wonder of the world;
they caUed it the estilo culto, or refined style, and them-
selves 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
*" 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 ve/ 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."
'J.VJ LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC 3IEN.
.i-Mimes the proportions of a mountain in the evening
uii>t. We m;iy look at it with wonder, we may lose our
\\ny or tumble into a ditch in endeavouring to reach
it : but, once at its summit,, and we find ourselves scarcely
(.levated 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 wayes 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 extil'i rii/to, ami with such very refined phrases an 1
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 ju-ge in what a jungle of intermin-
able words, and heterogeneous ideas, this mistaken poet
lost himself :
T was in the flowery season of the year,
When lair 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
More gracefully than Ida's shepherd boy,
\Vi- wrecked and scorned as well as far away,
The tears of love and amorous complaints
<-.jve to the sea. which he then pitying
Imparts to rustling leaves, that to the wind
ats the saddest Mghs,
*s softest instrument
And from the mountain top a pine which aye
Mruguled with its tierce enemy the North,
There rent a pitying limb and the brief plank
I'M r. une a no small dolphin to the youth
Who warid'ring heedlessly, was forced t' intrust
1 1 - way unto a Libyan waste of sea,
GONG OR A. 253
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
\Vith seaweed clank 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
Kestored 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."*
Sismondi only gives half this sentence,, hut the latter
part is the most intelligible ; and besides it was difficult to
refrain from presenting the reader with the refined image
* " Era del ailo 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 gar^on de Ida
naufragb, y desdefiado sobre ausente
lagrimosas de Amor, dulces querellas
Da al mar, que conilolido
fue a las ondas, que al viento
el misero gemido,
segundo de Arion dulce instrumento
del siempre en la montaua opuesto pino,
al enemigo Noto
piauoso miembro roto,
breve tabla, Delfin no fue pequefio
al inconsiderado peregrino,
que a una Libia de ondas su camino
fio, y su vida a un leuo
del oceano, pues antes sorvido
y luego vomitado,
no lexos de un etcollo coronado
de secos junros, de calientes plumas,
(Alga todo, y espumas)
hallo hospitalidad donde hallo nido
de Jupiter el ave,
besa la arena, y de la rcta nave
aquella parte poca
que lo expuso en la playa, dio a la roca,
que aun se dexan las pefias
lisongear de agradecidas sefias,
desnudo el joven, quanta 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."
204- LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
(cnltti fan) 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 gorgeous-
ness 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'etait la saison fleurie de Fannee dans
laquelle le ravisseur deguise d' Europe, portant sur son
front pour armes une demie-lune, et tous les rayons du
soleit dissemines sur son front, devenu un honneur bril-
lant du ciel, menait paitre des etoiles dans des champs
de saphir j lorsque celui qui etait bien plus fait pour
presenter la coupe a Jupiter que le jeune homme d'Ida,
fit naufrage, et confia a la mer de douces plaintes et des
larmes d amour ; celle-ci pleine de compassion les trans-
mit aux feuilles qui repetant le triste gemissement du
vent comme le doux instrument d'Arion " Here
Sismondi breaks off, for here Gongora becomes particu-
larly 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. Whe-
ther 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.
QUEVEDO. 255
QUEVEDO.
15801645.
SPANIARDS may look back with pride to this epoch, so
fertile in genius, so prolific of the talent and high cha-
racter 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 oppres-
sion. The words of Gray, wherein he speaks of the
heroes and poets who may have been born and died with-
out 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 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
li LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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
he;iveii to govern the human race.
Among the men who, last of the Spaniards of re-
nown, flourished at that epoch, Quevedo deserves parti-
rulur 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 Marj, 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 Mon-
tana, in the Yalle 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*, 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 Alcala, and there his passion
for study developed itself in all its intensity, so that we
arr told that he took his degree in theology, to the
wonder of every body, at fifteen. This seems almost
*" Muricron lucgo mis padres,
Dios en el rielo los tenga,
]>(in;in- no vuelvan ac&,
y a cnjj'endrar mas hijos vuelvan."
Musa, VI. Romance, XVI.
QUEVEDO. 257
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 j
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 Que-
vedo ran his adversary through the body. The friends
VOL. III. S
2"S LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
of the cavalier endeavoured to seize him, and he was
obliged to Hy : he took refuge in Italy, and thence,
invited hy th- via roy, 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
Mimular character ; and the career he ran,, in which Que-
vedo was involved,, was as strange and various as was his
disposition and designs.* The character of the Spanish,
under the gloomy influence of Philip II., had become
dirrnified, 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,
u dement, 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 Rcdrigo 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
joy i ;!-. lie was often called insane, and the sober tried
to bring him into disesteem. His high birth and vast
-.Mies, however, gave him rank and weight, and he had
''!); nUht-d himself in the wars of the Low Countries,
( >'iiy by his bravery but by his military skill. His
* Ccspcdcs.
QUEVEDO.
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 re-
puted fit to command an army. His valour was undoubt-
ed ; on one occasion he had three horses kiUed 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 j 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
s 2
2f)0 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Italy. ( harles Emanuel, duke of Savoy, a gallant and
patriotic prince in vain endeavoured to make head against
it : IK- was forced to submit. Still in heart he was at
uar; and this sovereign and the republic of Venice
made a quiet but determined stand against the encroach-
ment-, 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 dishonour-
able, but they shewed his despotic and daring spirit.
He encouraged the Uscocchi, a tribe of pirates who
inhabited I stria, 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 protec-
tion : 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,
rinding 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.
( )suna 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
tin- Porte to attack Candia. This fleet was driven into
pert by a storm : but he had a number of privateers
whi.-h, notwithstanding Spain was at peace with Venice,
raptured the vessels of that state; and, when he was
ordered to restore them, he obeyed by sending back
QUEVEDO. X!Ol
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 uncon-
trouled 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 Otw r ay'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 intro-
duce 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, ar-
tillery 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
s 3
2()J LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
that both ministers were zealously bent on weakening
the power of Venice; and,, as there appears ample proof
that tliis 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
O-iina was privy to the plot, it seems certain that
(Jnevedo also was. This is a painful circumstance.
We hear so much of the integrity and excellence of
Qnevedo'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 conspi-
racy, 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 ambas-
sador. But, nurtured under the poisonous influence of
the Inquisition, fraught with a zeal, which does not de-
serve 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
\eral 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.
< Mina continued viceroy of Naples, and it began to
be sn.spected that he intended to arrogate power inde-
prinlrnt of the king his master. His success at sea
HIM Venice raised him many enemies, as he gained
t through the destruction of all fair trade, and also by
imposition of vast and burthensome taxes. The
QUEVEDO. 26'3
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 un-
punished. He excluded them from all offices of power
and trust, and took occasion when he could, to con-
fiscate 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 con-
spired 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 them-
selves 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, lie neither liked
to lose his place, nor, above all, to lose it under disho-
nourable imputations, and he delayed obedience. Thus
colour was given to the idea that he meant to assert his
s 4
26'4- LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN".
independence. The court of Madrid, therefore,, pro-
tied more warily: they contrived to get possession
of his galleys and other vessels of war ; and orders were
dispatched 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 Gae'ta, hut still Osuna
protracted his stay under various pretences. The nobles
represented that he was endeavouring to raise an insur-
rection 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 him-
self 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 j 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.
1620. 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 ambas-
sador to the court of Madrid, and fulfilled the same
employment at Rome. He had been rewarded by the
u r ift of the habit of Santiago. He loved and revered
< )suna, and testified his attachment by writing several
iiiiets in his honour. One is on his death, in which
-;iys, " The fields of Flanders are his monument
til-- blood-stained Crescent his epitaph : Spain gave him
a prison and death ; but though his country failed him,
QUEVEDO. 265
his deeds were his defence.''* He wrote three other
sonnets as epitaphs t : Ortiz mentions them as contain-
ing 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 in-
cluded 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 claim-
ing 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
courtj where he enjoyed the reputation his talents, pru-
* " Memoria immortal de D. Pedro Giron, duque de Osuna, mucrto en
la Prision." Musa I. Soneto 13.
f Musa III. Sonetos 4, 5. 9.
2()() LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
demv, and conduct commanded, so that the king, to
reward his services., and compensate for his sufferings,,
named him one of his secretaries.
But such honours had ceased to charm Quevedo.
yKtat. 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
tran quillity. Several places were offered him by the
count-duke Olivarez, minister and favourite of Philip IV.,
such as minister for state dispatches, and the embassy
to Genoa, but he declined them and gave himself up to
study and philosophy. His writings were many, and
pained for him a high reputation ; he was in corre-
spondence 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 pros-
1634. perity. He gave up, however, his church preferments
.Etat. for the sake of marrying. His wife was donna Espe-
54- ranza de Aragon y la Cabra, Senora of Cetina, and she
belonged to one of the highest families in the kingdom.
\Vith 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 mis-
fortune, 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
n.joy the conversation of the dead, and with my eyes
QUEVEDO. 267
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 fMght, but that
is spent best which improves us by reading and study."*
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 play-
fully, and yet with some bitterness, alludes to his evil
fate, in a poem before quoted. He says : lc My for-
tunes 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 the'y 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 ven-
geance, and receive the blows intended for another. If
a tile is to fall, it waits till I pass under. If I wish to
* 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 conversation con los difuntos,
Y escuchocon mis ojos a los muertos.
Sino siempre entendidos, siempre abiertos,
O enmiendan, o fecundan mis assuntos,
Y en musicos callados contrapuntos
Al sueflo de la vida hablan despiertos.
Las grandes almas, que la Muerte ausenta
De injurias, de los ailos vengadora,
Libra, o gran Don Joseph, docta la emprenta.
En fuga irrevocable huye la bora ;
Pero aquella el mejor calculo cuenta
Oue en la lection y estudios nos mejora."
Musa II. Sonet a 90
2fiS LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
borrow from any one, he replies so rudely,, that, in-
stead of borrowing, I am obliged to lend my patience,
livery 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
iriven 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 dis-
astrous. 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." *
1641. But worse luck was in store for him, and a misfor-
^ tat - tune so heavy, as to put an end to his life, after ex-
hausting 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 164*1, 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
bring allowed medical aid, he was forced to dress them
himself.
'I here are two letters of his extant, written in prison,
-one addressed to a friend, the other, a memorial
t ' the count-duke Olivarez, soliciting inquiry into his
* Musa VI., romance xvi.
QUEVEDO. 269
case.* 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 arch-
bishop. 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 reli-
gious 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 : <f I can count,
senor don Diego, fourteen years and a half of imprison-
ment, and may add to this the misery of this last dun-
geon, 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 perse-
cution, 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, 16'43."
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.
* Vida de Quevedo por Tarsia.
,'70 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
" My lord/' he writes,, " a year and ten months have
- il since I was thrown into prison,, on the seventh of
December, on the eve of the Conception of our Lady, at
half-past ton 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 ah 1 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 flows near
inv 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 my-
self the voice of my conscience, and I accuse my life.
If your Excellency found rne 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 appro-
priate virtue of so great a noble and minister. ' There
i.> 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
re now that they should hear me against myself, and
my accusations will be the more true from being
ipt from hutrt'd. I protest, before God, our Lord,
that in ;dl 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
QUEVEDO. 271
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 dis-
covered 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 w r hole 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 apart-
ment, 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
272 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
last ho displayed fortitude and a tranquil spirit of
resignation. He died the 8th of September., 164-7, at
the age of sixty-five.
In person, Quevedo was of middle height, and
robust, though his feet were deformed. He was hand-
some in face, fair, and with curly hair inclined to red.
He was short-sigh ted --but his countenance was full of
animation. Notwithstanding his deformity, he was
vigorous, addicted to, and excelling in, manly exer-
cises.
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 men-
tions in his letter above quoted. Meanwhile his cha-
racter remained uninjured by adversity. His dispo-
sition 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 cha-
racter is his possible complicity in the Bedmar con-
spiracy ; 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 com-
mand of his superiors ; and believed that fidelity to his
patron was his first duty.
( >' his " Affaires du Cceur," the great subject with
poi-ts, we know little. Several ladies are celebrated in
Ins \rrses; but a great proportion of his erotic poetry
QUEVEDO. 273
is dedicated to one, whom he names Lisi, and to whom
he appears to have been faithfully attached for a con-
siderable 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 ; (e for the flame/' he says, " that aspires to im-
mortal 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 pro-
duced ; 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 im-
petuosity 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
VOL. III. T
27 1 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
bounds ; and heaped together with a prodigality like
his, instead of pleasing they only create weariness.
<l 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.*"
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 dis-
quisition, 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 ele-
vated, 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 ap-
pearing under his editorship, and the very name
Francisco being his own, and the surname, ff of the
* As a specimen of Quevedo's "poetry, 'Quintana quotes a sonnet,
which Wiiren has translated, and which has the merit cf force and truth.
" THE RVIXS OF ROMF.
' 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.
MIC lies where reigned the kingly Palatine,
And Time's wom medals more of ruin show
I -nin 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 werps iN luneni! with fraternal tears :
<> l;<>ine! iii thy wild beauty, power, and pride,
'i lie durable- i Bed; and what alone
Is tugitne, abides the ravening years I"
QUEVEDO. 275
Tower/' appropiate 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 unques-
tionably 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 contempo-
raries 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 quibus-*
dam 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 Tacano, or cap-
tain 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,
T 2
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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
tlu- 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,
attorn ies, 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 ' f 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 com-
paratively young : (one, dedicated to the duke of Osuna,
is dated l6lO, 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 en-
forced 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
lauirhcd at the odd figures they cut, while I admired the
contrivance of Providence, that all being confounded
thi-r, no mistake was made. In one churchyard only.
QUEVEDO. 277
there was some confusion and exchanging in the ap-
propriation 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 be-
devilled, 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 un-
sparing hand. Extravagant in its imaginations, yet so
proportioned to the truth of nature as to excite admi-
ration 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.
T 3
278 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
CALDERON.
16011687.
\\"i (I raw to a close. Misrule and oppression had their
inevitable results, crushing and destroying the spirit and
intflk-ct of Spain; and after,, by an extraordinary harvest
of writers, the soil had shown what it could do, it be-
came 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. \Ve 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 him-
self, 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 docu-
ments, 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 champaign country, eludes
description. The only account we have of him pro-
Ls from a friend*, who commences with blowing a
' ' Vll| > > I-Ncritos do Don Pedro Calderon dela Barca nor Don
JUJU) dc Vi-r;i Ta-,i^ y Yillarroel.
CALDERON. 2?9
trumpet,, as if he were going to te ^ lls mucn - " 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 fur-
nishes, until others better cut than his shall publish
eulogies worthy of his name."
Don Pedro Calderon de la Barca was born in 1601 *;
thus coming into the world of poetry at the moment when
the plays of Lope de Vega were in vogue, and whe.n Cer-
vantes 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 hidal-
goship (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 mi-
grated many years before, and were settled at Toledo.
His mother's name was Donna Ana Maria de Henao y
Riafia, 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 boy he was conspicuous for his intelligence
and acquirements. At the age of fourteen he entered
the university of Salamanca. He remained there for
* Boutcrwek and Sismondi give 1600 as the date of Calderon's birth. His
Spanish biographer mentions 1601.
T 4
280 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
five years, and rendered himself conspicuous by his ardour
for study, and by the progress he made in the most
abstruse ;a ; d difficult sciences. Already also had he
begun to write plays, which were acted with applause in
several Spanish theatres.
lfi'20. At the age of nineteen he left Salamanca. These
f date^ are given us, but the intermediate spaces are un-
1 !l> rilled up. We are not told whether he resided at Madrid
or with his family at Toledo. His fame became estab-
lished 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.
:6. 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
Avith few events. How do we know this ? Throughout
these campaigns, during these years of youthful ardour
and enterprise, how much may have occurred, what dan-
gers 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 iraces 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 per-
sonal interest and sympathy we are totally ignorant. An
. order from his sovereign recalled him to court. Philip IV.
passionately fond of the theatre, and himself wrote
plays. Innumerable dramas appeared under his patron-
names of the authors being utterly unknown ;
and even of those of acknowledged writers few have
IMVII t-olliTted and published under the name of their
author. Single plays, iii pamphlets, we find in plenty,
CALDERON. 281
all very similar the one to the other ; a better arrange-
ment 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. Cal-
deron wrote the " Certamen de Amor" (the Combat of
Love), and cc Zelos" (Jealousy), which were acted at
the palace of Buen-Retiro. Calderon wrote as he was
commanded ; but, unwilling to leave the army, he ob-
tained a commission in the company of the count-duke
of Olivarez, which he followed to Catalonia, and re-
mained till the peace, when he returned to court ; when
the king conferred on him the pay of thirty crowns a
month in the artillery.
On another occasion, while staying in the country 1550.
with the duke of Alva, the king sent for him to celebrate /Etat,
the festivals that occurred on his marriage with Maria 49.
Ana of Austria.
At the age of fifty-one he quitted the military ca-
reer, 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
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC -YEN.
a royal chapel at Toledo, of which he took possession on
;. the Iflth of June of the same year. But the king,
tistird with his distance from court,, and his con-
, I uent inability to assist properly at the royal feasts,
., him a royal chaplaincy, and recalled him to Ma-
drid ; bestowing on him besides a pension, derived from
the revenues of Sicily, besides other presents and re-
wards, the ever-renewing recompence of his labours. Cal-
deron now wrote a play at each celebration of the king's
birth-day, not only for Madrid, but for Toledo, Seville,
and (Jra'nada. As he advanced in age, he obtained
other church preferments. He died on the 29th of May,
1687. HiST, at the age of eighty-six. He left the congrega-
-T'.tat. tion 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. Cal-
deron, 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 book -
Hers, and to pay as little regard to his plays as they did.
Me oli^rviil, that on religious grounds, he attached
more importance to his " Autos."
CALDEROV. 28,'l
Several collections of Calderon's plays appearc-d
during his life ; one of them being edited by his bro-
ther, and another by his friend and biographer, Don
Juan de Vera Tassis y Villaroel, who published a hun-
dred 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 can-
not be doubted.
Bouterwek and Sismondi have both entered into con-
siderable 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 cha-
racteristics.
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 tw r enty-fifth volume of the "Quar-
terly 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,
-JS4) LITKRAKY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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
visiti-d. 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 ven-
geance, 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 w r ill take two vengeances ; one on
his ancient enemy, the other on the intruder : the
Hgure 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 ex-
claims, " 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 daemon ! You answer
not --then thus I dare throw off your mantle !" But,
hidden by the cloak is a skeleton only ; and aghast with
UTi-or, he exclaims, " Great God ! what dreadful spec-
tiirle is this ! Horrible vision ! - - Mortal terror ! what art
thou --stark corse- - that crumbled into earth and dust,
yut live? The figure replies, " Knowest thou not
thyself? I am thy portraiture- -I am Ludovico
Bnnio] These words, this fearful sight, awaken hor-
ror and remorse in the criminal's mind; his heart per-
CALDERON. 285
ceives the truth, 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 doc-
trine in them, and that ic God the Father plays the
school- divine j" 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 disbe-
lieve and thus bringing heaven and heh 1 palpably and
feelingly before us. The auto of f: Life is a dream."
(jLa Vida es Sueno) 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 j 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 ma-
chinery his incomparable sweetness. Justina is one
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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
itM'lt'. Nature the birds, the leaves, and wandering
douds, breathe of love, and endeavour to soften and
corrupt her heart.* The "Principe Costante " (the
Constant Prince) seems to be the most popular of
(aldi ron's plays with his critics. " La Vida es Suefio"
( LitV is a Dream) not the auto, but the play- - is
another, full of wild strange interest, original and sub-
lime. " 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 " Sefiora 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
re-tines 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
< oinmand." 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
Princi- ; the heart be charmed and interested by the
Shell. iv-thumoiis Poems. Translations. There is a beautiful
ige, drawn irmn tin.- " I'urKatorio de San Patricio," introduced into
Author's tragedy of the Cenci.
CALDERON. 287
sweetness of Justina, and be touched by tbe fatherly sor-
rows of David, in " Los Cabellos de Absolom.''
Calderon is much more readable, much more interest-
ing than Lope. He rises higher. It is not only com-
plexity 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, arid 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.
288 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN,
THE EARLY POETS OF PORTUGAL.
KIBEYRA, GIL VICENTE, SAA DE MIRANDA, FERREIRA.
THE same spirit that inspired the Spanish Cancionero,
.ind 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 re-
mained 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 cen-
tury Alphonso VI., a Spanish sovereign, celebrated for
his victories over the Moors, gave the county of Por-
tugal as a dowry to his daughter on her marriage with
ilniry 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, \\ith the exception of the Algarve. He took
Lisbon, ami thus became possessed of a powerful and
rich capital, and he signalised his successes, by changing
tlu- appellation of what had hitherto been a province,
and by naming his dominions a kingdom. From this
PORTUGUESE POETRY. 289
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 Por-
tuguese 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 expres-
sive, 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*, 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 Mediter-
ranean, 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 encou-
raging 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 dis-
covering another route to India, than the hitherto un-
* In Castilian cancioneros general or general song books. Vide Bouter-
wek ; Sismondi.
VOL. III. U
290 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
successful 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
Gaina reached the renowned and unvisited shores of
India. Jn less than fifteen years from this time, Fran-
cisco 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 over-
flowing 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 con-
quered 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*; 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 ob-
* Bouterwek.
SAA DE MIRANDA. 2)1
scurity of the whole,, that nothing can be comprehended
of the circumstances without the utmost effort of atten-
tion. 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 how-
ever 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 sono-
rous 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 compo-
sitions, their imitators at once adopted the very language
in which they were clothed. Saa de Miranda wrote his
best \vorks, 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
u 2
292 LITKRARY AXD SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 t very writer, but not excelled by any.
In this brief summary of the predecessors of Camoens,
ntroduced 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 entertain-
ments 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
>t 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
i >f due-tor in the university of Coimbra, where
lied civil law. He was an enthusiastic lover of
native language, and resolved never to write in any
other, at the same time that he founded his taste and
sty]-, on thu study of Horace. He admired also the
FERRE1RA. 293
excellencies of Italian poetry, and introduced the mea-
sure 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 Vi-
cente, 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 ex-
presses 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 feel-
ing 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 per-
mit the Muses in Portugal to speak any thing but Portu-
guese. 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 enthu-
siasm 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
u 3
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 Fer-
roira were alike ; they loved their native country, and
were eager to adorn its literature with native flowers.
Jn 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.
295
CAMOENS.
15241579.
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 mis-
ftrtune. Camoens, indeed, has in this a sad ad-
vantage over Cervantes. The latter lived in poverty,
but the former died in want. Posterity endeavoured
to repair the injuries inflicted by ungrateful con-
temporaries. The circumstances of the life of Ca-
raoens were carefully collected. Several able native
commentators wrote elaborate notes on the " Lusiad,"
and lastly a magnificent edition of that poem was pub-
lished 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 here-
after 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 IC 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 Caamaiios
the etymology of which has occupied the commentators.
u 4
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Wr arc 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 Camao, 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 en-
trusted her defence to the cadmao, and the success of
her appeal caused her husband, grateful for this restora-
tion to honour and domestic felicity, to adopt the name
of the saviour bird. This is a tale of romance and bar-
barism,, of the days of ordeal and degrading suspicion ;
but Camoens himself alludes to it, and it derives interest
from his mention.*
The family of Caamanos possessed a solar or ancestral
inheritance in Gallicia, and reigned over seventeen vil-
lages 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 Kubianes ; where Faria y Sousa tells us the
family still remain, great in birth, but of diminished
means. t
Vasco Perez de Camoens, either brother or son of this
Kuv, made a second migration to Portugal in 1370.
I '.uia y Sousa conjectures that it might be from some such
r (.MUM.* as occasioned the first exile, while Southey
* Experimentou-se algna hora
Da Ave que cliamao Camao,
<Juc, sr da Ca.>a, on do mora,
\ e ailulu-ra a Senhora,
Mi.rrc dc |.uva paixnn.
ford dates the migration of this family from the time of
Kuy tic rauiocii.s and speaks of him as a follower of king
1 Ferre ra 'it his authority, but other commentators give a differ.
cut uivnuiit. Si e \ ida del Poeta jior Taria y bousa, iii. iv.
CAMOENS. 297
attributes it to his having sided with Pedro the Cruel
against his more infamous brother Henriquez II. How-
ever that may be, Fernando, king of Portugal, received
him with distinction, and gifted him with the " villas "
of Sardoal, Punhete, Marao, 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 Por-
tugal. 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, Joao 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. Simao Vaz, the grandson of
Joao 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
LITKRAHY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
nlory of having been his birth-place, but without foun-
dation ; for he was born at Lisbon, most probably in
the district " da Mouraria," in the parish of San Sebas-
tian, whore 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 1 .VJ4.* This entry also is conclusive on another
point. It was long believed that Camoens lost his
Cither while a mere child. Simon Vaz de Camoens was
a mariner ; nearly a]l the biographers of the poet agree
in stating that he lost a ship, of which he was com-
mander, 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 fond-
ness 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 fond-
iir-s 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
1 r y Soura, in his second life of Camoens appended to his " Rimas,"
mention^ having found, in the registers of the Portuguese India House,
a h-t ..I all the chief person* who sailed to India. In the list for 1550,
then i- tln> entry: " Luis de Camoens, son of Simon Vaz and AnadeSa,"
i'lha' t l.iii(,n, in the quarter of la Monraria, escudeiro (a name
equivalent to our oquire), with a red beard; he gave his father as surety
ami -.ul-_m the ship San Pedro los Burgalezes.
CAMOENS. 299
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.*
Camoens studied in the university at Coimbra. This
university was founded by king Diniz, in 1308. Camoens
introduces mention of this monarch in the tc 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.f
* Lusiad, Canto vii. 78. Further mention will be made hereafter of
this passage.
t It is curious to compare the smooth, even, and (so to speak) unindi-
viditalized 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 da 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."
Fans/iaw's Translation.
500 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
The university, however., fell off, and it was don
M;miu'l 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 toCoimbra for it had been trans-
ferred to Lisbon and founded several new colleges.
Tlie date when Camoens entered it is uncertain. It has
been supposed that he was twelve years old. In that
v-a^e he must have attended it while at Lisbon ; for it
was only transferred in 1537, 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
noens 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
motions with the mighty passion of which he was
d 'terwards the prey, he might well say,
All ignorant of love I pass'd my days,
Its bow and all its mad deceits despising,
I iwi-rt to that period as the time,
* Cancam, vii. See also Cancam, ii.
CAMOENS. 301
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 hard captivity.*
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.f 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 seemd 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 ihee 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.
There is nothing so attractive to a biographer as
to complete the fragments of his hero's life ; and,
* Soneto, vi.
f 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,
J Lord Strangford's translation, p. 94.
302 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
almost as children trace the forms of animals and land-
scapes in the fire, by fixing the eye on salient particles,
so a few words suffice to give cc 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 concomi-
tant 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.
1545.* To return however from remark to history, Camoens
-K tat. left Coimbra for Lisbon and the court. He had not
- 1 - lost his time at the University he was a finished
scholar. He was a poet also then w r hen poetry was
held a high and divine gift. With such acquirements
and accomplishments, joined to his gentlemanly quali-
ties, 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. As a young noble of illustri-
ous 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 pros-
perity, he might expect an ample portion of that hap-
* i'.:r .1 y NIIK.-I, .;i>s l.'Ui.' other commentators give 1545. The latter
seems tlif more hkuly date.
CAMOENS. 303
piness, 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, 154*5. 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 attach-
ment 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.* 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 imi-
tated the earlier one; but there is no other resemblance
between their attachment. The name of the lady
* Mr. Adamson says, that " The sonnet does not allude [to any parti,
cular situation j " but certainly the line
Eu crendo que o hi gar 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 simi-
larity 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.
304 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
( amoens 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
dr 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 dedi-
cates 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 preten-
sions 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
l.nly, describing her beauty, his sufferings, and the
deep affection he nourished. Notwithstanding the good
old proverb, commentators are fond of instituting com-
parisons, 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
"f tin- Italian, and for this there is an obvious cause.
\\ liilr speaking slightingly of them, Petrarch was
employed even in his last days in the correction and
poli'.liin-- of his Italian poetry ; while the verses of
< amoens, written in the first gush of inspiration, were
CAMOENS. 305
never collected by him, or if collected, the volume was
lost : and scattered over Portugal and India, it \vas \vith
difficulty they were brought together, nor were they pub-
lished 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 de-
scribes the lady, is a great favourite with the Portu-
guese : 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 bash fulness,
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 minu ;
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
VOL. III. X
"Of) LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 ryes
Dwell on the deep enjoyment of your sight,
1 give my spirit to that one delight,
And earth appears to me a Paradise.
And when ] 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, 1 t'rd 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."
P
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 vio-
lated 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."*
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 inter-
view, when the horrors of approaching exile were
softened by finding his grief and his sorrow shared by
IHT he loved. There indeed appears foundation for
this,, though the noble biographer uses a few fancy tints,
quoting the twenty-fourth sonnet, he comments
* Soneto 25.
CAMOENS. 307
on it, by saying, (C On the moming of his departure
his mistress relented from her wonted severity, and con-
fessed 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."*
Camoens appears to have passed his exile at Santa-
rem (the native place of his mother), or in its neigh-
bourhood. 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 sopnets 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 ail 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.
* 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 ! "
x 2
308 MTKRARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEX.
" On polder. Tagus* undulating stream*
Skim the light barks by gentlest,wishes sped
Trace their still way niiiNt many a rosy gleam
That steals in blushes o'er its trembling bed.
" I see tliem gay, in passing beauty glide
Some with tix'd sails to woo the tardy gale,
\Yliile others with their oars that stream divide
To which 1 weeping tell the Exile's tale."
At this period also he is supposed to have conceived
and begun the Lusiad. Passionately fond of his coun-
try, 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 sove-
reign, 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 happi-
ness 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 I
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
eft 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 ob-
scurity, and the dull sleepy course of hopeless unvaried
mediocrity of station and life. He loved, and he was
banished.
* These verses are peculiarly beautiful in the original. The translation,
though (lowing, does not embody the ideas of the Portuguese with exact-
itude, or with equal energy of expression.
CAMOENS. 309
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 some-
thing, 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 disco-
vered 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 contra-
dictions.* There are several expressions in his poems
* 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 Vazjlied on his arrival at Goa, but voyages in those da\s
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 inten-
tion or joining him.
x 3
110 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEX.
which indicate that the poet, though innocent, was obliged
to go to Africa.* 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.
j/5/JO. While with the troops at Ceuta, Camoens was ac-
Kt-.it. lively 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 com-
mander of a vessel, w r as wrecked on the Malabar coast,
and, escaping from the wreck, arrived at Goa; but did
not long survive the loss of his fortunes.
13. Camoens cast hope to the winds, and embarked for
)tat. India. Stricken by disappointment, rendered despair-
ing 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
* Don Jose Maria de So usa-
CAMOENS. 311
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." *
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.
When Camoens visited India the glorious days of
Portugal were at an end. Albuquerque, Almeida, and
the heroic Pacheco, who like a fabulous Paladin, with-
stood whole armies with his single arm, and who died
unrewarded and unnoticed by his ungrateful sovereign
in a hospital in Lisbon, were no more ; the disinterested-
ness, 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.
* There is a singular story told by Faria y Sousa, that he found among
the old tnoks on the stall or Pedro Coelho, at Madrid, a MS. copy of the
first six cantos of the Lusiari, written before Camoens went to India. The
copy at the conclusion contained this note : " These six cantos were pur-
Joined 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 >tanza 4t>., 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 stanza-; 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 pr serving the new ones, since it would appear that
they were expunged by Camoetis himself.
312 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Dom Alfonso tie 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 Portu-
guese gained for them a signal victory, and the king
of Cochin soon sued for peace. " We were to retake
an island/' Camoens writes in his first elegy, ' f be-
longing 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 com-
prised 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 An-
tonio de Noronha. He perished in an engagement
with the Moors, near Tetuan, on the 18th of April,
155.3. 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 sheiks in silence to a father's gaze
Tin- fatal .-trengtli of love's resistless sigh ;
1' irental art, resolved, alas ! to prove
The stronger power of absence over love."
CAMOENS. 313
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 mono-
tony. The act of writing may compose the mind;
hut the boiling of the soul, and quake of heart, that
precede, transcend all the sufferings which tame spirits
feel. Camoens wrote a sonnet * 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
k
box, and may serve as a word of advice to other adven-
turers, 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-- f 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." f
* The sonnet has been translated by lord Strangford.
f These lines are quoted from the_ first eclogue of Garcilaso de la Vega.
314? LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 j 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, ex-
cept by coming to this, where I am more respected than
the bulls of Merciana*, 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 01 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 understand-
ing, 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
It i- -Mpposed that Camoens meant, that his enemies were angry to see the
reputation they coveted, possessed by him. The language and style of this
letti-r is -0 VITV obscure as to be almost untranslatable.
A pl.Kv .1 tew miles from Lisbon, where bulls are bred for the bull.
fights, iif .seems to ue these expressions ironically.
\ CAMOENS. .'J 1 5
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, how-
ever 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.
The year following his arrival at Goa, Noronha was 1554.
succeeded in his viceroyalty by dom Pedro Mascarenhas, ^ tat -
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 mer-
chantmen, under the command of Manoel de Vascon-
cellos. On the second occasion, Camoens offered to
serve as volunteer, and accompanying Vasconcellos,
shared the great hardships of the expedition.
On his return to Goa, he wrote a most beautiful can- 1555.
zone, the ninth, descriptive of the wretchedness he ^ tat -
endured, in which he pourtrays that corner of the
world, " neighbouring a barren, rocky, sterile moun-
tain ; 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 qf 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."
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Camoeris 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 ex-
tortion 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,"
(DixjHinttf's >i'i 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*;
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 cir-
cumstances of his removal.
* A discussion has arisen concerning the cause of Camoens' banishment.
Fario y Sousa, who lived near the time of Camoens, (he was born in
I."'! 1 ",; says that Barreto took offence at this second satire, and adds with
great candour and pood feeling : "There is not anything reprehensible in
all my master's actions, except his having written these satires, for in
' so he lost sight of prudence, independence, and the bearing of a
cavalier ; as not any of these qualities belong to a satirist. Barreto, like-
wise, 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 Bays, 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 Ins days in honourable poverty) and blames Camoens. Adam-
son i-, inclined to.sule with h'ousa. \Ve must remember that Barreto was
a eruel, arbitrary, and extortionate man : and the sense Camoens evinces
of In- banishment, makes us willing to believe that he was supported by
a lofty M !!,(. of innocence. Recalls his banishment an unjust decree, in
the Lusiad, and in more energetic language in another poem, he wishes
that the remembrance of his exile misjht, in punishment of those by whom
t u-a- obtained, be sculptured in rock or adamant.
CAMOENS. 317
Camoens departed from Goa in the fleet which Barreto 1556.
despatched to the South. He felt this arbitrary act ^ ta *-
bitterly. He denounced it as unjust, and went, he says,
" loaded with his recollections, his sorrows, and his for-
tunes, which were for ever adverse." lie 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.* He here held the office of ' f 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 w r as
of greater emolument, and he amassed a little fortune
while holding itf; 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
* 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 maritime s 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."
f 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 governor-
ship 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.
318 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 pro-
montory 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 natu-
ral 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 Sou-
they 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
liK'>si!iLrs, 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
CAMOKNS. 319
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 enter-
tained 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.*
Camcens 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 sympa-
thetic 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 rendon-
dilhas, 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
* 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. Fans/taw's Translation
320 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEX.
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.
lie soon pursued his voyage to Goa, where the vice-
roy 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 al-
most 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 govern-
ment in India, the succeeding governors being unable
to stem the tide and avarice of extortion, w r as 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 malver-
sation in the exercise of his office at Macao. Don Fran-
cisco 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 leas-t he
afforded him no protection on this occasion, and this
thrice unhappy man w r as 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.
1 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,
1 "rtune, new toils presenting and new sours,
Through the world drags me at her chariot's tail :
CAMOENS. 321
letimcs committed to sea's rolling towers,
SniiR'tiines 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 possessioTi 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,
\Vhich laid me in a miserable jail.*
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 ad-
versity 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.
* We cannot help preferring the faithful and nervous, though uncouth
ana 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.
TOL. III. Y
322 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
At this period he is supposed to have heard of the
death of dona Catarina de Atayde *, 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 w r as 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 ! "f
Of Catarina's story we may say, as Shakspeare's Viola
does of her own history, it was (C 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 comme-
morates her loss in poems which breathe tenderness'and
love in all its purity and truth. He addressed her in
* Don Joze Faria y Souza, the latest Portuguese commentator, first
suggested this as the probable epoch of dona Catarina's death, in contra-
distinction to all other biographers, who place it on his return from Ceuta.
He founds his notion on the internal evidence of Camoens' lyrics and son-
nets, 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 men-
tioned 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.
t Perpetuo saudade da alma mia.
The word samladc 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.
J 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 flics. 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."
CAMOENS. 323
that heaven which she had reached, and adjured her :
" Prefer thy prayer
To God, who took thec 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 con-
demned, 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 poern, 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 w r as 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, w r as 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
Y 2
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Santa Fe ; they found him in a most deplorable con-
dition, 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 das-
tardly 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 ex-
presses 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 Coutp,
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 repu-
tation 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
CAMOENS. ,32. ">
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 com-
posing 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. A young j.56.9.
and gallant monarch had just ascended the throne, and -Etat.
he hoped to propitiate his favour by his patriotic work. 45t
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 crow r n
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 in-
fant 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 Sebas-
tian grew up, the courtiers around him were eager that
y 3
""26 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 ex-
perienced^ 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 lin-
gered, and it was two years after his return to his
native country before it appeared. It was hailed with
l."l. enthusiasm, and reprinted within the year. The king
Ltat. heard of it, it is said, and granted the poet a pension of
' 15,000 reis about five pounds sterling and re-
quired 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
scow r led 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 with-
holding 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 se-
lected 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.*
-ithey has given the following account of his rival : " Diego Ber-
CAMOENS. 327
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.
nardes, 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." Xotes to Sout/iey'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 hi
liberty, and died at Lisbon in 1596, and was buried in the same church a
Camoens. Vide Adamson.
Y 4
328 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
Camoens regarded with resentment the man who could
urge him to write while starving. te 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."
A\'e 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.
1778. At length illness and suffering reduced him to so low
J.Mt. a state that he was incapable of all exertion. He felt
>4- that his death was near, ami, as a last effort, he expressed
in a letter some of the bitter feelings excited by the
miserable circumstances with which it came attended.
1779. " Who ever heard," he says, " that fortune should wish
JEtat. to represent such vast misfortunes on the little theatre of
55t 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 de-
cease are alike unknown. The sheet in which he was
shrouded was the gift of a noble, Don Francisco de Por-
tugal, 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
CAMOEXS. 329
his last hours. " How miserable a thing," he writes,
f! 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 victo-
riously 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." *
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 Goncalo 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. GONCALO COUTINHO ORDERED
THIS STOXE TO BE PLACED HERE,
UNDER WHICH
NO OTHER PERSON SHOULD BE BURIED. t
We are told that Camoens was handsome in person ;
and Faria y Sousa speaks of him as elegant and pre-
possessing in person before he went to India. Hard-
ships and disappointments on his return bowed him
dow r n, destroyed his cheerfulness, and made him old
before his time.
* 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.
t This admirable inscription runs thus in its own native Portuguese on
the stone itself
AQUI JAZ LUIS DE CAMGES,
PRINCIPE DOS POETAS] DE SEU TEMPO,
VIVEO POBRE E MISERAVELMENTE,
E ASSI MORREO,^
ANNO DE MDLXXIX.
ESTA CAMPA LHE MANDA AQLTI,
FOR D. GONCALO COUTINHO,
NA QUAL SE NAO ENTERRARA
PESSOA ALGU.MA.
330 LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
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 ten-
derly 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 misfor-
tunes, 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 de-
spairing. At the commencement we compared his for-
tunes with those of Cervantes ; but the career of Ca-
moens 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 w r orld 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 w r as 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 feel-
ings of the powerful, and found himself reduced to ab-
solute want. The most adverse period of Cervantes'
life was his captivity at Algiers *, when he had the
spirit of early manhood, the love and admiration of his
companions, his own conscience, and stirring hopes and
* We may remark that Camoens died while Cervantes was still a captive
it Algiers. He was dead when the Spaniard joined the array at Lisbon
two or three years after.
CAMOENS. 331
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 dis-
tant sea that separated him from the dearest objects of
life. In his last moments, Cervantes had wife and re-
lation 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 w T as a martyr
to that political system which created a body of men,
(the younger sons of the nobility), who, if they in-
herited 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 neces-
sity. Had he lived a little longer, we are told Philip II.
desired to see him when at Lisbon j 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 de-
pends 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.*
It seems strange that men should let a fellow-crea-
O
ture die as Camoens died ; a man, too, who possessed
*",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
corning, 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.
LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC MEN.
the inuch-covetecl 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,,
" Xo more, my Muse, no more ; my harp 's ill strung,
Heavy and out of tune, and my voice hoarse
And not with singing, hut 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 melan-
choly 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 dis-
coverers 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 Mosambique;
it carries him thence, after many dangers, to Calicut.,
CAMOENS. 333
and brings him thence home. Episodical narrations
vary the poem. It has faults.* Its mythology is
clumsy. While bringing forward Christians as Mos-
lems 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 para-
phrase to the truer, though uncouth version of Fan-
shaw.f
* Doctor Southey has, in his article on the 'life of Camoens, in
the twenty-seventh volume of the " Quarterly Review," given an ac-
count of the attack made by Jose AgO:tinho 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.
f Fanshaw's poem was published without his own corrections. Southey
observes on this, that " though he might have someiimes 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 singu-
larly true : the copy of sir Richard Fanshaw's Lusiad which we have con-
sulted, contains manuscript corrections in his own hand. In this he has
frequently changed a word or transposed it ; but not one of the faulty pas-
sages is amended.
END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.
LONDOX : '
Printed by A. SPOTTISWOODE,
New-Street-Square.
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