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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES 


L.O 
•\1\\ 


t 

/ 


Oh,  1635. 


fub&that  by  larymat,.  thoit.  tee,  t-  <>rmc,  Jmr 


SOME   ACCOUNT 


or  THB 


LIFE  AND    WRITINGS 


LOPE  FELIX  DE  VEGA  CARPKX 


BY 

HENRY  RICHARD  LORD  HOLLAND. 


LONDON : 

PRINTED  FOR  LONGMAN,  HURST,  REE3,  AND  ORME, 

PATERNOSTER-ROW;  E.  JEFFERY,  PALL  MALL; 

AND  J.   RIDGWAY,   PICCADILLY; 

BY    RICHARD   TAYLOR    AND    CO.,    SHOE- LANE,    FtEET-STREET. 

1806. 


33S01  jaiJrtAM  tfCXT 


gniwdttol 

Juorfaiw  ^oa  ms  I  .uo^  01 
voi   iuifa  8floc>.ir3d 
-gnisd  to  ^cn  .C»«D 
moit  laargJfiil)  ^ri^v 
ol  dsiw  biuoda  I 
B  SB  bdiqfBo  ?j 

nfi  bnr> 

. 


DEDICATION. 

TO 

DON  MANUEL  JOSEF  QUINTANA. 


SIR, 

IN  dedicating  the  following  pages 
to  you,  I  am  not  without  appre- 
hensions that  my  readers  may 
accuse  me  of  being  actuated  by 
motives  very  different  from  those 
which  I  should  wish  to  assign. 
What  is  offered  as  a  testimony  of 
friendship,  and  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  obligations,  they  may 


« 
VI 


"- 


i    -ui       "^,- 

very  plausibly  suspect  of  being 
an  artifice  of  authorship,  and  a 
gratification  of  vanity.  Indeed  , 

•  /»  x  T  i  "Hid  nil 

if  I  were  disposed  to  assume  au- 

*i.     •*.        vt,  iri~ 

thonty  with  my  countrymen  on 

subjects    of   Castilian   literature, 

how  could  I  accomplish  it  more 

x 

effectually    than    by   insinuating 

1  1  T  1 

that  my  researches  were  directed, 
and  my  studies  assisted,  by  a 
Spaniard  so  eminent  for  purity 
of  taste  and  discernment  in  li- 

terature as  yourself?     How  could 

. 

I  more  artfully  imply  my  quali- 
fications for  judging  of  celebrated 
Spanish  poets  who  are  dead,  than 
by  proclaiming  the  intimacy  and 
friendship  with  which  I  am  ho- 


noured  by  one  who  is  living?    As, 

*     I 

however,  I  had  rather  incur  the 

' 

imputation  of  vanity  with  the 
public,  than  deserve  that  of  in- 
gratitude from  you,  I  cannot  al- 
low these  sheets  to  2fo  to  the 

° 

press  without  acknowledging  the 
advantages  I  have  derived  from 

*OQ|Ji'  ••'•'  i 

your  advice  and  conversation  in 

^   ,  L»';MlJrrTH.J    5 

collecting  the  materials  necessary 
to  the  task  which  I  had  under- 
taken, Indeed,  the  only  circum- 
stance which  could  make  me  con- 
template a  work  so  imperfect  and 
superficial  with  any  complacency, 

would    be,    that  it  is  associated 
a&fii  tD*"w  -*11* 

in  my  mind  with  the  recollection 

J 

of  tho    ninny   pleasant    hours    I 

J    r 


*  ati  , 

passed,  and  the  many  valuable 
acquaintances  I  formed,  in  the 
country  to  the  literature  of  which 
it  is  devoted, 

VASSALL  HOLLAND. 


Holland  House,  Kensington, 
July  19,  1806. 


SOME  ACCOUNT 

OF  THE 

LIFE    AND    WRITINGS 

OF 

LOPE   DE  VEGA. 


IT  is  so  trite  an  observation,  that  the 
life  of  a  man  of  letters  is  too  uniform  to 
render  the  relation  of  it  interesting,  that 
the  remark  is  become  as  regular  an  in- 
troduction to  literary  biography,  as  the 
title-page  and  dedication  are  to  a  book. 
But  if  in  compliance  with  established 
usage  we  place  it  in  our  account  of  a 
Spanish  poet,  it  must  be  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  refuting  it.  The  advance- 
ment of  literature  has,  in  many  instances, 
kept  pace  with  the  political  influence  of 
a  country  ;  but  it  has  happened  more 
frequently  in  Spain  than  elsewhere,  that 
the  same  persons  have  contributed  to 

B 


the  progress  of  both.  Garcilaso*  de  la 
Vega,  whose  family  is  celebrated^  for 
military  exploits  both  in  history  and  ro- 
mance, and  who  is  himself,  from  the 
harmony  of  his  verse,  called  the  Petrarch 

" ' "~ 

*  The  surname  of  La  Vega  was,  according  to  the  ro- 
mantic history  of  the  wars  of  Grenada,  bestowed  on  Gar- 
cilaso,  a  young  Spaniard,  for  his  prowess  in  vanquishing 
a  gigantic  Moor  who  had  defied  the  Christian  warriors 
by  parading  before  Ferdinand's  camp  in  the  Vega,  de 
Granada  with  the  words  Ave  Maria  fixed  to  his  horse's 
tail :  but  this  story  is  related  of  another  man,  with  very 
little  variation,  in  the  Chronicle  of  Alonzo  XL,  written 
long  before  the  siege  of  Grenada.  The  poet  Garcilaso. 
though  he  has  written  little  more  than  pastorals  and  son. 
nets,  may  safely  be  pronounced  the  most  classical  poet  in 
the  Castilian  language.  Indeed  there  are  few  authors, 
antient  or  modern,  who,  had  they  died  at  the  same  period 
of  life,  would  have  left  more  perfect  compositions  behind 
them.  He  unfortunately  did  not  live  long  enough  to  fix 
the  taste  of  his  countrymen ;  and  the  race  of  poets  who 
succeeded  him  were  more  remarkable  for  wit  and  imagi- 
nation than  for  correctness  of  thought,  or  purity  of  ex- 
pn^sion.  Because  Horace  ran  away  from  Philippi,  or  for 
some  reason  equally  cogent,  courage  has  been  supposed  to 
be  a  rare  virtue  among  poets  ;  and  Menage  observes,  that 
Garcilaso  is  the  only  bard  upon  record  who  actually  fell 
in  the  field. 


of  Spain,  fell  at  the  age  of  thirty-three 
before  a  little  fortress  near  Frejus  ;  and 
his  death  became  the  more  remarkable, 
from  the  merciless  manner  in  which 
Charles  V.  avenged  it,  by  putting  the 
whole  garrison  to  the  sword.  The  ne- 
gotiations and  personal  character  of 
Mendoza*  had  no  inconsiderable  influ- 

*  Don  Diego  Hurtado  de  Mendoza  was  born  at  Grenada 
very  early  in  the  16th  century.  His  abilities  in  various 
embassies  to  Rome,  Venice,  and  Trent,  were  universally 
acknowledged  by  his  contemporaries,  though  an  infamous 
plot  formed  by  him  against  the  liberties  of  Sienna  seems 
to  have  been  as  imprudently  conducted  as  it  was  wickedly 
designed.  His  literary  reputation  is  founded  on  his  muni- 
ficent patronage  of  learning,  as  well  as  on  his  own  works. 
He  wrote  the  history  of  the  revolt  of  the  Moriscoes  of 
Grenada,  which  is  highly  esteemed  both  for  style  and  matter. 
It  is  a  professed  imitation  of  Sallust;  but  his  terseness  often 
degenerates  into  affectation,  and  he  wants  that  perspicuity  of 
method  so  remarkable  in  his  model.  He  does  justice  how- 
ever to  the  Moors ;  and  as  they  had  a  better  cause,  the 
speech  in  which  their  motives  to  insurrection  are  urged,  does 
not  yield  to  that  of  Catiline  in  energy  of  diction  dt  senti- 
ment. He  is  the  supposed  author  of  Lazarillo  de  Tormes, 
a  popular  novel.  Some  of  his  best  poems  are  too  licen- 
tious for  the  prudish  press  of  Spain,  which  tolerates  no 
indecency  but  in  the  works  of  a  casuist.  His  priuted 

B  2 


ence  on  the  fate  of  Italy  and  Europe. 
Ercilla  *  was  a  witness  of  the  scenes  he 
describes,  an  actual  soldier  in  the  wild 
wars  which  he  recounts  ;  and  Cervantes, 
the  inimitable  Cervantes,  went  through 
a  series  of  adventures -j-  which  might 
have  composed  a  volume  in  the  library 
of  Don  Quixotte  himself. 

The  wonders  of  Lope  de  Vega's  life 
consist  indeed  more  in  the  number  of 
his  productions  than  the  singularity  of 
his  adventures  ;  yet  at  an  early  period  of 
life  he  was  not  exempt  from  that  spirit 
of  enterprise  which  pervaded  all  ranks 


rerses  are  full  of  sprightliness,  and  display  wit  as  well  as 
learning  ;  but  in  correctness  of  taste  and  sweetness  of 
numbers  he  falls  very  short  of  Garcilaso. 

*  The  author  of  the  Araucana.  For  an  account  of  him 
and  his  work,  I  must  refer  the  reader  to  Mr.  Hayley's 
notes  on  his  Epistle  on  Poetry.  If  that  good-natured  cri- 
tic's judgment  of  the  poem  be  somewhat  too  favourable, 
he  gains  over  the  English  reader  to  it  by  the  most  agree- 
able of  methods,  the  improvement  of  the  Spanish  author 
in  his  translation. 

I  Various  Lives  of  Cervantes. 


and  descriptions  of  his  countrymen.  His 
friend  and  encomiast  Perez  de  Montal- 
van*  relates  that  at  about  the  age  of 
thirteen  or  fourteen  he  was  impelled  by 
so  restless  a  desire  of  seeing  the  world, 
that  he  resolved  to  escape  from  school ; 
and  having  concerted  his  project  with  a 
schoolfellow,  they  actually  put  it  into 
execution.  They  had  taken  the  pre- 
caution of  providing  some  money  for 
their  expedition,  but  they  had  not  been 
equally  provident  in  calculating  the  du- 
ration of  their  finances;  for,  after  buying 
a  mule  at  Segovia,  it  was  not  till  their  ar- 
rival at  Astorga  that  they  perceived  that 
the  scantiness  of  their  purse  would  not 
permit  them  to  proceed  any  farther  on 
their  travels.  This  unforeseen  difficulty 
disconcerted  our  young  adventurers,  and 
they  resolved  to  abandon  their  scheme 
as  hastily  as  they  had  undertaken  it. 

*  Elogio  por  Aloutalvan,  published  in  Sancha's  edition 
of  Lope  de  Vega's  works, 


They  had  returned  as  far  as  Segovia, 
when  the  necessity  of  procuring  money 
compelled  them  to  offer  some  trinkets  to 
sale  at  a  silversmith's.  The  tradesman 
was  a  cautious  Spaniard  :  he  suspected 
that  they  had  stolen  the  trinkets,  and 
prudently  conducted  them  before  the 
magistrate  of  the  place.  He  was  fortu- 
nately a  man  of  moderation,  and  con- 
fined the  exercise  of  his  authority  to  ap- 
pointing a  constable  to  conduct  them 
back  to  Madrid. 

The  admiration  and  surprise  with, 
which  the  wisdom  of  this  decision  and 
the  small  expence  attending  its  execution 
are  mentioned  by  Montalvan,  are  strik- 
ing proofs  that  vexatious  and  expensive 
practices  had  already  infected  the  ad- 
ministration of  police  in  Spain. 

Lope,  according  to  his  biographers*, 
betrayed  marks  of  genius  at  a  very  early 

*  Parnaso  Espanol. — Moulalvan. 


age,  as  well  as  a  singular  propensity  to 
poetry.      They  assure  us  that  at  two 
years  old  these  qualities  were  percep- 
tible in  the  brilliancy  of  his  eyes  ;  that 
ere  he  attained  the  age  of  five  he  could 
read  Spanish  and  Latin;  and  that  before 
his  hand  was  strong  enough  to  guide  the 
pen,  he  recited  verses  of  his  own  com- 
position, which  he  had  the  good  fortune 
to  barter  for  prints  and  toys  with  his 
playfellows.  Thus  even  in  his  childhood 
he  not  only  wrote  poetry,  but  turned 
his  poetry  to  account ;  an  art  in  which 
he  must  be  allowed  afterwards  to  have 
excelled  all  poets  antient  or  modern. 
The  date  however  of  his  early  produc- 
tions must  be  collected  from  his  own 
assertions,  from  probable  circumstances, 
and  the  corresponding  testimony  of  his 
friends  and  contemporaries  ;   for  they 
were  either  not  printed  at  the  time,  or  all 
copies  of  the  impression  have  long  since 
been  lost. 


8 

.  He  was  born  at  Madrid  on  the  25th 
of  November  1562  ;  and  as  he  informs 
us  in  the  Laurel  de  Apolo  that  his  father 
was  a  poet,  we  may  conjecture  that  his 
example  had  its  effect  in  deciding  Lope's 
early  propensity  to  versification.  He 
implies,  however,  in  the  same  passage, 
that  the  discovery  of  his  father's  talent 
was  accidental  and  after  his  death.  The 
exact  period  when  that  event  happened 
is  uncertain  ;  but  Lope  was  an  orphan 
when  he  escaped  from  school,  and  be- 
fore that  time  he  had  by  his  own  ac- 
count not  only  written  verses,  but  com- 
posed dramas  in  four  acts,  which,  as 
he  tells  us,  was  then  the  custom  : 

El  capitan  Virues,  insigne  ingenio, 
Puso  en  tres  actos  la  comedia,  que  antes 
Andaba  en  quatro  corao  pies  de  nino, 
Que  eran  entonces  niiias  las  comedias.— 
Y  yo  las  escribi  de  on^e  y  do£e  afios 
De  a  quatro  actos,  y  de  a  quatro  pliegos, 
Porque  cada  acto  un  pliego  contenia*. 

. 
*  Arte  de  hacer  comedias. 


9 

Hays  of  three  acts  we  owe  to  Virues'  pen, 
Which  ne'er  had  crawl'd  but  on  all  fours  till  then ; 
An  action  suited  to  that  helpless  age. 
The  infancy  of  wit,  the  childhood  of  the  stage. 
Such  did  I  write  ere  twelve  years  yet  had  run, 
Plays  on  four  sheets,  an  act  on  every  one. 

Upon  his  return  to  Madrid*  he  aban- 
doned this  mode  of  composition,  and 
ingratiated  himself  with  the  bishop  of 
Avila  by  several  pastorals,  and  a  co- 
medy in  three  acts  called  La  Pastoral 
de  Jacinto.  In  his  prologue  to  the  Pele- 
grino,  where  he  enumerates  the  plays 
he  had  then  published,  this  comedy  is 
not  mentioned  ;  from  which  we  must 
infer  that  he  did  not  print  it,  or  that  it 
is  there  inserted  by  some  other  name ; 
as  it  is  extremely  common  for  Spanish 
plays  of  that  period  to  have  two  titles. 
His  friend  Montalvan  represents  the 
production  of  this  comedy  as  an  epoch 
in  the  annals  of  the  theatre,  and  a  pre- 

*  Parnaso  Espaiiol. — Montalvan. 


10 

lude  to  the  reform  which  Lope  was 
destined  to  introduce.  It  is  probable 
that  during  this  interval,  between  school 
and  university,  he  composed  several 
juvenile  poems,  which  he  may  have  re- 
touched at  a  period  when  his  name  was 
sufficient  to  make  any  performance  ac- 
ceptable to  the  public.  But  the  ob- 
scurity in  which  this  part  of  his  life  is 
involved  seems  to  prove  that  his  efforts 
for  literary  fame  were  not  hitherto  at- 
tended with  any  extraordinary  success. 
He  shortly  after  studied  philosophy  at 
Alcala ;  and  Montalvan  makes  a  pom- 
pous relation  of  the  satisfaction  and  de- 
light which  the  duke  of  Alva  experi- 
enced in  receiving  the  young  poet 
among  the  crowds  that  thronged  to  pay 
him  court,  and  of  the  eagerness  with 
•which  he  engaged  him  in  his  service 
upon  his  return  from  the  university.  A 
passage  in  the  eclogue  to  Claudio  im- 
plies that  this  event  did  not  take  place 


11 

till  after  the  unsuccessful  expedition  of 
the  Armada.  At  any  rate  it  does  not 
appear  what  wonders  he  had  hitherto 
performed  to  render  his  incense  so  pe- 
culiarly acceptable  at  so  powerful  a 
shrine,  and  the  subsequent  events  of  his 
life  seem  to  contradict  Montal van's  im- 
probable relation.  He  wrote  however 
his  Arcadia  at  the  instance  of  the  duke 
ofAlva.  It  is  a  mixture*  of  prose  and 
verse ;  of  romance  and  poetry  ;  of  pas- 
toral and  heroic ;  the  design  of  which 
was  avowedly  taken  from  Sannazaro, 
though  its  execution  is  pronounced  by 
the  Spanish  critics  to  be  decidedly  su- 
perior to  the  model. 

Pastoral  works,  however,  in  prose  and 
verse,  had  already  met  with  consider- 
able success  in  Spain  ;  of  which  the 
Diana  by  Montemayor  was  the  first  in 
point  of  merit,  and  I  believe  in  time. 

*  Moii Uil van. 


12 

The  species  of  composition  is  in  itself 
tedious,  and  the  conduct  of  the  Arcadia 
evidently  absurd.  A  pastoral  in  five 
long  books  of  prose  run  mad,  in  which 
the  shepherds  of  Arcadia  woo  their  Dul- 
cineas  in  the  language  of  Amadis  rather 
than  of  Theocritus,  in  which  they  occa- 
sionally talk  theology,  and  discuss  in 
verse  the  origin  and  nature  of  grammar, 
rhetoric,  arithmetic,  geometry,  music, 
astrology,  and  poetry,  and  which  they 
enliven  by  epitaphs  on  Castilian  gene* 
rals,  and  a  long  poem  on  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  duke  of  Alva,  and  the  birth 
of  his  son,  is  not  well  adapted  to  the 
taste  of  common  readers,  or  likely  to 
escape  the  censure  of  critics.  In  most 
instances,  however,  the  abstract  of  a 
work  of  this  nature,  for  it  must  be  con- 
sidered as  a  poem,  forms  a  very  unfair 
criterion  of  its  merit.  The  chief  objects 
of  poetry  are  to  delineate  strongly  the 
characters  and  passions  of  mankind,  to 


13 

paint  the  appearances  of  nature,  and  to 
describe  their  effects  upon  our  sensa- 
tions. To  accomplish  these  ends  the 
versification  must  be  smooth,  the  lan- 
guage pure  and  impressive,  and  the 
images  just,  natural,  and  appropriate  ; 
our  interest  should  be  excited  by  the 
nature  of  the  subject,  and  kept  up  by 
the  spirit  of  the  narration.  The  proba- 
bility of  the  story,  the  connexion  of  the 
tale,  the  regularity  of  the  design,  are  in- 
deed beauties  ;  but  beauties  which  are 
ornamental  rather  than  necessary,  which 
have  often  been  attained  by  persons 
who  had  no  poetical  turn  whatever,  and 
as  often  neglected  by  those  whose  ge- 
nius and  productions  have  placed  them 
in  the  first  rank  in  the  province  of 
poetry.  Novels  and  comedies  derive 
indeed  a  great  advantage  from  an  atten- 
tion to  these  niceties.  But  in  the  higher 
branches  of  invention  they  are  the  less 
necessary,  because  the  justness  of  the 


14 

imitation  of  passions  inherent  in  the  ge- 
neral nature  of  man,  depends  less  upon 
the  probability  of  the  situations,  than 
that  of  manners  and  opinions  resulting 
from  the  accidental  and  temporary  forms 
of  society. 

To  judge  therefore  by  another  crite- 
rion of  the  parts  of  the  Arcadia  which 
I  have  read,  and  especially  of  the  verses, 
there  are  in  it  many  harmonious  lines, 
some  eloquence,  great  facility  and  oc- 
casionally  beauty   of  expression,    and 
above  all  a  prodigious  variety  of  maxims, 
similes,    and  illustrations.      These  me- 
rits however  are  disfigured  by  great  de- 
formities.    The  language,  though  easy 
and  fluent,  is  not  the  language  of  na- 
ture ;  the  versification  is  often  eked  out 
by  unnecessary  exclamations  and   un- 
meaning expletives,  and  the  eloquence 
is  at  one  time  distorted  into  extravagant 
hyperbole,  and  at  another  degenerates 
into   low  and    tedious   common-place. 


15 

The  maxims,  as  in  all  Spanish  authors 
of  that  time,  are  often  trivial  and  often 
untrue.  When  they  have  produced  an 
antithesis,  they  think  they  have  struck 
out  a  truth.  The  illustrations  are  some- 
times so  forced  and  unnatural,  that 
though  they  may  display  erudition 
and  excite  surprise,  they  cannot  eluci- 
date the  subject,  and  are  not  likely  to. 

— " — •  •      '  -•'•> —       .,.....,.-.-,-...,  -,.€/. 

delight  the  imagination.  They  seem 
to  be  the  result  of  labour,  and  not  the 
creation  of  fancy,  and  partake  more  of 
the  nature  of  conundrums  and  enigmas 
than  of  similes  and  images.  Forced 
conceits  and  play  upon  words  are  in- 
deed common  in  this  as  in  every  work 
of  Lope  de  Vega ;  for  he  was  one  of  the 
authors  who  contributed-  to  introduce 
that  taste  for  false  wit,  which  soon 
afterwards  became  so  universally  preva- 
lent throughout  Europe.  Marino*,  the 

*  Essequie  poetiche,  vol.  xxi.  Lope  de  Vega. 


16 

champion  of  that  style  in  Italy,  with 
the  highest  expressions  of  admiration  for 
his  model,  acknowledges  that  he  im- 
bibed this  taste  from  Lope,  and  owed 
his  merit  in  poetry  to  the  perusal  of  his 
works.  There  is  one  species  of  this  false 
taste,  which  is  particularly  common  in 
the  Arcadia,  and  at  the  same  time  very 
characteristic  of  the  poet's  style  in  ge* 
neral.  It  is  an  accumulation  of  strained 
illustrations  upon  some  particular  sub- 
ject, each  generally  included  in  the 
same  number  of  lines,  and  all  recapi- 
tulated at  the  end  of  the  passage.  The 
song  of  the  Giant  to  Chrisalda  in  the 
first  book  is  the  most  singular  instance 
of  this  conceit,  but  is  much  too  long  to 
be  transcribed.  It  is  divided  into  seven 
strophes  or  paragraphs,  most  of  which 
are  subdivided  into  seven  stanzas  of  four 
lines ;  in  each  stanza  the  beauty  of 
Chrisalda  is  illustrated  by  two  compa- 
risons; and  the  names  of  the  things  to 


17 

which  she  is  compared  are  enumerated 
in  the  last  stanza  of  each  strophe,  which 
alone  consists  of  six  lines,  and  which  is 
not  unlike  a  passage  in  the  Propria  quce 
maribm,  being  chiefl  y  composed  of  nouns 
substantive  without  the  intervention  of 
a  single  verb.     In  the  first  strophe  she 
is  compared  to  fourteen  different  celes- 
tial objects ;  in  the  next  to  ten  species 
of  flowers  ;  in  the  third  to  as  many  me- 
tals and  precious  stones  ;  in  the  fourth 
lo  eleven  birds  of  different  sorts ;  in  the 
fifth  to  twelve  trees  of  different  names  ; 
in  the   sixth  to  as  many  quadrupeds; 
and  in  the  last  to  the  same  number  of 
marine  .productions.     After  having  re- 
capitulated each  of  these  in  their  re- 
spective strophe,    in   a  strain   not  un- 
worthy of  a  vocabulary,  he  sums  up  the 
whole  by  observing  with  great  truth, 

Y  quanto  el  mar,  el  ayre,  el  suelo  encierra, 
Si  mi  quieres,  ofrezco  a  tu  belleza. 


18 

Thus  what  contains  or  sea,  or  earth,  or  air, 
I  to  thy  form,  if  you  approve,  compare. 

v  I  subjoin  another  instance  of  this 
strange  and  laborious  species  of  conceit 
in  a  sonnet  from  the  first  book  of  the  Ar- 
cadia, which  contains  many  of  the  com- 
mon-place illustrations  which  form  so 
large  a  portion  of  that  voluminous  work : 

No  queda  mas  lustroso  y  cristalino 
For  alias  sierras  el  arroyo  helado ; 
Ni  esta  mas  negro  el  evano  labrado; 
Ni  mas  azul  la  flor  del  verde  lino  ; 
Mas  rubio  el  oro  que  de  oriente  vino; 
Ni  mas  puro,  lascivo  y  regalado 
Espirar  olor  el  ambar  estimado ; 
Ni  esta  en  la  concha  el  carmesi  mas  fino, 

Que  frcnte,  cejas,  ojos,  y  cabellos, 
Aliento,  y  boca  de  mi  nympha  bella, 
Angelica  figura  en  vista  humana. 

Que  puesto  que  ella  se  parece  a  ellos, 
Vivos  estan  alii,  muertos  sin  ella, 
Cristal,  evano,  lino,  oro,  ambar,  grana. 

Not  winter  crystal  ever  was  more  clear, 

That  checks  the  current  of  the  mountain  stream ; 
Not  high-wrought  ebony  can  blacker  seem; 

Nor  bluer  doth  the  flax  its  blossom  rear  ; 


19 

Not  yellower  doth  the  eastern  gold  appear ; 

Nor  purer  can  arise  the  scented  steam 

Of  amber,  which  luxurious  men  esteem  ; 
Nor  brighter  scarlet  doth  the  sea-shell  bear  ; 

Than  in  the  forehead,  eyebrows,  eyes,  and  hair, 
The  breath  and  lips  of  my  most  beauteous  queen, 
Are  seen  to  dwell  on  earth,  in  face  divine. 

And  since  like  all  together  is  my  fair, 
Lifeless  elsewhere,  alive  in  her  are  seen, 
Ice,  ebon,  flax,  gold,  amber,  and  carmine. 

In  the  second  book  there  are  some 
verses  on  jealousy  in  the  metre  de  Re- 
dondilla  mayor,  which  are  not  devoid 
of  that  peculiar  merit  which  distin- 
guishes what  Johnson  has  called  meta- 
physical poetry.  They  are  full  of  inge- 
nuity and  fancy,  which 

"  Play  round  the  head,  but  come  not  to  the  heart." 

The  Spanish  writers,  I  know  not  on 
what  authority,  affirm  with  great  confi- 
dence that  Metastasio  was  a  constant 
reader  and  avowed  admirer  of  Castilian 
poetry.  Those  who  recollect  the  cele- 
brated verses  to  Nice,  may  compare  the 
c  2 


20 

different  sentiments  which  a  similar  sub- 
ject suggests  to  Lope  in  the  following- 
ode  of  the  fifth  book.  It  is  no  unfa- 
vourable specimen  of  his  style ;  and  from 
the  satisfaction  with  which  he  mentions 
it  in  the  second  part  of  his  Philomena, 
we  may  infer  that  it  was  a  great  favorite 
with  the  author : 

La  verde  primavera 
De  mis  floridos  anos 
Passe  cautivo,  amor,  en  tus  prisiones, 
Y  en  la  cadena  fiera 
Cantando  mis  enganos, 
Llore  con  mi  razon  tus  sinrazones ; 
Amargas  confusiones 
Del  tiempo,  que  ha  tenido 
Ciega  mi  alma,  y  loco  mi  sentido ! 

Mas  ya  que  el  fiero  yugo 

Que  mi  cerviz  domaba, 
Desata  el  desengailo  con  tu  afrenta, 

Y  al  mismo  sol  enjugo*, 

Que  un  tiempo  me  abrasaba, 
La  ropa  que  saque  dc  la  tormenta, 
Con  voz  libre  y  essenta 

*   Here  is  an  evident  confusion  of  metaphor;  for  though 
tin1  sun  nun    fonnc-rly  have  scorched  him,  and  may  now 


21 

Al  desengaiio  santo 

Consagro  altares,  y  alabanzas  canto. 

Qaanto  contento  encierra, 
Contar  su  herida  el  sano, 
Y  en  la  patria  su  carcel  el  cautivo, 
Entre  la  paz  la  guerra, 
Y  el  libre  del  tyrano  ; 

dry  his  garments  dripping  from  the  storm,  it  cannot  possi- 
bly be  identified  with  the  storm,  nor  in  any  way  be  repre- 
sented as  the  cause  of  the  condition  of  his  garments  :  but 
such  are  the  unavoidable  blunders  of  hasty  writers.  Though 
Lope  imitated  Horace  and  Garcilaso,  he  learnt  this  careless 
way  of  writing  neither  from  the  Quismulta  gracilis,  &c.,  of 
the  former,  nor  from  the  following  sonnet  of  the  latter,  in 
which  most  of  his  allusions  may  be  found,  but  in  which  there 
is  no  confusion  of  metaphor,  nor,  as  far  as  I  can  judge,  any 
thing  inconsistent  with  the  strict  simplicity  of  a  sonnet : 

Gracias  al  cielo  doy,  que  ya  del  cuello 

Del  todo  el  grave  yugo  he  sacudido ; 

Y  que  del  viento  el  mar  embravecido 
Vere  desde  la  tierra,  sin  temello  ; 
Vere  colgada  de  un  sutil  cabello 

La  vida  del  amante  embebecido, 

En  enganoso  error  adormecido, 
Sordo  a  las  voces  que  le  avisan  dello. 

Alegrarame  cl  mal  de  los  mortales  ; 
Aunque  en  aquesto  no  tan  inhumano 
Sere  contra  mi  ser  quanto  parece ; 
Alcgrareme,  como  hace  el  sano, 


22 

Tanto  en  cantar  mi  libertad  rccibo. 

O  mar !  O  fuego  vivo ! 
Que  fuiste  al  alma  mia 
Herida,  carcel,  guerra,  y  tyrania. 

Quedate,  falso  amigo, 
Para  enganar  aquellos 
Que  siempre  estan  contentos  y  quejosos  ; 

No  de  ver  a  los  otros  en  los  males, 
Sino  de  ver  que  dellos  el  carece  *. 

A  good  sonnet  is  not  easily  translated  into  any  language, 
especially  into  English  ;  and  as  in  the  following  I  have  not 
surmounted  the  difficulties,  I  subjoin  it  merely  to  show  the 
English  reader  how  much  Lope  de  Vega  has  borrowed 
from  his  predecessor : 

Thank  heaven,  I've  lived  then  from  my  neck  to  tear 

The  heavy  yoke  that  long  my  strength  opprest; 

The  heaving  sea  which  boisterous  winds  molest 
I  now  can  view  from  shore,  and  feel  no  fear  ; 
Can  see  suspended  by  a  single  hair 

The  lover's  life,  with  fancied  bliss  possest. 

In  danger  slumbering,  cheated  into  rest, 
Deaf  to  advice  that  would  his  ills  declare. 
So  shall  I  smile  at  other  mortals'  ill ; 

Nor  yet,  though  joy  to  me  their  pains  afford, 
Shall  I  unfeeling  to  my  race  be  found  ; 

For  I  will  smile  as  one  to  health  restored 
Joys  not  to  see  his  fellows  suffering  still, 

But  joys  indeed  to  find  himself  is  sound. 
*  Parnaso  Espafiol,  ii.  20. 


23 

Que  desde  aqui  maldigo 
Los  mismos  ojos  bellos, 
Y  aquellos  lazos  dulces  y  araorosos 
Que  un  tiempo  tan  hermosos 
T  u vieron ,  aunque  Inj  usto, 
Asida  el  alma  y  engaiiado  el  gusto. 

1. 

In  the  green  season  of  ray  flowering  years, 
I  liv'd,  O  Love !  a  captive  in  thy  chains ; 

Sang  of  delusive  hopes  and  idle  fears, 
And  wept  thy  follies  in  my  wisest  strains  : 
Sad  sport  of  time  when  under  thy  controul, 
So  wild  was  grown  my  wit,  so  blind  my  soul. 

2. 

But  from  the  yoke  which  once  my  courage  tam'd 
I,  undeceiv'd,  at  length  have  slipp'd  my  head, 

And  in  that  sun  whose  rays  my  soul  enflam'd, 
What  scraps  I  rescued  at  my  ease  I  spread. 
So  shall  I  altars  to  Indifference*  raise, 
And  chaunt  without  alarm  returning  freedom's  praise. 

3. 

So  on  their  chains  the  ransom'd  captives  dwell; 
So  carols  one  who  cured  relates  his  wound  ; 
So  slaves  of  masters,  troops  of  battle  tell, 
As  I  my  cheerful  liberty  resound. 
Freed,  sea  and  burning  fire,  from  thy  controul, 
Prison,  wound,  war,  and  tyrant  of  my  soul. 

X  """ ™~ ^™"™*~ 

'  There  is  HO  word  in  our  language  for  desengano. 


24 

4. 

Remain  then,  faithless  friend,  thy  arts  to  try 
On  such  as  court  alternate  joy  and  pain ; 

For  me,  I  dare  her  very  eyes  defy, 
I  scorn  the  amorous  snare,  the  pleasing  chain, 
That  held  enthrall'd  my  cheated  heart  so  long, 
And  charm'd  my  erring  soul  unconscious  of  its  wrong. 

There  are  several  imitations  and  even 
translations  of  the  antients  in  the  course 
of  this  pastoral  which  have  great  merit ; 
for"as  the  chief  defect  of  Lope  was  want 
of  judgment,  and  his  great  excellence 
facility  of  verse  and  happiness  of  ex- 
pression, his  genius  was  peculiarly 
adapted  to  translation,  where  the  sense 
of  the  original  confined  his  imagination 

o  o 

and  gave  a  full  scope  to  the  exercise  of 
his  happiest  talent/  The  Arcadia  fur- 
nishes striking  instances  of  the  defects 
and  of  the  beauties  of  Lope's  style ;  and 
by  the  passionate  defence  he  published 
of  it  in  his  prologue  to  the  Pelegrino,  and 
in  the  Philomena,  he  seems  himself  to 
have  been  singularly  partial  to  it.  These 


25 

reasons  have  induced  me  to  dwell  upon 
it  longer  perhaps  than  its  merits  appear 
to  justify. 

Soon  after  he  had  executed  the  com- 
mand of  the  duke  of  Alva,  he  left  his 
service  and  married.  The  duties  of  ma- 
trimony did  not  interfere  with  his  favo- 
rite studies,  which  he  seems  to  have 
cultivated  with  increased  enthusiasm, 
till  an  unfortunate  event  compelled  him 
to  quit  Madrid  and  his  newly-esta- 
blished family*,  A  gentleman  of  con- 
siderable rank  and  importance  having 
indulged  his  wit  at  the  expence  of  Lope 
and  his  compositions,  the  poet  was  in- 
censed, hitched  his  critic  into  verse,  and 
exposed  him  to  the  ridicule  of  the  town 
in  a  poem  called  a  Romance  -(-.  His  an- 


*  Parnaso  Espanol. 

f  Romance^  which  was  originally  the  name  of  the  ver- 
nacular tongue  in  Spain,  has  become  to  signify  a  ballad  in 
that  country,  a  novel  in  France,  and  a  tale  of  knigbt- 
errantry  or  wonderful  adventures  in  England. 


tagonist  took  fire,  and  challenged  him  to 
a  contest  in  which  he  hoped  to  meet  a 
poet  to  greater  advantage  than  in  a  war 
of  wit ;  but  Lope  de  Vega  had  not  neg- 
lected his  fencino'-master  in  his  educa- 

O 

tion,  and  accordingly 

Tomando  ya  la  cspada,  ya  la  pluma*, 
Now  taking  up  the  sword,  and  now  the  pen, 

wounded  his  adversary  so  severely,  that 
his  life  was  despaired  of,  and  Lope  com- 
pelled to  fly.  He  fixed  upon  Valencia 
as  the  place  of  his  retreat.  Here  he 
probably  first  formed  a  friendship  with 
Vicente  Mariner,  a  Latin  poet  of  that 
town,  whose  muse  was  as  prolific  as  that 
of  Lope  himself,  and  not  more  parsimo- 
nious of  her  praise -j-.  He  wrote  pane- 
gyrics on  most  contemporary  poets,  and 
composed  those  on  Quevedo  in  Greek. 
Among  the  millions  of  lines  preserved 

*  Laurel  dc  A  polo. 

+  Pellicer,  Life  of  Cervantes.   Velusijuey. 


27 

in  the  king  of  Spam's  libraries,  are  to  be 
found  several  to  the  honour  and  memory 
of  Lope,  and  one  written  in  answer  to 
his  enemies,  which,  if  it  does  not  leave 
a  favourable  impression  of  the  manners 
or  of  the  poetry  of  the  author,  proves 
that  he  made  common  cause  with  ta- 
lents so  congenial  to  his  own.  The  un- 
happy critic  who  had  ventured  to  attack 
the  phoenix  of  Spain,  was  sufficiently 
refuted  by  being  called  an  ass  : 

Voce  onager,  vultuque  onager,  pedibusque  sinuque, 

Ut  nil  lion  onagri  mine  tua  vita  refert*. 
An  ass  in  voice,  face,  feet,  and  senses  too, 
Nothing  remains  that  is  not  ass  in  you. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  two  bards 
employed  themselves  better  at  Valencia 
than  in  composing  such  strains  as  these. 

Lope  returned  to  Madrid  in  a  few 
years,  when  all  apprehensions  of  evil  con- 
sequences from  his  adventure  were  al- 

*  Pcllicer,  Life  of  Cervantes. 


28 

layed.  He  was  probably  soothing  his 
imagination  with  prospects  of  domestic 
happiness,  which  his  late  absence  had 
suspended,  when  he  had  the  misfortune 
to  lose  his  wife  *.  The  residence  of 
Madrid,  which  he  had  so  lately  regarded 
as  the  summit  of  his  wishes,  now  be- 
came insupportable  ;  and  scenes  which 
had  long  been  associated  in  his  mind 
with  ideas  of  present  comfort  and  future 
reputation  served  only  to  remind  him 
of  their  loss.  To  fly  from  such  painful 
recollections  he  hastily  embarked  on 
board  the  memorable  Armada-f,  which 
was  then  fitting  out  to  invade  our  coasts. 

C3 

The  fa^te  of  that  expedition  is  well 
known  ;  and  Lope,  in  addition  to  his 
share  in  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of 
the  voyage,  saw  his  brother,  to  whose 
society  he  had  run  for  refuge  in  his  late 

*  Montalran. 

t  Montalvan,  and  Ecloga  a  Claudio. 


29 

calamity,  expire  in  his  arms.     If  there 
be   any  truth  in  the  supposition  that 
poets  have  a  greater  portion  of  sensibi- 
lity in  their  frames  than  other  men,  it  is 
fortunate  that  they  are  furnished  by  the 
nature   of  their  occupations   with    the 
means  of  withdrawing  themselves  from 
its   effects.      The   act  of  composition, 
especially  of  verse,  abstracts  the  mind 
most  powerfully  from  external  objects. 
The  poet  therefore  has  always  a  refuge 
within   reach  ;    by  inventing  fictitious 
distress,  he  may  be   blunting  the  poi- 
gnancy of  real  grief ;  while  he  is  raising 
the  affections  of  his  readers,  he  may  be 
allaying  the  violence  of  his  own,  and 
thus  find  an  emblem  of  his  own  suscep- 
tibility of  impression  in   that  poetical 
spear  which  is  represented   as    curing 
with  one  end  the  wounds  it  had  inflicted 
with  the  other.     Whether  this  fanciful 
theory  be  true  or  not,  it  is  certain  that 
poets  have  continued  their  pursuits  with 


30 

ardour  under  the  pressure  of  calamity. 
Some  indeed  assert  that  the  genius  of 
Ovid  drooped  during  his  banishment  ; 
but  we  have  his  own  testimony,  and 
what,  notwithstanding  all  such  criti- 
cisms, is  more  valuable,  many  hundreds 
of  his  verses,  to  prove  that  this  event, 
however  it  might  have  depressed  his 
spirits,  riveted  him  to  the  habits  of 
composition,  and  taught  him  to  seek  for 
consolation  where  he  had  hitherto  only 
found  amusement.  Thus,  in  an  eclogue 
which  the  friendship  of  Pedro  de  Me- 
dina Medivilla  consecrated  to  the  me- 
mory of  Lope's  wife,  the  lamentations 
of  the  husband  are  supposed  to  have 
been  actually  furnished  by  our  author. 
Two  or  three  odes  on  the  same  subject 
are  to  be  found  in  his  works,  and  he  in- 
forms us  himself  that  during  his  unfor- 
tunate vov'age  he  composed*  the  Her- 

*  Ecloga  a  Claudio. 


31 

mosura  de  Angelica,  a  poem  which  pro- 
fesses to  take  up  the  story  of  that  prin- 
cess where  Ariosto  had  dropped  it.  The 
motive  he  assigns  for  this  choice  is  cu- 
rious. He  found  in  Turpin  that  most 
of  her  remaining  adventures  took  place 
in  Spain,  and,  thinking  it  for  the  honour 
of  his  country,  related  them  in  twenty 
cantos. 

To  complete  what  Ariosto  had  faegun 
was  no  light  undertaking,  and  the  dif- 
ficulty was  not  diminished  by  the  pub- 
lication only  two  years  before  of  a  poem 
on  the  same  subject  called  Las  La- 
grimas  de  Angelica.  This  was  written 
by  Luis  Barahona  de  Soto,  and  has  al- 
ways been  esteemed  one  of  the  best 
poems  in  the  Spanish  language.  It  is 
mentioned  with  great  praise  by  the 
curate  in  the  examination  of  Don 
Quixotte's  library. 

The  first  canto  of  Lope's  poem  is  taken 
up  with  the  invocation,  and  with  the  ri- 


32 

valship  between  Lido  king  of  Seville  and 
Cardiloro  son  of  Mandricardo ;  in  the  se- 
cond, the  latter  enters  a  cave  where  are 
painted  the  Moorish  wars  in  Spain,  and 
all  the  events  of  Ariosto's  poem.  These 
are  related  in  about  twenty  stanzas 
without  spirit,  circumstance,  or  poetry, 
if  we  except  the  indignation  of  Cardi- 
loro at  the  sight  of  his  father's  death  : 

Y  con  Rugero 

Viene  a  dar  de  su  vida  el  postrer  passo, 
Que  aun  viendole  pintado  Cardiloro 
Matar  quisiera  al  victorioso  Moro. 

How  with  Rogero  in  unlucky  strife, 
He  closed  the  last  sad  passage  of  his  life> 
Fain,  as  he  saw,  had  angry  Cardilore, 
E'en  in  the  picture,  slain  the  conquering  Moor. 

The  death  of  Clorinarda,  who  died  of 
grief  on  her  marriage  with  Lido,  is  la- 
mented at  length  by  her  disconsolate 
husband  ;  but  in  a  strain  which  bears  no 
traces  of  the  author  having  so  lately  ex- 
perienced a  similar  calamity.  But  if 
the  grief  expressed  in  the  speech  of  his 


33 


hero  falls  short  of  that  which  we  must 
suppose  to  have  passed  in  the  breast  of 
Lope,  yet  in  the  violence  of  its  effects  it 
must  be  allowed  to  surpass  it ;  for  Lido 
actually  dies  of  his  despair,  and  leaves 
his  kingdom  of  Seville  to  the  most  beau- 
tiful man  and  woman  who  shall  appear. 
Most   of  the  third   and   all    the  fourth 
canto  are  taken  up  with  the  enumera- 
tion and  description  of  the  persons  who 
thronged  to  Seville  for  the  prize.   There 
is  some  sprightliness  and  more  quaint- 
ness  in. his  remarks  on  the  old,  the  ugly, 
and  the  decrepid,  leaving  their  homes, 
and  travelling  through  dangers  and  dif- 
ficulties in  the  hopes  that  their  personal 
charms  may  procure  them  a  kingdom. 
After  much  discussion,  he  seems  inclined 
to  attribute  this  vanity  to  the  invention 
of  looking-glasses,    and    ridicules  with 
some  spirit  the  pedantry  of  those  who 
wished  to  decide  the  contest  by  the  ex- 
actness of  proportion  in  features  and 


34 

limbs,  and  to  prove  the  beauty  of  a 
woman  by  rule  and  by  compass.  An- 
gelica and  Mcdoro  arrive  the  last ;  and 
immediately  after  Zerdan  king  of  Nu- 
midia,  and  Nereida  queen  of  Media,  the 
most  hideous  of  mankind.  Of  Angelica 
he  gives  a  long,  cold,  minute,  and  com- 
mon-place description ;  but  there  is  more 
discrimination  in  the  character  of  Me- 
doro's  beauty  than  is  usual  in  Lope's 
poetry  : 

Entro  con  ella  aquel  que  tantos  danos 
Causo  en  el  mundo  por  su  diclia  y  gozo, 
Aquel  esclavo  rey  de  mil  estranos, 
Aquel  dichoso  y  envidiado  mozo  ; 
Era  Medoro  un  mozo  de  veinte  auos, 
Ensortijado  el  pelo,  y  rubio  el  bozo, 
De  mediana  cstatura,  y  de  ojos  graves, 
Graves  mirados,  y  en  mirar  suaves. 

,Tierno  en  extremo,  y  algo  afemiriado, 
Mas  de  lo  que  merece  un  caballero, 
Gran  llorador,  y  musico  extremado, 
If  umilde  en  obras,  y  en  palabras  fiero  ; 
Guardado  en  ambar,  siempre  regalado, 
Sutil,  discrete,  vario,.  lisongero, 


35 

Noble,  apacible,  alegre,  generoso, 
A  pie  gallardo,  y  a  caballo  ayroso. 

And  with  her  he,  at  whose  success  and  joy 
The  jealous  world  such  ills  had  suffer  'd,  came, 
Now  king,  whom  late  as  slave  did  kings  employ, 
The  young  Medoro,  happy  envied  name  ! 
Scarce  twenty  years  had  seen  the  lovely  boy, 
As  ringlet  locks  and  yellow  down  proclaim  ; 
Fair  was  his  height  ;  and  grave  to  gazers  seem'd 
Those  eyes  which  where  they  turned  with  love  and 
softness  beam'd. 

Tender  was  he,  and  of  a  gentler  kind, 
A  softer  frame  than  haply  knighthood  needs; 
To  pity  apt,  to  music  much  inclin'd, 
In  language  haughty,  somewhat  meek  in  deeds  ; 
Dainty  in  dress,  and  of  accomplish'd  mind, 
A  wit  that  kindles,  and  a  tongue  that  leads  ; 
Gay,  noble,  kind,  and  generous  to  the  sight, 
On  foot  a  gallant  youth,  on  horse  an  airy  knight. 

After  the  decision  in  their  favour,  and 
a  short  but  not  inelegant  compliment  to 
his  mistress  Lucinda,  who  at  this  time 
must  have  been  an  imaginary  person,  he 
proceeds  to  the  love  which  the  beauty 
of  Medoro  and  Angelica  inspired  in 
some  of  their  rivals,  and  the  rage  which 


2 


36 

they  excited  in  others.  Among  these, 
the  speech  of  Rostubaldo,  king  of  To- 
ledo, affords  a  specimen  of  a  different 
kind  of  poetry  from  any  we  have  hitherto 
inserted : 

Que  furia,  dixo,  O  barbaro  senado 
De  mugeres  al  fin  cerrado  entorno, 
Te  incita  iriadvertido,  acelerado, 
Movido  de  lascivia  y  de  soborno 
A  dar  el  premio  a  un  hombre  afeminado, 
Cun  habla,  trage,  y  mugeril  adorno, 
Adonde  estan  con  tan  famosos  nombres 
Robustos  cuerpos  de  perfectos  hombres  ? 

Mandaba  el  muerto  rey,  6  mandar  quiso, 
Si  bien  la  ley  entiendo  y  interpreto, 
Que  en  este  breve  termino  improvise 
Juzgassedes  qual  era  el  mas  perfeto. 
En  un  caso  tan  grave  y  indeciso, 
Digno  de  advertimierito  y  de  secreto, 
Por  un  estruendo  de  mugeres  locas 
Dais  lauro  a  un  hombre  que  merece  tocas  ? 

A  un  hombre  que  es  verguenza  que  se  llame 
Hombre,  quien  tanto  a  la  muger  parece. 
Neron  por  que  fue  vil  ?    Comodo  infame  ? 
Bastante  causa  su  retrato  ofrece. 
Hile,  tuerza,  devane,  texa,  trame, 
Guarde  el  estrado,  oficios  que  merece, 


37 

O  oque  a  su  muger,  pues  es  su  espejo, 
Mas  no  trate  las  armas,  ni  el  consejo. 

Bordarle  puede  ropas  y  basquinas 
Con  perlas  y  oro,  lazos  y  perfiles ; 
O  con  ella  cazar  por  las  campinas 
Liebres  cobardes*  y  conejos  viles ; 
Los  ojos  alee,  &c.  &c.  &c. 

What  rage  your  barbarous  councils  has  possest, 
Senate  beset  with  women  round  ?  he  cries ; 
That  heedless,  hasty  thus,  by  love  carest, 
Won  by  the  wanton  tricks  their  sex  devise, 
To  one  in  lisp,  in  dress,  in  air  confest 
A  woman  more  than  man,  you  grant  a  prize 

Due  to  the  nervous  arm  and  daring  face 

Of  those  whose  mighty  limbs  proclaim  a  manly  race  ? 

The  dying  king  or  said  or  meant  to  say, 
For  so  I  dare  interpret  his  bequest, 
That  you  ere  long  should  choose,  the  realm  to  sway, 
Of  graceful  knights  the  fairest  and  the  best. 
Then  in  the  mighty  business  of  the  day 
Shall  the  wild  noise  of  women  half  possest 
Accord  the  prize  to  one  whose  girlish  air 

Deserves,  instead  of  crowns,  the  caps  his  patrons  wear? 

• 

One  whom  I  call  not  man,  for  that's  a  name 
I  blush  to  squander  on  so  soft  a  mien. 
What  covered  Nero,  Commodus  with  shame  ?     ' 
In  their  unmanly  cheeks  the  answer's  seen. 


38 


The  loom,  the  distaff,  be  Medoro's  fame, 
So  let  him  spin,  or  deck  his  beauteous  queen, 
For  mirror-like  his  form  reflects  her  charms, — 
But  quit  the  cares  of  state,  and  shun  the  din  of  arms. 

So  may  he  trim  her  robe,  her  gems  may  place, 
Adjust  the  gold,  and  wreathe  her  flowing  hair ; 
Secure  with  her  o'er  open  meads  may  chase 
The  harmless  rabbit  or  the  tim'rous  hare ; 
May  turn  his  eyes  enamour 'd  on  her  face,  &c.  &c. 

He  pursues  the  same  train  of  thought 
for  several  stanzas,  and  concludes  his 
speech  with  an  insult  and  threat  that 
many  will  deem  too  ludicrous  for  any 
thing  approaching  to  epic  poetry  : 

Pues  defended  el  reyno  rostros  bellos, 

Que  yo  pondre  15  planta  en  vuestros  cuellos. 

Your  crown  then  let  your  pretty  looks  defend, 
For  on  your  abject  necks  to  trample  I  intend. 

Being  vehemently  opposed  by  Tur- 
cathco  the  Scythian,  a  general  war  en- 
sues; and  in  the  course  of  two  or  three 
cantos,  in  which  the  adventures  of  Li- 
nodoro  and  Thisbe  are  related,  and  a 


39 

long  list  of  Spanish  kings  since  Tubal 
inserted,  Nereida  succeeds  in  bewitch- 
ing Medoro  to  love  her.     She  conveys 
him  and  Angelica  to  an  island,    where 
the  latter  is  carried  away  by  Zerban. 
In  the  mean  while  Rostubaldo  besieges 
Seville.     The  thirteenth  canto  is  taken 
up  with  the  story  of  a  man  who  falls  in 
love  with  Belcorayda  upon  seeing  her 
picture;  which,  as  it  has  no  connexion 
with  the  subject  of  the  poem,  seems  to 
have  been  introduced  for  the  sake  of  an 
eulogium  upon  painting,  and  a  compli- 
ment to   Spagnoletto  and  the  king  of 
Spain.      Lope   was  extremely   fond  of 
painting,  and,  among  his  many  accom- 
plishments, had  I  believe  made  some 
little  proficiency  in  that  art.     Medoro  is 
persecuted  in  various  ways  by  Nereida, 
and  Angelica  is  in  the  utmost  danger  of 
violence  from  Zerban.  llostubaldo  visits 
a  cave  where  the  glories  of  the  Spanish 
arms  till  the  final  conquest  of  Grenada 


are  foretold.  In  the  seventeenth  canto, 
the  subject  of  which  is  the  siege  of  Seville, 
Cardiloro,  the  original  lover  of  Clori- 
narcla,  coming  to  the  assistance  of  the 
besiegers,  vents  his  grief  at  her  death,  in 
dull,  common-place,  and  miserable  anti- 
theses. At  last  Nereida  changes  the  ob- 
ject of  her  love  from  Medoro  to  Rostu- 
baldo;  and,  after  a  variety  of  adventures, 
Medoro  finds  his  son  in  an  island,  and  his 
speedy  recovery  of  Angelica  is  foretold 
by  a  prophetess.  This  fortunate  event  is 
however  delayed  ;  for  the  poet  sees  a 
vision  in  the  beginning  of  the  twentieth 

o  o 

canto,  in  which  all  the  kings  of  Arragon 

*  o  o 

as  well  as  Castile,  and  most  of  the  battles 
of  Philip  II.  and  the  duke  of  Alva  are 
represented  by  images.  He  sees  also  an 
inscription  under  a  golden  statue  of  Phi- 
lip III.,  which,  unless  the  imaginary 
vision  was  a  real  prophecy,  proves  that 
much  of  the  poem  was  written  after  the 
period  to  which  he  refers  it.  1  transcribe 


41 

the  passage,  as  they  are  probably  the 
only  eight  Latin  lines  of  titles  and 
names  which  are  to  be  found  in  modern 
metre,  and  in  a  poem  written  in  a  mo- 
dern language : 

Phillippo  Tertio,  Caesari  invictissimo, 
Omnium  maximo  regum  triumphatori, 

Orbis  utriusque  et  maris  felicissimo, 
Catholic!  segundi  successor!, 

Totius  Hispaniae  principi  dignissimo, 
Ecclesiie  Christi  et  fidei  defensori, 

Fama,  pracingens  tempora  alma  lauro, 

Hoc  simulacrum  dedicat  ex  auro. 

At  the  end  of  this  canto  Medoro  finds 
Angelica;  laments  his  late  delusion; 
embraces  her  as  Atlas  does  the  heavens; 
she  dies  away  with  joy,  and  the  converse 
of  the  soul  beginning,  the  lovers,  as  well 
as  the  recording  muse,  with  great  pro- 
priety become  mute. 

Such  was  the  employment  of  Lope 
during  this  voyage  of  hardships,  which, 
however  alleviated,  seem  never  totally 
to  have  been  forgotten.  The  tyranny, 


42 

cruelty,  and  above  all  the  heresy  of 
queen  Elizabeth,  are  the  perpetual  ob- 
jects of  his  poetical  invective.  When 
in  1602  he  published  this  poem,  written 
on  board  the  Armada,  he  had  the  satis- 
faction of  adding  another  on  the  death 
of  a  man  who  had  contributed  to  com- 
plete the  discomfiture  of  that  formidable 
expedition.  The  Dragontea  is  an  epic 
poem  on  the  death  of  sir  Francis  Drake ; 
and  the  reader  is  informed,  by  a  note'  in 
the  first  page,  that  wherever  the  word 
Dragon  occurs,  it  is  to  be  taken  for  the 
name  of  that  commander.  Tyrant,  slave, 
butcher,  and  even  coward,  are  supposed 
to  be  so  applicable  to  his  character,  that 
they  are  frequently  bestowed  upon  him 
in  the  course  of-  the  work  without  the 
assistance  of  an  explanatory  note. 

He  returned  a  second  time  to  Madrid 
in  1590,  and  soon  after  married  again. 

In  1598,  on  the  canonization  of  St. 
Isidore,  a  native  of  Madrid,  he  entered 


43 

the  list  with  several  authors,  and  over- 
powered them  all  with  the  number  if 
not  with  the  merit  of  his  performances. 
Prizes  had  been  assigned  for  every  style 
of  poetry,  but  above  one  could  not  be 
obtained  by  the  same  person.  Lope 
succeeded  in  the  hymns ;  but  his  fertile 
muse,  not  content  with  producing  a 
poem  of  ten  cantos  in  short  verse,  as 
well  as  innumerable  sonnets  and  ro- 
mances, and  two  comedies  on  the  sub- 
ject, celebrated  by  an  act  of  superero- 
gation both  the  saint  and  the  poetical 
competition  of  the  day,  in  a  volume  of 
sprightly  poems  under  the  feigned  name 
of  Tom6  de  Burguillos*.  These  were 

*  Parnaso  Espanol,  and  late  edit,  of  Lope  de  Vega's 
works.  It  is  true  that  these  poems  were  lately  printed  at 
the  Imprenta  Real  with  a  preface,  asserting  Tome  de 
Burguillos  to  be  a  real  personage,  and  author  of  the  works 
which  bear  his  name :  but  there  seems  to  be  no  ground  for 
depriving  Lope  of  compositions  which  his  contemporaries, 
us  well  as  subsequent  critics,  have  all  concurred  in  attri, 
buting  to  hiiij. 


44 

probably  the  best  of  Lope's  productions 
on  the   occasion ;   but   the  concurring 
testimonies  of  critics  agree  that  most  of 
his  verses  were  appropriate  and  easy, 
and  that  they  far  excelled  those  of  his 
numerous    competitors.      This    success 
raised  him  no  doubt  in  the  estimation 
of  the  public,  to  whom  he  was  already 
known  by  the  number  and  excellence  of 
his   dramatic   writings.      Henceforward 
the  licences  prefixed  to  his  books  do  not 
confine  themselves  to  their  immediate 
object,  the  simple  permission  to  pub- 
lish, but  contain  long  and  laboured  en- 
comiums upon  the  particular  merit  of 
the  work,  and  the  general  character  and 
style  of  the  author.     This  was  probably 
the   most  fortunate  period  of  his  life. 
He  had   not,    it  is   true,    attained   the 
summit  of  his  glory,  but  he  was  rising 
in  literary  reputation  every  day  ;  and  as 
hope  is  often  more  delightful  than  pos- 
session,   and   there   is  something  more 


45 

animating  to  our  exertions  while  we  are 

*% 
panting  to  acquire  than  when  we  ar.e 

labouring  to  maintain  superiority,  it  was 
probably  in  this  part  of  his  life  that  he 
derived  most  satisfaction  from  his  pur- 
suits. About  this  time  also  we  must 
fix  the  short  date  of  his  domestic  com- 
forts, of  which,  while  he  alludes  to  the 
loss  of  them,  he  gives  a  short  but  feeling 
description  in  his  Eclogue  to  Claudio  : 

Yo  vi  mi  pobre  mesa  in  testimonio, 
Cercada  y  rica  de  fragmentos  mios, 
Dulces  y  amargos  rios 
Del  mar  del  matrimonio, 
Y  vi  pagando  su  fatal  tribute, 
De  tan  alegre  bien  tan  triste  luto. 

The  expressions  of  the  above  are  very 
difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  translate, 
as  the  metaphors  are  such  as  none  but 
the  Spanish  language  will  admit.  The 
following  is  rather  a  paraphrase  than  a 
translation : 

I  saw  a  group  my  board  surround, 
And  sure  to  me,  though  poorly  spread, 


46 

*T  was  rich  with  such  fair  objects  crown'd, 
^*  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. 

Of  the  three  persons  who  formed  this 
family  group,  the  son  died  at  eight 
years  and  was  soon  followed  by  his 
mother :  the  daughter  alone  survived 
our  poet.  The  spirit  of  Lope  seems  to 
have  sunk  under  such  repeated  losses. 
At  a  more  enterprising  period  of  life, 
he  had  endeavoured  to  drown  his  grief 
in  the  noise  and  bustle  of  a  military  life; 
he  now  resolved  to  sooth  it  in  the  exer- 
cise of  devotion.  Accordingly,  having 
been  secretary  to  the  Inquisition,  he 
shortly  after  became  a  priest,  and  in 
1609  a  sort  of  honorary  member*  of  the 
brotherhood  of  St.  Francis.  But  devo- 
tion itself  could  not  break  in  upon  his 
habits  of  composition  ;  and  as  he  had 
- 

*  Pcllicer  Life  of  Cervantes, 


about  this  time  acquired  sufficient  re- 
putation to  attract  the  envy  of  his  fellow 
poets,  he  spared  no  exertions  to  main- 
tain his  post,  and  repel  the  criticisms  of 
his  enemies.  Among  these  the  Spanish 
editors  reckon  the  formidable  names  of 
Gongora*  and  Cervantes -j^. 

The  genius  and  acquirements  J  of 
Gongora  are  generally  acknowledged  by 
those  most  conversant  in  Spanish  lite- 
rature, and  his  historical  ballads  or  ro- 
mances have  always  been  esteemed  the 
most  perfect  specimens  of  that  kind  of 
composition.  But  his  desire  of  novelty 
led  him  in  his  other  poems  to  adopt  a 
style  of  writing  so  vicious  and  affected 
that  Lope  with  all  his  extravagancies  is 


*  The  jealousy  between  Gongora  and  Lope  sufficiently 
appears  from  their  works.  For  further  proof,  vide  Pro- 
logo  to  the  Treatise  Sobre  el  Origcn  y  Progresses  de  la 
Comedia,  by  Casiano.  Pellicer  ed.  Madrid,  1804. 

f  La  Huerta  and  Pellicer.    ' 

J  Don  Nicholas  Antonio  in  Bibliotheca  Nova. 


48 

a  model  of  purity  in  comparison  with 
him.  He  was  however  the  founder  of  a 
sect  in  literature*.  The  style  called  in 
Castilian  cultismo  owes  its  origin  to  him. 
This  affectation  consists  in  using  lan- 
guage so  pedantic,  metaphors  so  strain- 
ed, and  constructions  so  involved,  that 
few  readers  have  the  knowledge  requi- 
site to  understand  the  words,  and  yet 
fewer  the  ingenuity  to  discover  the  allu- 
sion or  patience  to  unravel  the  sen- 
tences. These  authors  do  not  avail 
themselves  of  the  invention  of  letters  for 
the  purpose  of  conveying,  but  of  con- 
cealing their  ideas.  The  art  of  writing 
reduces  itself  with  them  to  the  talent  of 
puzzling  and  perplexing  ;  and  they  re- 
quire in  their  readers  a  degree  of  inge- 
nuity at  least  equal  to  their  own-)-.  The 

*  Luzan's  Poetica,  c.  3.  I.  1. 

+  For  a  specimen  of  (his  style  I  have  only  to  refer  my 
readers  to  Luzau's  criticism  on  a  sonnet  of  Gongora, 
ch.  15.  1.2.  of  his  Foetica.  He  Mill  there  find  that  the 


49 

obscurity  of  Persius  is  supposed  to  have 
ruffled  the  temper  of  a  saint,  and  an  indig- 
nant father  of  the  church  is  said  to  have 
condemned  his  satires  to  the  flames,  with 
this  passionate  but  sensible  observation: 
Si  non  vis  intelligi  non  debes  legi.  It  might 
be  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  public 
would  generally  acquiesce  in  the  truth 
of  this  maxim,  and  that  the  application 
of  it  would  be  one  of  the  few  points  of 
taste  in  which  their  judgment  might  be 
trusted.  But  it  is  the  fate  of  genius  un- 
directed by  judgment  to  render  its  very 
defects  the  chief  object  of  applause  and 
imitation  :  of  this  the  example  of  Gon- 


pen  of  the  historian  opens  the  gates  of  memory,  and  that  me- 
mory stamps  shadows  on  mounds  of  foam.  By  these  ex- 
pressions Gongora  means  to  give  a  poetical  description  of 
the  art  of  writing  on  paper.  Luzan,  whose  object  was  to 
explode  this  taste,  which  was  prevalent  even  in  his  time, 
does  not  do  ample  justice  to  the  merits  of  Gongora,  and 
quotes  only  his  defects  without  mentioning  those  poems 
which  are  exempt  from  them,  or  those  beauties  which  ren- 
dered this  extravagant  style  so  palatable  to  the  public. 


gora  furnishes  a ,  singular  illustration. 
For  near  a  century  after  his  death,  his 
works  had  such  an  influence  on  Castilian 
poetry,  that  little  or  nothing  was  ad- 
mired which  could  be  easily  understood. 
Every  word  appeared  a  metaphor,  and 
every  sentence  a  riddle.  This  revolu- 
tion in  the  taste  of  his  countrymen  was 
not  however  sudden  or  immediate  ;  for 
Gongora  himself  was  disappointed  at 
the  reception  given  to  what  was  termed 
the  new  poetry,  and  the  little  success  that 
attended  his  first  efforts  at  innovation  is 
supposed  to  have  inflamed  his  animosity 
against  his  more  popular  contempora- 
ries*. Lope  did  not  escape  his  cen- 
sures ;  and  galled  by  his  virulent  lam- 
poons, as  well  as  alarmed  at  the  progress 
which  his  new  style  of  writing  was  gra- 
dually making,  he  occasionally  satirised 
the  style  without  naming  the  authors. 

*   Parnaso  Espanolj  vol.  ri. 


51 

Even  in  his  plays  are  to  be  found  seve- 
ral strokes  of  ridicule  on  this  subject. 
Thus,  when  Severo  comes  to  recommend 
himself  as  a  poet  to  a  bridegroom  in  the 
Amistad  y  Obligation,  Lope  the  bride- 
groom asks  him : 

Lop.  Sois  vulgar  o  culterano  ? 
Sev .    Culto  soy. 

Lop.  Quedaos  en  casa 
Y  escribireis  mis  secretes. 
Sev.    Sus  secretes  !  por  que  causa  ? 

Lop.  Porque  nadie  los  entienda 

Lop.  A  plain  or  polish'd  bard  ? 

Sev.  My  style's  polite. 

Lop.  My  secrets  then  remain  with  me  to  write. 
Sev.    Your  secrets  ?  Why  ? 

Lop.  Because,  politely  penn'd. 
Their  meaning  sure  no  soul  shall  comprehend. 

And  again  in  the  Bizarrias  de  Belisa, 
the  heroine  of  that  piece,  in  describing 
the  bad  qualities  of  her  rival,  represents 
her  as  a  pupil  of  the  new  school : 

Aquella  que  escribe  en  culto, 
Por  aquel  Griego  lenguage ; 
Que  no  le  supo  Castilla, 
Ni  se  le  enseno  su  madre. 
E   2 


She  who  writes  in  that  fine  polish'd 
Tliat  language  so  charmingly  Greek, 

Which  never  was  heard  in  Castile, 
And  her  mother  ne'er  taught  her  to  speak. 

His  plays  indeed  abound  in  such  pas- 
sages ;  but  not  content  with  these  ran- 
dom shafts  of  wit,  he  seriously  examined 
its  principles,  and  exposed  its  absurdi- 
ties, in  a  letter  prefixed  to  an  eclogue 
on  the  death  of  dona  Ysabel  de  Urbino 
in  1621.  This  is  written  with  great 
temper  and  judgment,  but  in  a  tone 
which  evinces  an  apprehension  that  the 
stamp  of  Gongora's  authority  might  very 
possibly  give  currency  to  his  new  inven- 
tion. The  character  of  Lope  through- 
out this  contest  appears  indeed  to  great 
advantage,  and  exhibits  a  degree  of 
moderation,  which  though  generally  at- 
tributed to  him  by  his  admirers,  is  not 
discernible  in  any  other  of  his  literary  dis- 
putes. For  though  the  virulence  of  his 
antagonist's  expressions  was  such  as  to 


53 

prevent  the  publication  of  most  of  bis 
satirical  performances,  Lope  confined 
himself  to  a'  calm  investigation  of  the 
system  of  writing  ;  and  to  a  few  good- 
humoured  parodies  of  the  extravagant 
style  with  which  he  was  contending. 
He  had  also  the  generosity  to  celebrate, 
in  his  Laurel  de  Apolo,  the  unquestion- 
able merits  of  Gongora,  without  any 
allusion  to  those  defects  which  had  been 
the  objects  of  his  an iinacl version.  In 
the  mean  while,  though  Gongora  was 
himself  neglected,  the  contagion  of  his 
style  spread  every  day*,  and  perhaps 


*  Among  those  of  his  contemporaries  who  professedly 
imitated  his  style,  the  most  remarkable  both  for  rank  and 
talents  was  the  count  of  Villa  Mediana,  the  extraordinary 
circumstances  of  whose  death  are  now  better  known  in 
Spain  than  his  poetry.  P'ew  days  had  elapsed  after  Ihe 
accession  of  Philip  IV.  when  the  confessor  of  Balthazar 
de  Zuniga  (uncle  to  the  count  duke  Olivarez)  bade  Villa 
Mediana  look  to  himself,  for  his  life  was  in  danger.  Tie  not 
only  received  this  advice  with  great  confidence  in  his  own 
security,  but  with  the  utmost  disdain  and  insolence  to  the 
adviser.  However,  that  very  evening,  as  he  was  driving 


54 

the  latter  works  of  Lope  himself  are  not 
altogether  free  from  the  infection. 

The  origin  of  his  dispute  with  Cer- 
vantes is  unknown,  and  the  existence 
of  any  open  warfare  between  them  is 

with  don  Lewis  de  Haro  along  one  of  the  principal  streets 
of  Madrid,  the  coach  was  stopped,  and  he  by  name  was 
requested  to  get  out  upon  some  important  business.  He 
had  scarce  reached  the  carriage  step  in  his  haste  to  descend, 
when  he  received  a  blow  near  the  heart,  and  in  attempting 
to  follow  the  assassin  he  fell  lifeless  and  bloody  on  the 
ground.  No  inquiry  was  made,  no  suit  was  instituted, 
and  one  of  the  principal  men  of  the  country  was  thus 
openly  murdered  in  the  streets  of  the  capital  without  any 
public  notice  being  taken  of  the  crime.  Quevedo  seems 
to  attribute  this  murder  to  the  vengeance  which  a  dissolute 
life,  a  satirical  muse,  and  a  sarcastic  tongue,  might  natu. 
rally  excite  ;  but  the  rashness  of  the  attempt,  the  impunity 
of  the  assassin,  and  the  unusual  supineness  of  the  police, 
joined  with  other  circumstances,  have  given  rise  to  a  suspi. 
cion  that  it  was  perpetrated  at  the  instigation  of  the  court. 
Gongora,  in  whose  ambiguous  phrases  it  always  seems  that 

tl  More  is  meant  than  meets  the  ear," 

says  that  the  hand  was  treacherous,  lut  the  impulse  sove- 
reign. There  is  indeed  a  tradition  current  in  Spain,  which, 
could  it  be  ascertained,  would  leave  little  doubt  to  whose 
jealousy  and  revenge  the  count  fell  a  victim.  It  is  said 
that  Philip  IV.,  having  imperceptibly  glided  behind  the 


in  some  measure  problematical.  La 
Huerta,  the  editor  of  a  late  collection 
of  Spanish  plays,  and  himself  no  despi- 
cable dramatic  writer,  in  a  zealous  de- 
fence of  Lope  accuses  Cervantes  very 


queen  in  a  passage  of  the  palace,  clapped  his  hands  before 
her  eyes  with  the  intention  of  surprising  or  alarming  her. 
She  was  off  her  guard,  and  having  often  permitted  such 
liberties,  and  probably  yet  greater,  to  Villa  Mediana,  ex- 
claimed,  Que  quieresy  Conde?-—What  would  you.  Count? 
and  thus  inadvertently  betrayed  the  familiarities  which  had 
passed  between  her  and  a  person  of  that  title.  She  thought 
however  that  she  had  quieted  the  king's  suspicions,  when 
upon  being  questioned  on  her  exclamation,  and  discovering 
her  husband,  she  reminded  him  that  he  was  count  of  Bar. 
celona.     But  the  king,  who  only  affected  to  be  contented 
with  this  explanation,  was  soon  satisfied  of  her  attachment 
to  Villa  Mediana,  and  in  the  space  of  a  few  days  he  fell  a 
victim  to  his  ambitious  gallantry.    Of  this  queen,  sister  to 
our  Henrietta  Maria,    a  more  idle  story  is  related  of  a 
grandee  setting  fire  to  the  palace  for  the  pleasure  of  touch- 
ing  her  person  in  rescuing  her  from  the  flames.     Yet  more 
idly  this  story  is  told  of  Villa  Mediana,  though  he  died 
several  years  before  the  fire  at  the  Buen  Retiro,  which 
most  probably  gave  rise  to  this  anecdote.     I  am  more  in- 
clined to  give  credit  to  the  account  which  shows,  that  in 
order  to  approach  the  royal  beauty,  it  was  not  necessary 
to  have  recourse  to  such  desperate  expedients. 


56 

unjustly   of  detraction  and    malignity. 
Wherever  Cervantes  has  mentioned  the 
poet  in  his  printed  works,  he  has  spoken 
of  his  genius  not  only  with  respect  but 
admiration.     It  is   true  that  he  implies 
that  his   better  judgment  occasionally 
yielded  to  the  temptation  of  immediate 
profit,  and  that  he  sometimes  sacrificed 
his  permanent  fame  to  fleeting  popula- 
rity with  the  comedians  and  the  public 
But  in   saying  this,  he  says  little  more 
than  Lope  himself  has  repeatedly  ac- 
knowledged ;  and  throughout  his  works 
he  speaks  of  him  in  a  manner  which,  if 
Lope  had  possessed  discernment  enough 
to  have  perceived  the  real  superiority  of 
Cervantes,  would  have  afforded  him  as 
much  pleasure  as  the  slight  mixture  of 
censure  seems  to  have  given  him  con- 
cern. The  admirers  or  rather  the  adorers 
of  Lope,  who  had  christened   him  the 
Phoenix  of  Spain,  were  very  anxious  to 
crush  the  reputation  of  Cervantes.  With 


57 

this  view  they  excited  rivals  on  whom 
they  lavished  extravagant  praises ;  they 
at  one  time  decried  novels  and  ro- 
mances, and  at  another  extolled  all 
those  who  wrote  them,  except  the  one 
who  was  most  deserving  of  their  praise. 
If  the  sonnet  published  in  the  Life  pre- 
fixed to  Don  Quixotte  of  Pellicer  be 
genuine,  Cervantes  was  at  length  pro- 
voked to  attack  more  directly  the 'for- 
midable reputation  of  their  idol.  In 
this  sonnet,  which  contains  a  sort  of 
play  upon  words,  by  the  omission  of  the 
last  syllable  of  each,  that  cannot  be 
translated,  the  works  of  Lope  are  some- 
what severely  handled ;  a  sonnet  com- 
piled in  four  languages  from  various 
authors  is  ridiculed,  the  expediency  of 
a  sponge  is  suggested,  and  he  is  above 
all  advised  not  to  pursue  his  Jerusalem 
Conquistada,  a  work  upon  which  he  was 
then  employed.  Lope,  who  parodied 
the  sonnet  of  Cervantes,  rejected  his 


58 

advice,  and  published  that  epic  poem, 
in  which  his  failure  is  generally  acknow- 
ledged even  by  his  most  fervent  ad- 
mirers. Marino  the  Italian  poet  must 
however  be  excepted  ;  who,  as  he  does 
not  hesitate  in  his  funeral  eulogium  to 
prefer  the  Angelica  to  the  Orlando  Fu- 
rioso,  and  the  novels  of  Lope  to  those 
of  Boccace,  could  not  decently  exempt 
Tasso  from  this  act  of  general  homage, 
and  makes  his  poem  bow  submission 
to  the  Spanish  Jerusalem  Conquistada. 
Cervantes,  though  discouraged  by  Lope, 
and  decried  by  his  admirers,  had  modera- 
tion or  prudence  enough  to  acknowledge 
his  merits  in  his  Viage  del  Parnasso,  and 
still  more  strongly  in  the  prologue*  to 

*  Nasarre,  the  editor  of  the  eight  comedies  of  Cervantes, 
considers  them  as  parodies  of  Lope  de  Vega,  and  maintains 
that  his  description  of  a  bad  play  alludes  to  a  particular 
composition  of  our  author.  But  Nasarre's  opinions  are 
too  paradoxical  to  have  any  weight,  and  those  who  will 
give  themselves  the  trouble  of  examining  his  assertions  will 
find  them  still  less  deserving  attention  or  respect. 


59 

his  comedies.      In    the  former  he   ad- 
dresses him  thus  : 

Insigne  poeta,  acuyo  verso  o  prosa 
Ninguno  le  avantaja  ni  aun  llega. 

Distinguished  bard,  whom  no  one  of  our  time 
Could  pass  or  even  match  in  prose  or  rhyme. 

The  passage  in  the  prologue  we  shall 
have  occasion  to  refer  to  in  another 
place.  Whether  these  expressions  of 
praise  were  the  genuine  sentiments  of 
Cervantes,  and  whether  they  satisfied 
Lope  and  his  friends,  we  cannot  now 
ascertain.  Lope  had  not  long  to  con- 
tend with  so  formidable  a  rival;  for 
Cervantes  died  soon  after  this  publica- 
tion, and  left  his  enemy  in  full  possession 
of  the  admiration  of  the  public.  How 
different  has  been  the  judgment  of 
posterity  on  the  writings  of  these  two 
men  !  Cervantes,  who  was  actually 
starving  in  the  same  street*  where  Lope 

*  Pellicer. 


60 

• 
was  living  in  splendour  and  prosperity, 

has  been  for  near  two  centuries  the  de- 
light and  admiration  of  every  nation  in 
Europe;  and  Lope,  notwithstanding  the 
Lite  edition  of  his  works  in  twenty-two 
volumes,  is  to  a  great  degree  neglected 
in  his  own. 

Before  the  death  of  Cervantes,  which 
happened  on  the  same  day  as  that  of 
Shakspere  *,  the  admiration  of  Lope 
was  become  a  species  of  worship  in 
Spain,  It  was  hardly  prudent  in  any 
author  to  withhold  incense  from  his 
shrine,  much  Jess  to  interrupt  the  devo- 
tion of  his  adherents.  Such  indeed  was 
their  intolerance,  that  they  gravely  as- 
serted that  the  author  of  the  Spongia, 
who  had  severely  censured  his  works, 
and  accused  him  of  ignorance  of  the 
Latin  language,  deserved  nothing  short 
of  death  for  such  literary  heresy.  Nor 

*  Pellicer. 


61 

was  Lope  himself  entirely  exempt  from 
the  irritability  which  is  supposed  to 
attend  poets  :  he  often  speaks  with 
peevishness  of  his  detractors,  and  an- 
swers their  criticisms,  sometimes  in  a 
querulous,  and  sometimes  in  an  insolent 
tone.  The  word  Vega  in  Spanish  signi- 
fies garden.  In  the  title-page  of  his 
book  was  engraved  a  beetle  expiring 
over  some  flowers,  which  he  is  upon  the 
point  of  attacking.  That  the  emblem 
might  not  be  misunderstood,  this  distich 
was  also  subjoined  : 

Audax  dum  Vegac  irrumpit  scarabams  in  hortos, 
Fragrantis  periit  victus  odore  rasa?. 

At  Vega's  garden  as  the  beetle  ffies, 
O'erpower'd  with  sweets  the  daring  insect  dies. 

The  vanity  of  the  above  conceit  is  at 
least  equal  to  the  wit. 

But  in  the  prologue  to  the  Pelegrino, 
and  in  some  posthumous  poems*,  he 
most  unreasonably  complains  of  the 

*  Huertu  deshecho. 


62 

neglect,  obscurity,  and  poverty  in  which 
his  talents  have  been  left.  How  are  the 
expectations  of  genius  ever  to  be  ful- 
filled, if  Lope,  laden  with  honours  and 
with  pensions,  courted  by  the  great,  and 
followed  by  the  crowd,  imagined  that  his 
fortunes  were  unequal  to  his  deserts  ? 

He  seldom  passed  a  year  without 
giving  some  poem  to  the  press  ;  and 
scarcely  a  month  or  even  a  week  with- 
out producing  some  play  upon  the  stage. 
His  Pastores  de  Belen,  a  work  in  prose 
and  verse  on  the  Nativity,  had  confirmed 
his  superiority  in  pastoral  poems ;  and 
rhymes,  hymns  and  poems  without 
number  on  sacred  subjects  had  evinced 
his  zeal  in  the  profession  he  embraced. 
Philip  IV.,  the  great  patron  of  the 
Spanish  theatre,  to  which  he  afterwards 
is  said  to  have  contributed  *  composi- 

*  Conde  de  Sex  (Earl  of  Essex)  o  dar  la  vida  por  $u 
dama,  and  others  Under  the  name  of  the  Ingenio  de  esta 
corte  are  ascribed  to  him  ;  but,  I  suspect,  upon  very  slight 
authority. 


tions  of  his  own,  at  the  era  of  his  ac- 
cession, found  Lope  in  full  possession 
of  the  stage,  and  in  the  exercise  of  unli- 
mited authority  over  the  authors,  come- 
dians, and  audience.   New  honours  and 
benefices  were  immediately  heaped  on 
our  poet,  and  in  all  probability  he  wrote 
occasionally  plays  for  the  royal  palace. 
He  published  about  the  same  time  Los 
Triumphos  de  la  Fe ;  Las  Fortunas  de 
Diana;  three  novels  in  prose  (unsuccess- 
ful imitations  of  Cervantes) ;  Circe,  an 
heroic  poem,    dedicated  to   the  count 
duke  of  Olivarez;  and  Philomena,  a  sin- 
gular but  tiresome  allegory,  in  the  se- 
cond book  of  which  he  vindicates  him- 
self in  the  person  of  the  nightingale  from 
the  accusation  of  his   critics,  who  are 
there  represented  by  the  thrush. 

Such  was  his  reputation  that  he  be- 
gan to  distrust  the  sincerity  of  the  pub- 
lic, and  seems  to  have  suspected  that 
there  was  more  fashion  than  real  opinion 


64 

in  the  extravagance  of  their  applause. 
This  engaged  him  in  a  dangerous  expe- 
riment, the  publication  of  a  poem  with- 
out his  name.  But  whether  the  number 
of  his  productions  had  gradually  formed 
the  public  taste  to  his  own  standard  of 
excellence,  or  that  his  fertile  and  irre- 
gular genius  was  singularly  adapted  to 
the  times,  the  result  of  this  trial  con- 
firmed the  former  judgment  of  the  pub- 
lic; and  his  Soliloquies  to  God*,  though 
printed  under  a  feigned  name,  attracted 
as  much  notice  and  secured  as  many 
admirers  as  any  of  his  former  produc- 
tions. Emboldened  probably  by  this 
success,  he  dedicated  his  Corona  Tra- 
gica,  a  poem  on  the  queen  of  Scots,  to 
pope  Urban  Vlll.-f,  who  had  himself 
composed  an  epigram  on  the  subject. 
Upon  this  occasion  he  received  from 
that  pontiff  a  letter  written  in  his  own 

*  Parnaso  Espanol.     Montalvan. 
f  Dedication  to  Corona  Tragica. 


65 

hand,  and  the  degree  of  doctor  of  theo- 
logy.    Such  a  flattering  tribute  of  ad- 
miration  sanctioned   the   reverence    in 
which  his  name  was  held  in  Spain,  and 
spread  his  fame  through  every  catholic 
country.     The  cardinal   Barberini  fol- 
lowed him  with  veneration  in  the  streets; 
the  king  would  stop  to  gaze  at  such  a 
prodigy  ;  the  people  crowded  round  him 
wherever  he  appeared  ;  the  learned  and 
the  studious*  thronged  to  Madrid  from 
every  part  of  Spain  to  see  this  phoenix 
of  their  country,  this  "  monster  of  lite- 
rature ;"  and  even  Italians,  no  extrava- 
gant admirers  in  general  of  poetry  that 
is  not  their  own,  made  pilgrimages  from 
their  country  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
conversing  with  Lope.     So  associated 
was  the  idea  of  excellence  with  his  name, 
that  it  grew  in  common  conversation  to 
signify  any   thing  perfect  in  its  kind  ; 

*  Montalvan,  Parnaso  Kspanol,  &c. 
F 


66 

and  a  Lope  diamond,  a  Lope  day,  or  a 
Lope  woman,  became, fashionable  and 
familiar  modes  of  expressing  their  good 
qualities.  His  poetry  was  as  advan- 
tageous to  his  fortune  as  to  his  fame  : 
the  king  enriched  him  with  pensions  and 
chaplaincies;  the  pope  honoured  him 
with  dignities  and  preferments ;  and 
every  nobleman  at  court  aspired  to  the 
character  of  his  Maecenas,  by  conferring 
upon  him  frequent  and  valuable  pre- 
sents. His  annual  income  was  not  less 
than  1500  ducats,  exclusive  of  the  price 
of  his  plays,  which  Cervantes  insinuates 
that  he  was  never  inclined  to  forgo,  and 
Montalvan  estimates  at  80,000.  He  re- 
ceived in  presents  from  individuals  as 
much  as  10,500  more.  His  application 
of  these  sums  partook  of  the  spirit  of 
the  nation  from  which  he  drew  them. 
Improvident  and  indiscriminate  charity 
ran  away  with  these  gains,  immense  as 
they  were,  and  rendered  his  life  unpro- 


67 

fitable  to  his  friends  and  uncomfortable 
to  himself.    Though  his  devotion  gradu- 
ally became  more  fervent,  it  did  not  in- 
terrupt his  poetical  career.     In  1630  he 
published  the  Laurel  de  Apolo,  a  poem 
of  inestimable  value  to  the  Spanish  phi- 
lologists, as  they  are  called  in  the  jar- 
gon of  our  day,  for  it  contains  the  names 
of  more  than  330  Spanish  poets  and 
their  works.     They  are  introduced   as 
claimants  for  the  Laurel,  which  Apollo 
is  to  bestow ;  and  as  Lope  observes  of 
himself  that  he  was  more  inclined  to 
panegyric  than  to  satire,  there  are  few 
or  any  that  have  not  at  least  a  strophe 
of  six  or  eight  lines  devoted  to  their 
praise.     Thus  the  multitude  of  Castilian 
poets,    which  at  that  time  was  prodi- 
gious,   and  the  exuberance  of  Lope's 
pen,  have  lengthened  out  to  a  work  of 
ten  books,  or  sylvas,  an  idea  which  has 
often  been  imitated  in  other  countries, 
but  generally  confined  within  the  limits 


68 

of  a  song*.  At  the  end  of  the  last  sylva 
he  makes  the  poets  give  specimens  of 
their  art,  and  assures  us  that  many 
equalled  Tasso,  and  even  approached 
Ariosto  himself;  a  proof  that  this  cele- 
brated Spanish  poet  gave  the  preference 
to  the  latter.  After  long  disputes  for 
the  Laurel,  the  controversy  at  length 
ends,  as  controversies  in  Spain  are  apt 
to  do,  in  the  interference  of  the  govern- 
ment ;  and  Apollo  agrees  to  refer  the 
question  to  Philip  IV.,  whose  decision, 
either  from  reserve  in  the  judge,  or  from 
modesty  in  the  relator,  who  was  himself 
a  party  concerned,  is  not  recorded. 
Facts  however  prove  that  our  poet  could 
be  no  loser  by  this  change  of  tribu- 
nal. He  continued  to  publish  plays  and 
poems,  and  to  receive  every  remunera- 
tion that  adulation  and  generosity  could 
bestow,  till  the  year  1635,  when  religi- 

*  Session  of  the  Poets  ;  &c.  &c. 


ous  thoughts  had  rendered  him  so  hypo- 
chondriac that  he  could  hardly  be  con- 
sidered as  in  full  possession  of  his  un- 
derstanding. On  the  22d  of  August, 
which  was  Friday,  he  felt  himself  more 
than  usually  oppressed  in  spirits  and 
weak  with  age;  but  he  was  so  much 
more  anxious  about  the  health  of  his 
soul  than  of  his  body,  that  he  would  not 
avail  himself  of  the  privilege  to  which 
his  infirmities  entitled  him,  of  eating 
meat;  and  even  resumed  the  flagellation*, 
to  which  he  had  accustomed  himself, 
with  more  than  usual  severity.  This 
discipline  is  supposed  to  have  hastened 
his  death.  He  fell  ill  on  that  night,  and 
having  passed  the  necessary  ceremonies 
with  excessive  devotion,  he  expired  on 
Monday  the  26th  of  August  1635. 

The  sensation  produced  by  his  death, 
was,  if  possible,  more  astonishing  than 

*  Montalvan. 


70 

the  reverence  in  which  he  was  held  while 
living.  The  splendour  of  his  funeral, 
which  was  conducted  at  the  charge  of 
the  most  munificent  of  his  patrons,  the 
duke  of  Sesa,  the  number  and  language 
of  the  sermons  on  that  occasion,  the 
competition  of  poets  of  all  countries  in 
celebrating  his  genius  and  lamenting  his 
loss,  are  unparalleled  in  the  annals  of 
poetry,  and  perhaps  scarcely  equalled 
in  those  of  royalty  itself.  The  ceremo- 
nies attending  his  interment  continued 
for  nine  days.  The  priests*  described 
him  as  a  saint  in  his  life,  and  repre- 
sented his  superiority  over  the  classics 
in  poetry  as  great  as  that  of  the  religion 
which  he  professed  was  over  the  heathen. 
The  writings  which  were  selected  from 
the  multitude  produced  on  the  occasion 
fill  more  than  two  large  volumes.  Seve- 
ral circumstances  indeed  concurred  to 

*  See  Funeral  Sermons. — Sancha's  edit,  of  Lope, 


71 

raise  his  reputation  at  the  period  of  his 
death.  Had  he  fallen  sooner,  the  pub- 
lic would  not  have  been  disposed  to  re- 
gret a  dramatic  writer  so  deeply  ;  had 
he  lived  longer,  they  would  have  had 
more  certain  prospects  of  supplying  the 
loss.  The  passion  of  Philip  IV.  for  the 
theatre  had  directed  the  attention  and 
interest  of  Spaniards  to  all  that  con- 
cerned it.  Calderon  and  Moreto,  who 
shortly  after  enriched  the  stage  with 
plays  at  least  equal,  and  in  the  judg- 
ment of  many  superior  to  those  of  Lope, 
were  as  yet  so  young  that  they  might  be 
considered  as  his  scholars  rather  than 
his  rivals. — We  may  add  that  his  post- 
humous works  were  calculated  not  only 
to  maintain  but  advance  his  poetical 
character. 

Of  the  many  encomiasts  of  Lope 
(among  whom  are  to  be  found  Marino 
and  several  Italians),  not  one  gives  any 
account  of  his  life,  if  we  except  his  in- 


72 

timate  friend  Montalvan ;  and  even  in 
his  eulogium  there  is  little  that  can 
throw  any  light  upon  his  character  as  a 
man,  or  his  history  as  an  author.  He 
praises  him  in  general  terms  as  a  person 
of  a  mild  and  amiable  disposition,  of 
very  temperate  habits,  of  great  erudi- 
tion, singular  charity,  and  extreme  good 
breeding.  His  temper,  he  adds,  was 
never  ruffled  but  with  those  who  took 
snuff  before  company ;  with  the  gray 
who  dyed  their  locks ;  with  men  who, 
born  of  women,  spoke  ill  of  the  sex  ; 
with  priests  who  believed. in  gipsies; 
and  with  persons  who,  without  inten- 
tions of  marriage,  asked  others  their 
age.  These  antipathies,  which  are  rather 
quaint  sallies  of  wit  than  traits  of  cha- 
racter, are  the  only  peculiarities  which 
his  intimate  friend  has  thought  proper 
to  communicate. 

As  he  is  mentioned  more  than   once, 
by  himself  and  his  encomiasts,  employed 


73 

in  trimming  a  garden,  we  may  collect 
that  he  was  fond  of  that  occupation ; 
indeed  his  frequent  description  of  par- 
terres and  fountains,  and  his  continual 
allusion  to  flowers,  seem  to  justify  his 
assertion — that  his  garden  furnished  him 
with  ideas  as  well  as  vegetables  and 
amusement.  But  I  fear  we  cannot  from 
the  primitive  simplicity  of  this  employ- 
ment conclude,  with  his  partial  friend 
Montalvan,  that  his  fortunes  did  not 
alter  the  modesty  of  his  address,  or  the 
unaffected  mildness  and  humility  of  his 
temper.  His  ostentatious  display  of 
vanity  in  assuming  arms  to  which  he 
was  not  entitled,  and  his  ill-founded 
pretensions  to  an  illustrious  pedigree, 
circumstances  which  escaped  not  the 
keen  observation  of  Cervantes  and  of 
Gongora,  seem  to  imply  that  he  was  far 
from  that  philosophical  equability  of 
temper  which  meets  the  buffets  and  re- 
wards of  fortune  with  great  indifference. 


74 

On  the  other  hand ;  if  he  was  intoxicated 
with  prosperity,  he  was  not  contented  : 
nor  could  wealth,  honours,  or  reputa- 
tion, cure  him  of  the  habit  of  complain- 
ing of  ill  usage,  neglect,  and  even  po- 
verty. Who  can  read  without  surprise 
mixed  with  indignation  his  letter  to  his 
son,  dissuading  him  from  the  study  of 
poetry  as  unprofitable ;  and,  in  confir- 
mation of  his  precepts,  lamenting  his 
own  calamities,  in  a  strain  more  suited 
to  the  circumstances  of  Camoens  and 
Cervantes  than  to  the  idol  of  the  public 
and  favourite  of  princes  *  ?" 

This  unreasonable  propensity  to  mur- 
mur at  his  lot  is  the  greatest  blemish  in 
his  character.  The  prodigious  success 


*  Pellicer,  p.  165.  el  Origen  y  Progresso  de  la  Comedia. 
This  is  there  transcribed  from  the  dedication  to  the 
Yerdadero  Amante  :  and  if,  as  Pellicer  supposes,  it  was 
written  in  1620,  the  querulous  tone  in  which  Lope  speaks 
of  himself  is  quite  inexcusable  :  but  I  am  inclined  to  assign 
it  an  earlier  period,  because  his  son  died  before  his  wife, 
and  she  could  not  be  alive  when  he  took  orders. 


75 

of  his  compositions,  and  the  general 
adulation  of  his  contemporaries,  were 
sufficient  to  palliate  some  occasional 
instances  of  vanity  ;  and  though  he 
speaks  in  some  passages  of  his  perform- 
ances with  complacency,  in  others  he 
criticizes  his  own  works  with  consider- 
able severity.  This  is  however  a  privi- 
lege which  he  was  by  no  means  inclined 
to  extend  to  others  ;  on  the  other  hand 
he  was  extremely  lavish  of  his  praise 
where  he  expected  a  reasonable  portion 
in  return. 

As  an  author  he  is  most  known,  as 
indeed  he  is  most  wonderful,  for  the 
prodigious  number  of  his  writings*. 
Twenty-one  million  three  hundred  thou- 
sand of  his  lines  are  said  to  be  actually 
printed ;  and  no  less  than  eighteen  hun- 
dred plays  of  his  composition  to  have 

*  Parnaso  Espafiol. 


76 

been  acted  on  the  stagje.  He  nevertheless 

o 

asserts  in  one  of  his  last  poems,  that, 

No  es  minima  parte,  aunquo  es  exceso, 
De  lo  que  esta  por  imprimir,  lo  impreso. 

The  printed  part,  though  far  too  large,  is  less 
Than  that  which  yet  imprinted  waits  the  press. 

It  is  true  that  the  Castilian  language 
is  copious  ;  that  the  verses  are  often 
extremely  short,  and  that  the  laws  of 
metre  and  of  rhyme*  are  by  no  means 
severe.  Yet  were  we  to  give  credit  to 
such  accounts,  allowing  him  to  begin 
his  compositions  at  the  age  of  thirteen, 
we  must  believe  that  upon  an  average 
he  wrote  more  than  nine  hundred  lines 
a  day  ;  a  fertility  of  imagination,  and  a 
celerity  of  pen,  which,  when  we  consi- 
der the  occupations  of  his  life  as  a  sol- 
dier, a  secretary,  a  master  of  a  family, 
and  a  priest ;  his  acquirements  in  Latin, 

*  Appendix,  No.  III. 


77 

Italian,  and  Portuguese  ;  and  his  repu- 
tation for  erudition,  become  not  only 
improbable,  but  absolutely,  and,  one 
may  almost  say,  physically  impossible. 

As  the  credibility  however  of  mira- 
cles must  depend  upon  the   weight  of 
i 

evidence,  it  will  not  be  foreign  to  the 
purpose  to  examine  the  testimonies  we 
possess  of  this  extraordinary  facility  and 
exuberance  of  composition.  There  does 
not  now  exist  the  fourth  part  of  the 
works  which  he  and  his  admirers  men- 
tion, yet  enough  remains  to  render  him 
one  of  the  most  voluminous  authors 
that  ever  put  pen  to  paper.  Such  was 
his  facility,  that  he  informs  us  in  his 
Eclogue  to  Claudio,  that  more  than 
a  hundred  times  he  composed  a  play 
and  produced  it  on  the  stage  in  twenty- 
four  hours.  Montalvan  declares  that 
IK;  latterly  wrote  in  metre  with  as 
much  rapidity  as  in  prose,  and  in  con- 


78 

firmation  of  it  he  relates  the  following 
story  * : 

"  His  pen  was  unable  to  keep  pace 
with  his  mind,  as  he  invented  even  more 
than  his  hand  was  capable  of  transcrib- 
ing. He  wrote  a  comedy  in  two  days, 
which  it  would  not  be  very  easy  for  the 
most  expeditious  amanuensis  to  copy 
out  in  the  time.  At  Toledo  he  wrote 
fifteen  acts  in  fifteen  days,  which  make 
five  comedies.  These  he  read  at  a  pri- 
vate house,  where  Maestro  Joseph  de 
Valdebieso  was  present  and  was  wit- 
ness of  the  whole ;  but  because  this  is 
variously  related,  I  will  mention  what  I 
myself  know  from  my  own  knowledge. 
Roque  de  Figueroa,  the  writer  for  the 
theatre  at  Madrid,  was  at  such  a  loss  for 
comedies  that  the  doors  of  the  theatre 
de  la  Cruz  were  shut ;  but  as  it  was  in 

*  Montalvan's  Eulogium. 


79 

the  Carnival,  he  was  so  anxious  upon 
the  subject  that  Lope  and  myself  agreed 
to  compose  a  joint  comedy  as  fast  as 
possible.  It  was  the  Tercera  Orden  de 
San  Francisco,  and  is  the  very  one  in 
which  Arias  acted  the  part  of  the  saint 
more  naturally  than  was  ever  witnessed 
on  the  stage.  The  first  act  fell  to  Lope's 
lot,  and  the  second  to  mine  ;  we  dis- 
patched these  in  two  days,  and  the  third 
was  to  be  divided  into  eight  leaves  each. 
As  it  was  bad  weather,  I  remained  in 
his  house  that  night,  and  knowing  that 
I  could  not  equal  him  in  the  execution,  I 
had  a  fancy  to  beat  him  in  the  dispatch 
of  the  business ;  for  this  purpose  I  got 
up  at  two  o'clock,  and  at  eleven  had 
completed  my  share  of  the  work.  I 
immediately  went  out  to  look  for  him, 
and  found  him  very  deeply  occupied 
with  an  orange-tree  that  had  been  frost- 
bitten in  the  night.  Upon  my  asking 
him  how  he  had  gone  on  with  his  task, 


80 

he  answered,  '  I  set  about  it  at  five ; 
but  I  finished  the  act  an  hour  ago;  took 
a  bit  of  ham  for  breakfast;  wrote  an 
epistle  of  fifty  triplets;  and  have  watered 
the  whole  of  the  garden  :  which  has  not 
a  little  fatigued  me/  Then  taking  out 
the  papers,  he  read  me  the  eight  leaves 
and  the  triplets ;  a  circumstance  that 
would  have  astonished  me,  had  I  not 
known  the  fertility  of  his  genius,  and  the 
dominion  he  had  over  the  rhymes  of  our 
language/' 

As  to  the  number*  of  his  plays,  all 
contemporary  authors  concur  in  repre- 
senting it  as  prodigious.  "  At  last  ap- 
peared," says  Cervantes  in  his  prologue, 
"  that  prodigy  of  nature,  the  great  Lope, 
and  established  his  monarchy  on  the 
stage.  He  conquered  and  reduced  un- 
der his  jurisdiction  every  actor  and  au- 
thor in  the  kingdom.  He  filled  the  world 

*  For  the  list  of  those  now  extant  see  Appendix,  No.  I. 


81 

with  plays  written  with  purity,  and  the 
plot  conducted  with  skill,  in  number  so 
many  that  they  exceed  eighteen  hundred 
sheets  of  paper;  and  what  is  the  most 
wonderful  of  all  that  can  be  said  upon 
the  subject,  every  one  of  them  have  I 
seen  acted,  or  heard  of  their  being  so 
from  those  that   had   seen   them;   and 
though  there  have  been  many  who  have 
attempted    the  same   career,    all   their 
works  together  would  not  equal  in  quan- 
tity  what   this   single    man   has    com- 
posed*/'     Montalvan   asserts   that  he 
wrote  eighteen  hundred  plays,  and  four 
hundred  autos  sacramentalesf ;  and  as- 
serts, that  if  the  works  of  his  literary  idol 
were  placed  in   one  scale,  and  those  of 
all  antient  and  modern  poets  in  the  other, 
the  weight  of  the  former  would  decide 
the  comparison  in  point  of  quantity,  and 

*  This  was  written  near  twenty  years  before  Lope's  death. 
+  A  species  of  dramatic  composition  resembling  our  old 
mysteries. 


82 

be  a  fair  emblem  of  the  superiority  in 
point  of  merit  of  Lope's  verses  over  those 
of  all  other  poets  together*  What  Lope 
himself  says  upon  this  subject  will  be 
most  satisfactorily  related  in  his  own 
words,  though  the  passages  are  far  from 
poetical.  Having  given  a  list  in  his  pro- 
logue to  the  Pelegrino,  written  in  1 604,  of 
three  hundred  and  forty-three  plays,  in 
his  Arte  de  hacer  Comedias,  published 
five  years  afterwards,  he  says  : 

Mas  ninguno  de  todos  llamar  puedo 
Mas  barbaro  que  yo,  pues  contra  el  arte 
Me  atrevo  a  dar  preceptos,  y  me  dexo 
Llevar  de  la  vulgar  corriente,  a  donde 
Me  llamen  ignorante  Italia  y  Francia. 
Pero  que  puedo  hacer  ?  si  tengo  escritas, 
Con  una  que  he  acabado  esta  semana, 
Quatro  cientos  y  ochenta  y  tres  comedias, 
Por  que  fuera  de  seis,  las  demas  todas 
Pecaron  contra  el  arte  gravemente. 

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. 


83 

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. 

In  the  eclogue  to  Claudio,  one  of  his 
last  works,  are  the  following  curious 
though  prosaic  passages : 

Pero  si  ahora  el  numero  infinite 

De  las  fabulas  comicas  intento, 

Diras  que  es  fingimiento 

Tanto  papel  escrito, 
Tantas  imitaciones,  tantas  flores 
Vestidos  de  rhetoricos  colores. 

Mil  y  quinientas  fabulas  adrnira 
Que  la  mayor  el  numero  parece ; 
Verdad,  que  desmerece 
Por  parecer  mentira, 

Pues  mas  de  ciento  en  boras  viente  quatro 
Passaron  de  las  musas  al  teatro. 

Should  I  the  titles  now  relate 

Of  plays  my  endless  labour  bore, 
Well  might  you  doubt  the  list  so  great, 

Such  reams  of  paper  scribbled  o'er; 
Plots,  imitations,  scenes,  and  all  the  rest, 
To  verse  reduced,  in  flowers  of  rhetoric  drest. 
G  2 


84 


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  a  hundred  times, — within  a  day 
Passed  from  my  muse  upon  the  stage  a  play. 

And  again : 

Mas  ha  llegado,  Claudio,  la  codicia 
A  imprimir  con  mi  nombre  las  agenas 
De  mil  errores  llenas ; 
O  Ignorancia !  O  Malicia ! 
Y  aunque  esto  siento  mas,  raenos  condeiio 
Algunas  mias  con  el  nombre  ageno. 

Cortes  perdona,  O  Claudio,  el  referirte 
De  mis  escritos  barbaros  la  copia ; 
Pero  puedo  sin  propia 
Alabanza  decirte 

Que  no  es  minima  parte,  aunque  es  exceso, 
^  De  lo  que  esta  por  imprimir,  lo  impreso. 

The  public,  Avarice  oft  deceived, 

And  fix'd  on  others'  works  my  name ; 
Vile  works  !  which  Ignorance  mine  believed, 

Or  Malice  call'd,  to  wound  my  fame : 
That  crime  I  can't  forgive,  but  much  incline 
To  pardon  some  who  fix'd  their  names  on  mine. 


85 

Then  spare,  indulgent  Claudio,  spare 
The  list  of  all  ray  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. 

Though  these  passages  seem  to  con- 
firm the  assertions  of  his  biographers 
and  contemporaries  ;  yet  the  complaint 
contained  in  the  last,  which  is  yet  more 
strongly  urged  in  his  prologue  to  the 
Pelegrino,  proves  the  light  authority 
upon  which  his  name  was  given  to  dra- 
matic compositions,  and  consequently 
may  suggest  a  probable  mode  of  ex- 
plaining the  exaggeration  which  must 
have  taken  place  with  regard  to  then- 
number.  That  there  must  be  some  ex- 
aggeration all  will  be  disposed  to  admit. 
It  is  but  just  however  to  observe,  that 
though  Lope  is  the  most  wonderful,  he 
is  not  the  only  Spanish  author  the  num- 
ber of  whose  verses  approaches  to  a  mi- 
racle. La  Cueba  mentions  one  who  had 


86 

written  one  thousand  plays  in  four  acts ; 
some  millions  of  Latin  lines  were  com- 
posed by  Mariner ;  and  many  hundred 
dramatic  compositions  are  still  extant  of 
Calderon,  as  well  as  of  authors  of  inferior 
merit.  It  was  not  uncommon  even  for 
the  nobility  of  Philip  the  Fourth's  time 
to  converse  for  some  minutes  in  extem- 
pore poetry  ;  and  in  carelessness  of  me- 
tre, as  well  as  in  common-place  images, 
the  verses  of  that  time  often  remind  us 
of  the  improvisator!  of  Italy. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  original 
number  of  Lope's  productions,  enough 
yet  remain  to  render  an  examination  of 
them  all  nearly  impossible.  The  merit, 
independent  of  those  intended  for  repre- 
sentation, consists  chiefly  in  smoothness 
of  versification  and  purity  of  language, 
and  in  facility  rather  than  strength  of 
imagination.  He  has  much  to  say  on 
every  subject,  and  he  expresses  what  he 
has  to  say  in  an  easy  style  and  flowing 


87 

numbers;  but  he  seldom  interests  the 
feelings,  and  never  warms  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  reader,  though  he  often 
pleases  by  the  facility  and  beauty  of  his 
language,  and  "occasionally  surprises  by 
the  exuberance  and  ingenuity  of  his 
illustrations.  From  this  character  of 
his  writings  it  will  naturally  be  supposed 
that  his  epic  poems  are  among  the  least 
brilliant  of  his  compositions.  Even  the 
faculty  of  inventing  an  interesting  story, 
for  which  as  a  dramatic  writer  he  was  so 
deservedly  celebrated,  seems  to  have  for- 
saken him  when  he  left  the  stage.  His 
novels  and  epic  poems  are  alike  tedious 
and  uninteresting.  The  Hermosura  de 
Angelica,  which  I  have  examined  above, 
is  perhaps  the  best  of  his  heroic  poems, 
though  during  his  life  the  CoronaTragica, 
his  poem  on  Mary  queen  of  Scots,  at- 
tracted more  notice  and  secured  him 
more  praise.  When  however  we  consider 
the  quarter  in  which  these  encomiums 


88 

originated,  we  may  suspect  that  they 
were  bestowed  on  the  orthodoxy  rather 
than  the  poetry  of  the  work.  When  Lope 
published  it,  the  passions  which  religious 
dissension  had  excited  throughout  Eu- 
rope had  not  subsided.  The  indiscrimi- 
nate abuse  of  one  sect  was  still  sufficient 
to  procure  any  work  a  favourable  recep- 
tion with  the  other;  and  the  Corona Tra- 
gica,  the  subject  of  which  was  fortunately 
chosen  for  such  a  purpose,  was  not  defi- 
cient in  that  recommendation.  Queen 
Elizabeth  is  a  bloody  Jezebel,  a  second 
Athaliah,  an  obdurate  sphynx,  and  the 
incestuous  progeny  of  a  harpy.  He  tells 
us  also  in  the  preface,  that  any  author 
who  censures  his  king  and  natural  master 
is  a  perfidious  traitor,  unworthy  and  in- 
capable of  all  honours,  civil  or  military. 
In  the  second  book  he  proves  himself 
fully  exempt  from  such  a  reproach  by 
selecting  for  the  topics  of  his  praise  the 
actions  of  the  Spanish  monarch,  which 


89 

seem  the  least  to  admit  of  apology  or 
excuse.  He  finds  nothing  in  the  wisdom 
or  activity  of  Charles  V.  so  praise-wor- 
thy as  his  treachery  to  the  protestants. 
Philip  II.,  whom  he  does  every  thing 
but  blame  for  not  murdering  queen  Eli- 
zabeth during  her  sister's  reign,  is  most 
admired  for  sacrificing  the  interest  of  his 
crown,  the  peace  and  prosperity  of  his 

dominions,  at  the  shrine  of  orthodoxy  : 

• 

Que  le  costo  de  Flandes  al  segundo 
No  conceder  la  libertad  injusta  ! 
Que  antes  de  darla  aventurara  el  mundo, 
Catholico  valor,  grandeza  augusta  : — 
For  el  tercero  santo,  el  mar  profundo 

Al  Africa  passo,  seritenciajw^a, 
Despreciando  sus  barbaros  tesoros, 
Las  ultimas  reliquias  de  los  Moros. 

How  much  the  second  Philip  did  it  cost 

Freedom  unjust  from  Flanders  to  withhold! 
Rather  than  yield  the  world  he  would  have  lost, 

His  faith  so  steady,  and  his  heart  so  bold  : 
The  third,  vt\t\\just  decree,  to  Afric's  coast 

Banish'd  the  remnants  of  that  pest  of  old 
The  Moors  ;  and  nobly  ventured  to  contemn 
Treasures  which  flowed  from  barbarous  hordes  like 
them. 


90 

This  praise  of  the  fourth  Philip  is 
founded  on  an  anecdote  with  which  I 
am  unacquainted,  viz.  of  his  adoration 
of  the  sacrament  in  the  presence  of  En- 
glish heretics  *.  There  is  no  superna- 
tural agency  in  this  poem ;  but  it  has 
not  sufficient  merit  in  other  respects  to 
allow  us  to  draw  from  its  failure  any  ar- 
gument in  favour  of  such  machinery. 
The  speech  of  Mary  when  her  sentence 
is  announced  is  the  only  passage  I  found 
in  it  rising  at  all  above  mediocrity  : 

Gracias  os  debo  dar,  nobles  varones, 

For  esta  nueva  aventura  dixo ; 
Aunque  terrible  de  sufrir  lastima, 
Esta  porcion  mortal  que  el  alma  anima. 

Confiesso  ingenuamente  que  si  fuera 
En  Francia  6  en  Escocia  con  mi  esposo, 

Aunque  en  extrema  edad,  la  nueva  oyera, 
Me  diera  horror  el  caso  lastimoso. 


*  This,  I  suspect,  alluded  to  some  transaction  which  took 
place  during  the  celebrated  visit  of  prince  Charles  and  the 
duke  of  Buckingham  at  Madrid. 


91 

Mas  cinco  lustros  de  una  carcel  fiera, 

Donde  solo  escuchaba  el  temeroso 
Ruido  de  las  armas  circunstantes 
Y  el  raiedo  de  la  rauerte  por  instantes. 

Que  genero  de  pena  puede  darla 

Mas  pena  que  las  penas  en  que  vive 
A  quien  solo  pudiera  consolarla 

La  muerte  quo  la  vida  apercibe  ? 
La  muerte  es  menos  pena  que  esperarla  ; 

Una  vez  quien  la  sufre  la  recibe  ; 
Pero  por  mucho  que  en  valor  se  extreme 
Muchas  veces  le  passa  quien  la  teme. 

Que  noche  en  mi  aposento  recogida 

No  vi  la  muerte  en  su  silencio  escuro  ? 
Que  aurora  amanecio  de  luz  vestida 

Que  el  alma  no  assail  asse  el  flaco  muro 
En  que  sustento  no  perdi  la  vida  ? 
Que  lugar  para  mi  dexo  seguro 
Naturaleza,  sin  ponerrne  luego 
Veneno  al  labio,  6  a  la  torre  fuego. 

Ahora  que  ya  ves  a  luz  tan  clara 

Llegar  mi  fin,  carissiinos  amigos, 
Donde  la  vida  en  solo  un  golpe  para 

Y  de  mi  fe  tendre  tantos  testigos 
Mi  firme  aspecto  lo  interior  declara 
Y  libre  de  asechanzas  y  cnemigos 
La  muerte  esperare,  mejor  dixera 
Que  esperare  la  vida  quando  rnuera. 


Thanks  for  your  news,  illustrious  lords,  she  cried ; 

I  greet  the  doom  that  must  my  griefs  decide : 
Sad  though  it  be,  though  sense  must  shrink  from  pain. 
Yet  the  immortal  soul  the  trial  shall  sustain. 

But  had  the  fatal  sentence  reach 'd  my  ears 

In  France,  in  Scotland,  with  my  husband  crown'd, 

Not  age  itself  could  have  allayed  my  fears, 

And  my  poor  heart  had  shudder'd  at  the  sound. 

But  now  immur'd  for  twenty  tedious  years, 

Where  nought  my  listening  cares  can  catch  around 

But  fearful  noise  of  danger  and  alarms, 

The  frequent  threat  of  death,  and  constant  din  of 
arms, 

Ah  !  what  have  I  in  dying  to  bemoan  ? 

What  punishment,  in  death  can  they  devise 
For  her  who  living  only  lives  to  groan, 

And  see  continual  death  before  her  eyes  ? 
Comfort's  in  death,  where  'tis  in  life  unknown ; 

Who   death   expects    feels   more  than    he    who 

dies  : — 

Though  too  much  valour  may  our  fortune  try, 
To  live  in  fear  of  death  is  many  times  to  die. 

Where  have  I  e'er  repos'd  in  silent  night, 

But  death's  stern  image  stalk'd  around  my  bed  ? 

What  morning  e'er  arose  on  me  with  light, 
But  on  my  health  some  sad  disaster  bred  ? 

Did  Fortune  ever  aid  my  war  or  flight, 
Or  grant  a  refuge  for  my  hapless  head  ? 


93 

Still  at  my  life  some  fearful  phantom  aim'd, 
My  draughts  with  poison  drugg'd,  my  towers  with 
treachery  flamed. 

And  now  with  fatal  certainty  I  know 
Is  corne  the  hour  that  my  sad  being  ends, 

Where  life  must  perish  with  a  single  blow ; 
Then  mark  her  death  whom  steadfast  faith  attends? 

My  cheeks  unchang'd,  my  inward  calm  shall  show, 
While  free  from  foes,  serene,  my  generous  friends, 

I  meet  my  death — or  rather  I  should  say, 

Meet  my  eternal  life,  my  everlasting  day. 

The  last  line  of  the  second  stanza, 
quoted  above,  reminds  one  of  a  similar 
sentiment  in  Shakspere : 

"  Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths, 
The  valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once." 

Julius  Ccesar,  act  2.  sc.  2. 

With  regard  to  Lope's  other  epic 
poems,  I  have  never  read  the  Circe  or 
the  Andromeda.  The  Dragontea  is  full 
of  virulent  and  unpoetical  abuse,  and 
gives  a  false  account  of  the  death  of  sir 
Francis  Drake.  The  Arcadia  is,  I  be- 
lieve, the  best  of  his  pastorals.  They 


94 

are  not  in  general  very  accurate  repre- 
sentations of  the  manners  of  shepherds, 
nor  do  they  even  afford  many  specimens 
of  simple  or  natural  poetry  ;  but  they 
all,  especially  the  Pastores  de  Belen, 
contain  translations,  elegies,  songs,  and 
hymns,  of  considerable  merit.  In  them 
are  also  to  be  found  some  of  his  most 
celebrated  odes.  Indeed  Spanish  cri- 
tics, and  more  especially  Andres,  who 
is  far  from  being  partial  to  his  country- 
men, seem  to  consider  him  as  a  great 
lyric  poet.  I  do  not  venture  to  express 
any  opinion  upon  compositions  of  that 
nature,  because,  after  humorous  and 
burlesque  works,  they  are  those  of  which 
a  foreigner  is  least  capable  of  forming  a 
judgment.  If  indeed  the  admiration  of 
strangers  be  an  object,  Lope  must  be 
considered  as  unlucky.  His  light  and 
burlesque  poems,  most  of  which  he  pub- 
lished under  the  feigned  name  of  Thome 
de  Burguillos,  are  those  most  generally 


admired  by  his  countrymen*  Of  these 
the  Gatomachia,  a  mock  heroic  poem, 
is  esteemed  the  best,  and  often  cited  as 
a  model  of  versification.  They  are  all 
sprightly,  and  written  with  ease  ;  but 
their  length  makes  one  occasionally  la- 
ment a  facility  which  rendered  the  ter- 
mination of  any  work  of  Lope  an  act  of 
grace  to  his  readers,  and  not  a  matter 
of  necessity  to  him. 

His  epistles  and  didactic  works  are  not 
much  admired  in  Spain;  but  though  not 
exempt  from  the  same  defect,  they  seem 
to  me  replete  with  observation,  and  good 
sense  conveyed  in  very  pleasant  language 
and  flowing  versification. 

In  the  time  of  Lope  there  were  several 
poetical  academies  at  Madrid,  in  imita- 
tion of  similar  institutions  in  Italy.  The 
Arte  de  hacer  Comedias,  undertaken  at 
the  instance  of  that  to  which  it  is  in- 
scribed, exclusive  of  its  intrinsic  merit, 
derives  an  additional  portion  of  interest 


96 

from  being  connected  with  the  history 
of  the  Spanish  stage,  and  written  by  a 
man  whose  productions  decided  its  cha- 
racter, and  to  whose  genius,  therefore,  are 
in  some  measure  to  be  ascribed  the  pe- 
culiarities which  distinguish  the  modern 
drama  from  the  antient.  Whatever  may 
be  their  comparative  merit,  it  is  surely 
both  absurd  and  pedantic  to  judge  of  the 
one  by  rules  laid  down  for  the  other, — a 
practice  which  had  begun  in  the  time 
of  Lope,  and  is  not  altogether  aban- 
doned to  this  day.  There  are  many  ex- 
cellencies to  which  all  dramatic  authors 
of  every  age  must  aspire,  and  their  suc- 
cess in  these  form  the  just  points  of 
comparison  :  but  to  censure  a  modern 
author  for  not  following  the  plan  of 
Sophocles,  is  as  absurd  as  to  object  to 
a  fresco  that  it  is  not  painted  in  oil  co- 
lours ;  or,  as  Tiraboschi,  in  his  parallel 
of  Ariosto  and  Tasso,  happily  observes, 
to  blarne  Livy  for  not  writing  a  poem 


97 


instead  of  a  history.     The  Greek  trage- 
dians are  probably  superior  to  all  mo- 
derns, if  we  except  Racine,  in  the  cor- 
rectness  of  their  taste,  and  their  equals 
at  least  in  the  sublimity  of  their  poetry, 
and  in  the  just  and  spirited  delineation 
of  those  events  and  passions  which  they 
represent.     These,  however,  are  the  me- 
rits of  the  execution  rather  than  of  the 
design;  the  talents  of  the  disciple  rather 
than  the  excellence  of  the  school ;  and 
prove   the  skill  of  the    workman,    not 
the  perfection  of  the  system.     Without 
dwelling  on  the  expulsion  of  the  chorus 
(a    most    unnatural    and    inconvenient 
machine),  the  moderns,  by  admitting  a 
complication  of  plot,  have  introduced  a 
greater  variety  of  incidents  and  charac- 
ters.    The  province  of  invention  is  en- 
larged ;  new  passions,  or  at  least  new 
forms  of  the  same  passions,  are  brought 
within  the  scope   of  dramatic  poetry. 
Fresh  sources  of  interest  are  opened,  and 


ii 


98 

additional  powers  of  imagination  called 
into  activity.  Can  we  then  deny  what 
extends  its  jurisdiction  and  enhances  its 
interest  to  be  an  improvement,  in  an  art 
whose  professed  object  is  to  stir  the 
passions^by  the  imitation  of  human  ac- 
tions ?  '  In  saying  this  I  do  not  mean  to 
justify  the  breach  of  decorum,  the  neg- 
lect of  probability,  the  anachronisms 
and  other  extravagancies  of  the  founders 
of  the  modern  theatre.  Because  the 
first  disciples  of  the  school  were  not  mo- 
dels of  perfection,  it  does  not  follow 
that  the  fundamental  maxims  were  de- 
fective. The  rudeness  of  their  work- 
manship is  no  proof  of  the  inferiority  of 
the  material ;  nor  does  the  want  of  skill 
deprive  them  of  the  merit  of  having  dis- 
covered the  mine.  The  faults  objected 
to  them  form  no  necessary  part  of  the 
system  they  introduced.  Their  followers 
in  every  country  have  either  completely 
corrected  or  gradually  reformed  such 


99 

abuses.  Those  who  bow  not  implicitly 
to  the  authority  of  Aristotle,  yet  avoid 
such  violent  outrages  as  are  common  in 
our  early  p]ays.  And  those  who  pique 

themselves  on  the  strict  observance  of  his 
laws,  betray  in  the  conduct,  the  senti- 
ments, the  characters,  and  the  dialogue 
their  pieces  (especially  of  their  come- 
es),  more  resemblance  to  the  modern 
than  the  antient  theatre :  their  code  may 
be  Grecian,  but  their  manners  in  spite 
of  themselves  are  Spanish,  English,  or 
French  :  -they  may  renounce  their  pe- 
%ree,  and  even  change  their  dress,  but 
they  cannot  divest  their  features  of  a 
certain  family  likeness  to  their  poetical 
progenitors.     The  beginning  of  this  race' 
of  poets,  like  the  origin   of  nations,  is 
somewhat  obscure.     It  would  be  idle  to 
examine  where  the  first  play  upon  such 
1  was  written  ;  because  many  of 
the  earliest  dramas  in  every  modern  lan- 
guage are  lost.     But  to  whatever  nation 


100 

the  invention  is  due,  the  prevalence  of 
the  modern  system  is  in  a  great  measure 
to  be  attributed  to  Spain";  and  perhaps 
more  to  Lope  de  Vega  than  to  any  other 
individual  of  that  country.  The  num- 
ber and  merit  of  his  plays,  at  a  period 
when  the  Castilian  language  was  gene- 
rally studied  throughout  Europe,  di- 
rected the  attention  of  foreigners  to  the 
Spanish  theatre ;  and  probably  induced 
them  more  than  the  works  of  any  one 
writer  to  form  their  compositions  upon 
the  model  which  Corneille  and  others 
afterwards  refined.  Yet  Lope  in  all 
probability  confirmed  rather  than  in- 
vented the  style  of  drama  then  usual  in 
Spain ;  for  it  is  clear  that  plays  were  not 
only  common  but  numerous  before  his 
time :  indeed  his  own  assertions,  the 
criticisms  of  Cervantes,  and  the  testi- 
monies of  contemporary  authors,  all 
concur  in  establishing  this  fact;  and  in 
the  very  poem  that  we  are  now  exa- 


101 

mining,  he  assigns  as  an  excuse  for  his 
departure  from  antient  models  the  state 
in  which  he  found  the  comedies  of  his 
native  country. 

Mandanme,  ingenios  nobles,  flor  de  Espaiia, 

Que  en  esta  junta  y  academia  insigne 

En  breve  tiempo  excedereis  no  solo 

A  las  de  Italia,  que,  envidiando  a  Grecia, 

Jlustro  Ciceron  del  mismo  norabre 

Junto  al  averno  lago,  sino  a  Athenas 

A  donde  en  su  Platonico  lyceo 

Se  vio  tan  alta  junta  de  philosophos,— 

Que  un  arte  de  comedias  os  escriba 

Que  al  estilo  del  vulgo  se  reciba. 

Facil  parece  este  sujeto, — y  facil 

Fuera  para  qualquiera  de  vosotros 

Que  ha  escrito  menos  dellas,  y  mas  sabe 

Del  arte  de  escribirlas,  y  de  todo, 
Que  lo  que  a  mi  me  daiia  en  esta  parte 
Es  haberlas  escrito  sin  el  arte ; 
No  por  que  yo  ignorasse  los  preceptos, 
Gracias  a  Dios,  que,  ya  tyron  gramatico, 
Passe  los  libros  que  trataban  desto 
Antes  que  huviesse  visto  al  sol  diez  veces 
Discurrir  des  de  el  aries  a  los  peces ; 
Mas  porque  en  fin  halle  que  las  comedias 
EstabaH  en  Espana  en  aquel  tiempo 
No  como  sus  primeros  inventores 


Pensaron  que  en  el  mundo  se  escribieran, 
Mas  como  las  trataron  muchos  barbaros 
C  ue  ensenaron  el  vulgo  a  sus  rudezas, 
Y  assi  se  introduxeron  de  tal  modo 
Que  quien  con  arte  ahora  las  escriba 
Muere  sin  fama  y  galardon  ;  que  puede 
Entre  los  que  carecen  de  su  lumbre 
Mas^que  razon  y  fuerza  la  costumbre 
Verdad  es  que  yo,  he  escrito  algunas  veces 
Siguiendo  el  arte  que  conocen  pocos  ; 
Mas  luego  que  salir  por  otra  parte 
Veo  los  monstros  de  apariencias  llenos ; 
A  donde  acude  el  vulgo  y  las  mugeres, 
Queeste  triste  exercicio  canonizan, 
A  aquel  habito  barbaro  me  vuelvo  ; 
E  quando  he  de  escribir  una  comedia, 
Encierro  los  preceptos  con  seis  Haves  ; 
Saco  a  Terencio  y  Plauto  de  mi  estudio 
Para  que  no  me  den  voces,  que  suele 
Dar  grit os  la  verdad  en  libros  mudos ; 
Y  escribo  por  el  arte  que  inventaron, 
Los  que  el  vulgar  aplauso  pretend ieron, 
Porque  como  los  paga  el  vulgo,  es  justo 
Hablarle  en  necio  para  darle  gusto. 

Bright  flow'rs  of  Spain,  whose  young  academy 
Ere  long  shall  that  by  Tully  iiam'd  outvie, 
And  match  th' Athenian  porch  where  Plato  taught, 
Whose  sacred  shades  such  throngs  of  sages  sought, — 
You  bid  me  tell  the  art  of  writing  plays 
Such  as  the  crowd  would  please,  and  you  might  praise. 


103 

The  work  seems  easy — easy  it  might  be 

To  you  who  write  not  much,  but  not  to  me : 

For  how  can  I  the  rules  of  art  impart, 

Who  for  myself  ne'er  dreamt  of  rule  or  art  ? 

Not  but  I  studied  all  the  antient  rules  : 

Yes,  God  be  praised !  long  since,  in  grammar-schools, 

Scarce  ten  years  old,  with  all  the  patience  due, 

The  books  that  subject  treat  I  waded  through : 

My  case  was  simple.— In  these  latter  days. 

The  truant  authors  of  our  Spanish  plays 

So  wide  had  wander'd  from  the  narrow  road 

Which  the  strict  fathers  of  the  drama  trod, 

I  found  the  stage  with  barbarous  pieces  stor'd  :— 

The  critics  censur'd  ;  but  the  crowd  ador'd. 

Nay  more  ;  these  sad  corrupters  of  the  stage 

So  blinded  taste,  and  so  debauch 'd  the  age, 

Who  writes  by  rule  must  please  himself  alone, 

Be  damn'd  without  remorse,  and  die  unknown. 

Such  force  has  habit— for  the  untaught  fools, 

Trusting  their  own,  despise  the  antient  rules. 

Yet,  true  it  is,  I  too  have  written  plays, 

The  wiser  few,  who  judge  with  skill,  might  praise; 

But  when  I  see  how  show,  and  nonsense,  draws 

The  crowd's,  and,  more  than  all,  the  fair's  applause, 

Who  still  are  forward  with  indulgent  rage 

To  sanction  every  monster  of  the  stage, 

I,  tloom'd  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  Terence  drive  from  out  my  sight, 


104 

Lest  rage  should  teach  these  injur'd  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. 

Some  critics  have  disputed  the  truth 
of  the  apology  contained  in  this  poem, 
and  alleged,  that  previous  to  Lope, 
the  Spaniards  had  many  regular  dramas, 
and  that  he  in  fact  created  the  taste  for 
those  extravagancies  which  he  pretends 
to  have  adopted  from  his  predecessors 
and  contemporaries.  It  is  indeed  well 
ascertained,  that  upon  the  first  revival 
of  the  stage,  several  translations  and 
imitations  of  the  Greek  and  Roman 
dramatic  writers  appeared  in  Spain  as 
well  as  in  Italy.  A  greater  attention 
also  to  the  unities  than  is  common  in 
Lope  or  his  contemporaries,  may  per- 
haps be  discernible  in  some  few  produc- 
tions of  that  period,  which  are  not  ab- 
solutely wrought  according  to  the  Gre- 


105 

V  / 

clan  pattern.  But  that  such  was  not 
the  general  character  of  their  represen- 
tations is  evident  from  plays  still  extant, 
and  might  be  inferred  even  from  those 
of  Cervantes  himself;  who,  though  the 
champion  of  the  antient  rules  in  theory, 
is  in  practice  one  of  the  least  successful 
followers  of  the  modern.  Any  minute 
proof  of  this  would  be  tedious ;  and  a 
reference  to  the  third  book  of  Luzan's 
Poetica,  as  well  as  to  an  excellent  poem 
of  Juan  de  la  Cueba,  published  in  1582, 
and  reprinted  in  the  Parnaso  Espanol, 
renders  it  unnecessary.  From  that  poem 
it  is  clear  that  the  unities  had  been 
abandoned  before  the  time  of  Virues  ; 
and  it  is  but  reasonable  to  suppose,  that 
the  moment  their  representations  ceased 
to  be  lifeless  copies  of  the  antients,  they 
would  be  animated  by  the  spirit  of  the 
times.  Accordingly  La  Cueba,  who 
had  himself  contributed  to  these  inno- 
vations, vindicates  them  upon  that 


106 

ground,  and  appeals  with  confidence  to 
the  interests  they  excite. 

Mas  la  invencion,  la  gracia,  y  traza  es  propia 
A  la  ingeniosa  fabula  de  Espaiia. 
No  qual  dicen  sus  emulos  impropia 
Scenas  y  actos  suple  la  marana 
Tan  intrincada  y  la  soltiira  de  ella, 
Inimitable  de  ninguna  estrafm. 

Parnaso  Espanol,  vol.  viii.  p.  62. 

Invention,  interest,  sprightly  turns  in  plays, 
Say  what  they  will,  are  Spain's  peculiar  praise ; 
Hers  are  the  plots  which  strict  attention  seize, 
Full  of  intrigue,  and  yet  dLsclos'd  with  ease  : 
Hence  scenes  and  acts  her  fertile  stage  affords, 
Unknown,  unrivalled,  on  the  foreign  boards. 

This  eulogium,  though  written  by  the 
predecessor  of  Lope,  is  applicable  to 
him  and  his  followers ;  and  amounts  to 
a  proof  that  the  plays  of  Virues  and  La 
Cueba,  as  well  as  the  greater  part  of 
those  represented  at  that  period,  were 
formed  upon  a  similar  model.  There 
had  been  rude  exhibitions  of  fan vs 
and  autos  before  the  time  of  1'erdi- 


107 

nand  and  Isabella;  but  most  authors 
agree  that  the  first  mention  of  a  regular 
representation  is  that  of  a  play  at  the 
celebration  of  their  memorable  marriage. 
Thus  the  Inquisition*  and  the  Stage 
were  nearly  coeval.  But  the  gloomy 
reign  of  Philip,  in  which,  the  former 
thrived  so  vigorously,  proved  nearly  fatal 
to  the  latter.  It  had  to  struggle  against 
the  prejudices  of  the  clergy -f.  The 
maxims  of  the  church  of  Rome  in  Spain 
have  been  at  various  periods  as  austere 
as  that  of  the  Scotch  reformers  them- 
selves. It  is  remarkable  enough  that 
the  Jesuit  Mariana,  one  of  the  most  in- 


*  According  to  Pulgar,  the  Inquisition  was  established  in 
1-489.  An  institution,  however,  of  a  similar  nature  had 
certainly  been  introduced  in  the  South  of  France,  and  per. 
hups  in  Arragon,  against  the  Albigeois,  by  the  famous 
St.  Dominic,  more  than  two  centuries  before. 

t  Vide  Informc  sobre  Juegos,  Espcctaculos,  y  Diver- 
siones  publicas,  por  Don  Caspar  Mclchor  de  Jovellanos. 
Appendix,  So.  II. 


108 

tolerant,  as  well  as  successful,  supporters 
of  the  church  of  Rome,  was  a  republi- 
can in  his  principles  of  government,  and 
a  very  puritan  in  his  zeal  for  the  sup- 
pression of  innocent  amusements.  His 
work  De  Rege  et  Regis  Institutione,  in 
which  the  origin  of  government  is  un- 
equivocally traced  to  the  will  of  the  peo- 
ple ;  and  in  which  their  political  rights, 
deducible  from  that  principle,  are  boldly 
asserted  and  eloquently  maintained,  is 
nevertheless  disfigured  by  a  fanatical 
apology  for  assassination,  and  an  acri- 
monious invective  against  public  diver- 
sions and  national  gaiety.  The  political 
maxims  of  his  book,  long  since  aban- 
doned and  condemned  by  the  Church, 
seem  to  have  been  forgotten  by  his 
countrymen  :  but  the  fanatical  zeal 
against  public  exhibitions  has  never  en- 
tirely subsided,  and  it  has  frequently 
threatened  the  total  extinction  of  the 


109 

only  rational  amusement  which  the  per- 
verse and  meddling  spirit*  of  their  laws 
has  left  the  inhabitants  of  Spain.  Even 
the  patronage  of  Philip  the  Fourth  was 
not  sufficient  to  deter  some  austere 
monks  from  condemning  amusements 
which  their  ascetic  habits  prevented 
them  from  partaking ;  nor  could  the 
orthodoxy  of  Lope's  works,  or  the  sanc- 
tity of  his  profession,  screen  him  from 
that  personal  virulence  which  such  con- 
troversies invariably  inspire.  In  ar- 
raigning his  writings  and  railing  at  his 
character,  they  lost  sight  of  truth  as 
well  as  candour ;  they  styled  him  the 
disgrace  of  the  age  and  of  the  nation  ; 
the  shame  of  his  profession  ;  and  the 
author,  as  a  reverend  writer  expresses 
it,  of  more  mischiefs  to  the  world  than 
thousands  of  devils.  By  such  invectives 
they  endeavoured  to  ruin  his  fortunes 

*  Vide  Appendix,  No.  II. 


110 

and  harass  his  conscience.  The  tempo- 
rary prohibition  of  his  plays,  which  these 
censures  extorted  from  the  court,  shows 
that  they  made  considerable  impression 
on  the  public,  and  the  severity  of  the 
discipline  which  Lope  afterwards  in- 
flicted upon  himself,  might  gratify  his 
uncharitable  enemies  with  the  reflec- 
tion, that  though  they  had  failed  in 
suppressing  his  works,  they  had  embit- 
tered his  satisfaction  at  their  success 
with  strong  feelings  of  remorse.  Since 
this  war  between  the  pulpit  and  the 
stage  first  commenced,  no  permanent 
reconciliation  has  ever  taken  place  ;  and 
though  dramatic  representations  have 
generally  kept  their  ground,  their  ad- 
versaries have  obtained  many  temporary 
and  local  advantages  over  them,  which 
have  often  impeded  their  progress,  and 
sometimes  have  seemed  to  threaten  their 
existence.  Even  during  the  reign  of 
Charles  the  Third  all  the  theatres  were 


Ill 

suppressed  for  several  years.     Some  bi- 
shops during  the  present  reign  have  for- 
bidden plays  in  their  diocese  ;  and  the 
inhabitants  of  Seville,  in  the  late  epide- 
mical disorder,  solemnly  renounced,  in 
a  fit  of  devotion,  the  amusement  of  the 
theatre,  as    the  surest  method    of  ap- 
peasing divine  vengeance.     Since  that 
act  of  self-denial  they  have  confined  the 
gratification    of  their   taste  for   public 
exhibitions,    to   the  butchery  of  bulls, 
horses,  and  men,  in  the  arena.     These 
feasts  are   encouraged   by   the  munifi- 
ce'nce,  and  often  honoured  by  the  pre- 
sence, of  the  king.     But  no  monarch 
since  Philip  the  Fourth  has  ventured  to 
sanction  a  public  play  by  his  presence. 
Some  indeed  have  indulged  their  taste 
for  operas  within   the  walls  of  the  pa- 
lace, but  the  present  king  is  said  to  be 
convinced  of  their  evil  tendency  ;  and, 
.  if  he  has  not  exerted  himself  to  the  ut- 
most of  his  power  to  deter  others,  has 


112 

uniformly  and  scrupulously   preserved 
himself  from  the   contamination  of  a 
theatre.  If  such  scruples  can  exist,  even 
in  our  times,  it  may  readily  be  supposed 
that  Philip  the  Second  was  not  proof 
against  arguments  so   congenial  to  his 
gloomy  habits   and  saturnine   temper. 
He  was   accordingly   staggered   by  the 
censures  of  Mariana   and   the  clergy  ; 
but  luckily  for  the  interests  of  poetry 
and  the  gaiety  of  Europe,  he  referred 
the  question  to  the  university  of  Sala- 
manca, where,    after  much  discussion, 
it  was  decided  in  favour  of  the  stage. 
It  appears  however  that  Philip,  though 
induced  by  this  decision  to  tolerate,  and 
even  for  a  time  to  attend  the  theatres, 
was  soon  disgusted  with  the  practices 
introduced  upon  them. 

El  prudente 

Plulipo*  rey  de  Espaiia,  y  sefior  nuestro, 
En  viendo  un  Rey  en  ellos,  se  enfadaba  ; 

*  It  is  thus  printed  in  Lope  de  Vega. 


113 

O  fuesse  el  ver  que  al  arte  contradice; 
O  que  la  autoridad  Real  no  debe 
Andar  fingida  entre  la  humilde  plebe. 

Arte  de  hacer  Comedias. 

Once  to  behold  a  monarch  on  the  stage, 

Enflam'd,  'tis  said,  our  prudent  Philip's  rage  ; 

Or  that  he  deem'd  such  characters  unfit 

For  lively  sallies  and  for  comic  wit ; 

Or  crowns  debas'd,  if  actors  were  allow'd 

To  bring  the  state  of  kings  before  a  low-born  crowd. 

Nevertheless  this  practice,  and  many 
others  which  were  considered  as  innova- 
tions, are  excused,  if  not  justified,  by 
Lope  in  this  poem. 

After  acknowledging  his  deviations 
from  the  antient,  he  proceeds  to  give  a 
code  of  laws  for  the  modern  drama,  or 
rather  an  account  of  what  is  requisite  in 
"  the  comic  monsters  of  the  stage."  In 
doing  this  he  contrives  with  great  shrewd- 
ness, but  apparent  simplicity,  to  urge 
nearly  all  that  can  be  said  in  their  de- 
fence, at  the  same  time  that  he  ridicules 
the  occasional  extravagance  of  himself 


114 

and  his  con  tern poraries.  As  an  apology 
for  the  mixture  of  comic  with  tragic 
scenes,  he  says : 

Lo  tragico  con  lo  comico  mezclado, 
Y  Terencio  con  Seneca,  aimque  sea 
Como  otro  minotauro  de  Pasiphae, 
Haran  grave  una  parte  otra  ridicula ; 

Que  aquesta  variedad  deleyta  mucho ; 
Buen  excmplo  nos  da  naturaleza, 
Que  por  tal  variedad  tiene  belleza. 

The  tragic  with  the  comic  music  combin'd, 
Grave  Seneca  with  sprightly  Terence  join'd, 
May  seem,  I  grant,  Pasiphae's  monstrous  birth, 
Where  one  half  moves  our  sorrow,  one  our  mirth. 
But  sweet  variety  must  still  delight ; 
And,  vspite  of  rules,  dame  Nature  says  we're  right, 
Who  throughout  all  her  works  th'  example  gives, 
And  from  variety  her  charms  derives. 

With  regard  to  the  unities  of  time,  he 
asserts  that  an  observance  of  them  would 
disgust  a  Spanish  audience : 

Que  la  colera 

De  un  Espaiiol  sentado  no  se  templa, 
Sino  le  representan  en  dos  horas 
Hasta  el  final  juicio  desde  el  Genesis. 


115 

Who  seated  once,  disdain  to  go  away, 
Unless  in  two  short  hours  they  see  the  play 
Brought  from  creation  down  to  judgment  day. 

But  though  he  justifies,  or  at  least  pal- 
liates, these  irregularities,  he  considers 
the  unity  of  action,  and  the  preservation 
of  character*  as  two  essential  requisites 
in  a  good  play.  In  practice  he  had 
frequently  neglected  them,  but  he  offers 
no  apology  for  such  a  license  in  this 
poem.  On  the  contrary,  he  enforces 
the  observance  of  them  by  injunctions 
as  positive  as  those  of  Boileau,  or  of 
Aristotle  himself. 

After  some  common-place  maxims  on 
the  choice  of  the  subject  and  the  con- 
duct of  the  fable,  he  recommends  adapt- 
ing the  metre  to  the  nature  of  the  sen- 
timents and  situations,  and  makes  some 
observations  on  the  different  species  of 
Castilian  verse,  which  are  not  reckoned 
very  distinct  by  Spaniards,  and  are  ut- 
terly incomprehensible  to  foreigners. 

I  2 


116 

He  laments  the  little  pains  taken  to 
appropriate  the  scenery  and  dresses  to 
the  country  and  character  of  the  per- 
sonages represented  ;  and  is  very  parti- 
cular in  his  rules  for  the  length  of  a 
comedy  and  its  component  parts. 

On  the  whole,  he  is  ready  to  avow  his 
conviction  that  the  great  object  of  a 
play  is  to  divert  and  interest  the  audi- 
ence ;  and  he  seems  to  have  despaired 
of  accomplishing  it  without  a  quick  suc- 
cession of  incidents,  and  a  large  mixture 
of  the  marvellous.  I  have  read  some- 
where, that  before  the  establishment  of 
a  regular  system  of  jurisprudence  in 
Europe,  every  individual  was  at  liberty 
to  choose  the  code  by  which  he  was  to 
be  tried  ;  and  it  surely  would  be  unrea- 
sonable to  refuse  a  similar  privilege  to 
poets  who  lived  before  the  standard  of 
taste  was  fixed,  or  any  uniform 'princi- 
ples of  criticism  acknowledged.  Ac- 
cording to  his  own  canons,  therefore, 


117 

the  greater  part  of  his  plays  must  be 
judged.  In  this  poem,  however,  he 
submits  six  to  the  cognizance  of  a  se- 
verer tribunal,  by  declaring  that  they 
were  written  according  to  the  rules  of 
art — 

Porque  fuera  de  seis  las  demas  todos 
Pecaron  contra  el  arte  gravcmente —  - 

And  all  save  six  against  the  rules  of  wit. 

The  Spanish  critics  have  sought  for 
these  faultless  models  in  vain.  La 
Huerta  would  fain  console  his  country- 
men for  their  loss,  by  inferring  their 
dulness  from  their  regularity,  and  ac- 
counting from  the  same  circumstance 
for  the  oblivion  into  which  they  are 
fallen.  It  is  probable,  however,  that 
the  difficulty  of  the  discovery  does  not 
proceed  from  their  insipid  regularity, 
but  from  the  inaccuracy  of  the  descrip- 
tion. The  pieces  alluded  to  by  Lope 
may  be  extant  to  this  day,  though  no 


118 

modern  critic  would  recognise  in  them 
the  regularity  he  describes.     Don   Au- 
gustin  Montiano  y  Luyano  cites  indeed 
six  plays  of  Lope,  which  he  seems  to 
consider  as  distinguished  from  the  rest 
of  his  productions  by  the  name  of  tra- 
gedies.    The  merits  and  defects  of  these 
he  examines  at  some  length ;  but  even 
from  his  criticisms,  as  well  as  from  a 
perusal  of  three,  it  is  clear  to  me  that 
they  differ  from  the  rest  in  nothing  but 
in  name.     The  Duque  de  Viseo,  which 
is  the  first  in  the  list,  is  among  the  most 
wild  and  irregular  of  his  productions ; 
not  only  all  the  unities  of  time,  place, 
"\  and  action  are  neglected,  but  the  inci- 
dents themselves  are  often  as  undigni- 
fied, and  even  ridiculous,  as  they  are 
unnatural.      Of  this   the  following   in- 
stance will  be  sufficient  proof:  One  of 
the  heroes  of  the  piece  dissuades  dona 
Ines  from  marrying  the  man  she  loves, 
by  informing  her  that  his  grandmother 


119 

was  a  Moor  ;  and  his  brother  the  duke 
of  Guimarans  afterwards  boxes  her  ears 
for  following  his  advice,  but  disclosing 
the  author  and  motive  of  it  to  her  lover. 

DUQUE  DE  GUIMARANS,  DONA  INES. 

Gui.  Mirad  que  soy  yo  el  primero 

Y  mi  hermano  el  agraviado. 
Ines.  Dexadme,  que  soys  cansado 

Y  enfadoso  caballero. 
Gui.  Palabra  me  habeis  de  dar 
De  cansaros  aunque  esteis 
Tan  brava. 

InZs.  Vos  no  sabeis 
Que  no  se  dexan  forzar 
Las  mugeres  como  yo ; 
No  me  asgaie  que  spis  un  necio— 
Gui.  Ya  para  tanto  despreccio 
La  paciencia  me  faltoj 

(dale  un  lofeton. 

Aprended  con  esto  hablar 
Ya  guardar  secreto.^— 

Ines.  A  Dios ! 
A  mi  bofeton ! 

Sale  el  KEY,  &c.  &e. 

Rey.  ? Que es esto? 

Gui.  Perdido  soy. 


120 

Ines.  ?  Ya  no  lo  veis  en  mi  cara 
Que  de  la  raano  del  duque 
Esta  pidiendo  venganza  ?— - 

(los  tres  hermanos  del  duque  se  ariman  a  el. 
A  esto  llegan  los  sobervios 
Los  tiranos  de  tu  casa, 
Los  que  murmuran  de  te, 
Los  que  en  corillos  te  infaman, 
Los  que  tu  rauerte  desean, 
Los  que  dan  en  tus  espaldas 
Por  no  poder  en  el  pecho 
Mil  heridas  de  palabra  ; 
Tu  tienes  senor  la  culpa 
Que  yo  soy  muger,  y  basta 
Decirte  que  soy  muger. 

Don  Egos.  Tente. 

(Vase  Ines. 
Key.  Ay  maldad  tan  estrana 

Dexadla  yo  Don  Egas,  &c.  &c. 

DUKE  OF  GUIMARANS  and  DONNA  INIS. 
Gui.  My  brother  felt ;  you,  lady,  gave  th' offence. 
IRIS.  Unhand  me,  graceless  knight. 

GUI.  You  stir  not  hence, 

Proud  dame,  to  Egas  till  you  pledge  your  hand. 
Inis.  My  noble  spirit  ill  you  understand, 

Who  hope  to  force  my  will ;  but  highly  born, 

I  treat  thy  threats,  poor  angry  man,  with  scorn. 

Gui.  Patience  I  lose. 

(Gives  her  a  box  on  the  ear. 


121 

Let  this  thy  spirit  teach 
To  keep  thy  secrets  and  to  curb  thy  speech. 
Inis.  Great  heaven,  a  blow !  a  blow  to  me ! 

Enter  the  KING  and  Courtiers. 

King.  What's  here  ? 
What  is  this  broil  ? 

GUI.   (aside.)  My  ruin  then  is  clear. 
Inis.  You  in  my  face  may  see  this  bold  man's  deed ; 
My  face,  where  blushes  for  my  vengeance  plead. 
To  such  a  height  the  insolence  is  grown 
Of  these  proud  lords,  the  tyrants  of  thy  throne, 
Who  'gainst  thy  fame  to  factious  bands  resort ; 
Who  plot  thy   death,    embroil   thy  peaceful 

court  ; 

Who  with  mean  malice  urge  each  base  report ; 
Who  dare  not  face  to  face  their  king  attack, 
But  aim  their  sland'rous  shafts  behind  his  back. 
Thine  then  the  fault ;  a  king  the  weak  protects  : 
A  woman  I,  and  of  the  weaker  sex. 
Need  I  say  more  ?    Farewell ! 

Don  Egos.  Awhile  remain. 

King .  Outrage  most  strange !  but  why  her  steps  de- 
tain ?  &c.  &c. 

The  play  indeed  is  as  tragic  in  its 
conclusion  as  atrocious  and  almost  un- 
provoked murders  can  make  it.  The 
king's  favourite,  who  had  instigated  him 


122 

to  some  crimes,  and  been  instrumental 
to  the  commission  of  others,  is  himself 
stabbed  in  the  street  by  a  squire  of  the 
duke  of  Viseo,  who  in  his  turn  is  killed 
on  the  spot  by  the  guards  :  on  this  cata- 
strophe the  king  with  great  composure 
observes : 

Valiente  escudero  y  noble  ! 
Haganle  un  honroso  entierro : 
Valame  Dios  si  don  Egas 
En  estas  cosas  me  ha  puesto, 
Pues  Dios  le  castiga  ansi. 

A  valiant  squire — let  fame  his  deeds  attend ; 

An  honourable  tomb  shall  mark  his  end. 

Don  Egas  set  me  on  these  bloody  deeds, 

And  thus,  no  doubt,  through  heavenly  justice  bleeds. 

4  The  above  moral  seems  to  be  very  ge- 
nerally received  among  Lope's  kings, 
who  think  the  death  or  banishment  of  a 
favourite  an  ample  atonement  for  their 
own  crimes.  Indeed  they  may  plead 
strong  poetical  precedents  for  shifting 
their  guilt  from  their  own  shoulders; 


123 

and  don  Egas,  or  don  Arias,  are  to  the 
dramatic  monarchs  of  Castile,  what  Ju- 
piter, Fate,  and  Erinnys,  were  to  Aga- 
memnon in  Homer.     In   poetry   as  in 
politics  the  king  can  do  no  wrong.     In 
this  play,  however,  he  kills  or  banishes 
all  his  best  subjects,  and  ends  by  stab- 
bing with  his  own  hand  his  nearest  re- 
lation, after  all  his  courtiers  had  refused 
to  be   accessary  to   the  murder.     Yet 
with  all  these  defects  some  good  lines, 
and  some  spirited  sentiments,  may  be 
found  even  in  the  duke  de  Viseo,  though 
more  thinly  scattered  than  in  most  of 
Lope's    compositions.      The    following 
verses,    extravagant  in  any  other  lan- 
guage, in  Spanish  are  magnificent : 

Ten  secreto  a  las  cosas  que  me  cuentas 
Que  yo  sin  alterarme  estos  hermanos 
Castigate  de  suerte  que  no  sientan 
Por  donde  a  la  venganza  van  las  manos. 
Alterese  la  mar  con  sus  tormentas, 
Lcvante  a  las  estrellas  monte  canos, 
Que  ha  de  ser  rio  un  principe  discrete 
Que  va  donde  mas  Hondo,  muy  mas  quieto. 


124 

Be  silent  then,  while  I  the  mode  devise, 
Secret,  but  sure,  these  brothers  to  chastise ; 
Untroubled  in  my  looks,  they  shall  not  know 
What  breeds  the  vengeance,  or  whence  came  the  blow. 
When  the  storm  howls,  the  sea  may  troubled  rise, 
And  lift  its  foamy  mountains  to  the  skies  ; 
But  the  wise  prince  is  like  the  river  stream, 
And  where  most  deep  should  there  most  tranquil  seem. 

Roma  Abrasada  is  the  history  of 
Rome,  in  dialogue,  from  the  accession 
of  Claudius  to  the  death  of  Nero.  There 
is  certainly  nothing  comic  in  it,  and 
there  are  some  brilliant  passages;  but  it 
is  by  no  means  exempt  from  the  extra- 
vagancies and  irregularities  so  common 
on  the  Spanish  stage.  El  Marido  mas 
firme  is  founded  on  the  story  of  Or- 
pheus and  Eurydice,  and  is  yet  more 
unlike  a  tragedy  than  the  other  two. 
The  truth  is,  that  the  plays  of  that  pe- 
riod do  not  admit  of  the  distinction  of 
tragedies  and  comedies,  according  to 
the  common,  or  at  least  the  French  ac- 
ceptation of  those  terms.  They  are  not 
comedies  ;  for  not  only  distressing  situ- 


125 

aliens  and  personages  of  high  rank,  but 
assassinations  and  murders  are  admitted 
into  their  plots  :  on  the  other  hand,  the 
sprightliness  of  the  dialogue,  the  low- 
ness  of  some  of  the  characters,  the  fami- 
liarity of  the  language,  and  the  conclu- 
sion of  the   piece,    which  is  generally 
fortunate,  deprive  them  of  all  claims  to 
the  title  of  tragedies.  Yet  even  in  Lope's 
works  there  is  an  evident  difference  in 
his  conception  as  well  as  execution  of 
two  distinct  species  of  dramatic  com- 
positions.    In  one,  the  characters  and 
incidents  are  intended  to  excite  surprise 
and  admiration;  in  the  other,  merriment 
mixed  occasionally  with  interest.    Love 
indeed  is  the  subject  of  both :  but  in 
one  it  is  the  love  which  distinguished 
the  ages  of  chivalry ;  in  the  other,  the 
gallantry   which   succeeded  to  it,  and 
which  the  poets  had  only  to  copy  from 
the  times  in   which   they  lived.      The 
plays  of  the  latter  description,  when  the 


distinction  became  more  marked,   ac- 
quired the  name  of  Comedias  de  Capa 
y  Espada,  Comedies  of  the  Cloak  and 
Sword,  from  the  dresses  in  which  they 
were  represented ;  and  the  former  that 
of  Heroic  Comedies,  from  the  character 
of  the  personages  and  incidents  which 
compose  them.     It  is  true,  that  in  seve- 
ral of  Lope  de  Vega,  which  would  come 
under  the  description  of  heroic  come- 
dies, there  is   an  underplot,    of  which 
the  characters  are  purely  comic  ;  an  in- 
vention which,  if  it  is  not  his  own,  seems 
to  have  been  of  Spanish  origin,  and,  as 
is  well  known,  was  adopted  almost  uni- 
versally on  our  stage  from  the  time  of 
Fletcher  to  that  of  Addison  and  Rowe. 
Lope    was    contemporary    with     both 
Shakspere  and  Fletcher.     In  the  choice 
of  their  subjects,  and  in  the  conduct  of 
their  fables,  a  resemblance  may  often 
be  found,  which  is  no  doubt  to  be  at- 
tributed to  the  taste  and  opinions  of  the 


127 

times,  rather  than  to  any  knowledge  of 
each  other's  writings.     It  is  indeed  in 
this  point  of  view  that  the  Spanish  poet 
can  be  compared  with  the  greatest  ad- 
vantage to  himself,  to  the  great  founder 
of  our  theatre.     Jt  is  true  that  his  ima- 
gery may  occasionally  remind  the  Eng- 
lish reader  of  Shakspere  ;  but  his  senti- 
ments, especially  in  tragedy,  are  more 
like   Dryden    and    his    contemporaries 
than  their  predecessors.     The  feelings  of 
Shakspere  s  characters  are  the  result  of 
passions  common  to  all  men ;  the  extra- 
vagant sentiments  of  Lope's,  as  of  Dry- 
den's  heroes,  are  derived  from  an  arti- 
ficial   state   of    society,    from   notions 
suggested  by  chivalry  and  exaggerated 
by  romance.     In  his  delineation  of  cha- 
racter he  is  yet  more  unlike,  and  it  is 
scarce  necessary  to  add,  greatly  infe- 
rior ;  but  in  the  choice  and  conduct  of 
his  subjects,  if  he  equals  him  in  extra- 
vagance and  improbability,  he  does  not 


128 

fall  short  of  him  in  interest  and  variety. 
A  rapid  succession  of  events,  and  sud- 
den changes  in  the  situation  of  the  per- 
sonages, are  the  charms  by  which  he 
interests  us  so  forcibly  in  his  plots. 
These  are  the  only  features  of  the 
Spanish  stage  which  Corneille  left  un- 
improved }  and  to  these  some  slight 
resemblance  may  be  traced  in  the  operas 
of  Metastasio,  whom  the  Spaniards  re- 
present as  the^  admirer  and  imitator  of 
their  theatre.  1  In  his  heroic  plays  there 
is  a  greater  variety  of  plot  than  in  his 
comedies  ;  though  it  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pected that  in  the  many  hundreds  he 
composed  he  should  not  often  repeat 
the  same  situation  and  events.  On  the 
whole,  however,  the  fertility  of  his  ge- 
nius, in  the  contrivance  of  interesting 
plots,  is  as  surprising  as  in  the  compo- 
sition of  verse:  Among  the  many  I  have 
read,  I  have  not  fallen  on  one  which 
does  not  strongly  fix  the  attention;  and 


129 

f 

4hough  many  of  his  plots  have  been 
transferred  to  the  French  and  English 
stage,  and  rendered  more  correct  and 
more  probable,  they  have  seldom  or 
never  been  improved  in  the  great  article 
of  exciting  curiosity  and  interest^  This 
was  the  spell  by  which  he  enchanted  the 
populace,  to  whose  taste  for  wonders  he 
is  accused  of  having  sacrificed  so  much 
solid  reputation^  True  it  is  that  his 
extraordinary  and  embarrassing  situa- 
tions are  often  as  unprepared  by  pre- 
vious events  as  they  are  unforeseen  by 
the  audience ;  they  come  upon  one  by 
surprise,  and  when  we  know  them,  we 
are  as  much  at  a  loss  to  account  for  such 
strange  occurrences  as  before ;  (they  are 
produced,  not  for  the  purpose  of  exhi- 
biting the  peculiarities  of  character,  or 
the  workings  of  nature,  but  with  a  view 
of  astonishing  the  audience  with  strange, 
unexpected,  unnatural,  and  often  in- 
consistent conduct  in  some  of  the  prin- 

K 


130 

cipal  characters.     Nor  is  this  the  only 
defect   in  his  plots.     The   personages, 
like  the  author,  are  full  of  intrigue  and 
invention  ;  and  while  they  lay  schemes 
and  devise  plots,  with  as  much  ingenuity 
as  Lope  himself,  they  seem  to  be  ac- 
tuated by  the  same  motives  also ;  for  it 
is  difficult  to  discover  any  other  than 
that  of  diverting  and  surprising  the  au- 
dience.     Their   efforts   were   generally 
attended  with  success.     All  contempo- 
rary authors  bear  testimony  to  the  po- 
pularity of  Lope's  pieces ;  and  for  many 
years  he  continued  the  favourite  of  the 
public.     Stories  are  related  of  the  audi- 
ence taking  so  lively  an  interest  in  his 
plays,    as  totally  to   give  way  to  the 
illusion,  and  to  interrupt  the  represen- 
tation.    A  spectator  on  one  occasion  is 
said  to  have  interfered  with  great  anxi- 
ety for  the  protection  of  an  unfortu- 
nate   princess — "  dando   voces,"    says 
my  author,  "  contra  el  cruel  homicida 


131 

degollaba  al  parecer  una  dama  ino- 
cente" — crying  out  against  the  cruel 
murderer,  who  to  all  appearance  was 
slaying  an  innocent  lady. 

A  mere  relation  of  the  stories  on  which 
his  plays  are  founded,  would  give  a  very 
insufficient  idea  of  the  attraction  which 
they  possess.  Nor  can  they  be  collect- 
ed from  a  perusal  of  detached  passages 
only.  The  chief  merit  of  his  plays  is  a 
certain  spirit  and  animation  which  per- 
vades the  whole,  but  which  is  not  to 
be  preserved  in  disjointed  limbs  of  the 
composition.  Prom  these  considera- 
tions I  determined  to  give  the  following 
sketch  of  one  of  his  most  interesting 
plays.  It  is  called  the  Estrella  de  Se- 
villa,  but  has  lately  been  altered  and 
revived  at  Madrid,  under  the  name  of 
Sancho  Ortiz  de  las  Roelas ;  and,  as  the 
original  is  become  extremely  scarce, 
such  an  abstract  may  be  an  object  of 
K  2 


132 

curiosity  to  those  who  are  acquainted 
with  the  late  revival  of  it. 

LA  ESTRELLA  DE  SEVILLA. 

DRAMATIS  PERSON.E. 

SANCHO,  king  of  Castile. 

DON  ARIAS,  his  favourite. 

DON  PEDRO  DE  GUZMAN,  alcalde  mayor. 

FARFAN  DE  RIBERA,  the  same. 

DON  GONZALO  DE  ULLOA. 

FERNAJ*  PEREZ  DE  MEDINA,  an  old  captain. 

DON  SANCHO  ORTIZ  DE  LAS  ROELAS,  surnamed  the 

Cid  of  Andalusia,  and  in  love  with  ESTRELLA, 
BUSTOS  TABERA,  brother  to  ESTRELLA. 
CLARINDO,  GR  ACIOSO,  and  servant  to  SANCHO  ORTIZ. 

ESTRELLA,  sister  to  BUSTOS,  and  in  love  with  ORTIZ. 
THEODORA,  her  confidante. 
MATILDA,  slave  to  BUSTOS. 

SCENE,  SEVILLE. 

ACT  I.      SCENE  I. 
KING,  ARIAS,  alcaldes. 

Compliments  are  exchanged  between 
the  King,  and  the  alcaldes.     The  King 


133 

is  profuse  in  his  praises  of  Seville,  where 
he  declares  his  intention  of  residing  for 
some  time.  When  the  alcaldes  with- 
draw, he  and  Don  Arias  pursue  the 
same  subject;  and  mentioning  the  beau- 
tiful women  they  had  seen  since  their 
arrival,  the  King  learns  from  Don 
Arias  that  the  person  with  whom  he  was 
most  struck  is  called  Estrella,  and  is 
sister  to  Bustos  Tabera.  On  this  Arias 
is  dispatched  for  Bustos. 

Enter  to  the  KING,  GONZALO  in  mourning. 

He  informs  the  King  that  his  father  is 
dead,  and  solicits  his  staff. 

Enter  FERNAN  PEREZ  DE  MEDINA. 

He  comes  to  solicit  the  same  vacant 
staff ;  but  both  are  dismissed  by  the 
King  with  equivocal  answers ;  when 
Arias  arrives  with  Bustos  Tabera.  He 
throws  himself  at  the  King's  feet,  and 
refuses  to  rise,  by  observing  : 


134 

Qne  si  el  rey  se  ha  de  tratar 
Como  a  Santo  en  el  altar 
Digno  lugar  escogi. 

If  sacred  kings,  like  saints  upon  a  shrine, 
Ador'd  should  be,  this  place  is  surely  mine. 

The  King,  affecting  to  be  struck  with 
his  loyalty,  informs  him  of  the  two 
competitors  for  the  vacant  staff,  but 
adds  that  he  prefers  him  to  both,  and 
offers  to  promote  him  to  it  immediately. 
At  this  Bustos  expresses  some  surprise, 
and  then  generously  observes  that  the 
claims  of  the  two  candidates  are  better 
founded  than  any  he  can  advance.  The 
King  leaving  it  entirely  to  his  judg- 
ment, he  displays  his  disinterested  love  of 

\ 

justice  by  conferring  the  staff  on  Fernan 
Perez,  an  old  and  distinguished  com- 
mander, and  promoting  Gonzalo,  the 
son  of  the  deceased,  to  the  post  which 
Fernan  Perez  formerly  held.  The  King, 
loud  in  his  praises  of  him,  artfully  in- 
troduces questions  concerning  the  state 


135 

of  his  family  ;  affects  a  singular  interest 
in  all  his  affairs,  and  voluntarily  under- 
takes to  procure  a  marriage  for  his  sister. 
He  at  length  dismisses  him  by  granting 
him  the  privilege  of  access  at  all  hours 
to  the  royal  chamber. 

The  whole  of  this  dialogue  is  natural, 
spirited,  and  well  contrived.  The  dig- 
nified and  stern  character  of  Bustos 
is  throughout  preserved.  He  acknpwv 
ledges  his  obligations  for  the  honours 
conferred,  but  in  a  manner  that  evinces 
that  he  is  neither  duped  by  the  King's 
artifices,  nor  overset  by  this  sudden  gust 
of  court  favour.  As  he  retires  from  the 
presence,  he  observes  aside  ; 

Sospcclioso  voy — Quererme 
Y  sin  conocerme  konrarme 
Mas  parece  sobornarme 
Honor,  que  favorecerme. 

These  sudden  favours  with  mistrust  I  view — 
Why  should  he  love  a  man  he  never  knew  ? 
Such  honours  savour  more  of  bribes  than  meeds  ; 
fo  gain  my  virtue,  not  reward  my  deeds. 

[Exit  Bustos. 


136 

Manent  KING  and  ARIAS. 

Arias,  perceiving  that  the  King  is 
touched  with  the  generosity  and  startled 
at  the  high  spirit  of  Tabera,  takes  great 
pains  to  depreciate  these  qualities.  He 
betrays  a  very  courtier-like  detestation 
of  independence,  and  inculcates  with 
great  earnestness  the  maxim  so  agree- 
able to  princes,  that  all  men  are  cor- 
rupt, and  all  unable  to  withstand  the 
temptations  which  a  king  has  it  in  his 

power  to  offer. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. 

DbN1  SANCIIO  ORTIZ  and  DONNA  ESTRELLA. 
The  first  part  of  this  scene  is  taken  up 
with  protestations  of  love.  Bustos  then 
arrives,  and,  having  desired  his  sister  to 
withdraw,  informs  his  friend  of  his  late 
honours,  and  of  the  King's  offer  to  pro- 
cure a  husband  for  Estrella ;  but  he 
adds,  that  he  will  urge  Sancho's  suit, 
and  does  not  doubt  of  his  success.  Ortiz 


after  some  complaints  of  the  King's 
injustice,  not  very  suitable  to  his  cha- 
racter or  to  his  subsequent  conduct,  re- 
tires. 

SCENE  III. 

Tabera  meets  the  King  at  the  door  of 
his  house,  and,  by  many  artful  pretences 
and  overstrained  professions  of  humility 
and  loyalty,  prevents  him  from  entering 
it.  The  King,  having  given  private  in- 
structions to  Arias,  carries  off  Tabera  in 

his  coach. 

SCENE  IV. 

ESTRELLA,  MATILDA,  and  ARIAS. 
Arias  delivers  a  message  from  the 
King,  to  which  Estrella  gives  no  answer, 
but  leaves  the  room  in  disdain.  Arias, 
left  with  Matilda,  gains  her  to  his  mas- 
ter's interests,  and  she  engages  to  intro- 
duce the  King  at  night  into-  Estrella  s 

chamber. 

SCENE  V. 

The  KING'S  cabinet. 

The  chamberlains,  and  Tabera  as  one 


138 

of  them,  are  dismissed,  and  the  King 
with  great  joy  hears  of  the  success  of 
Arias's  negotiation. 

ACT  II.     SCENE  I. 

The  street.     KING,  MATILDA,  and  ARIAS. 

The  King  is  admitted  into  Tabera's 

house  by   Matilda.      Exit  Arias;  and 

enter  Tabera  and  his  friends,  of  whom 

he  takes  leave  at  the  door  of  his  house. 

SCENE  II. 

TABERA'S  house. 

Tabera  enters,  surprised  at  the  ab- 
sence of  Matilda  and  the  darkness  of 
the  apartments.  He  overhears  Matilda 
and  the  King ;  and,  alarmed  at  a  man's 
voice,  jealous  of  his  sister's  honour,  and 
perplexed  by  the  equivocal  answers  of 
the  stranger,  he  draws  upon  him.  The 
King,  to  extricate  himself  from  the  dan- 
ger, is  compelled  to  declare  his  name  ; 
which  Tabera,  galled  and  alarmed  at 
the  discovery,  affects  to  disbelieve.  In 


139 

urging  the  impossibility  of  the  King  en- 
gaging in  such  an  attempt,  he  contrives 
to  upbraid  him  most  bitterly  for  his  base 
and  dishonourable  conduct*.  He  allows 
him  however  to  escape,  but  puts  to 
death  the  female  slave  who  procured 
him  admittance. 


*  A  story  somewhat  similar  to  this  is  related  of  Philip 
the  Fourth.— He  and  the  count  duke  of  Olivarez,  after 
having  engaged  the  duke  Albuquerque  at  play,  suddenly 
left  the  room  ;  but  Albuquerque,  suspecting  the  king's  de- 
sign upon  his  wife,  feigned  violent  sickness,  and,  rising 
hastily  from  his  seat,  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  his  own 
palace.     There  he  perceived  two  men  muffled  in  cloaks 
lurking  near  the  gate.     He  instantly  fell  upon  the  one 
whose  height  showed  him  to  be  the  king,  and,  employing 
his  stick  in  a  most  unmerciful  manner,  obliged  the  count 
duke  Olivarez  to  interfere ;  who,   to  rescue  his  sovereign 
from  so  severe  a  drubbing,  stepped  forward  and  informed 
the  duke  that  the  man  whom  he  was  striking  was  the 
king.     Albuquerque  affected  great  indignation  on  such  an 
imputation  on  his  majesty  ;  and  repeating  that  such  designs 
were  as  incongenial  with   the  character  as  incompatible 
with  the  honour  of  the  monarch,  under  the  pretence  of 
vindicating  royalty  from  such  an  aspersion,  made  the  mi- 
nister, who  had  shared  his  master's  guilt,  partake  also  of 
his  chastisement. 


140 

SCENE    III. 

The  palace. 

The  King  relates  his  adventure  with 
great  indignation  to  Arias,  who  stimu- 
lates him  to  revenge.  While  talking  on 
the  subject  they  recognise  the  corpse  of 
Matilda,  which  Tabera  has  contrived  to 
convey  to  the  palace.  This  exasperates 
the  King  ;  but  the  original  cause  of  his 
animosity  is  so  dishonourable,  and  the 
character  of  Tabera  so  popular,  that  he 
is  at  a  loss  for  a  pretext  for  his  execu- 
tion ;  and  at  last  adopts  an  expedient 
suggested  by  Arias  of  instigating  Sancho 
Ortiz  de  las  Roelas,  a  loyal  and  intrepid 
soldier,  surnamed  the  Cid  of  Andalusia, 

to  murder  him. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 

Tabera  relates  the  story  to  his  sister, 
and  to  her  great  joy  expresses  his  ear- 
nestness to  complete  her  marriage  with 
Sancho* 

[Exeunt. 


141 

SCENE    V. 

The  palace. 

Arias  having  announced  Sancho  is  or- 
dered to  withdraw. 

SANCHO  ORTIZ  enters. 
San,   Vuestra  alteza  a  mis  dos  labios 

Les  conceda  los  dos  pies. 
Rey.  Alcad  que  os  hiziera  agravios 
Alcad-— 

San.  <  Senor? 

Rey.  Galan  es. 

San.  No'  es  mucko  que  yo  senor 
Me  turbe,  no  siendo  aqui 
Retorico,  ni  orador. 
Rey.  Pues — JdecicJ  que  veis  en  mi  ? 
Sa?i.  La  magestad,  y  el  valor, 

Y  al  fin  una  imagen  veo 
De  dios,  pues  le  imka  el  rey ; 
Y  despues  del,  en  vos  creo. 
A  vuestra  Cesarea  ley 

Gran  senor  aqui  mi  empleo. 
Rey.  5  Como  estais  ? 

San.  Nunca  me  he  visto 
Tan  honrado  como  estoy. 
Rey.  Pues  aficionado  os  soy 

Por  prudente,  y  por  bien  quisto 

Porque  estareis  con  cuyclado 
Codicioso  de  saber 


Pera  que  ds  he  llaraado 
Deciros  lo  quiero,  y  ver 

Que  en  vos  tengo  un  gran  soldado. 
A  mi  me  importa  matar 

En  secreto  a  un  hombre,  y  quiero 
Este  caso  confiar 

Solo  de  Vos,  que  os  prefiero 
A  todos  los  del  lugar. 
San.  i  Esta  culpado  ? 

Key.  Si,  esta. 
San.  Pues  como  muerte  en  secreto^ 

A  un  culpado  se  la  da— 
Poner  su  muerte  en  efecto 

Publicamente  podra 
Vuestra  justicia,  sin  dalle, 
Muerte  en  secreto,  que  assi 

Vos  os  culpais  en  culpalle ; 
Pues  dais  a  entender  que  aqui 

Sin  culpa  mandais  matalle. 
Si  esse  humilde  os  ha  ofendido 

En  leve  culpa,  seiior, 
Que  le  perdoneis  os  pido. 
Rey.  Para  su  procurador, 

Sancho  Ortiz,  no  habeis  venido ; 

Sino  para  dalle  muerte, 
Y  pues  se  la  mando  dar 

Escondiendo  el  brazo  fuerte, 
Debe  a  mi  honor  importar 

Matalle  de  aquesta  suerte ; 


143 

I  Merece  el  que  ha  cometido 
Crimen  lese  muerte  ? 

San.  En  fuego. 

Rey.  i  Y  si  crimen  lese  ha  sido 
El  deste  ? 

Sara.  Que  muera  luego 
A  vozes,  senor  os  pido ; 

Y  si  es  asi,  la  dare 
Senor  a  mi  mismo  hermano 

Y  en  nada  reparare. 
Rey.  Dadme  essa  palabra  y  mano. 

San.  Y  en  ella  el  alma  y  la  fe. 
Rey.  Hallandole  descuidado 
Puedes  matarle. 

San.  Senor, 
I  Siendo  Roelas  y  soldado, 

Me  quieresliacer  traidar  ? 
I  Yo  muerte  en  caso  pensado  ? — 

Cuerpo  a  cuerpo  he  de  matalle, 
Donde  Sevilla  lo  vea 

En  la  plaza,  6  en  la  calle, 
Que,  el  que  mata  y  no  pelea 
Nadie  puede  disculpalle ; 
Y  gana  mas  el  que  muere 

A  traicion,  que  el  que  le  mata ; 
Y  el  vivo  con  quanto$  trata 
Su  alevosia  refiere — 
Rey.  Matalde,  como  querais ; 
Que  este  papel  para  abouo 


144 

De  mi  firmado  llcvais 
Qualquier  clelito  quo  hagais 
Rcferhlo.  [Dale  nn  papet. 

San.  Dice  asi 
"  Al  que  esse  pa  pel  advierte 

«  Sancho  Ortiz  luego  por  mi, 
"  Y  en  mi  nonibre  dadle  muerte, 
f '  Que  yo  por  vos  salgo  aqui 
"  Y  si  os  hallais  en  apricto 
"  Por  este  papel  firmado 
Sacaros  de  prometo 

"  YoelRey.' 

Esto  y  admirado 

De  que  tan  poco  concepto 
Tenga  de  mi  Vuestra  Alteza. 

e-  Yo  cedula  ?— Yo  papel  !— 
Que  mas  en  vos  que  no  en  el 

Confia  aqui  mi  nobleza ; 
Si  vuestras  palabras  Cobran 

Valor,  que  los  montes  labra 
Y  ellas  quanto  dizen  obran 

Dandome  aqui  la  palabra 
Senor  los  papeles  sobran. 

Rompedlo,  porque  sin  el 
La  muerte  le  solicita 

Mejor  senor  que  con  el ; 
Que  en  parte  desacredita 

Vuestra  palabra  el  papel.  \Rvmpelo. 

Sin  papel,  senor,  aqui 


145 

Nos  obligamos  los  dos, 
Y  prometemos  assi, 

Yo  de  vengaros  a  vos, 
Y  vos  de  librarme  a  mi. 

Si  es  assi  no  hay  que  hacer 
Cedulas,  que  estorbos  ban  sido ; 
Yo  os  voy  luego  a  obedecer ; 
Y  solo  por  prernio  os  pido 

Para  esposa  la  muger 
Que  yo  eligiera. 

Rey.  Aunque  sea 
Rica  ferabra  de  Castilla, 
Os  la  concede. 

San.  Possea 

Vuestra  pie  la  alarbe  silla 
*E1  mar  de  Castilla  vea. 
Gloriosos  y  dilatados 
Y  por  si  is  climas  elados. 
Rey.  Vuestros  hechos  excelentes, 

Sancho,  quedaran  premiados: 
Eri  este  papcl  va  el  nombre 
Del  hombre  que  ha  de  morir 

(dale  un  papet. 

Quando  lo  abrais,  no  os  assombre  ; 
Mirad,  que  lie  oido  decir 

En  Sevilla  que  es  muy  hombre. 
San.  Presto,  setior,  lo  sabremos. 


*  This  passage  is  evidently  corrupt;  a  line  has  probably 
bceu  omitted. 

L 


146 

Rey.       Los  dos,  Sancho,  solamente 
Este  secreto  saberaos ; 

No  ay  advertiros,  prudente 
Sois  vos— obrad  y  callemos. 

The  KING  and  SANCHO  ORTIZ. 

San.     1  kiss  thy  feet. 

King.  Rise,  Sancho  !  rise,  and  kncrw 
I  wrong  thec  much  to  let  thee  stoop  so  low. 

San.  My  liege,  confounded  with  thy  grace  I  stand ; 
Unskill'd  in  speech,  no  words  can  I  command 
To  tell  the  thanks  I  feel. 

King.  Why,  what  in  me 
To  daunt  thy  noble  spirit  can'st  thou  see  ? 

San.     Courage  and  majesty  that  strikes  with  awe ; 
My  sovereign  lord ;  the  fountain  of  the  law  : 
In  fine,  God's  image,  which  I  come  t'obey, 
Never  so  honoured  as  I  feel  today. 

King.  Much  I  applaud  thy  wisdom,  much  thy  zeal. 
And  now,  to  try  thy  courage,  will  reveal 
That  which  you  covet  so  to  learn,  the  cause 
That  thus  my  soldier  to  the  presence  draws. 
Much  it  imports  the  safety  of  my  reign 
A  man^should  die — in  secret  should  be  slain ; — 
This  must  some  friend  perform ;  search  Seville 

through, 
None  can  I  find  to  trust  so  fit  as  you. 

San.     Guilty  he  needs  must  be — 

King.  He  is. 

San    Then  why, 
My  sovereign  liege,  in  secret  should  he  die  ? 


147 

If  public  law  demands  the  culprit's  head. 
In  public  let  the  culprit's  blood  be  shed. 
Shall  Justice'  sword,  which  strikes  in  face  of 

day, 

Stoop  to  dark  deeds  ? — a  man  in  secret  slay  ? 
The  world  will  think,  who  kills  by  means  un- 
known, 

No  guilt  avenges,  but  implies  his  own. 
If  slight  his  fault,  I  dare  for  mercy  pray. 
King.  Sancho,  attend; — you  came  not  here  today 
The  advocate  to  plead  a  traitor's  cause, 
But  to  perform  my  will,  to  execute  my  laws, 
To  slay  a  man  : — and  why  the  culprit  bleed 
Matters  not  thee,  it  is  thy  monarch's  deed. 
If  base,  thy  monarch  the  dishonour  bears ; 
But  say,  to  draw  against  my  life  who  dares, 
Deserves  he  death  ? 

San.  O  yes,  a  thousand  times. 
King.  Then  strike  without  remorse,   these  are  the 

wretch's  crimes. 
San.     So  let  him  die,  for  sentence  Ortiz  pleads ; 

Were  he  my  brother,  by  this  arm  he  bleeds. 
King.  Give  me  thy  hand. 

San.  With  that  my  heart  I  pledge. 
King.   So,  while  he  heeds  not,  shall  thy  rapier's  edge 
Reach  his  proud  heart. 

San.  My  liege,  my  sovereign 
lord, 

Sancho's  my  name,  I  wear  a  soldier's  sword. 
L  3 


148 

i 

Would  you  with  treacherous  acts,  and  deeds 

of  shame, 

Taint  such  a  calling,  tarnish  such  a  name  ? 
Shall  I — Shall  I,  to  shrink  from  open  strife, 
Like  somebase  coward,  point  th'assassin's  knife  ? 
No — face  to  face  his  foe  must  Ortiz  meet, 
Or  in  the  crowded  mart,  or  public  street, 
Defy  and  combat  him  in  open  light. 
Curse  the  mean  wretch  who  slays  but  does  not 

fight ! 

Nought  can  excuse  the  vile  assassin's  blow ; 
Happy,  compar'd  with  him,  his  murder'd  foe! 
With  him  who,  living,  lives  but  to  proclaim, 
To  all  he  meets,  his  cowardice  and  shame. 
King.  E'en  as  thou  wilt,  but  in  this  paper  read, 

Signed  by  the  king,  the  warrant  of  the  deed. 
(Sa?icho  reads  the  paper  aloud,  which  pro- 
mises the  king's  protection,  if  he  is  brought 
into  any  jeopardy  in  consequence  of  killing 
the  person  alluded  to,  and  is  signed,  Yo 
el  Rey,  I  the  King.) 

King.  Act  as  you  may,  my  name  shall  set  you  free* 
San.     Does  then  my  liege  so  meanly  deem  of  me  ? 

I  know  his  power,  which  can  the  earth  control. 
Know  his  unshaken  faith,  and  stedfast  soul. 
Shall  seals,  shall  parchments  then  to  me  afford 
A  surer  warrant  than  my  sovereign's  word  ? 
To  guard  my  actions,  as  to  guide  my  hand, 
I  ask  no  surety  but  my  king's  command. 


149 

» 

Perish  such  deeds —  (Tears  the  paper. 

they  serve  but  to  record 
Some  doubt,  some  question,   of  a  monarch's 

word. 
What  need  of  bonds  ?     By  honour  bound  are 

we, 

I  to  avenge  thy  wrongs,  and  thou  to  rescue  me. 
One  price  I  ask,  the  maid  I  name  for  bride. — 
King.   Were  she  the  richest  and  the  best  allied 
In  Spain,  I  grant  her. — 

San.  So  throughout  the  world, 
May  oceans  view  thy  conqueiing  flag  unfurl'd. 
King.  Nor  shall  thy  actions  pass  without  a  meed. — 
This  note  informs  thee,  Ortiz,  who  must  bleed. 
But  reading,  be  not  startled  at  a  name; 
Great  is  his  prowess;  Seville  speaks  his  fame. 
San.     I'll  put  that  prowess  to  the  proof  ere  long. 
King.   None  know  but  I  that  you  avenge  my  wrong ; 
So  force  must  guide  your  arm,  but  prudence 
check  your  tongue.  (Exit. 

Manet  SAJTCHQ,  lo  whom  enter  CLARINDO. 

He  brings  the  joyful  .tidings  of  his 
approaching  nuptials,  and  delivers  a 
letter  from  Estrella,  in  which  she  tells 
him  that  Eustos  Tabcra  is  in  search  of 
him,  and  conjures  him  with  great  ten- 
derness to  avail  himself  without  delay 


150 

of  her  brother's  earnestness  to  bring  the 
agreement  to  a  conclusion.  Sancho  Or- 
tiz, delighted  at  the  letter,  gives  instant 
orders  for  festivities  and  rejoicings  in 
his  house,  and  after  rewarding  Clarindo 
for  his  news  with  a  gem,  dispatches  him 
to  make  the  necessary  preparations.  Jin- 
patient  to  meet  Tabera,  he  is  upon  the 
point  of  setting  out  to  overtake  him, 
when  he  recollects  the  commands  of  the 
king,  and  resolves  to  ascertain  first,  what 
man  he  is  destined  to  dispatch.  He 
opens  the  note  and  reads  : 

"  The  man,  Sancho,  whom  you  must 
kill,  is  Bustos  Tabera." 

His  excessive  anguish  at  this  disco- 
very makes  him  half  doubt  the  truth  of 
it;  and  he  reads  the  fatal  words  repeat- 
edly, in  hopes  of  finding  some  mistake. 
In  his  soliloquy,  which  is  very  long, 
there  is  a  great  mixture  of  natural  pas- 
sion, misplaced  wit,  and  trivial  conceit. 


151 

I  should  have  inserted  it,  but  he  begins 
by  comparing,  in  a  metaphor  of  consi- 
derable length,  the  vicissitudes  of  life, 
to   a   particular    game  of  cards;   with 
which  I,  and  probably  my  readers  are 
unacquainted.     A  part  of  the  speech  is 
in  the  style  of  Ovid.     Sancho  is  alter- 
nately a  good  lover  and  a  loyal  subject; 
and  with  great  impartiality  devotes  near- 
ly an  equal  number  of  verses  to  each 
sentiment.  He  is  at  last,  however,  sway- 
ed  by  the  consideration,  that  a  king  is 
responsible  to  God  alone  for  his  actions, 
and  that  the  only  duty  of  a  subject  is  to 
obey  him.     He  infers  also  from   these 
premises  that  the  merit  of  his  obedience 
is  enhanced,  if,  by  executing  the  king's 
mandates,  he  sacrifices  his  own  affec- 
tions, and  incurs  the  enmity  of  the  per- 
son  he  loves    best  on  earth.     He  has 
scarce  made  up  his  mind  to  the  dis- 
charge of  this  dreadful  and   mistaken 
duty,  when  Bustos  enters. 


BUSTOS  TABERA  y  SANCHO  ORTIZ. 

Bits.  Cuiiado,  suerte  dichosa 

He  tenido  en  encontraros. 
San.  Y  jo  desdicha  en  hallaros ;     (aparte) 

Porque  me  buscais  aqui 

Para  darrae  vida  a  mi, 

Pero  yo  para  mataros, 
Bus.  Ya,  herraano,  el  plazo  llego 

De  vuestras  dichosas  bodas. 
San.  Mas  de  mis  desdichas  todas     (aparte) 

Decirte  pudiera  yo 

O  valgame  Dios.  quien  se  vio    , 

Jamas  en  tanto  pesar ! 

Que  aqui  tengo  de  matar 

Al  que  mas  bien  he  querido  ? 

Que  a  su  liermana  aya  perdido 

Que  con^todo  he  de  acabarl 
Bus.  Ya  por  escritura  estais 

Casado  con  dona  Estrella. 
San.  Casarme  quise  con  ella, 

Mas  ya  no,  aunque  me  la  dais. 
Bus.  Conoceis  me  ?  assi  me  hablais  ? 
San.  Por  conoceros  aqui 

Os  hablo,  Tabera,  assi. 
Bus.  ^  Si  me  conoceis  Tabera 

Como  hablais  de  essa  manera  ? 
San.  Hable  porque  os  conoci. 
Bus.  Habrais  en  mi  conocido 

Sangre  nobleza  y  valor 

Y  virtud,  que  es  el  honor 


153 

Que  sin  ella  honor  no  ha  habido. 

Y  estoy,  Sancho  Ortiz,  corrido — 
San.  Mas  lo  estoy  yo. 
Bus.  Vos,  de  que — 

San.  De  hablaros. 
Bus.  Pues  si  en  mi  honor,  y  mi  fe 

Algnn  defccto  advertis . 

Como  viliano  mentis, 

Y  aqni  lo  sustentare.          (metemano) 
San.  Que  has  de  sustentar  viliano  ? 

Perdone  amor  este  excesd, 

Que  el  Rey  me  ha  quitado  el  seso 

Y  es  el  resistirme  en  vano. 
Bus.  Muerto  soy  ;  deten  la  mano. 
San.  Ay,  que  estoy  fuera  de  mi 

Y  sin  sentido  te  her!, 

Mas  aqui  hermano  te  pido 

Que  ya  que  cobre  sentido, 

Que  tu  me  mates  a  mi. 

Quwle  tu  espada  enbaynada 

En  mi  peclio ;  tie  con  ella 

Pucrta  al  alma. 

Bus.  A  dios,  Estrella 

Os  dexo  h<'rnumo?  cncargada — 

A  dios.  (muere. 

San.  Rigurosa  espada  1 

Sang-rienta  y  h'era  homicida ! 

Si  me  lias  quitado  la  vida 

Acaburme  de  matar; 


154 

Porque  le  pueda  pagar 
El  alma  ppr  otra  herida. 

Salen  Los  Alcaldes  mayores. 

P.      Que  es  esto  ?     Deten  la  ma  no. 

San.  Como  ?     Si  a  mi  vida  he  muerto. 

Far.    Ay  tan  grande  desconcierto  ! 

P.       Que  es  esto  ? 

San.  He  muerto  a  mi  hermano; 
Soy  un  Cain  Sevillano 
Que  vengativo  y  cruel 
Mate  un  inocente  Abel. 
Veisle  aqui,  matadme  aqui, 
Que  pues  el  muere  por  mi 
Yo  quiero  morir  por  el. 

Sale  ARIAS. 

Arias.  Que  es  esto  ? 

San.  Un  fiero  rigor     , 
Que  tanto  en  los  hombres  labra, 
Una  cumplida  palabra, 
Y  un  acrisolado  honor. 
Dezidle  al  Rey  mi  senor 
Que  tienen  los  Sevillanos 
Las  palabras  en  las  manos 
Como  lo  veis,  pues  por  ellas 
Atropellan  las  Estrellas, 
Y  no  hazen  caso  dc  hermanos. 


155 

Fed.  Dio  muerte  a  Bustos  Tabera. 

Ar.    Ay  tan  temerado  exceso. 

San.  Preridedme,  llevadme  preso, 

Que  es  bien  que  el  que  raata,  muera. 

Mirad  que  hazana  tan  fiera 

Me  hizo  el  amor  intentar, 

Y  pues  me  ha  obligado  a  matar, 

Y  me  ha  obligado  a  morir ; 

Pues  por  el  vengo  a  pedir 

La  muerte  que  el  me  ha  de  dar. 

Ped.  Llevadle  a  Triana  preso, 
Porque  la  ciudad  se  altera. 

San.  Amigo  Busto  Tabera. 

Far.   Este  hombre  ha  perdido  el  seso. 

San.  Dexadme  llevar  en  peso 
Senores,  el  cuerpo  elado 
En  noble  sangre  banado, 
Que  assi  su  Atlantc  sere 
Y  entre  tanto  dare 
La  vida  que  le  ha  quitado. 

Ar.    jLoco  esta — 

San.  Y  si  atropello 
Mi  gusto,  guardo  la  ley. 
Esto,  senor,  es  ser  Rey 
Y  esto,  senor,  es  no  sello— - 
Entendello  y  no  entendello 
Importa — pues  yo  lo  callo 
Yo  lo  mate,  no  hay  negallo, 
Mas  el  porque  no  dire; 


156 

Otro  confiesse  el  porque ; 
Pues  yo  confiesso  el  matallo. 

(llevanle  y  van. 

Salen  ESTRELLA  y  TEODOBA. 

No  se  si  me  vesti  bien 

Como  me  vesti  de  prisa : 

Dame  Teodora  esse  espejo. 
Teo,    Veste  senora  en  tu  misma 

Puedes,  porque  no  ay  cristal 

Que  tantas  verdades  diga, 

Ni  de  hermosura  tan  grande 

Haga  verdadera  cifra. 
Est.  Alterado  tengo  el  rostro 

Y  la  color  encendida. 
Teo.    Es  senora  que  la  sangre 

Se  ha  assomada  a  las  mexillas 

Entre  temor  y  verguenza 

Solo  celebrar  tus  dichas. 
Ei>t.   Ya  me  parece  que  llegar 

Banado  el  rostro  de  risa 

Mi  esposo  a  darme  la  mano 

Entre  mil  tiernas  caricias ; 

Ya  me  parece  que  dice 

Mil  ternezas,  y  que  oidas 

Sale  el  alma  por  los  ojps 

Disunulando  sus  ninas.' 

Ay  venturoso  dia 

Esta  Jia  sido,  Teodora,  Estrella  mia. 


157 

Teo.  Parece  que  gente  suena ; 
Todo  el  espejo  de  embidia 
El  cristal  dentro  la  oja 
De  una  luna  hizo  infinitas. 

Est.    Quebrose? 

Teo.  Senorasi. 

Est.    Bien  hizo  porque  imagina 

Que  aguardo  el  cristal  Teodora 
En  que  mis  ojos  se  miran, 
Y  pues  tal  espejo  aguardo 
Quiebrese  el  espejo,  amiga, 
Que  no  quiero  que  con  e 
Este  de  espejo  me  sirva. 

Sale  CLARINDA  muy  galan. 

Clar.  Ya  aquesto  suena  senora 
A  gusto  y  volateria 
Que  las  plurnas  del  sombrero 
Los  casamientos  publican 
A  mi  dueiio  di  el  papel 
Y  dio  me  aquesta  sortija 
En  albricias. 

Est.  Pues  yo  quiero 
Feriarte  aquessas  albricias 
Damela  y  toma  por  ella 
Este  diamante. 

Clar.  Partida 
Esta  por  medio  la  piedra, 
Sera  de  rnelancolia 
Que  los  jacintos  padecen 


Io8 

De  esse  mal,  aunque  le  quitan, 

Partida  por  medio  esta. 
IZst.   No  importa  que  esta  partida 

Que  es  bien  que  las  piedras  sientan 

Mis  contentos  y  alegrias. 

Ay  venturoso  dia ! 

Esta,  amigos,  ha  sido  Estrella  mia. 
Teo.    Gran  tropel  suena  en  los  patios. 
Clar.  Y  ya  la  escalera  arriba 

Parece  que  sube  gente. 
Est.    Que  valor  ay  que  resista 

Al  placer,  pero  que  es  esto. 

(Salen  los  dos  alcaldes  mayores  con  el 

muerto. 
Ped.   Los  dcsastres  y  desdichas 

Se  hicieron  para  los  hombres, 

Que  es  mar  de  llanto  esta  vida 

El  senor  Bustos  Tabera 

Es  muerto. 

Est.  Suerte  enemiga  I 
Ped.   El  consuela  que  aqui  os  queda 

Es  que  esta  el  fiero  homicida 

Sancho  Ortiz  de  las  Roelas 

Preso ;  y  del  se  hara  justicia 

Mariana  sin  falta. 
Est.   Dexadme  gente  enemiga ! 

Que  en  vuestras  lenguas  traeis 

De  los  infernos  las  iras ; 

Mi  hermano  es  muerto  y  le  ha  muerto 

Sancho  Ortiz !     j  Ay  quien  lo  diga, 


159 

Ay  quien  lo  escuche  y  no  muera  ? 

Piedra  soy,  pues  estoy  viva, 

Ay  riguroso  dia ! 

Esta,  amigos,  ha  sido  Estrella  mia  ? 

Pero  si  hay  piedad  humana 

Matadme. 

fed.  El  dolor  le  priva  ; 

Y  con  razon. 

Est.  Desdichada 

Ha  sido  la  Estrella  mia 

Mi  hermano  es  muerto,  y  le  ha  muerto 

Sancho  Ortiz,  de  quien  divida 

Tres  almas  de  un  corazon. 

Dexadme.     Que  estoy  perdida. 
Fed.   Ella  esta  desesperada 
Far.    Infeliz  beldad.  (vase  Estrella. 

Ped.   Sequidla. 

Clar.  Senora. 
Est.   Dexame  ingrato 

Sangre  de  aquel  fratricida, 

Y  pues  acabo  con  todo 

Quiero  acabar  con  la  vida  : 

Ay  riguroso  dia ! 

Esta  ha  sido,  Teodora,  Estrella  mia. 

BUSTOS  TABERA  and  SANCHO  ORTIZ. 
Bus.   In  meeting  thus  my  fortune  do  I  greet. 
San.  Alas !  I  curse  the  chance  that  makes  us  meet. 

(aside. 


160 

You  come  to  make  a  friend,  a  brother  bfesf, 
And  I  to  plunge  a  dagger  in  thy  breast. 

(aside. 

£us.   Brother,  the  hour  of  long  sought  bliss  is  come. 

San.   My  hour  of  grief,  of  all  my  woes  the  doom ! 

0  God !  did  man  e'er  bear  such  weight  of  ill  ? 
Him  whom  I  love  next  heaven  my  sword  must 

kill: 

And  with  the  very  blow  that  stabs  my  friend, 
My  love  is  lost,  and  all  my  visions  end.    (aside. 
Bus.*  The  deeds  are  drawn ;  to  tell  the  news  I  came; 

*  They  only  wait  for  Sancho  Ortiz'  name. 
San.   Once  it  is  true,  by  fickle  fancy  led,         (aloud. 
Tabera's  sister  Ortiz  fain  would  wed ; 
But  now,  though  drawn  the  strict  agreements 
stand, 

1  scorn  the  offer,  and  reject  her  hand. 

Bus.    Know'st  thouto  whom,  or  what  thou  speaks't? 

San.  I  know 

To  whom  I  speak,  and  therefore  speak  I  so. 
Bus.   How,  knowing  me,  can  words  of  insult  dwell 

On  Ortiz'  tongue  ? 

San.  Because  he  knows  thce  well. 
Bus.   And  knows  he  aught  but  generous  pride  of  blood. 

And  honour  such  as  prompts  the  brave  and  good  ? 

Virtue  and  genuine  honour  are  the  same ; 

Pride  uninspired  by  her,  usurps  the  name. 

I^ut  yet,  though  slow  of  anger  to  a  friend, 

Thy  words  my  virtue  as  my  pride  oficud. 


161 

San.   Not  more  offended  can  thy  virtue  be, 

Than  I  so  long  to  talk  with  one  like  thee. 

Bus.  Is't  come  to  this  ?  and  dost  thou  taunt  my  fame 
With  aught  that  bears  not  honour's  sacred  name  ? 
Prove  then  this  sword  which  dares  thy  rage  defy, 
My  foe  a  villain,  and  his  charge  a  lie. 

(Draw  andjight. 

San.   What  can  the  swords  of  traitorous  villains  prove  ? 
Pardon  me,  sacred  friendship !  pardon,  love ! 
My  king  impels — I  madden  as  I  fight, 
And  phrensy  lends  my  arm  resistless  might. 

Bus.  Enough,  nor  further  press  thy  blow — I  bleed — 
My  hour  is  come —  (Bustos  falls. 

San.  Then  am  I  mad  indeed ! 
Yes,  when  I  struck  thy  death,  my  sense  was 

gone; 

Restor'd,  I  from  thy  arm  implore  my  own.— 
Sheath  in  this  breast,  for  pity  sheath  thy  sword, 
And  to  my  troubled  soul  an  instant  flight  afford. 

Bus.    My  motives  fate  denies  the  time  to  tell, 

Wed  thou  my  sister,  Ortiz,  and — farewell ! 

(dies. 

San.   Come  then,  destructive  unrelenting  blade, 

Dispatch  the  life  thy  work  has  wretched  made : 
Come,  while  Tabera's  gore  is  reeking  yet, 
With  a  fresh  wound  to  close  the  bloody  debt. 

Enter  FARFAN  and  PEDRO,  Alcaldes  mayores. 

Ped.   Wretch !  stay  that  weapon,  rais'd  thyself  to  kill. 
San.    'Twas  rais'd  against  a  life  yet  dearer  still. 

M 


162 

Enter  ARIAS. 
Ar.     What's  this  disorder  ? 

San.  The  disorder's  plain ; 
I've  kill'd  a  brother,  like  another  Cain, 
Ruthless  and  fierce,  a  guiltless  Abel  slain. 
Here,  here  he  lies,  survey  each  mangled  limb ; 
And  as  he  died  for  me,  so  let  me  die  for  him. 
Ar.     Why,  what  is  this  ? 

San.  What  is  it,  do  you  ask  ? 
'T  is  a  kept  promise,  an  accomplish'd  task ; 
'T  is  honour  in  a  fiery  trial  prov'd ; 
Honour  that  slew  the  man  he  dearly  lov'd. 
Yes,  tell  the  King,  that  for  our  plighted  words, 
We  sons  of  Seville  bear  them  on  our  swords ; 
Tell  him  for  them  we  do  our  stars*  defy ; 
For  them  our  laws  expire,  our  brothers  die. 
Fed.    He's  kill'd  Tabera. 

Ar.  Rash,  flagitious  deed  ! 
San.   Then  seize  me, — bind  me,— -let  his  murderer 

bleed! 

Where  are  we  ?  Do  not  law  and  reason  say, 
Ruffians  shall  die,  and  blood  shall  blood  repay  ? 
But  mark'd  you  how  the  mighty  crime  was  done  ? 
No  hate  was  here ;  'twas  love,  and  love  alone ; 
And  love  that  did  the  crime  shall  for  the  crime 

atone. 

Bustos  I  slew,  I  now  for  Bustos  plead, 
And  beg  of  justice — that  his  murderer  bleed. 

*  This  in  the  original  is  a  quibble  on  the  name  Estrella 
which  in  Spanish  signifies  a  star. 


163 

Thy  friend  that  tribute  to  thy  memory  pays. 

Ar.      The  man  is  mad,  and  knows  not  what  he  says. 

Ped.    Then  to  Triana's  tower  the  culprit  lead, 
Lest  at  the  noise  of  such  a  lawless  deed 
Seville  should  rise,  and  some  new  tumult  breed. 

San.  Yet  I  would  raise  my  brother  from  the  ground , 
Clasp  his  cold  limbs,  and  kiss  the  sacred  wound,  I 
And  wash  the  noble  blood  that  streams 

corpse  around. 
So  I  '11  his  Atlas  be ;  nor  would  repine, 
The  life  I've  taken  to  redeem  with  mine. 

Ped.   'Tis  madness  this — 

San.  When  I  from  friendship  swerv'd, 
Against  my  pleasure  I  the  laws  observ'd  ; 
That 's  a  king's  part — in  that  I  'm  king  alone ; 
But  in  this  act,  alas !  I  am  not  one — 
The  riddle's  easy  when  the  clue  is  found, 
But 't  is  not  mine  the  riddle  to  expound. 
'Tis  true  I  slew  him — I  not  that  deny ; 
I  own  I  slew  him — but  I  say  not  why : 
That  why — let  others,  if  they  like  it,  plead, 
Enough  for  me  that  I  confess  the  deed. 

[Exit  guarded. 

Scene  changes  to  ESTRELLA'S  chamber. 
ESTRELLA  and  THEODORA. 

Est.   So  quick  my  toilet  was,  I  scarce  can  guess 

How  set  my  garments  and  how  looks  my  dress. 
Give  me  the  glass. 

Theo.  The  glass  is  needless  here  : 
Look  on  thyself — no  mirror  is  so  clear  ; 
M  2 


164 

Nor  can  in  mimic  forms  reflected  shine 
Such  matchless  charms,  and  beauty  bright  as 
thine.  (holds  the  looking-glass  • 

Esl.    Whence  can  such  crimson  colours  fire  my  cheek  ? 
Theo.  Thy  joy,  and  yet  thy  modesty,  they  speak. 
Yes,  to  thy  face  contending  passions  rush, 
Thy  bliss  betraying  with  a  maiden  blush, 
Est.    'Tis  true  he  comes;  the  youth  my  heart  ap- 
proves 
Comes  fraught  with  joy,  and  led  by  smiling 

loves. 

He  claims  my  hand ;  I  hear  his  soft  caress, 
See  his  soul's  bliss  come  beaming  from  his  eye. 

0  partial  stars !  unlook'd  for  happiness  ! 
Can  it  be  true  ? — Is  this  my  destiny*  ? 

Theo.  Hark !  some  one  rings — but,  lo !  with  envy  smit, 

One  mirror  into  thousand  mirrors  split. 
Est.   Is 't  broken?— 

Theo.  Yes. 

Est.  And  sure  with  reason  too. 
Since  soon,  without  its  aid,  I  hope  to  view 
Another  self;  with  him  before  my  eyes, 

1  need  no  glass,  and  can  its  use  despise. 


*  Here  again  the  word  Estrella  is  used  for  the  sake  of  a 
pun.  I  have  been  obliged  to  render  it  by  the  word  destiny ; 
and  k  is  probably  the  only  advantage  which  my  transla- 
tion has  over  the  original,  that  the  English  language  does 
not  admit  of  a  quibble,  which  in  the  Spanish  runs  through 
and  disfigures  the  whole  scene. 


165 

Enter  CLARINDO. 
Clar.  All,  lady,  all  is  merriment  and  cheer, 

And  the  plum'd  hats    announce  the  wedding 

near. 

I  gave  the  letter,  and  received  a  ring. 
Est.    Take  too  this  diamond  for  the  news  you  bring. 
Clar.  Alas !  the  precious  gem  is  split  in  two; 
Is  it  for  grief? 

Est.  Oh  no,  Clarindoj  no  ; 
Jt  burst  for  joy — the  very  gems  have  caught 
My  heart's  content,  my  gaiety  of  thought. 
Thrice  happy  day,  and  kind  indulgent  sky ! 
Can  it  be  true  ? — Is  this  my  destiny  *  ? 
Theo.  Hark !  steps  below  ? 

Clar.  And  now  the  noise  draws  near. 
Esl.    My  joy  o'ercomes  me  !— 

Enter  Alcaldes  with  the  dead  lody  of  BUSTOS. 

Gracious  God !  what 's  here  ? 

Fed.   Grief,  nought  but  grief  was  made  for  man  below, 
Life  is  itself  one  troubled  sea  of  woe : — 
Lady,  Tabera's  slain. — 

Est.  O  sad,  O  cruel  blow! 

Fed.   One  comfort  still — in  chains  his  murderer  lies ; 
Tomorrow    judged    by  law,    the  guilty  Ortiz 

dies, 
Est.    Hence,  fiends !  I  '11  hear  no  more— your  tidings 

bear 
The  blasts  of  hell,  the  warrant  of  despair. 

*  Vide  note,  p.  164. 


166 

My  brother's  slain  ! — by  Sancho's  arm  he  fell! 
What !  are  there  tongues  the  dismal  tale  to  tell  ? 
Can  I  too  know  it,  and  the  blow  survive  ? 
Oh !  I  am  stone,  to  hear  that  sound  and  live. 
If  ever  pity  dwelt  in  human  breast — 
Kill — murder— stab  me — 

Fed.  With  such  grief  opprest, 
Well  may  she  rave. 

EsL  O  sentence  fraught  with  pain ! 
My  brother  dead — by  Sancho  Ortiz  slain ! 

(going. 

That  cruel  stroke  has  rent  three  hearts  in  one ; — 
Then  leave  a  wretch,  who 's  hopeless  and  undone. 
Ped.   Ah  !  who  can  wonder  at  her  wild  despair  ? — 
Follow  her  steps. 

Far.  Alas !  ill-fated  fair ! 
Clar.  Lady,  one  instant — 

Est.  Would  you  have  me  stay 
For  him,  the  wretch,  that  did  my  brother  slay  ? 
My  love,  my  hopes,  my  all  for  ever  gone, . 
Perish  life  too,  for  life  is  hateful  grown ! 
Inhuman  stars  !  unheard-of  misery ! 
Can  it  be  so? — Is  this  my  destiny*? 

ACT  III.    SCENE  I. 

Tlje  third  act  opens  with  the  King  re- 
ceiving an  account  of  Sancho  Ortiz'  be- 
haviour; his  avowal  of  the  murder,  but 

*  Vide  note,  page  164. 


167 

refusal  to  allege  the  motives  of  it.  The 
King  is  struck  with  his  magnanimity, 
but  at  the  same  time  embarrassed  by  it. 
"  Tell  him/'  at  length  he  says,  "  to  de- 
clare who  instigated  him  to  this  crime, 
though  it  be  the  King  himself:  tell  him 
I  am  his  friend;  but  that,  unless  he  im- 
mediately explains  his  conduct,  he  must 
tomorrow  perish  on  a  public  scaffold." 
Arias  is  intrusted  with  this  message ; 
Estrella  enters;  she  throws  herself  at 
the  King's  feet;  and  after  a  contrast  of 
her  late  prospects  in  life,  and  attach- 
ment to  her  brother,  with  her  present 
forlorn  and  dismal  condition,  which, 
though  poetically  conceived,  is  neither 
well  placed  nor  happily  executed,  she 
ends  her  petition  by  claiming  a  privi- 
lege, sanctioned,  I  believe,  by  the  antient 
usages  of  Spain,  of  deciding,  as  nearest 
relation  of  the  deceased,  the  fate  of  her 
brother's  murderer.  The  King,  moved 
by  her  beauty  and  tears,  has  not  force 
enough  to  resist  her  entreaties ;  and,  in 


a  speech  full  of  hyperbolical  compli- 
ments on  her  charms,  presents  her  with 
a  royal  key,  which  will  admit  her  to  the 
prison  of  Triana,  and  secure  the  prison- 
er's being  delivered  over  to  her  mercy. 
She  leaves  the  royal  presence  with  some 
ambiguous  expressions,  which  the  King 
construes  into  vows  of  revenge.  From 
the  moment  that  he  ceases  to  contem- 
plate her  features  he  condemns  his  own 
weakness,  and  feels  the  deepest  remorse 
at  the  perfidy  and  cruelty  of  his  con- 
duct. In  the  dialogue  between  Estrella 
and  him,  there  are  some  very  pretty 
verses;  but  both  the  sentiments  and  ex- 
pressions seem  better  suited  to  a  sonnet 
than  to  a  tragedy. 

SCENE  II.     4  prison. 

Clarindo  gives  Sancho  Ortiz  his  rea- 
sons for  not  composing  a  poem  on  his 
misfortunes ;  and  a  short  dialogue  be- 
tween Sancho  and  the  Alcaldes  takes 
place;  in  which  the  former  inculcates  a 


169 

very  favourite  thought  of  Lope,  that  a 
life  of  misery  is  a  protracted  death,  and 
that  to  the  unhappy,  death  is  life : 

No  hay  vida  como  la  muerte 
Para  el  que  muriendo  vive. 

Arias  enters,  and  delivers  the  King's 
message,  which  Sancho  answers  in  am- 
biguous terms :  "  Let  those,"  he  says, 
"  whose  duty  it  is  to  speak,  speak  ;  my 
duty  was  to  act,  and  I  have  acted."    On 
Arias  retiring,  Clarindo  and  his  master 
discuss  the  subject  of  honour;  and  San- 
cho's  passion,  mixed  with  his  romantic 
notions,  very  naturally  persuades  his  ser- 
vant that  he  is  mad.    On  such  occasions 
the  poet  very  often  criticises  himself, 
and  puts  into  the  mouth  of  the  Gracio- 
so  the  censures  which  he  is  conscious 
that  the  improbability  of  his  hero's  sen- 
timents deserves  to  incur.     At  length 
enters  a  lady  veiled,  to  whom,  in  virtue 
of  the  King's  order,  the  prisoner  is  de- 
livered over.    She  offers  him  his  liberty, 
which  he  refuses  to  accept,  unless  she 


170 

unveils  herself.  She,  after  some  impor- 
tunity, consents,  and  discovers  herself 
to  be  Estrella.  Sancho,  struck  with  her 
love,  thinks  some  flight  of  generosity 
equally  extravagant  is  required  of  him, 
and  obstinately  refuses  to  leave  his  pri- 
son. After  several  witticisms  on  his 
conduct,  they  separate ;  both  resolving 
to  die — one  literally  on  a  scaffold,  the 
other  figuratively  of  love.  This  scene, 
where  the  situation  seems  to  suggest 
some  fine  sentiments,  is,  in  my  judg- 
ment, the  coldest  and  worst  in  the  play. 

SCENE  III. 
The  KING  and  ARIAS. 

The  King,  .stung  with  remorse  for  his 
conduct,  is  nevertheless  overruled  by 
the  sophistry  of  Arias,  and  consents  to 
avail  himself  of  Sancho's  generosity,  by 
not  acknowledging  himself  the  criminal ; 
but  at  the  same  time  to  exert  his  influ- 
ence with  the  judges  to  procure  an  ac- 
quittal of  Sancho  Ortiz,  or  at  least  a 
mitigation  of  the  sentence,  which  would 


enable  him,  under  pretence  of  banish- 
ment, to  reward  Sancho  Ortiz  for  his 
fidelity. 

The  Alcalde  of  Triana  enters,  and  re- 
ports what  had  passed  between  the  pri- 
soner and  Estrella;  which  excites  the 
King's  admiration,  and  he  directs  San- 
cho Ortiz  to  be  secretly  conveyed  to  him. 
In  the  mean  while  he  speaks  with  the 
judges,  who  profess  great  attachment 
and  obedience  to  their  sovereign;  which 
he  misinterprets  into  a  compliance  with 
his  wishes.  In  this  scene  there  is  an 
observation, 

Montes  la  lisonja  allana — 
Flattery  can  level  mountains — 

which,  in  the  modern  play,  has,  with 
great  propriety,  been  transferred  to  the 
King's  soliloquy,  when  he  thinks  he  has 
won  over  the  judges,  and  is  there  en- 
larged upon  with  great  success.  The 
judges,  to  the  King's  great  dismay,  re- 
turn with  the  sentence  of  death,  and  ex- 


172 

culpate  themselves  from  the  charge  of 
breaking  their  promise  to  the  King,  by 
appealing  to  the  nature  of  their  office,  or 
rather  to  that  of  their  wands,  which  are 
the  insignia  of  it.  If  there  is  much  quaint- 
ness  in  this  appeal,  it  is  at  least  in  the 
character  of  the  times  which  they  repre- 
sent. Many  of  these  sayings  and  max- 
ims, conveyed  in  quaint  language,  which 
are  so  common  in  the  plays  on  early 
Spanish  history,  and  which  are  hastily 
condemned  by  foreigners  as  instances  of 
bad  taste,  form  part  of  the  traditions  on 
which  the  stories  are  founded ;  and  the 
omission  of  them  would  destroy  that  air 
of  truth  and  originality,  from  which  they 
derive  much  of  their  merit  in  the  eyes  of 
a  Spanish  audience.  Shakspeare  has 
preserved  some  colloquial  phrases  of 
Henry  the  VHIth  and  Richard  the  Hid, 
which  had  been  handed  down  to  him  by 
traditional  report ;  and  I  believe  most 
English  critics  will  acknowledge,  that 
though  they  would  be  grotesque  were 


173 

they  of  his  invention,  jet,  as  historical 
traits,  they  give  an  appearance  of  reality 
to  the  speeches,  which  enhances  the  in- 
terest of  the  representation. 

To  return  to  Lope :  The  King,  unable 
to  shake  the  integrity  of  the  judges, 
promises  to  marry  Estrella  to  a  grandee 
of  Castile,  on  condition  that  she  shall 
withdraw  the  prosecution  against  her 
brother's  murderer.  To  this  she  con- 
sents. The  King  pronounces  the  pardon 
of  Ortiz;  but  the  judges  loudly  remon- 
strate against  such  a  proceeding,  and 
at  length  extort  from  the  King  the  con- 
fession of  the  murder  having  been  com- 
mitted at  his  instigation.  Estrella,  press- 
ed by  the  King  to  marry  Sancho  Ortiz, 
while  she  acknowledges  her  love  for 
him,  is  unable  to  overcome  her  repug- 
nance at  seeing  the  man  who  murdered 
her  brother  at  her  bed  and  board,  en 
mesa  y  en  cama,  and  obstinately  persists 
in  her  refusal.  This  conduct  produces 


174 

an  exclamation  of  wonder  at  the  heroic 
qualities  of  the  Sevilians  from  all  pre- 
sent, except  the  Gracioso,  who  observes, 
that  to  him  they  all  appear  mad. 

Whether  we  agree  with  him  in  this 
judgment,  or  with  the  King,  who,  after 
promising  to  procure  a  great  match  for 
Estrella,  compliments  the  author  on  the 
poem,  and  thinks  the  subject  worthy  to 
be  written  on  tablets  of  brass,  we  can- 
not but  acknowledge  that  there  are  ma- 
ny situations  in  the  play  truly  tragic, 
that  it  excites  great  interest  in  the  per- 
usal, and  is  calculated  to  produce  yet 
greater  effect  upon  the  stage. 

In  the  revived,  as  in  the  original  play, 
the  vigour  of  the  composition  is  exhaust- 
ed in  the  second  act;  and  after  the  death 
of  Bustos,  and  the  disappointment  of 
Estrella,  the  interest  flags,  for  the  events, 
though  ingeniously  conducted,  seem 
comparatively  insipid.  This  fault,  how- 
ever great,  Lope  has  in  common  with 


175 

many  of  the  most  admired  authors.  It 
is,  in  this  instance,  a  natural  conse- 
quence of  the  great  beauty  of  the  se- 
cond act.  A  more  spirited  or  more  in- 
teresting dialogue  than  that  between 
the  King  and  Sancho  can  scarce  be 
found  on  any  theatre;  and  Estrella's 
eager  expectation  of  the  bridegroom,  as 
well  as  her  sanguine  prospects  of  hap- 
piness, which  form  so  strong  a  contrast 
with  her  subsequent  calamities,  are  ad- 
mirably conceived ;  and  though  the  sen- 
timents, as  well  as  the  frequent  recur- 
rence of  the  same  verse  at  the  end  of 
the  period,  may  be  somewhat  too  lyrical 
for  representation,  there  is  much  natural 
expression,  as  well  as  poetical  language 
and  invention,  in  the  course  of  that 
scene. 

On  the  whole  this  play  may  be  con- 
sidered as  a  favourable  specimen  of 
Lope's  art  of  conducting  a  plot,  and  the 
more  so,  as  it  derives  no  assistance  from 
the  operation  of  jealousy ;  a  passion, 


which  he,  and  after  him  all  Spanish 
dramatic  writers,  seem  to  think  essential 
in  a  composition  for  the  stage,  as  well 
as  sufficient  to  explain  any  absurdity, 
and  warrant  any  outrage.  It  is  indeed 
a  received  maxim  in  their  country,  as 
well  as  on  their  theatre,  that  love  can- 
not exist  without  jealousy.  But  Lope 
does  not  conclude,  from  such  premises, 
that  the  passions  are  inseparable.  Jea- 
lousy, in  his  plays,  often  exists  where 
there  is  no  affection,  and,  what  seems 
yet  more  singular,  often  precedes  and 
produces  love.  To  excite  love  in  one 
woman,  the  most  efficacious  philtre,  ac- 
cording to  these  doctors,  is  to  become 
enamoured  of  another.  By  a  natural 
consequence,  that  passion  has  more 
particles  of  pride  than  of  tenderness  in 
its  composition,  and  the  lover's  chief 
gratification  consists  in  ascertaining 
the  power  they  possess  over  each  other. 
These  preposterous  principles  pervade 
all  his  plays ;  but  are  more  prevalent  in 


177 

his  mixed  comedies  than  in  those  which 
may  be  supposed  to  aspire  to  the  cha- 
racter of  tragedies.  In  the  latter  there 
is  generally  plot  enough  to  form  at  least 
four  plays  on  any  other  theatre;  of 

which  the  Fucrza  lastimosa  is  a  striking 

.  ^ 

instance;  as  well  as  of  the  great  venera- 
tion in  which  Lope's  plays  were  held  by 
his  contemporaries.     Many  were  repre- 
sented with  great  success  in  Italy,  but 
this  had  the  singular  honour  of  being 
exhibited  within  the  walls  of  the  sera- 
glio at  Constantinople*.     Some  scenes 
founded  on  a  story  similar  to  that  of 
The  Orphan,  may  be  compared  to  the 
correspondent   parts    of    that    tragedy 
without  disparagement  to  either  poet. 
Pathetic  tenderness  is  not,  however,  the 
general  character  of  Lope's  productions ; 
and  I  may  have  a  future  opportunity  of 
shewing,  that  in  that  respect,  as  well  as 

. 

*  Pellicer's  Notes  to  Don  Quixote. 

N 


others,  Guillen  de  Castro  bears  a  much 
stronger  resemblance  to  Otway. 

In  Lope's  comedies,  the  frequency  of 
duels,  and  the  constant  recurrence  of 
disguises,  have  drawn  upon  him  the 
censure  of  the  critics,  who  argue  from 
thence  a  defect  in  his  talents  both  of 
observation  and  invention.  There  not 
only  appears  a  want  of  variety  in  such 
artifices,  but  the  artifices  themselves  are 
alleged  to  be  of  a  nature  too  extrava- 
gant to  warrant  such  frequent  repeti- 
tions. The  answer  to  such  objections  is 
to  be  found  in  the  memoirs  and  histo^ 
ries  of  the  times.  It  is  not  my  purpose 
to  enter  into  a  discussion  which  would 
more  properly  be  reserved  for  an  ac- 
count of  Calderon's  writings ;  but  it  is 
certain,  that  if  the  Spanish  poets  ad- 
mitted more  violent  incidents  into  their 
comedies  than  the  writers  of  the  present 
age,  the  common  state  of  society  was 
also  more  open  to  the  intrusion  of  sur- 


179 

prising  adventures.  We  have  learnt 
from  the  stage  to  consider  many  con- 
trivances as  theatrical,  which  the  thea- 
tre itself  borrowed  from  the  actual  oc- 
currences of  life.  At  any  rate,  neither 
Lope  nor  Calderon  himself  will  be 
found  to  have  abused  the  advantages 
which  the  cloak  and  sword,  the  basquina 
and  mantilla*,  supplied,  so  much  as  our 
writers  of  Charles  the  Second's  time  ex- 
aggerated the  facility  afforded  to  the 
accomplishment  of  improbable  designs 
by  the  prevalent  fashion  of  masks.  It 
is  true,  that  from  the  frequent  exhibi- 
tion of  such  adventures,  the  theatre  was 
accused  of  instructing  the  Spanish  pub- 
lic in  those  arts  of  intrigue  which  it 
professed  to  copy  from  their  practice. 
Calderon  almost  pleads  guilty  to  the 
charge,  since  one  of  his  characters,  on 
being  the  dupe  of  a  disguise,  exclaims: 

*  The  veil  and  walking-dress  of  a  Spanish  woman. 
N  2 


180 

»• .Mai  hubiesen 

Las  comedias  que  enseiiaron 

Enganos  tan  aparentes*. 
Plague  on  our  comedies,  which  shewed  the  ease 
With  which  the  world  might  practise  tricks  like  these ! 

To  prevent  such  evil  consequences, 
or  with  some  view  equally  absurd,  the 
government  is  said  for  a  time  to  have 
prohibited  all  Lope's  plays,  and  to  have 
confined  the  exercise  of  his  talents  by  a 
royal  injunction  to  the  composition  of 
sacred  dramasf .  This  circumstance  ren- 
ders the  government,  as  well  as  the  taste 
of  the  times,  accountable  for  the  choice 
of  subjects,  so  unsuitable  to  representa- 
tion as  the  lives  of  saints,  and  perform- 
ance of  miracles.  They  are  indeed  truly 
ridiculous.     In  the  Animal  profeta,  St. 
Julian,  after  having  plotted  the  murder 
of  his  wife,  and  actually  accomplishing 
that  of  his  father  and  mother,  enters  in- 
to a  controversy  with  the  Devil,  as  to  the 

*  Calderon.  Bien  vengas  mal,  si  vengas  solo. 
t  Pellicer. 


181 

possibility  of  being  saved  ;  and  when 
Jesus  Christ  descends  from  heaven  to 
effect  a  miracle  for  that  purpose  in  his 
favour,  the  Devil,  with  much  logical 
precision,  alleges  such  mercy  to  be  a 
breach  of  the  original  contract  between 
him  and  the  Almighty.  He  insinuates, 
indeed,  that  if  he  cannot  reckon  upon 
a  parricide,  he  may  as  well  give  over  his 
business  in  souls,  as  there  is  no  appear- 
ance of  fair  dealing  in  the  trade.  The 
mysteries  of  religion  are  sometimes  dis- 
cussed by  his  characters,  and  much  po- 
lemical divinity  is  to  be  found  in  his 
dialogues.  The  birth,  the  passion,  the 
crucifixion  of  Christ  are 

— oculis  subjecta  fidelibus. — 

The  Virgin,  and  even  the  Almighty, 
are  among  his  dramatis  personae;  the 
resurrection  of  a  dead  man  is  no  un- 
usual incident,  and  the  forgiveness  of 
sins  furnishes  a  fortunate  conclusion 
for  more  than  one  of  his  tragedies. 


182 


In  addition  to  these  sacrifices  of  taste 
and  judgment  to  public  piety,  he  wrote 
/  several  Autos  Sacramentales,  allegorical 
^  dramas   on   the   mysteries   of  religion. 
This  species  of  representation  continu- 
ed popular  in  Spain  till  the  middle  of 
the   last   century.     There   is  scarce   a 
poet   of  any   note  in    their    language, 

^who  has  not  employed  his  pen  on  these 
A   subjects ;  and  for  the  disgusting  absur- 

(  dities  which  abound  in  them,  Lope 
could  plead  as  many  precedents  as  he 
furnished.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to 
divest  any  of  his  writings  of  all  poetical 
merit ;  and  in  his  Autos,  the  patience 
which  could  wade  through  such  nonsense 
would  no  doubt  be  occasionally  reward- 
ed with  some  striking  passages.  They 
are  not,  however,  so  celebrated  as  those 
of  many  other  authors,  and  I  believe 
that  the  greater  number  of  them,  for 
he  composed  some  hundreds,  are  lost. 
There  are  still  extant,  in  addition  to  the 
autos  and  plays  ascribed  to  him,  innu* 


183 

movable  Entremeses,  or  interludes,  and 
in  the  few  I  have  read  there  is  no  defi- 
ciency of  humour  or  merriment.     In- 
deed, there  is  always  some  sprightliness, 
and  often  much  invention,  in  his  come- 
dy.    The  French  and   English   writers 
are  indebted  to  him  for  some  of  their 
most  successful   productions;  and  the 
outline  of  an  excellent  comedy  is  often 
faintly  delineated  in  an  episode  or  a 
scene    of    Lope.      To    him    Corneille 
ascribes  the  Sospechosa  verdad,  which  he 
acknowledges  to  be  the  original  of  the 
Menteur.     But  Voltaire,  Avho  is  more 
diligent  in  his  literary  researches  than 
those,  who,  because  they  possess  not 
his  wit,  think  they  have  a  right  to  mis- 
trust his  learning,  are  disposed  to  allow, 
implies  a  doubt  of  the  fact*.     Such  au- 
thority is  not  lightly  to  be  disputed, 
especially  as  it  seems  to  be  confirmed 
by  no  such  name  occurring  in  any  list 

*  Notes  on  Corneillc's  Menteur, 


184 

of  Lope's  productions.     The  Melindro- 
sa,  the   Azero   de  Madrid,   the  Esclava 
de  su  galan,  la  Bella  mal  maridada,  as 
well  as  many  others,  have  in  part  been 
imitated,  and  are  among  the  best  of  his 
comedies.     Those,  however,  of  a  more 
anomalous  description,   where  there  is 
more  elevation  in  the  main  characters, 
and  nearly  as  much  distress  as  merri- 
ment in  the  action,  excite  a  more  lively 
interest  in  the  perusal.     Humour  is,  at 
best,  formed  of  very  perishable  mate- 
rials.    Some  author  remarks,  that  man- 
kind laugh  in  various  ways,  but  always 
cry  in  the  same.     The  truth  of  that  ob- 
servation is  strongly  illustrated  in  the 
history  of  the  theatre.     Scarce  a  season 
passes  without  producing  several  suc- 
cessful  pieces   of   humour;    yet,   after 
some  years  are  gone  by,  how  few  bear 
a  revival!     There  is  less  variety,   but 
there  is  more  permanence,  in  works  of 
which  an  interesting  plot  forms  the  ba-, 
sis.    Accordingly,  many  of  this  descrip-, 


185 

tion  (for  Lope  abounds  in  them)  have 
been  lately  revived  with  considerable 
success  at  Madrid.  Such  are  the  Her- 
mosa  fea,  lo  Cierfo  por  lo  ducloso,  Sec. 
&c.  It  is  almost  unnecessary  to  repeat, 
that  innone  of  these  are  the  unities  of 
time  preserved.  This  violation  of  rules 
incurred  the  censure  of  the  French  cri- 
tics at  a  very  early  period;  and  has 
been  condemned  with  yet  greater  rigour 
by  the  Spanish  writers  during  the  last 
century.  Boileau  no  doubt  alludes  to 
the  Phoenix  of  Spain  when  he  says  : 

Un  rimeur  sans  peril  au-dela  des  Pyrenees 
Sur  la  scene  en  un  jour  rcnferme  des  annees. 
La  souvcnt  le  heros  d'un  spectacle  grossier, 
Enfant  au  premier  acte,  est  barbon  au  dernier. 

Art  Poetique. 

The  Spanish  bard,  who  no  nice  censure  fears, 
In  one  short  day  includes  a  lapse  of  years. 
In  those  rude  acts  the  hero  lives  so  fast, 
Child  in  the  first,  he's  greybeard  in  the  last. 

That  such  should  be  the  judgment  of 
Boileau   is   not  extraordinary;    but  a 


186 

Spaniard  of  considerable  eloquence*, 
editor  of  Cervantes'  plays,  lays  all  these 
extravagancies  to  the  charge  of  J^ope, 
terms  him  the  corrupter  of  the  theatre, 
and  endeavours  to  prove  that  the  yet 
more  extravagant  tragedies,  to  which 
the  dissertation  is  prefixed,  were  design- 
ed as  burlesque  satires  upon  his  compo- 
sitions. In  this  whimsical  theory  he  is 
indeed  as  unsupported  by  authority  as 
by  reason  ;  but  though  no  critics  follow 
his  opinion  in  this  respect,  they  all  con- 
cur with  him  in  anathematizing  the  irre- 
gularity of  Lope's  theatre.  "  We  must 
not  look  in  his  comedies,"  says  Velasquez, 

"  for  the  unities  of  action,  time,  or  place; 

/ 
his  heroes  come  into  the  world,   walk 

about  it,  thrive  in  it,  grow  old,  and  die. 
They  wander  like  vagabonds  from  East 
to  West,  and  North  to  South ;  he  flies 
with  them  through  the  air  to  fight  bat- 
tles in  one  place,  and  make  love  in  an- 
other; sometimes  they  turn  monks,  somc- 

*  Nasarre. 


187 

times  they  die,  and  even  after  death  they 
occasionally  perform  miracles  on  the 
stage.  One  scene  is  in  Flanders,  another 
in  Italy,  Spain,  Mexico,  or  Africa.  His 
lacqueys  talk  like  courtiers,  and  his 
kings  like  pimps;  his  principal  ladies 
are  women  without  education,  breeding, 
or  decorum.  His  actors  enter  like  le- 
vies, in  battalions,  or  in  squadrons.  It 
is  not  unusual  to  see  twenty-four  or 

thirty  dramatis  personae,  or  even  seven- 

. 
ty,  as  in  the  Bautismo  del  principe  de 

Fez,  where,  because  these  did  not  seem 
enough  for  him,  he  throws  in  a  proces- 
sion by  way  of  bonne  bouche."  Luzan, 
the  most  temperate  and  judicious  of 
their  critics,  dwells  on  the  same  topics ; 
but,  like  Andres,  asserts  that  the  total 
disregard  of  decorum,  the  little  differ- 
ence preserved  in  the  character  and 
language  of  the  prince  and  the  peasant, 
the  noble  and  the  plebeian,  is  a  yet 
heavier  charge,  and  one  which  no  har- 
mony of  verse  nor  eloquence  of  Ian- 


188 

guage  can  possibly  counterbalance.  The 
futility  of  such  censures  every  reader  of 
Shakspeare  has  felt,  and  Johnson  in  his 
preface  most  admirably  exposed.  Were 
the  characters  of  Lope's  dramas  as 
strongly  conceived,  and  as  well  preserv- 
ed, he  might  set  the  shafts  of  such  cri- 
tics at  defiance ;  but  though  he  is  not 
utterly  ignorant  of  that  great  object  of 
his  art,  the  delineation  of  human  cha- 
racter, nor  by  any  means  destitute  of 
the  faculties  necessary  to  attain  it,  he 
neither  possessed  the  genius  of  our  in- 
imitable poet,  nor  was  he  so  attentive 
to  the  cultivation  of  that  particular  ta- 
lent. Nevertheless,  traits  of  nature  are 
often  to  be  found  in  his  plays,  and  he 
seems  to  have  aimed  at  great  variety  of 
characters ;  but  they  are  faintly  traced, 
and  never  uniformly  preserved  through- 
out the  piece.  His  plan  admitted  of 
greater  perfection  in  this  respect,  than 
that  of  most  of  his  immediate  followers. 
His  lovers  are  not  always  a  class  apart, 


nor  his  women  constantly  and  exclu- 
sively actuated  by  the  same  passions 
operating  in  the  same  forms.  Qle  is, 
however,  answerable  for  the  introduc- 
tion of  a  character,  which  in  all  Spanish 
plays  is  the  same  person  under  different 
names,  viz.  the  Gracioso.  This  inno- 
vation, if  it  is  indeed  to  be  ascribed  to 
him,  must  be  acknowledged  to  be  an 
abuse,  and  not  an  improvement.  The 
Francesilla*  is  said  to  be  the  first  play  hi 
which  he  is  introduced.  Lope  not  only 
wrote  but  performed  the  part  of  such 
a  buffoon  at  Valencia  in  1599?  on  the 
celebration  of  Philip  the  Third's  nup- 
tials^. This  circumstance  may  have  con- 
tributed, to  mislead  Voltaire,  who  has 
met  with  most  unmerciful  and  dispro- 
portionate ridicule  from  the  Spanish 
editors,  for  having  alleged  Lope  to 
have  been  an  actor.  They  ought  to 
have  known  that  such  an  assertion  was 

*  Pellicer's  Notes  to  Cervantes. 

t  Continuation  of  Mariana's  History. 


190 

not  entirely  void -of  foundation.  He 
who  writes  of  foreign  literature  is  liable 
to  trivial  mistakes;  and  whether  the 
above  quoted  fact,  or  a  confusion  of 
Lope  de  Rueda  the  founder  of  the 
Spanish  theatre,  who  was  really  an  actor, 
with  Lope  de  Vega,  misled  the  French 
critic,  the  fact  is  in  either  case  to  his 
purpose,  as  far  as  it  proves  that  authors 
who  are  accustomed  to  act  are  likely  to 
encourage  by  their  example  irregularity 
and  extravagance  in  theatrical  compo- 
sitions. Till  Voltaire  appeared,  there  was 
no  nation  more  ignorant  of  its  neighbours' 
literature  than  the  French.  He  first  ex- 
posed, and  then  corrected,  this  neglect 
in  his  countrymen.  There  is  no  writer 
to  whom  the  authors  of  other  nations, 
especially  of  England,  are  so  indebted 
for  the  extension  of  their  fame  in  France, 
and,  through  France,  in  Europe.  There 
is  no  critic  who  has  employed  more 
time,  wit,  ingenuity,  and  diligence  in 
promoting  the  literary  intercourse  be- 


191 

tween  country  and  country,  and  in  ce- 
lebrating in  one  language  the  triumphs 
of  another.  Yet,  by  a  strange  fatality, 
he  is  constantly  represented  as  the  ene- 
my of  all  literature  but  his  own;  and 
Spaniards,  Englishmen,  and  Italians, 
vie  with  each  other  in  ioveighi&g  against 

o          ™      o 

his  occasional  exaggeration  of  faulty 
passages  ;  the  authors  of  which,  till  he 
pointed  out  their  beauties,  were  scarce 
known  Beyond  the  country  in  which 
their  language  was  spoken.  Those  wh< 
feel  such  indignation  at  his  misrepresen- 
tations and  mistakes,  would  find  it  diffi-; 
cult  to  produce  a  critic  in  any  modern 
language,  who  in  speaking  of  foreign 
literature  is  better  informed  or  more 
candid  than  Voltaire;  and  they  certain- 
ly never  would  be  able  to  discover  one, 
who  to  those  qualities  unites  so  much 
sagacity  and  liveliness.  His  enemies 
would  fain  persuade  us  that  such  exube- 
rance of  wit  implies  a  want  of  informa- 
tion; but  they  only  succeed  in  she\vin« 


that  a  want  of  wit  by  no  means  implies 
an  exuberance  of  information.  If  he 
indulges  his  propensity  to  ridicule  in  ex- 
posing the  absurdities  of  the  Spanish 
stage,  he  makes  ample  amends  by  ac- 
knowledging that  it  is  full  of  sublime 
passages,  and  not  deficient  in  interesting 
scenes.  He  allows  the  Spanish  poets 
full  credit  for  their  originality,  and  ac- 
knowledges them  to  have  been  Cor- 
neille's  masters,  though  much  excelled 
|  by  their  disciple.  He  objects,  indeed, 
to  the  buffoonery  of  many  of  their 
scenes ;  and  the  Gracioso  might  surely 
offend  a  critic  who  had  less  right  to  be 
fastidious  than  the  author  of  Mahomet 
and  of  Zara.  That  preposterous  person- 
ge  not  only  interlards  the  most  inter- 
esting scenes  with  the  grossest  buffoon- 
eries, but,  assuming  the  amphibious 
character  of  spectator  and  actor,  at  one 
time  interrupts  with  his  remarks  the 
performance,  of  which  he  forms  an  es- 
sential but  very  defective  part  in  an- 


193 

other.     He  seems,  indeed,  invented  to 
save  the  conscience  of  the  author,  who 
after  any  extravagant  hyperbole  puts  a 
censure  or  ridicule  of  it  in  the  mouth  of 
his  buffoon,  and  thereby  hopes  to  disarm 
the  critic,  or  at  least  to  record  his  own 
consciousness  and  disapprobation  of  the 
passage.     This   critical  acumen  is   the 
only  estimable  quality  of  the  Gracioso. 
His   strictures  on  the  conduct  of  the 
characters,  the  sentiments,  expressions, 
and  even  the  metre,  are  generally  just, 
though  they  would   better  become  the 
pit  than  the  stage.     In  other  respects 
he  is  uniformly  a  designing,  cowardly, 
interested  knave:  but   Lope  found  his 
account  in  the  preservation  of  this  cha- 
racter, and  was  happy  to  reconcile  the 
public  to  an  invention  so  convenient  to 
the  poet.     As  any  topic  could  be  intro- 
duced in  this  part,  lie  was  thus  enabled 
to  fill  up  whole  scenes  with  any  verses 
he  might  have  by  him  ready  composed: 
nor  was  this  all;  at  the  conclusion  of  a 

o 


194 

complicated  plot,  when  the  author  is 
unable  to  extricate  himself  from  the 
embarrassments  he  has  created,  in  any 
probable  manner,  the  buffoon  steps  for- 
ward, cuts  the  Gordian  knot,  explains 
away  the  difficulty,  discloses  the  secret, 
and  decides  upon  the  fate  and  marriages 
of  all  who  are  present.  His  oracles, 
like  those  of  fools  in  some  courts,  are 
looked  upon  as  inspired ;  and  rivals  who 
had  been  contending  during  the  whole 
play,  acquiesce  without  a  murmur  in 
his  decisions.  In  addition  to  this  merit  he 
gives  Lope  a  frequent  opportunity  of 
displaying  his  talents  for  sprightly  and 
burlesque  poetry;  in  which,  as  I  have 
remarked  before,  he  was  most  uniformly 
successful.  As  a  specimen  of  the  ge- 
neral style  of  his  part  in  the  dialogue, 
I  subjoin  Julio's  defence  of  his  master, 
who,  in  the  Hermosa  fea,  had  affected 
to  be  insensible  to  the  charms  of  the 
duchess  of  Lorrain : 


195 

JULIO  y  CELIA. 
Jul.  Un  mal  gusto  es  fundaraento 

De  que  le  parezca  asi 

Fuera  de  ser  cosa  liana, 

Que  no  hay  disputa  en  ^  gustos. 
Cel.  Si,  pero  gustos  injastos 

Hacen  la  razon  villana. 
Jul.  Hombres  hay,  que  un  dia  escuro 

Para  salir  apetecen, 

Y  el  sol  hermoso  aborrecen 

Quando  sale  claro  y  puro. 

Hombres,  que  no  pueden  ver 

Cosa  dulce,  y  comeran 

Una  cebolla  sin  pan, 

Que  no  hay  mas  que  encarecer ; 

Hombres  en  Indias  casados 

Con  blanquisimas  rnugeres 

De  estremados  paraceres 

Y  a  sus  negras  inclinados. 

Unos  que  mueren  por  dar 

Qunato  en  su  vida  tuvieron ; 

Y  otros  que  en  su  vida  dieron 

Sino  es  enojo,  y  pesar ; 

Muchos  duermen  todo  el  dia 

Y  toda  la  noche  velan ; 

Y  muchos  que  se  desvelan 

En  una  eterna  porfia 

De  amar  sola  una  muger ; 

Y  otro  q  ue  como  aya  tocas 

Dos  mil  les  parecen  pocas 

Para  empiezar  a  querer 
O  2 


196 

Segun  esto  la  duquesa 
No  dexa  de  ser  hermosa 
For  un  mal  gusto, — &c.  &c. 

Juno  and  CELIA. 
Jut.  Bad  taste— but  'twas  allowed  long  since, 

That  tastes  of  no  dispute  admit. 
Cel.  But,  when  so  bad  as  in  your  prince, 

The  want  of  taste  shews  want  of  wit. 

Jul.  Why  men  there  are  in  cloudy  days, 

Who,  spite  of  rain,  abroad  will  roam ; 
Who  hate  the  sun's  all-cheering  rays, 
And  when  'tis  fine  will  mope  at  home ; 

Men  too  there  are  who  loath  what's  sweet, 
What  we  like  most  they  relish  least, 

They  without  bread  their  onions  eat, 
And  deem  the  sorry  meal  a  feast ; 

Spaniards  in  India  there  have  been, 
Who  to  their  wives  extremely  slack; 

Have  loath'd  a  fair  and  snowy  skin, 
And  sigh'd  in  secret  for  a  black ; 

Some  without  cause  their  substance  give, 
Squander  away  their  time  and  pence ; 

Others  give  nothing  while  they  live, 
But  trouble,  umbrage,  and  offence; 

Some  sleep  by  day,  and  watch  by  night ; 
Some  to  one  nymph  their  life  devote ; 


\ 


197 

Others  their  faith  and  duty  plight 
To  all  who  wear  the  petticoat. 

Then,  that  one  man  her  charms  decries, 
Should  give  the  beauteous  dame  no  care; 

Because  my  master  wants  his  eyes, 
Your  mistress  sure  is  not  less  fair, 

Such  thoughts  and  language  are  no 
doubt  more  suited  to  an  epigrammatic 
song  than  to  a  dialogue  in  a  play.  It  has 
often  appeared  to  me,  that  the  frequent 
recurrence  of  antithesis  on  the  Spanish 
stage  was  a  natural  consequence  of  the 
short  verses,  in  which  most  of  their  old 
scenes  are  composed.  As  the  public 
are  extremely  partial  to  that  metre, 
which  is  nearly  the  same  as  that  of  the 
old  ballads  or  romances,  and  as  they 
think  it  peculiarly  adapted  to  recitation, 
a  stranger  should  speak  with  great  diffi- 
dence in  his  own  judgment,  when  it  is 
at  variance  with  the  Spaniards  on  such 
a  subject;  but  it  is  certain  that  such 
dialogues  as  contain  most  points,  are 


198 

those  which  are  best  received  on  their 
stage;  and  few  couplets  in  that  metre 
are  quoted  with  approbation  by  their 
critics,  but  such  as  abound  in  antithesis, 
or  such  as  are  confessedly  of  a  nature 
too  lyrical  for  representation.  The  love 
of  epigram  may  have  rendered  a  metre 
peculiarly  favourable  to  it,  popular; 
but,  from  the  history  of  their  poetry,  I 
am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  epigram 
rather  owes  its  popularity  to  the  culti- 
vation of  a  metre,  which,  when  the  lan- 
guage is  somewhat  refined,  becomes  in- 
sipid without  it.  Such  short  pauses  are 
evidently  more  calculated  for  the  ex- 
pression of  wit  than  of  passion.  Hence 
it  is  not  unusual  for  the  characters  of 
Lope,  when  placed  in  embarrassing 
situations,  and  wavering  between  the 
most  violent  and  opposite  affections,  to 
express  their  wishes,  describe  their  feel- 
ings, and  justify  their  conduct  in  a  long 
string  of  reasoning  epigrams ;  of  which 


199 

the  logic  is  not  very  convincing,  and 
the  wit  evidently  misplaced.  The  most 
preposterous  metaphors  are,  in  such 
cases,  taken  in  their  literal  sense ;  and 
the  poetical  jargon,  more  offensively  hy- 
perbolical in  Spanish  than  in  any  other 
European  language,  employed  in  scho- 
lastic forms  of  dispute,  as  if  it  were 
composed  of  terms  logically  precise. 
Lope  indeed  seems  not  to  have  been  ig- 
norant of  the  dangers,  to  which  these 
short  numbers  exposed  him.  He  ac- 
cordingly assumed  the  privilege  of  vary- 
ing them  as  he  pleased  ;  but  he  wanted 
either  leisure  or  judgment  to  bring  his 
plan  to  perfection.  He  has  laid  down 
some  rules  on  this  subject  in  the  Arte  de 
hacer  Co?nedias ;  but  as  he  has  neither 
abided  by  them  himself,  nor  alleged 
any  reason  for  his  opinions;  and  since 
they  are  as  much  at  variance  with  com- 
mon criticism,  as  with  his  own  practice; 


200 

one  may  be  admitted  to  call  in  question 
the  soundness  of  his  precepts.  He  says: 

Las  decimas  son  buenas  para  qucjas ; 
El  soneto  esta  bien  en  los  que  aguardan ; 
Las  relaciones  piden  los  romances ; 
Aunque  en  octavas  lucen  por  extreme ; 
Son  los  tercetos  para  cosas  graves ; 
Y  para  las  de  amor  las  redondillas. 

In  ten-line  staves  should  wailing  grief  be  shewn ; 
The  sonnet  suits  a  man  who  speaks  alone ; 
Let  plain  narration  flow  in  ballad  lines ; 
Though  much  a  tale  in  copious  octaves  shines ; 
Grand  weighty  thoughts  the  triplet  should  contain ; 
But  shortest  stanzas  suit  the  lover's  strain. 

In  these,  the  heroic  verse  (which  in 
Spanish,  as  in  Italian,  is  of  five  feet, 
and  generally  composed  of  eleven  syl- 
lables) is  not  mentioned  :  yet  he  often 
employed  it  for  declamation  as  well  as 
for  description  in  the  first  scenes  of  his 
plays ;  and  being  a  rhythm,  better  ad- 
apted to  tragedy,  it  seldom  fails  to  in- 


201 

spire  sentiments  more  natural,  and  dic- 
tion at  once  more  majestic  and  more 
simple.  The  dialogue  in  Carlos  el  Per- 
seguido,  which  is  chiefly  conducted  in 
long  metre,  preserves  all  the  dignity  of 
tragedy,  and,  as  it  has  the  advantage  of 
a  very  interesting  plot,  is  among  the 
most  valuable  of  his  plays.  He  does 
not,  however,  confine  himself  to  one  or 
two  variations  of  verse ;  but  though  he 
is  allowed  to  be  a  great  master  of  har- 
mony in  all,  he  generally  prefers  those 
numbers  which  seem  invented  for  lyric 
rather  than  dramatic  composition.  In 
these  his  style  is  always  flowery  and 
poetical,  and  his  thoughts  too  often 
forced,  unnatural,  and  extravagant. 
The  most  singular  circumstance  attend- 
ing his  verse  is  the  frequency  and  diffi- 
culty of  the  tasks  which  he  imposes  on 
himself.  At  every  step  we  meet  with 
acrostics,  echoes,  and  compositions  of 
that  perverted  but  laborious  kind,  from 


202 

attempting  which  another  author  would 
be  deterred  by  the  trouble  of  the  un- 
dertaking, if  not  by  the  little  real  merit 
attending  the  achievement.  They  re- 
quire no  genius,  but  they  exact  much 
time;  which  one  should  think  that  such 
a  voluminous  poet  could  little  afford  to 
waste.  But  Lope  made  a  parade  of  his 
power  over  the  vocabulary  ;  he  was  not 
contented  with  displaying  the  various 
order  in  which  he  could  dispose  the  syl- 
lables and  marshal  the  rhymes  of  his 
language,  but  he  also  prided  himself 
upon  the  celerity  with  which  he  brought 
them  to  go  through  the  most  whimsical 
but  the  most  difficult  evolutions.  He 
seems  to  have  been  partial  to  difficul- 
ties, for  the  gratification  of  surmount- 
ing them. 

The  sonnet,  which,  of  a  short. com- 
position, is  that  which  requires  the 
greatest  command  of  rhyme,  harmony, 
and  language,  seems  to  have  been  his 


203 

favourite  employment.  There  are  few  of 
his  plays  which  do  not  contain  three  or 
four  of  these  little  poems;  many  of  them 
have  great  merit  as  sonnets,  though  they 
are  surely  misplaced  in  the  mouth  of  an 
actor.  In  the  Nina  de  Plata,  the  cele- 
brated sonnet  to  Violante  is  very  hap- 
pily introduced;  but  it  is  there  recited 
by  the  Gracioso  as  a  poetical  effusion. 

Un  soneto  me  manda  hacer  Violante ; 

Que  en  mi  vida  me  ha  visto  en  tanto  aprieto; 

Catorce  versos  dicen  que  es  soneto  ; 

JBurla  burlando,  van  los  tres  delante ; 

Yo  pense  que  no  hallara  consonante, 

Y  estoy  a  la  mitad  de  otro  quarteto ; 

Mas  si  mi  veo  en  el  primer  terceto  ; 

Que  hay  cosa  en  los  quartetos  que  me  espante 

En  el  primer  terceto  voy  entrando 

Y  me  parece  que  cntre  con  pie  derecho, 

I'uc.s  /in  con  esto  verso  le  voy  dando ; 

Ya  estoy  en  el  sccundo,  y  aun  sospecho 

Que  voy  los  trece  versos  acabando ; 

Contad  .si  son  catorce — Ya  esta  becho. 

This  has  been  imitated  or  translated 
in  all  languages.  In  Italian,  I  believe, 
by  Marino ;  in  French,  by  Voiture  and 


204 

Desmarais;  and  in  English  by  Edwards, 
author  of  Canons  of  Criticism*: 

Capricious  Wray  a  sonnet  needs  must  have ; 
I  ne'er  was  so  put  to 't  before — a  sonnet  ? 
Why,  fourteen  verses  must  be  spent  upon  it. 
Tis  good,  however,  I've  conquer'd  the  first  stave. 
Yet  I  shall  ne'er  find  rhymes  enough  by  half, 
Said  I,  and  found  myself  in  the  midst  of  the  second : 
If  twice  four  verses  were  but  fairly  rcckon'd 
I  should  turn  back  on  the  hardest  part,  and  laugh. 
Thus  Sfar  with  good  success"  I  think  I've  scribbled, 
And  of  twice  seven  lines  have  clear  got  o'er  ten. 
Courage!  Another '11  finish  the  first  triplet ; 
Thanks  to  the  muse,  my  work  begins  to  shorten, 
There's  thirteen  lines  got  through,  driblet  by  driblet, 
'T  is  done !  count  how  you  wil!3  I  warrant  there's 
fourteen. 

To  many  of  his  plays  he  also  prefixed 
Loas,  a  species  of  prologue,  in  short 
verse ;  on  which  some  maxim  connect- 
ed with  the  play  is  generally  enforced, 
or  some  apposite  story  related.  The 
merit  of  the  most  laboured  parts  of  his 
tragedies  consists  chiefly  in  exuberance 
of  images ;  and,  as  most  Spanish  critics 

*  Vide  Appendix. 


205 

allege,  in  the  purity  of  language;  but 
they  are  often  too  lyrical  for  the  ex- 
pression of  natural  passion,  and  more 
calculated  to  raise  our  admiration  for 
the  poet,  than  to  excite  compassion  for 
the  character.  This  remark  admits  of 
exceptions  ;  and  from  the  passages  al- 
ready quoted  in  the  course  of  this  work, 
the  reader  might  infer  the  criticism  to 
be  too  general :  there  is,  however,  sel- 
dom much  originality  in  those  tragic 
sentiments  which  he  expresses  simply. 
Whatever  was  noble  he  thought  should 
be  gorgeously  arrayed:  and  it  was  only 
from  carelessness,  or  from  ignorance  of 
its  merit,  that  he  left  any  pathetic 
thought  to  strike  by  its  genuine  beauty. 
The  following  lines,  taken  from  one  of 
his  most  interesting  plays,  contain  just 
thoughts ;  but  such  as  would  occur  to 
most  authors,  in  painting  the  feelings  of 
a  tyrant: 


Maur.  i  Quc  rigor,  que  castigo  de  los  cielos 
Me  causa  tal  pesar,  talcs  desvelos  ? 
<  Quien  mi  vida  condcna 
A  tan  rabiosa  y  dilatada  pena  ? 
No  hallo  parte  segura, 
Sosiego  en  vano  el  alma  ya  procura 
En  el  gusto,  en  la  mesa,  hasta  an  el  sueno, 
De  un  desconsuelo  un  otro  me  despeilo, 
La  desdicha  mayor  carga  en  mis  hombros 
Donde  quiera  que  voy  encuentro  asombros. 
Esto  es  reynar  ?  Para  esto,  Mnuregato, 
Elreyno  adquieres  con  aleve  trato? 
Pero  que  importa  el  cetro  la  grandesa, 
Donde  ya  prcdomina  esta  tristeza. 
O  que  descanso  el  alma  le  apercibe 
Si  la  conciencia  mal  segura  vive ! 

What  wrath  of  Heaven,  what  unrelenting  powers 
Conjure  fresh  griefs,  invade  my  peaceful  hours 
With  cares  and  fears,  and  doom  my  life  to  flow 
In  one  long  current  of  increasing  woe  ? 
In  vain  from  thought  my  troubled  soul  would  fly ; 
No  rest,  no  refuge  in  this  world  have  I ; 
In  vain  the  sport  I  ply,  the  feast  prepare, 
Grief  treads  on  grief,  and  care  succeeds  to  care ; 
Nor  joy  my  sports,  nor  mirth  attends  my  board ; 
Nor  sleep  itself  a  respite  can  afford. 
Still  at  each  turn,  at  some  new  fiend  I  start, 
And  grief,  fixt  grief,  sits  heavy  at  my  heart. 


Is  this  to  be  a  king,  is  this  to  reign  ? 

Did  I  for  this,  by  fraud,  by  treason,  gain 

The  sceptred  pomp  ?     Alas !  the  prize  how  small, 

If  tyrant  sadness  lords  it  over  all ! 

Care  chases  sleep,  and  thought  all  rest  dispels, 

From  souls  where  ever-wakeful  conscience  dwells. 

It  is,  however,  in  the  more  animated 
part  of  the  dialogue,  which  is  conduct- 
ed in  short   speeches,    that   the  natu- 
ral sentiments  most  frequently  occur; 
though  they  are  often  preceded  or  fol- 
lowed by  some  quibble  so  puerile,  or 
some  metaphor  so  extravagant,  as  entire- 
ly to  destroy  their  effect.     A  simple  ex- 
pression of  grief,  tenderness,  or  indigna- 
tion drops  unnoticed  from  the  mouth  of 
an  actor  who  has  been  turning  points  on 
carnations  and  roses,  proving,  in  pun- 
ning syllogisms  the  blessings  of  death, 
or    refining     with     scholastic    learning 
on  the  duties    of  revenge.     Sophocles 
modestly  asserted  that  his  most  finished 
pieces  were   composed  of  the   crumbs 
that  had  fallen  from  the  table  of  Ho- 


208 

mer  j  but  those  (and  they  are  not  a  few) 
who  have  fed  on  the  leavings  of  Spanish 
writers,  have  run  away  with  the  most 
valuable  part  of  the  feast,  and  profited 
as  much  from  the  bad  taste  as  from  the 
profusion  of  their  masters.     In  Lope's 
dialogue  there  is  a  circumstance  worthy 
of  observation  ;  because,  though  either 
unknown   or   exploded    on  the  French 
and   English  stages,  it   seems   to  have 
been  as  general  on  the  Spanish  as  the 
Greek  theatre,  and  has  been  sanctioned 
in  modern  times  by  the  example  of  Me- 
tastasio.     This   is   a    combat  of   senti- 
ments or  opinions,  carried  on   by  two 
characters,  in  which   an  equal  number 
of  verses  is  allotted  to  each  disputant; 
the  speeches  are  short,  and  each  is  a 
species  of  parody  on  the  preceding,  re- 
echoing noun   for  noun,  and  verb  for 
verb,  with  the  most  minute  precision. 
The  origin  of  this  invention  may  pro- 
bably be  learnt  from  the  commentaries 


209 

on  the  antient  eclogues,  where  it  is  so 
frequently  employed,  and  called,  if  I 
mistake  not,  Ameebean.  Among  the 
Spaniards,  the  general  prevalence  of 
scholastic  education  rendered  its  adop- 
tion easy  to  the  poets,  and  agreeable  to 
the  audience ;  and  it  accordingly  is  fre- 
quently carried  on  in  the  forms  of  logic, 
and  consists  in  the  conversion  and  in- 
version of  a  proposition,  with  the  aid  of 
some  play  upon  a  word  taken  in  various 
senses.  Metastasio  found  it  conveni- 
ent for  preserving  a  structure  of  verse, 
which  might  easily  be  set  to  music,  and 
throughout  his  works  such  dialogues 
are  more  lyrical  than  epigrammatic. 
Their  effect  on  the  Spanish  plays  is  not 
so  fortunate ;  they  abound,  indeed,  in 
point,  but  are  often  deficient  in  poetry. 
They  may  produce  strong,  but  seldom 
just  sentiments.  In  the  same  spirit,  but 
with  better  success,  Lope,  in  some  of  his 
plays,  introduces,  towards  the  conclu- 


210 

sion,  two  long  speeches ;  in  which,  his 
principal  characters  urge  their  preten- 
sions, justify  their  motives,  and  com- 
bat each  other's  arguments  before  their 
mistress,  their  monarch,  or  some  one 
entitled  to  decide  their  contest* 

Such  scenes  are  not  well  adapted  to 
representation,  though  they  are  often 
replete  with  wit,  and  full  of  animation. 
Corneille,  who  surpassed  Lope  in  all  the 
talents  necessary  to  give  effect  to  such 
passages,  whose  bursts  of  eloquence  are 
perhaps  unequalled  in  modern  poetry, 
is  often  unable  to  excite  our  interest  in 
these  contentions,  more  suited  to  the 
forum  than  the  stage,  and  abounding 
rather  in  philosophical  reflections  and 
exalted  sentiments,  than  in  the  traits  of 
character  and  natural  expression  of  pas- 
sion. But  Corneille,  in  these  speeches, 
which  he  too  modestly  terms  pleadings, 
has  only  exchanged  the  character  of  a 
great  tragic  poet  for  that  of  an  argu- 


211 

mentative  and  philosophical  orator.  He 
reasons,  indeed,  in  verse ;  but  the  con- 
finement of  metre  seems  only  to  con- 
centrate the  force  of  his  arguments,  and 
to  heighten  the  beauty  of  his  illustra- 
tions. It  is  not  so  with  Lope  de  Vega. 
He  was  neither  formed  by  nature  nor 
prepared  by  study  for  such  discussions. 
The  speeches  of  his  disputants  preserve 
very  scrupulously  the  forms  of  logic, 
often  sparkle  with  wit,  and  may  some- 
times produce  remarks  applicable  to 
the  common  events  of  life;  but  we 
look  in  vain  through  these  scenes,  and 
indeed  through  all  his  works,  for  those 
deep  reflections  on  morals  and  govern- 
ment, which  evince  a  philosophical  view 
of  the  nature  of  mankind  and  of  the 
construction  of  society. 

In  the  wilder  plays,  which,  in  com- 
pliance with  popular  taste,  he  composed 
on  the  romantic  tales  of  early  Spanish 
history,  there  are  rants  so  extravagant, 
P  3 


212 

as  well  as  images  so  hyperbolical,  that 
they  tempt  one  to  suspect  him,  like 
Ariosto,  of  playing  with  his  readers  and 
laughing  at  his  subject.  Such  a  license 
is,  for  obvious  reasons,  inadmissible  in 
dramatic  composition.  A  poet  may 
smile  at  his  own  inventions,  but  a  ficti- 
tious personage  cannot  laugh  at  what  is 
necessarily  connected  with  his  own  ex- 
istence. Dryden's  Almanzor,  from  which 
character  that  writer's  acquaintance  with 
Castilian  poetry  is  very  manifest,  is  meek 
and  humble  in  comparison  of  the  Ber- 
nardos  and  Mudarras  of  the  Spanish 
author;  and  if,  as  Johnson  says,  the 
English  poet  hovers  on  the  confines  of 
nonsense,  Lope  must  be  acknowledged 
to  have  frequently  invaded  the  territory. 
Bernardo,  for  instance,  is  not  contented 
with  being  a  noble  savage,  as  free  as 
nature  first  made  man,  and  with  having 
neither  lord  nor  parent,  but  he  goes  so 
far  as  to  declare  himself  his  own : 


213 

De  gran  sangre  muestras  doy, 
Y  pues  que  padre  ni  madre 

No  puedo  conocer  hoy, 
Yo  he  de  ser  my  propio  padre. 

Since  my  high  birth  is  by  my  valour  shown, 
And  yet  my  parents  are  till  now  unknown, 
Methinks  Bernardo  needs  must  be  his  own. 

In  comedy  his  thoughts  are  generally 
sprightly,  and  his  language  always  easy. 
The  sentiments,  however,  are  frequent- 
ly neither  called  for  by  the  situation,  ne- 
cessary to  the  plot,  nor  consistent  with 
the  character.  His  continual  antithesis 
and  play  upon  words  cannot  escape 
the  censure  of  rigorous  criticism.  His 
apologists  plead  in  his  behalf  the  taste 
of  his  age  and  country,  and  his  ad- 
mirers generally  alledge  his  uncommon 
felicity  in  these  inferior  efforts  of  wit. 
True  it  is,  that  a  very  slight  knowledge 
of  a  language  enables  a  foreigner  to  de- 
tect this  practice  in  an  author,  though 


214 

none  but  a  native  can  be  a  competent 
judge  of  his  success. 

As  to  the  general  style  of  his  dialogue 
in  comedy,  it  is  difficult  to  select  any 
short  passages  which  will  convey  an 
idea  of  it  to  the  reader,  and  yet  more 
difficult  to  translate  them  so  as  to  pre- 
serve the  character  of  the  original.  Of 
the  two  which  I  subjoin,  the  first  is 
taken  at  random  from  a  play  of  little 
celebrity  ;  the  second  affords  a  speci- 
men of  easy  satire,  more  uncommon  in 
his  dramas,  but  not  less  adapted  to  his 


genius : 


No  digan  que  es  menester 

Mucho  tiempo  para  amar ; 

Que  el  amor  que  ha  de  matar 

De  un  golpe  ha  de  ser. 

Amor  que  comienza  ingrato 

Y  el  trato  le  da  valor, 

No  se  ha  de  llamar  amor  x 

Sino  costumbre  de  trato. 

El  que  vio  quiso  y  mato 

Esse  es  amor  verdadero, 


215 

Y  mas  quando  es  el  primero 
Como  el  que  te  tengo  yo. 
Mirar,  escribir,  y  hablar 
Anos  un  galan  y  dama, 
Es  hacer  amor  con  ama 
Que  se  lo  ban  dado  a  criar. 
Hombre  ha  de  nacer  Amor, 
Luego  andar,  y  ser  galan ; 
Que  el  Amor  que  no  es  Adan 
No  ha  de  tener  valor. 

Marques  de  las  Navas, 

Let  no  one  say  that  there  is  need 

Of  time  for  love  to  grow ; 
Ah  no !  the  love  that  kills  indeed 

Dispatches  at  a  blow.    , 

The  spark  which  but  by  slow  degrees 

Is  nursed  into  a  flame, 
Is  habit,  friendship,  what  you  please ; 

But  Love  is  not  its  name. 

For  love  to  be  completely  true, 

It  death  at  sight  should  deal, 
Should  be  the  first  one  ever  knew, 

In  short,  be  that  I  feel. 

To  write,  to  sigh,  and  to  converse, 

For  years  to  play  the  fool ; 
'T  is  to  put  passion  out  to  nurse, 

Ajid  send  one's  heart  to  school. 


216 

Love,  all  at  once,  should  from  the  earth 

Start  up  full  grown  and  tall ; 
If  not  an  Adam  at  his  birth, 

He  is  no  Love  at  all. 

POLIBIO  y  CLARINDO. 

Pol.  En  su  patria  ninguno  fue  profeta, 

Palabras  son  de  Dios,  y  como  el  ciertas; 
Fuera  de  que  es  antiguo  entre  senores 
Y  aun  entre  los  demas  del  mismo  vulgo 
No  hacer  estiraacion  de  cosas  proprias 
Y  venerar  las  estrangeras  mucho — 
Si  un  hombre  viene  hablando  en  otra  lengua, 
Aquel  ha  de  ser  medico  famoso, 
Aquel  pintor,  aquel  divino  artifice  ; 
El  libro  en  lengua  propia  no  se  estima ; 
Ni  lo  que  cria  aquesta  misma  tierra ; 
Porque  el  no  conocer  los  duefios  dellas 
Estriba  de  las  cosas  todo  el  credito. 
Cl.  Bien  dizes,  y  assi  vemos  que  la  fama 
No  se  despega  de  la  propia  embidfa, 
Si  no  es  que  rnuera  el  dueilo  que  la  tiene. 
Dixo  un  discrete  que  era  matrimonio, 
Polibio,  el  de  la  embidia  y  de  la  fama, 
Que  se  apartava  solo  con  la  muerte ; 
De  suerte  que  al  que  nace  en  alguna  arte 
Insigne,  le  esta  bien  de  morirse  presto : 
Y  si  la  vida  ha  de  costar  la  fama 
Famoso  en  todo  a  mi  enemigo  llama . 

La  Necedad  del  Discrete. 


217 

POLIBIO  and  CLARINDO. 
Pol.  No  man 's  a  prophet  in  his  native  land  ; 

God  said  it  once,  and  what  he  said  shall  stand. 
The  great  long  since  all  home-made  wares  despise ; 
They  loath  what's  near  them,  what's  abroad  they 

prize. 

The  vulgar  too,  for  they  must  ape  the  great, 
Applaud  what's  strange,  but  what's  at  hand  they 

hate. 

Comes  there  a  man  who  speaks  a  foreign  tongue, 
His  drugs  shall  cure,   his  learning  charm  the 

throng — 

He  shall  their  artist,  he  their  leech  become ; 
Such  skill,  such  genius,  is  not  bred  at  home. 
Our  native  language  is  but  vulgar  style  ; 
Raised  from  the  dirt  we  tread,  the  fruit  is  vile; 
Know  we  the  book  who  pen,  the  field  who  reap, 
We  hold  the  learning  and  the  produce  cheap. 
Cl.  'Tis  true — thus  envy  living  worth  attends; 
The  hero  dies,  and  then  all  envy  ends. 
Envy  was  Honour's  wife,  a  wise  man  said, 
Ne'er  to  be  parted  till  the  man  was  dead. 
Yes ;  who  excels  may  gain  the  glorious  prize 
Of  endless  fame,  provided  first  he  dies. 
If  such  indeed  must  be  the  price  of  fame, 
Let  others  seek  it,  I  resign  my  claim. 
On  these  conditions  I  will  gladly  grant, 
E'en  to  my  foes,  what  portion  they  may  want. 

I  have,    perhaps,    been   led    into  a 


218 

more  minute  examination  of  Lope  de 
Vega's   merits,    as  a   dramatic   author, 
than   the  subject  required,  or  than  my 
imperfect  knowledge  of  his  works  can 
justify.     Of  more  than  five  hundred  of 
his  plays  yet  extant,  I  have  read  about 
fifty.     This  was  sufficient  to  satisfy  my 
curiosity ;  and  the  ardour  of  discovery 
once  abated,  disgust  at  the  difficulties, 
and  weariness  at  the  length  of  the  way, 
succeeded  to  it.     The  Spanish   editors 
have  taken  little  or  no  pains  to  smooth 
the  paths  of  their  literature  to  foreigners. 
The  slovenly  negligence  of  their  press 
not  only  discourages  the  reader,  but  has 
often  disfigured   the  beauty   and  even 
obliterated  the  meaning  of  their  poets. 
Of  late  years  their  types  have  not  only 
been  improved,  but  the  beauty  of  their 
letter-press    equals,    and    perhaps    ex- 
ceeds, that  of  any  other  nation.     The 
labours  of  the  editor,  however,  have  by 
no  means  kept  pace  with  the  skill  of 


219 

the  printer.  Cervantes  has,  indeed, 
been  elaborately  commented  upon,  and 
in  some  few  instances  the  text  has  been 
elucidated  by  modern  compilers.  The 
old  poems  of  authors  previous  to  Juan 
de  Mena,  as  well  as  a  selection  of  the 
earlv  ballads  or  romances,  have  been 

•/ 

neatly   and    carefully    edited:  but   the 
late   publication    of    Lope    de    Vega's 
poems,  though  costly  and  voluminous, 
is  not  correct ;  and  his  plays  can  only 
be  read   in  the  old  and  imperfect  edi- 
tions* of  Valladolid  and  Antwerp,  or  in 
the  miserable  sheets  which  are  sold  at  the 
door  of  the  theatre.     It  seems  as  if  the 
Spaniards,  in  estimating  the  "merits  of 
this  extraordinary  man,  had  been  scru- 
pulously exact  in  striking  the  balance, 
and  deducted  every  item   of  preposte- 
rous praise  advanced  to  him  while  liv- 
ing, from  his  claims  on  the  admiration 
of  posterity.     So  remarkable  a  fluctua- 

*  Vide  Appendix. 


220 

tion  in  public  taste  is  not  to  be  attri- 
buted entirely  to  the  languor  which 
succeeds  any  extravagant  transports  of 
admiration,  nor  even  to  that  envy, 
which  is  gratified  in  sinking  the  reputa- 
tion of  an  author  as  much  below,  as 
favour  or  accident  may  have  carried  it 
above,  its  just  level.  External  circum- 
stances conspired  with  these  natural 
causes.  The  age  of  Calderon,  the  bril- 
liancy of  whose  comedies,  aided  by  the 
novelty  and  magnificence  of  expensive 
scenery,  had  somewhat  outshone  the 
lustre  of  Lope's  exhibitions,  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  period  of  darkness  and  dis- 
grace, as  fatal  to  the  literary  as  to  the 
political  influence  of  Spain.  By  the 
time  that  the  public  had  sufficiently  re- 
covered from  the  amazement  which 
Calderon's  works  had  produced,  to 
compare  him  calmly  with  his  predeces- 
sors, they  had  become  too  indifferent 
about  all  that  concerned  the  stage,  to  be 
at  the  pains  of  estimating  the  beauties  of 


any  dramatic  author.    The  splendour  of 
Philip  the  Fourth's  court  survived  the 
defeat  of  his  arms,  and  the  loss  of  his 
provinces ;  but  it  died  with  that  impro- 
vident and  ostentatious  monarch.     Un- 
der the  feeble  sovereign  who  succeeded 
him,  not  only  were  the  theatres  shut, 
and  the  plays  prohibited,  but  all  ardour 
in  literary  pursuits,  all  genius  for  poe- 
try, all  taste  for  the  arts  and  ornaments 
of  life,  seemed  to  waste  away  as  rapidly 
as  the  resources  and  glory  of  the  kingdom 
he    misgoverned.     In  the   mean  while 
France  rose  upon  the  ruins  of  her  rival. 
The  successors  of  Corneille  refined  and 
improved  a  language,  which  the  increas- 
ing power  of  the  state  had  made  it  con- 
venient to  surrounding  nations  to  study, 
and  to   which   the  extensive   intrigues 
and  wars  of  Louis  the  XIV th  had  given, 
as  it  were,  an  unusual  currency  in  Eu- 
rope.    Fashion,  which  is  often  as  per- 
emptory  in   literature  as  in  dress,  en- 


222 

joined  the  adoption  of  French  rules  of 
criticism ;  and  an  arbitrary  standard  of 
excellence  was  erected,  without  any  re- 
gard to  the  different  genius  of  languages, 
and  the  various  usages  and  modes  of 
thinking  which  distinguish  one  people 
from  another.  Hence,  when  towards 
the  middle  of  last  century  the  love  of 
letters  seemed  to  revive  in  Spain,  there 
arose  a  sect  of  critics,  men  of  consider- 
able information  and  eloquence,  who, 
in  their  anxiety  to  inculcate  correct 
principles  of  composition  into  their 
countrymen,  endeavoured  to  wean  their 
affections  from  those  national  poets  by 
whom  the  public  taste  had,  according 
to  them,  been  originally  vitiated.  The 
names  of  Vega,  Calderon,  Moreto,  and 
others,  which,  in  the  general  decline  of 
literature,  had  in  a  great  measure  fallen 
into  neglect  and  oblivion,  were  now 
only  quoted  to  expose  their  faults,  and 
to  point  out  their  inferiority  to  foreign 


223 

models  of  excellence.  The  disappro- 
bation of  all  dramatic  performances, 
the  occasional  preference  of  Italian 
operas,  and,  above  all,  French  modes  of 
thinking  on  matters  of  taste,  naturally 
prevalent  at  a  Bourbon  court,  threw 
the  old  Spanish  stage  into  disrepute; 
and  an  admiration  of  such  authors 
passed  with  the  wits  for  a  perversion  of 
judgment,  and  with  the  fashionable  for 
a  remnant  of  national  prejudice  and 
vulgarity.  Many  enlightened  indivi- 
duals also,  who  were  anxious  to  reform 
more  important  abuses  than  the  mere 
extravagancies  of  a  theatre,  encou- 
raged this  growing  predilection  for 
French  literature.  They  might  feel  a 
very  natural  partiality  for  a  language 
from  which  they  had  themselves  derived 
so  much  instruction  and  delight,  or  they 
might  studiously  direct  the  attention  of 
their  countrymen  to  French  poetry, 
from  a  conviction  that  a  familiarity  with 


224 

the  works  of  Racine  and  Boileau  would 
ultimately  lead  them  to  an  acquaint- 
ance with  those  of  Pascal  and  Mon- 
tesquieu, and  perhaps  of  Bayle  and 
Voltaire. 

All  Spaniards,  however,  did  not  con- 
form to  this  ignominious  sacrifice  of  na- 
tional genius  at  the   shrine  of  foreign 
criticism.  Unfortunately  the  two  cham- 
pions of  the  old  theatre  adopted  two 
opposite  modes  of  warfare,  each  more 
calculated  to  confirm  than  to  check  the 
triumph  of  their  enemies.     Nasarre,  in 
fact,  betrayed  the  cause  he  professed, 
and   no   doubt   intended,    to    support. 
While  he  abandoned  Lope  and  Calderon 
to  all  the  fury-  of  the  critics,  and  even 
brought  fresh    charges    of  his   own   to 
swell  the  catalogue  of  their  poetical  de- 
linquencies,   he    absurdly   pronounced 
authors    whose   names   were   forgotten, 
whose  works  he  avowedly   had    never 
seen,  and  whose  existence  even  may  be 


questioned,  to  be  the  masters  and  rivals 
of  Corneille  and  Moliere. 

Such  assertions  hardly  merited  the 
pains  taken  to  refute  them.  Some  plays 
of  Lope  de  Rueda,  as  well  as  of  others 
of  his  time,  are  still  extant  in  MS.  They 
are  not  destitute  of  invention,  and  the 
style  is  often  more  simple,  but  far  less 
poetical  and  forcible  than  that  of  their 
successors.  But,  whatever  may  be  their 
merits,  they  by  no  means  warrant  so 
strange  an  imputation  on  the  Spaniards 
as  that  of  having  possessed  writers  of  the 
first  genius  and  judgment,  without  hav- 
ing the  taste  to  relish  their  beauties,  the 
discernment  to  recognise  their  excel- 
lence, or  the  sense  to  preserve  their 
writings. 

La  Huerta  was  a  man  of  more  know- 
ledge, and  greater  talents  for  literary 
controversy;  he  spoke  too  with  some 
authority  on  matters  relating  to  the 
Spanish  theatre,  as  he  had  supplied  it 

Q 


226 

with  La  Raqnel,  a  tragedy  which,  to 
many  stronger  recommendations,  adds 
that  of  being  exempt  from  the  anachro- 
nisms and  irregularities  so  often  object- 
ed to  its  productions. 

Whatever  advantages  as  a  disputant 
he  might  possess,  he  had  occasion  for 
them  all  to  maintain  the  paradoxes  he 
chose  to  publish.  His  answer  to  French 
critics  and  their  admirers  is  contained 
in  prefaces  prefixed  to  several  volumes 
of  the  Teatro  Hespanol,  a  selection  of 
plays  executed  under  his  superinten- 
dance  for  the  express  purpose  of  vin- 
dicating the  honour  of  Spanish  litera- 
ture from  the  strictures  of  its  adversa- 
ries. In  these  he  exposes  with  some 
humour  a  few  oversights  of  Voltaire 
and  others,  in  their  remarks  on  Lope 
de  Vega  and  Calderon  ;  and  he  proves 
very  satisfactorily  the  imperfection  of 
several  translations  from  them.  But, 
like  many  injudicious  defenders  of 


227 

Shakspeare,  he  was  not  contented  with 
exhibiting  the  beauties  of  his  author, 
and  with  correcting  the  mistakes  and 
exposing  the  ignorance  of  his  oppo- 
nents. Instead  of  combating  the  injus- 
tice of  that  criticism  which  would  sub- 
mit all  dramatic  works  to  one  standard 
of  excellence,  he  most  unwarrantably 
arraigned  the  models  themselves  as  de- 
stitute of  all  poetical  merit  whatever. 
Thus  was  the  cause  of  his  countrymen 
more  injured  by  his  intemperance  as  a 
critic,  than  benefited  by  his  labours  as 
an  editor.  Few  were  disposed  to  judge 
favourably  of  performances  whose  pa- 
negyrist thought  it  necessary  to  main- 
tain that  the  Athalie  should  have  been 
confined  to  the  walls  of  a  convent,  and 
that  the  Tartuffc  was  a  miserable  farce, 
without  humour,  character,  or  inven- 
tion. 

His  foreign  readers  may  also  reason- 
ably regret  the  omission  of  a  commen- 
Q  2 


228 


tary,  and,  without  much  presumption, 
might  dispute  the  judgment  of  the  se- 
lection.    Lope  de  Vega  at  least  might 
have  been  permitted  to  speak  for  him- 
self; for,  among  the  hundreds   of  his 
comedies  yet  extant,  La  Huerta  could 
have  found  a  better  answer  to  his  de- 
tractors than  a  pompous  exposition  of 
their  numbers,  a  vague  and  indiscrimi- 
nate encomium  on  his  talents,  and  a  la- 
mentation over  the  sarcastic  temper  of 
Cervantes.      Nothing    concerning    the 
most  voluminous  Spanish  poet  is  to  be 
learned  from  the  Teatro  Hespanol,  but 
the  editor's  opinion   of  him.     On   the 
whole,  La  Huerta,  far  from  retrieving 
the  lost  honours  of  the  Spanish  theatre, 
only  exposed  it  to  the  insults  and  ridi- 
cule of  its  antagonists. 

Insipid  imitations  of  French  dramas, 
and  bald  translations  of  modern  pieces, 
in  which  the  theatres  of  Madrid  for 
some  years  abounded,  have  at  length 


229 

done  more  to  restore  the  writers  of  Philip 
the  Fourth's  age  to  their  due  estimation 
with  the  public,  than  the  hazardous  as- 
sertions of  Nasarre,  or  the  intemperate 
retorts  of  La  Huerta. 

The  plays  of  Calderon,  Moreto,  and 
Roxas,  are  now  frequently  acted.  Se- 
veral of  Lope  de  Vega  have  been  suc- 
cessfully revived,  with  very  slight,  though 
not  always  judicious  alterations.  Au- 
thors of  reputation  are  no  longer  asham- 
ed of  studying  his  style;  and  it  is  evident 
that  those  most  celebrated  for  the  seve- 
rity of  their  judgment,  have  not  disdain- 
ed to  profit  by  the  perusal  of  his  co- 
medies. The  most  temperate  critics, 
while  they  acknowledge  his  defects,  pay 
a  just  tribute  of  admiration  to  the  ferti- 
lity of  his  invention,  the  happiness  of 
his  expressions,  and  the  purity  of  his 
diction.  All  agree  that  his  genius  re- 
flects honour  on  his  country,  though 
some  may  be  disposed  to  question  the 


230 

beneficial  influence  of  his  works  on  the 
taste  and  literature  of  their  nation.  In- 
deed, his  careless  and  easy  mode  of 
writing  made  as  many  poets  as  poems. 
He  so  familiarised  his  countrymen  with 
the  mechanism  of  verse,  he  supplied 
them  with  such  a  store  of  common- 
place images  and  epithets,  he  coined 
such  a  variety  of  convenient  expres- 
sions, that  the  very  facility  of  versifi- 
cation seems  to  have  prevented  the  effu- 
sions of  genius,  and  the  redundancy  of 
poetical  phrases  to  have  superseded  all 
originality  of  language. 

The  number  of  poets,  or  rather  versir 
fiers,  of  his  time  is  almost  as  wonderful 
as  that  of  his  compositions.  Some  hun- 
dreds of  his  imitators  are  to  be  found  in 
the  list  of  Castilian  poets.  A  contem- 
porary author,  Don  Estevan  Emmanuel 
Villegas,  in  ridiculing  the  bad  comedies 
of  his  time,  bears  testimony  to  the  fa- 
cility with  which  such  compositions 


231 

were  produced,  and  humorously  ad- 
vises his  mule-driver  to  set  up  for  a 
poet : 

Que  si  bien  consideras  en  Toledo 
Hubo  sastre  que  pudo  hacer  comedias, 
Y  parar  de  las  musas  el  denuedo. 
MOZQ  de  mulas  eres,—- haz  comedias. 

A  tailor  once  could  comedies  produce, 
And  break  the  restive  muses  to  his  goose  : 
Then  be  your  flights,  as  is  your  office,  higher ; 
And,  as  you  drive  a  mule,  to  tragedy  aspire. 

It  is  a  common  remark  in  Italy,  that 
in  the  same  proportion  as  the  effusions 
of  Impromatori  have  acquired  correct- 
ness and  harmony,  the  excellence  of 
written  poems  has  declined;  and  that 
the  writings  of  these  voluminous  Spa- 
niards Avhich  partook  so  much  of  the 
nature  of  extemporaneous  productions, 
should  resemble  them  also  in  enervating 
the  language,  seems  a  very  probable 
conjecture.  Perhaps  it  was  in  the  ef- 
forts which  genius  made  to  deviate  from 


so  beaten  a  track,  that  it  wandered  in- 
to obscurity,  and  the  easy  but  feeble 
volubility  of  Lope's  school  might  in- 
duce Gongora  and  his  disciples  to  hope 
that  inspiration  might  be  obtained  by 
contortion. 

But  the  effect  of  Lope's  labours  must 
not  be  considered  by  a  reference  to  lan- 
guage alone.  For  the  general  interest 
of  dramatic  productions,  for  the  variety 
and  spirit  of  the  dialogue,  as  well  as  for 
some  particular  plays,  all  modern  the- 
atres are  indebted  to  him.  Perfection 
in  any  art  is  only  to  be  attained  by  suc- 
cessive improvement;  and  though  the 
last  polish  often  effaces  the  marks  of 
the  preceding  workmen,  his  skill  was 
not  less  necessary  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  the  work,  than  the  hand  of  his 
more  celebrated  successor.  This  con- 
sideration will,  I  hope,  excuse  the 
length  of  this  treatise.  Had  Lope  never 
written,  the  master-pieces  of  Corneille 


233 


an4  Moliere  might  never  have  been  pro- 
duced ;  and  were  not  those  celebrated 
compositions  known,  he  might  still  be 
regarded  as  one  of  the  best  dramatic 
authors  in  Europe. 

It  seems  but  an  act  of  justice  to  pay 
some  honour  to  the  memory  of  men 
whose  labours  have  promoted  literature, 
and  enabled  others  to  eclipse  their  repu- 
'  tation.  Such  was  Lope  de  Vega  j  once 
the  pride  and  glory  of  Spaniards,  who 
in  their  literary,  as  in  their  political 
achievements,  have,  by  a  singular  fata- 
lity, discovered  regions,  and  opened 
mines,  to  benefit  their  neighbours  and 
their  rivals,  and  to  enrich  every  nation 
of  Europe,  but  their  own. 


235 
APPENDIX. 

No.  1. 


DON  Nicolas  Antonio,  in  his  excellent 
Dictionary,  under  the  article  of  Lope 
de  Vega,  p.  70,  71,  of  Bayer's  edition, 
gives   the   contents   of  twenty-five  vo- 
lumes of  our  author's  plays ;  which,  he 
says,  were  printed  originally  at  Madrid, 
between  the  years  1611  and  1630.     He 
adds,  that  several  of  these  volumes  were 
separately  reprinted  in  the  provincial 
towns  of  Spain.     It  is,   however,  very 
difficult   at    present   to   complete    the 
twenty-five  volumes,  even  with  the  as- 
sistance of  such  provincial  copies;  and 
Don   Nicolas  Antonio,   who   wrote  in 
1684,  seems   to   acknowledge   that   he 
never  had  seen  the  genuine  Madrid  edi- 
tion complete.    I  have  in  my  possession 
two  small  volumes,  containing  the  same 


236 

plays  as  the  two  first  of  the  abovemen- 
tioned  edition,  and  printed  at  Antwerp 
in  1609.  In  the  license  to  the  printer, 
these  volumes  are  stated  to  be  exact 
copies  of  two  printed  at  Valladolid,  in 
1607 ;  which  proves  that  part  at  least  of 
the  Madrid  edition  was  merely  a  re- 
publication  of  plays  already  collected. 
To  these  twenty  volumes  in  small  quar- 
to, others  perhaps  were  added  after  the 
death  of  Lope*:  but  the  Antwerp  vo- 
lumes are  the  only  instances  of  any 
other  attempt  to  collect  his  dramatic 
works  in  an  uniform  publication.  Many 
of  his  plays  were  printed  and  sold  at 
the  door  of  the  theatre  soon  after  their 
representation,  and  in  the  sa'me  sloven^- 
ly  manner  the  most  popular  have  fre- 
quently been  reprinted.  An  edition  on 
coarse  paper  is  coming  out  in  numbers, 

*  I  have  four  volumes  of  his  plays  apparently  intended 
as  a  sequel  to  this  Madrid  edition,  as  they  each  contain 
the  same  number  of  plays,  and  the  type  does  not  materi- 
ally differ  from  the  edition  of  1615  ;  but  the  title-page  of 
every  one  is  either  torn  out  or  defaced. 


237 

at  Madrid ;  but  no  pains  are  taken  to 
correct  the  text,  to  ascertain  the  au- 
thenticity or  date  of  the  plays,  or  to 
procure  copies  and  manuscripts  of  those 
that  are  become  rare. 

The  other  works  of  Lope  were  print- 
ed separately  during  his  lifetime,  and 
many  have  been  frequently  reprinted. 
A  reference  to  Don  Nicolas  Antonio 
will  satisfy  the  reader  of  the  number 
and  frequency  of  these  editions.  At 
length  his  poetical  works  were  collected 
and  published  by  Sancha,  at  Madrid, 
1776.  Had  that  work  met  with  suc- 
cess, the  same  editor  had  engaged  to 
publish  his  dramatic  works. 

The  reader  will  find  annexed  to  this 
note  the  contents  of  the  twenty-five  vo- 
lumes of  plays  mentioned  by  Don  Ni- 
colas Antonio,  the  table  of  contents  of 
Sancha's  edition  of  his  poetical  works, 
and  a  list  of  those  of  his  plays  which 
are  still  extant. 


238 

. 

COMEDIAS 

DE 

LOPE  FELIX  DE  VEGA  CARPIO 

riGENTI   QUINQUE   TOMIS, 

QUORUM  SINGULI  DUODECIM  CONTINENT. 

Matriti  omnes  prodierunt,   indeque  alils  in  locis. 


I.  Los  Donayres  de  Matico.  Carlos  el  perseguido. 
El  Cerco  de  Santa  Fee.  Vida  y  Muerte  de 
Waraba.  La  Traicion  bien  acertada.  El  Hijo 
de  Reduan.  Nacimiento  de  Urson  y  Valentin. 
El  Casamiento  en  la  Muerte  y  Hechos  de  Ber- 
nardo del  Carpio.  La  Escolastica  zelosa.  La 
Amistad  pagada.  La  Comedia  del  Molino.  El 

Testimonio  vengado :  con  doce  Entreraeses. 

Valentias  prius,  deinde  Pinciffi  apud  Joannem  de 
Bustillos  1609,  in  4to. 

JI.  La  Fuerza  lastimosa.  La  Occasion  perdida.  El 
Gallardo  Catalan.  El  Mayorazgo  dudoso.  La 
Condesa  Matilde.  Los  Benavides.  Los  Coraen- 
dadores  de  Cordova.  La  Bella  malmaridada. 


239 

Los  tres  Diamantes.     La  Quinta  de  Florencia. 
El  Padrino  desposado.     Las  Ferias  de  Madrid. 

Matriti  1609,  apud  Alphonsum  Martinum, 

et  1618,  Barcinone  1611. 

III.  Los  Hijos  de  la  Barbuda.     La  adversa  Fortuna 
del  Cavallero  del  Espiritu  Santo.     El  Espejo  del 
IMundo.     La   Noche  Toledana.     La   Tragedia 
de  Dona  Ines  de  Castro.    Las  Mudanzas  de  For- 
tuna y  Sucesos  de  D.  Beltran  de  Aragon.     La 
Privanza  y  Caida  de  D.  Alvaro  de  Luna.     La 
prospera  Fortuna  del  Cavallero  del  Espiritu  San- 
to.    El   Esclavo  del    Demonio.     La  prospera 
Fortuna  de  Ruy  Lopez  Davalos.     La  adversa 
Fortuna  de  Ruy  Lopez  Davalos.     Vida  y  Mu- 
erte  del  Santo  Negro  llamado  Fr.  Benedicto  de 

Palermo  :  con  tres  Entremeses. Matriti,  apud 

Michaelem  Serrano,  1613.  4to.    Barcinone  1614. 

IV.  Laura  Perseguida.    Nuevo  Mundo  de  Colon.   El 
Asaltode  Mastrique  por  el  Principe  de  Parrna. 
Peribaiiez  y  el  Comenclador  de  Ocana.     El  Gi- 
noves  liberal.      Los   Torneos  de   Aragon,     La 
Boda  entre  dos  Maridos.     El  Amigopor  Fuerza. 
El  Galan  Castrucho.    Los  Ernbustes  de  Celauro. 
La  Fee  rompida.    El  Tirano  castigado. Ma- 
triti, apud  Michaelem  Serrano,  1614.    Pampe- 
loneque  eodem  anno. 

V.  Exemplo  de  Casadas,  y  Prueba  de  la  Paciencia. 

Las  Desgracias  del   Rey  D.  Alonso.     Los  siete 
Infantes  de  Lara.     El  Bastardo  de  Ceuta.     La 


240  x 

Venganza  honrosa.  Hermosura  de  Rachel :  pri- 
mera  y  segunda  Parte.  El  Premio  de  las  Letras 
por  el  Rey  D.  Felipe.  La  Guarda  cuidadosa. 
El  Loco  Cuerdo.  La  Rueda  de  la  Fortuna.  La 
Enemiga  favorable. Matriti,  1615,  4to. 

VI.  La  Batalla  del  Honor.     La  Obediencia  laureada, 
y  primer  Carlos  de  Ungria.  El  Hombre  de  bien. 
El  servir  con  mala  Estrella.     El  Cuerdo  en  su 
Casa.    La  Reyna  Juana  de  Napoles.    El  Duquc 
de  Viseo.     El  Secretario  de  si  mismo.     El  llegar 
en  Ocasion.     El  Testigo  contra  si.     El  Marmol 

de  Felisardo.     El  mejor  Maestro  el  Tiempo. 

Ibidem,  1615,  apud  Alphonsum  Martinum. 

VII.  El  Villano  en  su  Rincon.     El  Castigo  del  Dis- 
creto.     Las  Pobrezas  de  Reinaldos.     El  gran 
Duque  de  Moscovia.     Las  Paces  de  los  Reyes,  y 
Judia  de  Toledo.     Los  Porceles  de  Murcia.     La 
Hermosura  aborrecida.     El  primer  Fajardo.    La 
Viuda  Casada  y  Doncella.     El  Principe  despe- 
iiado.     La  Serrana  de  la  Vera.     S.    Isidro  de 
Madrid. Ibidem,  1617,  apud  eumdem. 

VIII.  Despertar  a  quien  duerme.     El  Anzuelo  de  Fe- 
nisa.     Los  Locos  por  el  Cielo.     El  mas  galan 
Portugues,  Duque  de  Berganza.     El  Argel  fin- 
gido,  y  Renegado  de  Amor.     El  postrer  Godo 
de  Espana.     La  Prision  sin  culpa.     El  Esclavo 
de  Roma.     La  Imperial  de  Othon.     El  Nino 
innocente  de  la  Guardia. Ibidem,  apud  eum- 
dem, eodem  anno. 


241 

IX.  La  Prueba  de  los  ingenios.     La  Donzella  Theo- 
dora.    El  Hamete  de  Toledo.     El  Ausente  en  el 
Lugar.     La  Nina  de  Plata.     El  Animal  de  Un- 
gria.     Del  mal  lo  menos.     La  hermosa  Alfreda. 
Los  Ponces  de  Barcelona.    La  Dama  boba.    Los 

Melindrcs  de  Belisa. Ibidem,  apud  eumdcm, 

eodemanno  1617. 

X.  El  Galan  de  la  Membrilla.     La  Venganza  ven- 
turosa.     D.   Lope  de  Cardona.     La  Humildad 
y  la  Sobervia.     El  Amante  agradecido.     Los 
Guanches  de  Tenerife,  y  Conquista  de  Canaria. 
La  otava  Maravilla.     El  sembrar  en  buena  Ti- 
erra.     Los  Chaves  de  Villalva.     Juan  de  Dios  y 
Anton   Martin.     La  Burgalesa  de  Lerma.     El 

Podervencido,  y  Amor  premiado. 1618,  apud 

eumdcm. 

XI.  El  Perro  del  Hortelano.     El  Azero  de  Madrid. 
Las  dos  Estrellas,  Trocadas  y  Ramilletes,  de  Ma- 
drid.    Obras  son  Amores.     Servir  a  Sefior  dis- 
creto.      El  Principe  perfeto.     El  Amigo  hasta 
la  Mucrte.     La  Locura  por  la  Honra.     El  Ma- 
yordorno  do  la  Duquesa  de  Amalfi.     El  Arenal 
de  Sevilla.     La  Fortuna  merecida.   La  Tragcdia 
del  Jky  D.  Sebastian,  y  Bautismo  del  Principe 

tie  Marruccos. Ibidem,  apud  eumdcm,  anno 

1618. 

XII,  Ello  dira.  La  Sortija  del  Olvido.  Los  Ene- 
migos  en  casa.  La  Cortesia  dc  Espaiia.  AI 
pasar  del  Arroyo.  Los  Hidalgos  de  la  Aldett. 


•o' 

R 


El  Marques  de  Mantua.  Las  Florcs  de  D.  Juan, 
y  rico  y  pobre  trocados.  Lo  que  hay  que  fiar 
del  Mundo.  La  Firmeza  en  la  Desdicha.  La 
Desdichada  Estefania.  Fuenteovejuna. Ibi- 
dem, in  eadem  officina,  1619. 

XIII.  La  Arcadia.     El  Halcon  de  Federico.     El 
Remedio  en  la  Desdicha.     Los  Esclavos  librcs. 
El  Desconfiado.    El  Cardenal  de  Belen.     El  Al- 
calde mayor.     Los  Locos  de  Valencia.     Santia- 
go el  Verde.     La  Francesilla.     El  Desposorio 
encubierto.      Los  Espanoles    en    Flandes. 
Ibidem,  iisdem  typis,  1620. 

XIV.  Los  Amantes  sin  Amor.    La  Villana  de  Getafe. 
La  Gallarda  Toledana.     La  Corona  merecida. 
La  Viuda  Valenciana.    El  Cavallero  de  Illescas. 
Pedro  Carbonero.     El  verdadero  Amante.     Las 
Almenas  de  Toro.     El  Bobo  del  Colegio.     El 
Cuerdo  loco.    La  Ingratitud  vengada.— — -  Ibi- 
dem, apud  Joannem  Cuesta,  1620. 

XV.  La  mal  Casada.     Querer  la  propria  Desdicha. 
La  Vengadora  de  las  Mugeres.     El  Cavallero  del 
Sacramento.     La  Santa  Liga.     El  Favor  agra- 
decido.     La  Hermosa  Esther.     El  leal  Criado. 
La  buena  Gaarda.     Historia  de  Tobias.     El  In- 
grato  arrepentido.  El  Cavallero  del  Milag.ro.——— 
Ibidem,  apud  Ferdinandum  Correa,  1621. 

XVI.  El  Premio  de  la  Hermosura.    Adonis  y  Venus. 
Los  Prados  de  Leon.     Mirad  a  quien  alabais. 
Las  Mugeres  sin  Hombres.     La  Fabula  de  Per* 


243 

seo.  El  Laberinto  de  Creta.  La  Serraha  de 
'formes.  Las  Grandezas  de  Alexandro.  La  Fe- 
lisarda.  La  inocente  Laura.  Lo  Fingido  Ver- 

dadero. Apud  Alphonsum  Martinum,  anno 

1622. 

XVII.  Con  su  Pan  se  lo  coma.      Quien  mas  no 
puede.     El   Soldado    amante.     Muertos  vivos. 
El  primer  Hey  de  Castilla.     El  Domine  Lucas. 
Lucinda  perseguida.     El  Ruisenor  de   Sevilla. 
El  Sol  parado.     La  Madre  de  la  Mejor.     Jorge 
Toledano.    El  Hidalgo  Abencerrage.-^-— lisdem 
typis,  1621. 

XVIII.  Segunda    Parte  del  Principe  perfeto.      La 
Pobreza  estimada.     El  divino  Africano.   La  Pas- 
toral de  Jacinto.     El  honrado  Hermano.     El 
Capellan  de  la  Virgen.     La  Pietad  executada. 
Las  famosas  Asturianas.     La  Campana  de  Ara- 
gon.     El  Rustico  del  Cielo.     El  Valor  de  las 

Mugeres. Ibidem,  apud  Joannem  Gonzalez, 

anno  1623* 

XIX.  De  Cosario  a  Cosario.     Amor  secreto  hasta 
Zelos.     La  inocente  Sangre.     El  Serafin  huma- 
no.     El  Hijo  de  los  Leories.     El  Conde  Fernan 
Gonzalez.     D.  Juan  de  Castro,  primera  y  se- 
gunda  partc.     La  Limpieza  no  manchada.     £l 
Vellocino  de  Oro.     La  Mocedad  de  Roldan. 

Carlos  V.  en  Francia. Ibidem,  in  eadem  offi- 

cina,  1623. 

XX.  La  discreta  Venganza.     Lo  Cierto  por  lo  Du- 
doso.     Pobreza  no  es  Vileza.     Arauco  domado, 

R  2 


244 

La  Ventura  sin  Buscalla.  El  valientc  Cespedes. 
El  Hombre  por  su  Palabra.  Roma  abrasada. 
Virtud,  Pobreza  y  Muger.  El  Rey  sin  Reyno. 
El  mejor  Mozo  de  Espaila.  El  Marido  mas 
firme.— -—  Ibidem,  apud  viduam  Alphonsi  Mar- 
tini, 1625. 

XXI.  La  bella  Aurora.    Ay  Verdades  que  en  Amor. 
La  Boba  para  los  otros,  y  Discreta  para  si.     La 
Noche  de  S.  Juan.     El  Castigo  sin  Venganza. 
Los  Bandos  de  Sena.     El  mejor  Alcalde  el  Rey. 
El  Premio  del  bien  hablar.     La  Vitoria  de  la 
Honra.     El  Piadoso  Aragones.     Los  Tellos  de 

Meneses.     Por  la  Puente  Juana. Postlmma 

prodiit  haec  pars  1635,  apud  viduam  Alphonsi 
Martini. 

XXII.  Quien  todo  lo  quiere.     No  son  todos  ruise- 
fiores.    Amar,  Servir,  y  Esperar.    Vida  de  S.  Pe- 
dro Nolasco.     La  primera  Infbrmacion.     Nadie 
se  conoce.     La  mayor  Vitoria.     Amar  sin  saber 
a  quien.    Amor,  Pleyto,  y  Desafio.   El  Labrador 
Venturoso.     Los  Trabajos  de  Jacob.     La  Car- 

bonera. Matriti,  ut  superiores,  apud  viduam 

Joannis  Gonzalez,  anno  1635,  in  4to. 

XXIII.  Contra  Valor  no  hay  Desdicha.     Las  Ba- 
tuecas  del  Duque  de  Alva.     Las  Quentas  del 
Gran  Capitan.     El  piadoso  Veneciano.     Porfiar 
hasta  Morir.     El  Robo  de  Dina.     El  saber  pu- 
ede  dafiar.     La  Embidia  de  la  Nobleza.     Los 
Pleytos  de  Ingalaterra.  Los  Palacios  de  Galiana. 
Dios  hace  Reyes.     El  saber  por  no  saber  y  Vida 


245 

de  S.  Julian  de  Alcala  de  Henares. Has  col- 
legit  Emmanuel  de  Faria  et  Sousa,  et  excudit 
Maria  de  Quinones,  Matriti,  1638,  in  4to.  . 

XXIV.  El  Palacio  confuso.     El  Ingrato.     La  Tra- 
gedia  por  los  Zelos.     El  Labrador  venturoso. 
La  primer  Culpa  del  Hombre.     La  despreciada 
querida.     La  Industria  contra  el  Poder  y  el  Ho- 
nor contra  la  Fuerza.    La  Porfia  hasta  el  Temor. 
El  Juez  de  su  misma  Causa.     La  Cruz  en  la  Se- 
pultura.     El  Honrado  con  su  Sangre.     El  Hijo 

sin  Padre. Haec   Matriti  edita  fuit;  sed  et 

alia,  hoc  sub  ipso  titulo,  XXIV.  partis,  Caesar- 

auffustee  lucem  vidit  apud  Didacum  Dormer, 

T 
1632,  has   Comcedias  contmens : — La  Ley  exe- 

cutada.  Selvas  y  Bosques  de  Amor.  Examen 
deMaridos.  El  que  Diran.  La  Honra  por  la 
Muger.  El  Amor  bandolero.  La  mayor  Des- 
gracia  del  Emperador  Carlos  V.  y  Hechizera  de 
Argel.  Veer  y  no  creer.  Dineros  son  Calidad. 
De  quando  aca  nos  Vino.  Amor,  Pleyto,  y  De- 
safio.  La  mayor  Vitoria. 

XXV.  La  Esclava  de  su  Galan.    El  Desprecio  agra- 
decido.     Aventuras  de  D.  Juan  de  Alarcos.     El 
mayor  Imposible.     La  Vitoria  del  Marques  de 
Santa  Cruz.     Los  Cautivos  de  Argel.    Castelvies 
y  Monteses.     De  lo  que  ha  de  ser.     El  ultimo 
Godo.     La  Necedad  del  Discreto.     El  Juez  en 

su  Causa.     Los  Embustes  de  Fabia. Caesar- 

jvugustae,  apudviduamPetriVerjes,  1647,  in4to. 


246 


THE    CONTENTS 

OF    - 

EDITION 


OF    THE 

POETICAL  WORKS  OF  LOPE  DE  VEGA 


Vol.  I. 

LAUREL  de  Apolo,  dividido  en  10  Silvas. 
Baiio  de  Diana. 
El  Narciso. 

*V^ 

La  Selva  sin  Amor.     Drama  dividido  en  7  Soenas, 

Epistolas. 

Sonetos. 

Eglogos, 

Psalmos. 

Vol,  II. 
La  Hermosura  de  Angelica.     Ppema  dividido  en  90 

Cantos. 

La  Philomena.     Poema  dividido  en  3  Cantos. 
Segunda  Parte. 
Descripcion  de  la  Tapada,  insigne  Monte  y  Recreacion 

del  Excelentissimo  Senor  Duque  de  Berganza. 
La  Andromeda, 

Vol.  III. 

La  Circe.     Poema  dividido  en  3  Cantos. 
La  Manana  de  San  Juan  de  Madrid. 
La  Rosa  Blanca. 
J^a  Dragontea.     Poema  dividido  en  10  Cantos. 


247 

Fiestas  de  Denia,  al  Key  Catholico  Philipo  III.  de 
este  nombre.  Poema  dividido  en  2  Cantos. 

Poesias  varias. 

Sonetos. 

Vol,  IV. 

Corona  Tragica.  Vida  y  Muerte  de  laReyna  de 
Escocia,  Maria  Estuarda.  Poema  dividido  en 
5  Libros. 

Soneto.  Aunque  te  yere;  o  Reyna,  el  duro  acero. 
Traduccion  del  Epigramma  de  la  Santidad  de 
Urbano  VIII.  a  la  Muerte  de  Maria  Estuarda, 
que  empieza  Te  quamquam  irameritam  ferit,  o 
Regi-  a,  securis. 

Rimas  Ilumanas.     Parte  I. 

Cancion  a  Don  Juan  de  Arguijo,  Veintiquatro  de  Se- 
villa, 

Doscientos  Sonetos, 

Rimas  Humanas.     2  Parte. 

Eglogos,  Romances,  &cf 

Epitaphios. 

Sonetos,  Canciones,  &c. 

Vol.  V. 

El  Peregrino  en  su  Patria,  dividido  en  5  Libros. 

Poesias  varias. 

Vol.  VI. 

La  Arcadia,  prosas  y  versos,  dividida  en  5  Libros. 

Poesias  varias. 

Epigramas. 

Jndice  de  las  Cosas  Notables  que  se  hallan  en  la  Ar« 
cadia. 


Vol.  VII. 

La  Dorolea,  accion  en  prosa,  en  5  Actos. 
Pocsias  varias.  s 

Vol.  VIII. 

Las  Fortunas  de  Diana.     Novela  1 . 
Desdichado  por  la  Honra.     Novela  2. 
La  mas  prudente  Venganza.     Novela  3. 
Guzman  el  Bravo.     Novela  4. 
Las  dos  Venturas  sin  pensar.     Novela  5. 
El  Pronostico  cumplido.     Novela  6. 
La  Quinta  de  Laura.     Novela  7. 
El  Zeloso  hasta  morir.     Novela  8. 
El  Castigo  sin  Venganza.     Tragedia  en  tre¥  Actos. 

Vol.  IX. 

La  Vega  del  Parnaso.     Parte  1. 
El  Siglo  de  Oro. 

El  Guante  de  Dona  Blanca.     Comedia. 
Versos  sueltos  al  Nacimicnto  del  Principe. 
La  mayor  Virtud  de  un  Rey.     Comedia. 
Las  Bizarrias  de  Belisa.     Comedia. 
Egloga  a  Claudio. 
El  Huerto  -deshecho.     Metro  Lirico  al  Hustrissimo 

Seiior  Don  Luis  de  Haro. 
Porfiando  vence  Amor,  Comedia;  y  otras  Poesias. 

Vol.  X. 

La  Vega  del  Parnaso.     Parte  2. 
El  Desprccio  agradecido.     Comedia. 
El  Amor  cnamorado.     Comedia. 
Eglogas,  y  otras  Poesias. 


Vol.  xr. 

El  Isidro,  Poema  Castellano  dividido  en  10  Cantos. 
Justa  Poetica,  en  la  Beatificacion  de  San  Isidro. 

Vol.  XII. 

Jtelacion  de  la  Fiesta,  que  la  Villa  de  Madrid  hizo  en 
la  Canonizacion  de  San  Isidro,  San  Ignacio  de 
Loyola,  San  Francisco  Xavier,  San  Phelipe  Neri, 
y  Santa  Teresa  de  Jesus. 

Vol.  XIII. 
Triuraplios  Divinos. 
Canto  1.  Triumpho  del  Pan  divino. 
Canto  2.  -Triumpho  de  la  Ley  natural. 
Canto  3.  Triumpho  de  la  Ley  de  Gracia. 
Canto  4.  Triumpho  de  la  Religion  y  de  la  Virginidad. 
Canto  5.  Triumpho  de  la  Cruz  santissima. 
Rimas  Sacras. 
20  Sonetos. 

9  Sonetos  a  la  santa  Madre  Teresa  de  Jesus. 
12  Sonetos  a  la  Rosa. 
Otras  Poesias. 
Segundas  Rimas  sacras. 
Cien  Sonetos. 
Glosas. 
Romances. 
Terceras  Rimas  sacras. 

Vol.  XIV. 
Jerusalen  Conquistada,  Epopeya  tragica,  en  octavas, 

dividida  en  2  Partes,  y  20  Cantos,  conticne  estc 

tomo  dcsde  el  1,  hasta  cl  12. 
Notas  del  Autor  a  la  primera  de  su  Jerusalen. 


250 

Vol.  XV. 

Jerusalen    Conquistada,     Parte    2,   que  comprende* 

desde  el  Canto  12,  hasta  el  20. 
La  Virgen  de  la  Almtmena,  Poema  historico  en  oc- 

tavas,  dividido  en  3  Cantos. 
Romrtncero  Espiritual,    para  regalarse  el  Alma  con 

Dios ;  y  Redencion  del  genero  humano,  con  las 

Estaciones  de  la  Via  Crucis,  &c.  &c. 

Vol.  XVI. 

Los  Pastores  de  Bclen,  prosas  y  versos  ;  Introduction 
en  tercetos. 

Vol.  XVII. 

7  Soliloquios  Amorosos  de  un  Alma  a  Dios. 
Otras  Poesias. 
Romances  sacados  del  Romancero  general. 

Vol.  XVIII. 
Autos,  Loas,  y  Entremeses. 

Vol.  XIX. 

Rimas  divinas  y  humanas,  del  Licenciado  Tome  de 

Burguillos. 
Rimas  divinas. 

Vol.  XX. 

La  Fama  Postuma  de  Lope,  y  Elogios  Panogyricos  a 
la  Inmortalidad  de  su  Nombre;  rccogidos  por 
el  Doctor  Juan  Perez  de  Montalvan. 

La  Lista  Alp'iabetica  de  los  Elogiadores  va  pucsta  al 
Fin  de  dicho  Tomo,  y  iambien  van  insertos  on 
el  Indice  Alphabetico  general  de  los  Elogiadores 
a  Lope. 


251 
LIST   OF  PLAYS 

OF 

LOPE    DE    VEGA 

STILL   EXT3LNT. 


THE  following  list  is  extracted  from 
La  Huerta's  catalogue  of  Spanish  plays; 
and  though  some  are  ascribed  to  Lope 
on  very  slight  authority,  and  two  or 
three  reckoned  twice  over,  under  dif- 
ferent names,  it  is  on  the  whole  tolera- 
bly correct.  I  have  marked  those  which 
I  have  read,  with  asterisks.  The  greater 
part  of  them  are  very  rare ;  and  it  was 
not  without  considerable  difficulty  that 
I  collected  at  Madrid  about  a  third  of 
the  number  here  enumerated : 

Accrtar  errando. 
Adonis  y  Venus. 

Adversa  Fortuna  del  Infante  Don  Fernando  de  Por- 
tugal. 


252 

Adrcrsa  Fortuna  de  Don  Bernardo  do  Cabrera. 

Adversa  Foriuna  del  Oaballero  del  Espiritu  Santo. 

Adversa  Fortuna  de  Ruy  Lopez  Davalus. 

AI  pasar  del  Arroyo. 

Alcalde  (el)  mayor. 

Alcalde  (el)  de  Zalamea. 

Alia  daras  Rayo.  ]0 

Almenas  (las)  de  Toro. 

Amante  (el)  agradecido. 

Amantcs  (los)  sin  Amor.  13 

Aniar  sin  saber  a  quien. 

Amar  como  se  ha  de  amar. 

Amar  por  Burla. 

Amar,  Servir,  y  Esperar. 

Amete  (el)  de  Toledo. 

*  Ainistad  y  Obligacion. 

*  Ainistad  (la)  pagada.  20 
Amigo  (el)  por  Fuerza. 

Amigo  (el)  hasta  la  Muertc. 
Amigos  (los)  enojados. 
Am  or  (el)  bandolero. 

*  Amor  (el)  enamorado.  12,3 
Amor,  Pleyto.  y  Dcsafio. 

Amor  secreto  hasta  Zelos. 

Amor  (el)  con  Vista. 

Angelica  en  el  Catay. 

Animal  (el)  Hungria.  30 

*  Animal  (el)  Propheta.  San  Jisan. 
Ante  Christo  (el). 

Arauco  domado. 


Arenal  (el)  de  Sevilla. 

Argelan  Rcy  de  Alcala.  35 

Argel  fingido,  y  Renegado  de  Amor. 

Asalto  (el)  de  Mastrique. 

Avanillo  (el). 

Ausente  (el)  en  el  Lugar. 

*  Ay  Verdades  que  en  Amor.  40 

*  Azero  (el)  de  Madrid  t. 

Bandos  (los)  de  Sena. 
Bargas  (los)  de  Castilla. 
Balahan  y  Josaphat. 

*  Bastardo  (el)  Mudarra.  45 
Batalla  (la)  de  Dos. 

Batalla  (la)  del  Honor. 

Batalla  (la)  Naval. 

Batuecas  (las)  del  Duque  de  Alba. 

*  Bautismo  (el)  del  Rey  de  Marruecos.  50 

*  Bella  (la)  malmaridada. 
Bella  (la)  Aurora. 
Benavides  (los). 

*  Bernardo  del  Carpio  en  Francia. 

*  Bizarrias  (las)  de  Belisa|.  55 
Blason  (el)  de  los  Chaves. 

Boba  (la)  para  los  otros,  y  discreta  para  si. 


t  From  this  play  the  idea  of  the  Medecin  malgrt  hd  was 
probably  taken. 

J  A  very  popular  play,  aud  frequently  acted  at  Madrid. 


254 

Bobo  (el)  del  Collegio. 

Boda  (la)  entre  dos  Maridos. 

Bohemia  convertida.  QQ 

Buena  (la)  Guarda. 

Buen  (el)  Vecino. 

Burlas  (las)  veras. 

Burgalesa  (la)  de  Lerraa. 

Caballero  (el)  de  Illescas.  65 

*  Caballero  (el)  de  Olmedo. 
Caballero  (el)  del  Sacramento. 
Caballero  (el)  del  Milagro. 
Campana  (la)  de  Aragoii. 

Capitan  (el)  Belisario,  y  Exemplo  mayor  de  la 
Desdicha.  79 

Capuchino  (el)  Escoces,  y  Condesa  Matilde  perse- 
guida. 

Carbonera  (la). 

Cardenal  (el)  de  Belen. 

*  Carlos  (el)  perseguido. 

Carlos  Quinto  en  Francia,  73 

Casamiento  (el)  por  Christo. 
Castelvies  y  Monsalves. 

*  Castigo  (el)  sin  Yenganza. 
Castigo  (el)  en  el  Discreto, 

Cautivo  (el)  Coronado.  80 

Cautivos  (los)  de  Argel. 

Cerco  (el)  de  Santa  Fe. 

Cerco  (el)  de.Viena  por  Carlos  Quinto. 

Cliavcs  de  Villalva. 


255 

*  Cierto  (lo)  por  lo  Dudosot.  85 
Ciudad  (la)  sin  Dios. 

Como  se  vengan  los  Nobles. 

Como  se  engafiaii  los  Ojos. 

Commendadores  (los)  de  Cordova. 

Competencia  (la)  en  los  Nobles.  00 

Conde  (el)  Don  Pedro  Velez. 

Conde  (el)  Fenian  Gon£alez. 

Contra  Valor  no  hay  Desdicha. 

Con  su  Pan  se  lo  coma. 

Corona  (la)  Merecida.  95 

Cortesia  (la)  cle  Espafia. 

Creacion   (la)   del  Mundo,    primer   Culpa  del 

Hombre. 

Cruz  (la)  en  la  Sepultura. 
Cuerdo  (el)  en  su  Casa. 
Cuerdo  (el)  loco.  100 

Dama  (la)  boba. 

*  Dama  (la)  melindrosa  J. 

David  perseguido,  y  Mqntcs  de  Gilboc. 

De  Corsario  a  Corsario. 

De  un  Castigo  tres  Venganzas.  103 

De  (la)  Mazagatos. 

De  quando  aca  nos  Vino. 

De  lo  que  ha  de  ser. 


t  Lately  revived  and  acted  a"  Madrid. 
£  Latel     revived  and  altered. 


256 

Defcnsa  (la)  en  la  Verdad. 

Del  Monte  sale  quien  el  Monte  quema.  110 

Del  mal  lo  menos. 

Desconfiado  (el). 

Desdichada  (la)  Estefania. 

Desgracias  (las)  del  Hey  Don  Alonzo. 

Despertar  a  quien  duerrae. 

Dcsposorio  (el)  encubierto. 

Despreciada  (la)  querida. 

*  Desprecio  (el)  agradecido. 
Desprccios  (los)  en  quien  ama. 
Destruccion  (la)  de  Constantinopla. 
Dicha  (la)  del  Forastero  y  la  Portuguesa. 
Dicboso  (el)  Parricido. 

Dineros  son  Calidad. 

» 

Dios  hace  Reyes. 

Dios  hace  Justicia  a  todos. 

Discreta  (la)  enamorada. 

Discreta  (la)  Venganza. 

Divino  (el)  Africano. 

Di  Mentira,  sacanis  Verdad. 

Domine  (el)  Lucas. 

*  Donayres  (los)  de  Matico. 

Donayres  (los)  de  Pedro  Corchuelo,  y  el  que  diran. 
Doncella,  Viuda,  y  Casada. 
Doncella  (la)  Theodora. 

*  Doncellas  (las)  deSimancas. 

Don  Juan  de  Castro.     1,  2,  &  3  Pts. 
Don  Lope  de  Cardona. 
Don  GoiiQalo  de  Cordova. 


257 

Don  Manuel  de  Sousa. 
Dona  Ines  de  Castro. 
Dos  Agravios  sin  Ofensa. 
Dos  (las)  Bandoleras. 
Dos  (las)  Estrellas  trocadas. 
Dos  (los)  Soldados  de  Christo. 
*  Duque  (el)  Viseo.  145 

Ello  dira. 

Erabustes  (los)  de  Celauro, 
Erabustes  (los)  de  Fabio. 
Erabaxador  (el)  fingido. 

Enemiga  (la)  favorable.  150 

Enemigo  (el)  enganado. 
Enemigos  (los)  en  Casa. 
Enganar  a  quien  engafia. 
Engaiio  (el)  en  la  Verdad. 

Enraendar  un  Dano  a  otro.  155 

Envidia  (la)  de  la  Nobleza. 
En  los  Indicios  la  Culpa. 

En  la  mayor  Lealtad  mayor  Agravio,  y  Fortuna  del 
Cielo. 

*  Esclava  (la)  de  su  Galan. 

Esclavo  (el)  deRoma.  160 

Esclavo  (el)  fingido. 
Esclavos  (los)  Hbres. 

*  Escolastica  (la)  zelosa. 

*  Estrella  de  Sevilla. 

Examen  de  Maridos.  165 

Exemplo  de  Casadas  y  Prueba  de  Paciencia. 
s 


258 

Exemplo  mayor  de  la  Desdicha  y  Capitan  Beli- 
sario. 

Fabula  (la)  de  Perseo. 

Famosa  (la)  Montanesa.  170 

tamosas  (las)  Asturianas. 

*  Favor  (el)  agradecido. 
Fe  (la)  rompida. 
Felisarda  (la). 

Ferias  (las)  de  Madrid.  175 

Fernan  Mendez  Pinto. 

Fianza  (la)  satisfecha. 

Firraeza  (la)  en  la  Desdicha. 

Flores  (las)  de  Don  Juan  Rico. 

Fortuna  (la)  raerecida.  180 

Fortuna  (la)  adversa. 

Francesilla  (la). 

Fuente  (la)  Ovejuna. 

*  Fuerza  (la)  lastimosa. 

Fundacion  (la)  de  la  Alhambra  de  Granada.     185 
Fundacion  (la)  de  la  Sta  Hermandad  de  Toledo. 

Galan  (el)  de  la  Membrilla.  - 
Galan  (el)  Castrucho. 

*  Gallardo  (el)  Catalan. 

Gallardo  (el)  Jacimin.  190 

Genoves  (el)  liberal. 
Gloria  de  San  Francisco. 
Gran  (el)  Duque  de  Moscovia. 
Gran  (el)  Cardinal  de  Hespana  Don  Gil  Albornoz. 
1  and  2  Pts. 


259 

Grandezas  (las)  de  Alexandra.  195 

*  Guante  (el)  de  Dona  Blanca. 
Guanches  (los)  de  Tenerife. 
Guarda  (la)  cuidadosa. 
Guardar  y  Guardarse. 

Guerras  de  Amor  y  Hon6r.  200 

Halcon  (el)  de  Federico. 

Hazaiias  (las)  del  Cid  y  su  Muerte. 

*  Hechos  (los)  de  Bernardo  del  Carpio. 

*  Herraosa  (la)  Feat. 

Hermosa  (la)  Alfreda.  205 

Hermosa  (la)  Ester. 

Herraosura  (la)  de  Raquel.     1  &  2  Pts. 

Hespaiioles  los)  en  Flandes. 

Hidalgo  (el)  de  Avencerrage. 

Hidalgos  (los)  de  la  Aldea.  210 

Hijo  (el)  de  los  Leones. 

Hijo  (el)  de  Reduan. 

Hijo  piadoso  y  Bohemia  convertida. 

Hijo  (el)  sin  Padre. 

Hijos  (los)  del  Dolor.  215 

Historia  (la)  de  Tobias. 

Historia  (la)  de  Maragatos. 

Hombre  (el)  de  Bien. 

Hombre  (el)  por  su  Palabra. 

Honra  (la)  por  la  Muger.  220 

Honrado  (el)  con  su  Sangre. 


+  Sometimes  acted. 
S  2 


260 

Honrado  (el)  Hermano. 
Horca  (la)  para  su  Dueiio. 
Humildad  (la)  Soberbia. 

*  Illustre  (la)  Fregona.  225 

Illustre  (la)  mas  Hazafia  de  Garcilaso  dc  la  Vega. 
Imperial  (la)  de  Oton. 
Industrias  contra  el  Poder. 
Infante  (el)  Don  Fernando  de  Portugal. 
Infanzon  (el)  de  Illescas.  230 

Ingrato  (el)  arrepentido. 
Ingratitud  (la)  vengada. 
Ingrato  (el). 
Inocente  (la)  Sangre. 

Inocente  (la)  Laura.  235 

Intencion  (la)  castigada. 

Jardin  (el)  de  Bargas. 

Jorge  Toledano. 

Juan  de  Dios  y  Anton  Martin. 

Judia  (la)  de  Toledo.  240 

Julian  Romero. 

Juventud  (la)  de  San  Isidro. 

Laberinto  (el)  de  Greta. 

Labrador  (el)  del  Tormes. 

Labrador  (el)  venturoso.  245 

Lagrimas  (las)  de  David. 

Lanza  por  Lanza  de  Luis  de  Almansa. 

Laura  perseguida. 

Lealtad,  Amor,  y  Amistad. 


Lealtad  (la)  en  la  Traycion.  250 

Leal  (el)  Criado. 

Leon  (el)  Apostolico. 

Ley  (la)  executada. 

Leiio  (el)  de  Meleagro. 

Libertad  (la)  de  Castilla.  255 

Libertad  (la)  de  San  Isidro. 

Limpieza  (la)  no  manchada. 

Lindona  (la)  de  Galicia. 

Llegar  en  Ocasion. 

Lo  Fingido  Verdadero.  260 

Lo  que  esta  determinado. 

Lo  que  es  un  Coche  en  Madrid. 

Lo  que  puede  un  Agravio. 

Lo  que  hay  de  fiat  del  Mundo. 

Loco  (el)  cuerdo.  265 

Loco  (el)  santo. 

Loco  (el)  por  Fuerza. 

Locos  (los)  por  el  Cielo. 

Locos  (los)  de  Valencia. 

Locura  (la)  por  la  Honra.  270 

Lucinda  perseguida. 

Madre  (la)  de  la  Mejor. 
Maestro  (el)  de  Danzar. 
Mai  (la)  Casada. 

Maldito  (el)  de  su  Padre.  275 

-*  Marido  (el)  mas  firme. 
Marmol  (el)  Felisardo. 
Marques  (el)  de  Mantua. 


262 

*  Marques  (el)  de  las  Navast. 

Marques  (el)  del  Valle.  280 

Martires  (los)  de  Madrid. 

Mas  valeis  vos,  Antona,  que  la  Corte  toda. 

Mas  vale  salto  de  mata,  que  ruego  de  buenos. 

Mas  pueden  Zelos  que  Amor. 

Mas  mal  hay  en  la  Aldeguela.  285 

Mas  (el)  galan  Portugues,  Duque  de  Berganza. 

Mayor  (la)   Corona. 

Mayor  (la)  Victoria  de  Alemania. 

Mayor  (la)  Victoria. 

*  Mayor  (la)  Virtud  de  un  Key.  290 
Mayor  (la)  Dicha  en  el  Monte. 

Mayor  (la)  Disgracia  de  Carlos  Quinto. 
Mayor  (la)  Hazana  de  Alexandro  Magno. 
Mayor  (el)  de  los  Reyes. 

*  Mayor  (el)  impossible.  295 
Mayor  (el)  Prodigio. 

*  Mayorazgo  (el)  dudoso. 

*  Mayordomo  (el)  de  la  Duqueza  de  Amain". 
Medico  (el)  de  su  Honra. 

Mejor  (el)  Alcalde  el  Rey.  300 

Mejor  (la)  enamorada  la  Magdalena. 
Mejor  (el)  Maestro  el  Tiempo. 
Mejor  (el)  Mozo  de  Hespaiia. 


+  The  original  of  this  play,  in  Lope's  own  hand,  with 
his  alterations,  is  in  my  possession.  I  have  compared  it 
with  the  printed  copy,  and  find  many  of  the  passages  dis- 
figured by  the  carelessness  of  the  editor. 


263 

*  Melindres  (los)  de  Belisat. 

Mentiroso  (el).  305 

Merced  (la)  en  el  Castigo. 

Merito  (el)  en  la  Templanza. 

Milagros  (los)  del  Desprecio. 

Milagro  (el)  por  los  Zelos. 

Mirad  a  quien  alabais.  310 

Mocedades  de  Roldan. 

*  Mocedades  de  Bernardo  del  Carpio. 

*  Molino  (el). 
Montanesa  (la)  Faraosa. 

*  Moza  (la)  deCantaroJ.  315 
Mudanzas  de  la  Fortuna,  y  Sucesos  de  Don  Beltran. 
Muerfos  (los)  Vivos. 

Mugeres  sin  Hombres. 

Nacimiento  (el)  de  Christo. 

Nacimiento  (el)  de  Urson  y  Valentin.  320 

Nacimiento  (el)  del  Alba. 

Nadie  fie  en  lo  que  ve,  porque  se  enganan  los  Ojos. 

Nadie  se  conoce. 

Nardo  Antonio  Bandolero. 

Naufragio  (el)  prodigioso.  -  325 

*  Necedad  (la)  del  Discrete. 
Negro  (el)  de  mejor  Amo. 

*  Nina  (la)  de  Plata,  y  Burla  Vengada. 
Ninez  (la)  de  San  Jsidro. 

Nifiezes  (las)  del  Padre  Roxas.  330 

Nino  (el)  Inocente  de  la  Guardia. 

+  Frequently  acted. 

J  Lately  revived,  and  frequently  acted. 


264 

Nino  (el)  Pastor. 

Nino  (el)  Diablo. 

No  hay  vida  como  la  Honra. 

Nobles  (los)  como  ban  de  ser.  $35 

Noche  (la)  de  San  Juan. 

Noche  (la)  Toledana. 

Nuestra  Senora  de  la  Candeleria. 

Nueva  (la)  Victoria  del  Marques  de  Santa  Cruz. 

Nuevo  Mundo  descubierto  por  Colon.  340 

Nunca  mucho  cuesta  poco. 

Obediencia  (la)  Laureada. 
Obras  son  Amores. 

*  Ocasion  (la)  perdida. 

Octava  (la)  Maravilla.  345 

*  Padrino  (cl)  desposado. 
Palacio  (el)    confuso. 
Palacios  (los)  de  Galeana. 
Paloma  (la)  de  Toledo. 

Paraiso  (el)  de  Laura.  350 

Pasar  (el)  del  Arroyo. 

Pastelero  (el)  de  Madrigal, 

Pastor  (el)  Fido. 

Pastoral  (el)  aeJacinto. 

Pazes  (las)  de  los  Reyes.  355 

Pedro  Carbonero. 

*  Peligros  (los)  de  la  Ausencia. 
Pena  (la)  de  Francia. 

Peribanez  y  Commendador  de  Ocaila. 

Perro  (el)  del  Hortelano.  360 

Piadoso  (el)  Aragonis. 


265 

Piadoso  (el)   Veneciano. 
Piedad  (la)  executada. 
Pleyto  (el)  porlaHonra. 

Pleytos  (los)  de  Inglaterra.  365 

Pobreza  (la)  estimada. 
Pobreza  (la)  no  es  Vileza. 
Pobrezas  (las)  de  Reynaldos. 
Poder  (el)  Veneido. 

Ponces  (los)  de  Barcelona.  $70 

*  Por  la  puente  Juanat. 
Porciles  (los)  de  Murcia. 
Postrer  (el)  Godo  de  Hespaiia. 
Prados  (los)  de  Leon. 

Premio  (el)  de  la  Hermosura.  375 

Premio  (el)  de  las  Letras. 
Premio  (el)  de  bien  hablar. 
Premio  (el)  en  la  misrna  Pena. 
Primer  (el)  Rey  de  Castilla. 
Primer  (el)  Carlos  de  Hungria.  380 

Primera  (la)  Culpa  del  Hombre,  u  Creacion  del 

Mundo. 

Primera  (la)  Informacion. 
Primero  (el)  Faxardo. 
Principe  (el)  Don  Carlos. 

Principe  (el)  despenado.  385 

Principe  (el)  perfecto.     1  &  2  Pts. 
Principe  (el)  ignorante. 
Principe  (el)  Escanderberg. 
Prision  (la)  sin  Culpa. 


t  Lately  revived,  and  frequently  acted. 


266 

Prodigio  (el)  de  Etiopia.  590 

Profetisa  (la)  Casandra. 

Prospera  Fortuna  del  Caballero  del  Espiritu  Santo. 

Prospera  Fortuna  de  Ruy  Lopez  Davaloz. 

Prudencia  (la)  en  el  Castigo. 

Puente  (la)  de  Mantible.  395 

Quando  Lope  quiere,  quiere. 

Querer  la  propria  Desdicha. 

Querer  mas,  y  sufrir  raenos. 

Quien  mas,  no  puede. 

Quien  bien  ama  tarde  olvida.  400 

Quien  todo  lo  quiere. 

*  Quinta  (la)  de  Florencia. 

Ramilletes  (los)  de  Madrid. 

Ramirez  de  Arellano. 

Remedio  (el)  en  la  Desdicha.  405 

Resistencia  Honrada. 

*  Rey  (el)  Don  Sebastian. 
Rey  (el)  Bamba. 

Rey  (el)  sin  Reyno. 

Reyna  (la)  Juana  de  Napoles.  410 

Reyna  (la)  Dona  Maria. 

Rico  (el)  y  pobre  Trocados. 

Robo  (el)  de  Dimu 

*  Roma  abrasada. 

Rueda  (la)  de  la  Fortuna,  415 

Rustico  (el)  del  Cielo. 
Ruysenor  (el)  de  Sevilla. 

Saber  (el)  puede  danar. 


267 

Saber  (el)  por  no  saber. 

San  Diego  de  Aleak.  420 

San  Isidro  de  Madrid. 

San  Tldefonso. 

San  Nicolas  de  Tolentino. 

San  Pedro'  Nolasco. 

San  Pablo.  425 

Santa  Brigida. 

Santa  Casilda. 

Santa  Polonia. 

Santa  Teodora. 

Santa  Teresa  de  Jesus,  su  Vida  y.  Muerte.          430 

Santa  (la)  Liga. 

Santiago  el  Verde. 

Santo  (el)  Negro  Rosambuc. 

Secreto  (el)  de  si  mismo. 

Selva  (la)  confusa.  435 

Selvas  y  Bosques  de  Amor. 

Sembrar  en  buena  Tierra. 

Serafin  el  dumano. 

Servir  con  mala  Estrella. 

Servir  a  Senor  discreto. 

*  Servir  a  Buenos  t. 
Serrana  (la)  de  la  Vera. 
Serrana  (la)  deTormes. 

*  Siete  (los)  Infantes  de  Lara^:. 

Sierras  (las)  de  Guadalupe.  445 

Sin  Secreto  no  hay  Amor. 

f  Frequently  acted. 

J  Frequently  acted,  though  a  very  extravagant  com- 
position. 


268 

Si  no  Vieran  las  Mugeres. 

Sitio  (el)  de  Viena  del  Ano  1683. 

Sol  (el)  Parado. 

Soldado  (el)  Amante.  450 

Sortija  (la)  del  Olbido. 

Sucesos  (los)  de  Don  Beltran. 

Suerte  (la)  de  los  Reyes,  6  los  Carboneros. 

Suenos  hay  que  Verdades  son. 

Sufrimiento  (el)  de  Honor.  455 

Tambien  se  Engana  la  Vista. 
Tanto  kagas  quanto  pagues. 
Tellos  (los)  de  Menezes,  in  Valor,  Fortuna  y  Leal- 
dad.     1  &  2  Pts. 
Templo  (el)  Salomon. 

*  Testimonio  (el)  vengado.  460 
Testigo  (el)  contra  si. 

Tirano  (el)  castigado. 

Toledano  (el)  vengado. 

Torneos  (los)  de  Aragon. 

Trabajos  (los)  de  Jacob.  465 

Trabajos  (los)  de  Job. 

Trato  (el)  muda  Costumbres. 

*  Traycion  (la)  bien  acertada. 

*  Tres  (los)  Diaraantes. 

Triunfo  (el)  de  la  Humildad.  470 

Valiente  (el)  Cespedes. 

Valiente  (el)  Juan  de  Heredia. 

Valor  (el)  de  Fernandico. 

Valor  (el)  de  las  Mugeres. 

Vaquers  de  Morana.  475 


269 

Varona  (la)  Castellana. 

Vellocino  (el)  de  Oro. 

Venganza  (la)  honrosa. 

Venganza  (la)  venturosa. 

Vengadora  (la)  de  las  Mugeres.  480 

Ventura  (la)  sin  buscarla. 

Ventura  (la)  en  la  Desgracia. 

Ventura  (la)  de  la  Fe. 

Ver  y  no  creer. 

Verdad  (la)  sospechosa  t.  485 

Verdadero  (el)  Araante. 

Victoria  (la)  del  Marques  de  Santa  Cruz. 

Victoria  (la)  de  la  Honra. 

Villana  (la)  de  Getafe. 

Villano  (el)  en  su  Rincon.  490 

Virtud,  Pobreza,  y  Mujer. 

Viuda,  Casada,  y  Doncella. 

Viuda  la  Valenciana, 

Ultimo  el  Godo. 

Yerros  por  Amor.  495 

Zelos  con  Zelos  se  Curan. 
Zeloso  (el)  Estremeno. 

f  There  does  not  appear  any  proof  of  this  play  being 
the  composition  of  Lope,  nor  of  its  being  extaut. 


AUTOS  SACRAMENTALES  ALEGORICOS, 

Y 

AL  NACIMIENTO  DE  NUESTRO  SENOR. 


Adultera  (la)  perdonada. 

Ave  Maria  y  Rbsario  de  Nuestra  Sencra. 

Aventuras  (las)  del  Hombre.  500 

Carcel  (la)  de  Amor. 

Concepcion  (la)  de  Nuestra  Seiiora. 

Corsario  (el)  del  Alma,  y  las  Galeras. 

Hazaiias  (las)  del  segundo  David. 

Hijo  (de)  la  Iglesia,  505 

Margarita  (la)  preciosa. 

Natividad  (la)  de  Nuestro  Senor. 

Nuevo  (el)  Oriente  del  Sol  y  mas  diclioso  Portal. 

Oveja  (la}  perdida. 

Pastor  (el)  ingrato.  510 

Prisiones  (las)  de  Adan. 
Privanza  (la)  del  Hombre. 
Puente  (la)  del  Muudo. 

Santa  (la)  Inquisicion. 

Triunfo  (el)  de  la  Iglesia.  515 

Toyson  (el)  del  Cielo. 


271 
APPENDIX. 

No.  2. 


INFORME 

DADO    A'    LA 

REAL  ACADEMIA  DE  HISTORIA, 

SOBRE 

Juegos,   Espectaculos,  y  Diversiones  PuUicas. 


THIS    treatise  is   the   work   of  Don 
Gaspar  Melchor  de  Jovellanos,  late  mi- 
nister of  grace  and  justice  in  Spain :  a 
man,  who,  after  having  devoted  the  la- 
bours, and  even  the  amusements,  of  his 
useful  life  to  the  improvement  and  hap- 
piness of  his  fellow  countrymen,  is  now 
languishing  in  the  dungeons  of  Palma ; 
imprisoned  without  an  accusation,  and 
condemned  without  the  form  of  a  trial. 


2/2 

The  paper  on  the  games,  exhibitions, 
and  public  diversions  of  Spain,  was  un- 
dertaken at   the  request  of  the  Royal 
Academy  at  Madrid,  and  completed  in 
1790,  during  his  retirement  at  Gijon; 
at  a  time  when  the  displeasure  of  a  mi- 
nister   did    riot  necessarily   imply   the 
ruin,  persecution,  and  imprisonment  of 
its  object.     It  has  never  been  printed, 
probably  owing  to  the  fastidious  severi- 
ty with  which  this  excellent  author  has 
generally  viewed  his  own  productions. 
As  he  is,  however,  the  only  person  who 
is  dissatisfied  with  them,  copies  of  the 
treatise  in  MS.  are  not  difficult  to   be 
obtained  in  Madrid. 

After  a  rapid  historical  sketch  of  the 
Roman  exhibitions  in  Spain,  and  a 
short  account  of  the  diversions  intro- 
duced by  the  northern  barbarians  and 
their  descendants,  he  describes  the  state 
of  the  Spanish  theatre,  from  its  first  re- 
gular appearance  in  Ferdinand  and  Isa- 


273 

bella's  time,  to  the  commencement  of 
the  present  reign.  He  takes  a  view  of 
the  controversies  to  which  it  has  given 
rise ;  and  though  he  condemns  such 
scandalous  abuses  of  theatrical  repre- 
sentations as  have  occasionally  prevail- 
ed in  Spain,  he  vindicates  the  use  of 
that  rational  diversion,  from  the  impu- 
tations of  the  clergy,  with  his  usual  elo- 
quence and  success.  The  latter  part  of 
the  work  is  devoted  to  the  exposition  of 
plans  for  the  revival  of  antient  exercises 
and  diversions,  and  to  the  suggestion  of 
expedients  for  refining  the  character  of 
the  drama,  exalting  the  profession  of 
players,  and  animating  the  exertions  of 
poets.  Here  it  must  be  acknowledged 
that  he  allows  his  zeal  for  letters,  and 
an  anxiety  to  direct  them  to  beneficial 
purposes,  to  divert  him  from  conclu- 
sions to  which  his  own  principles  would 
more  naturally  conduct  him;  and  he 
somewhat  inconsistently  expects  from 

T 


such  regulations,  more  than  any  inter- 
ference of  governments  or  academies 
was  ever  yet  able  to  produce.  His 
aversion  to  the  bull  feasts  induces  him 
also  to  underrate  their  popularity,  and 
to  exaggerate  the  evil  consequences 
produced  by  that  barbarous  but  not 
unmanly  amusement.  But  even  where 
his  reasoning  is  least  conclusive,  one  is 
fascinated  by  the  beauties  of  his  style, 
which  always  seem  to  arise  from  the 
discussion,  and  to  be  as  much  the  re- 
sult of  the  sincerity  of  his  conviction, 
and  the  benevolence  of  his  views,  as  of 
an  enlightened  education,  and  a  cor- 
rect taste  in  composition  and  language. 
Such,  indeed,  is  the  character  of  all  his 
writings,  though  it  may  possibly  excite 
surprise  that  a  dissertation  on  games 
and  exhibitions  should  afford  any  room 
for  displaying  it  Jovellanos  has,  how-* 
ever,  contrived  even  on  such  a  topic  to 
throw  into  the  compass  of  a  few  pages 

>  <<  jswMito  si 


much  curious  information  and  sound 
philosophical  reflection,  without  wan- 
dering from  the  subject,  or  betraying 
any  disposition  to  pedantry  or  affecta- 
tion. 

To  justify  the  above  commendations 
of  his  work,  I  subjoin  a  passage,  which 
may  serve  also  to  illustrate  a  remark  in 
the  text,  and  to  show  that  the  gloomy 
appearance,  so  often  objected  to  Spa- 
niards, is  to  be  ascribed  to  the  perverse 
spirit  of  their  municipal  laws,  and  not 
to  the  natural  disposition  of  that  high- 
spirited  and  warm-hearted  people. 

"  El  pueblo  que  trabaja  necesita  diversiones,  pen* 
no  espectaculos ;  no  ha  menester  que  el  Gobierno  le 
divierta,  pero  si  que  le  dexe  divertirse.  En  los  pocos 
dias,  en  las  breves  boras,  que  puede  destinar  a  su  so- 
laz  y  recreo,  el  buscara  el  inventara  sus  entretenimi- 
entos.  Basta  que  se  le  de  la  libertad  y  proteccion  pa- 
ra disfrutarlos.  Un  dia  de  fiesta,  claro  y  sereno,  en. 
que  pueda  libremente  pasear,  correr,  tirar  a  la  barra, 
jugar  a  la  pelota,  al  tejuelo,  a  los  bolos,  merendar, 
beber,  baylar  y  triscar  por  el  campo ;  llenara  todos 
sus  deseos,  y  le  ofrecera  la  diversion  y  el  placer  mas 
T  2 


276 

.V/i       . 

cumpliclos.    A  tan  poca  costa  se  puede  divertir  a  un 
pueblo,  por  grande  y  numeroso  quo  sea. 

"  Sin  embargo,  c'  corao  es  que  la  mayor  parte  del 

pueblo  de  Espafia  no  se  divierte  en  manera  alguna  ? 

r»     i  '   •  i  -i  ^  *    • 

,j^ua^mera,   que  haya  corrido  nuestras  provmeias, 

habra  hecho  muchas  veces,  esta  dolorosa  observacion. 
En  los  diasmas  solcmnes,  en  vez  de  la  alegria,  y  bulli- 

cio  que  debieran  anunciar  el  contento  de  sus  mora- 
>* 

Adores,  reyna  en  las  plazas  y  casas  una  perezosa  inao 
cion,  un  triste  silencio,  que  no  se  pueden  advertir  sin 
admiracion  ni  lastima.  Si  algunas  pcrsonas  salcn  de 
sus  casas,  no  parece  sino  que  la  ociosidad  las  ha  echa- 
do  de  ellas,  y  las  arrastra  al  exido,  a  la  plaza  6  al  por- 
tico de  la  yglesia ;  donde  embozados  en  sus  capas  al 
arrimo  de  alguna  esquina,  6  sentados,  6  vagando  aca 
y  alia  sin  objeto  ni  proposito  deterrainado,  pasan  tris- 
te,mente  las  horas,  y  las  tardes  enteras,  sin  esparcirse  ni 
divertirse,  y  si  a  estos  se  aiiade  la  aridez  e  immundicia 
de  los  lugares ;  la  pobreza  y  el  desaliiio  de  los  vestidos, 
el  ayre  triste  y  silencioso,  la  pereza  y  falta  de  union 
que  se  nota  en  todas  partes,  £  quien  sera  que  no  se  sor- 
prenda  y  entristezea  a  vista  de  tanto  fenomeno  ?  No 
es  de  este  lugar  descubrir  las  faltas  todas  que  concur- 
ren  a  producirle ;  scan  las  que  fuesen,  se  puede  asegurar 
que  emanaran  de  las  leyes,  todas.  Pero,  sin  salir  de 
nuestro  proposito,  no  podemos  callar  que  la  primera  de 
ellas  es  la  mala  policia  de  nuestros  pueblos.  El  zelo 
indiscrete  de  un  gran  numero  de  Jueces  se  ha  persua- 
dido  que  la  mayor  perfeccion  del  gobierno  municipal 
se  cifra  en  la  sujecion  del  pueblo  y  a  que  lo  sumo  del 

buen  orden  consiste  en  que  sus  moradores  se  estremez- 
uji8A  afikl  * 


can  a  la  voz  de  la  justicia  y  nadie  se  atreve  a  mo  verse 
ni  a  respirar  al  oir  su  nombre.  En  consequencia, 
qualquiera  bulla,  qualquiera  gresca  6  alcazara,  recibe 
cl  nombre  de  asonada,  6  alboroto ;  qualquiera  disencion, 
qualquiera  peudencia,  es  objeto  de  un  procedimiento 
criminal,  y  trae  en  pos  de  si,  perquisas  y  procesos,  pri- 
siones  y  multas,  y  todo  el  seguito  de  molestias  y  vexa- 
ciones  forenses.  Baxo  tan  dura  policia,  el  pueblo  se 
acobarda,  y  cntristece,  y  sacrificando  su  gusto  a  su  sc- 
guridad,  renuncia  la  diversion  publica  e  inocente,  aun- 
que  peligre,  y  prefiere  la  soledad  y  la  inaccion,  tristes  a 
laverdad,  y  dolorosas;  pero  al  mismo  tiempo  seguras. 
"  De  semejante  systema  ban  nacido  infinitos  regia- 
mentos  de  policia,  no  solo  contrarios  a  la  libertad  de 
los  pueblos,  sino  tambien  a  su  prosperidad,  y  no  por 
eso  obscrvados  con  amenos  rigor  y  durcza.  En  una$ 
partes  se  prohiben  las  musicas  y  cencerradas ;  y  en 
otras  las  veladas  y  bayles ;  en  unas  se  obliga  a  los 
vecinos  a  encerrarse  a  sus  casas,  a  la  queda ;  y  en 
otras  a  no  salir  en  la  calle  sin  luz,  a  no  pararse  en 
las  esquinas,  a  no  juntarse  en  corrillos;  y  a  otras 
semejantes  privaciones.  El  furor  dc  mandar,  y  algu- 
na  vez  la  codicia  de  los  Jueces,  ha  extend  ida  a  las  mas 
mines  aldeas,  reglamentos,  que  apenas  pudiera  exigir 
la  confusion  de  una  Corte ;  y  el  infeliz  Ganan  que  ha 
sudado  sobre  los  terrenes  del  campo  y  dormido  en  la 
i ierra  toda  la  semana,  no  puede  en  la  noche  dc  Sabado 
gritar  libremenle  en  la  plaza  de  su  lugar,  ni  entonar  un 

( lT^i/1  f  1 1  n 

romance  a  la  puerta  dc  su  novia. 

"  Aun  el  pais  en  que  vivo  *,  aunque  senalado  entre 


*  Las  Asturias. 


278 

inm  C0j| 

todos  por  su  laboriosidad,  por  su  natural  alegria,  j 

por  la  inocencia  de  sus  costumbres,  no  ha  podido  li- 
brarse  de  la  opresion  de  semejantes  reglamentos ;  y  el 
disgusto  con  que  son  recibidos,  y  de  que  he  sido  testi- 
go,  alguna  vez,  me  sugiere  ahora  estas  reflexiones.  La 
dispersion  de  su  poblacion  no  permite  por  fortuna,  la 
pob'cia  municipal  inventada  para  los  pueblos  arregla- 
dos ;  pero  los  nuestros  se  juntan  a  divertirse  en  las 
Romerias,  y  alii  es  donde  los  reglamentos  de  la  policia 
los  siguen  e  importunan.  Se  ha  prohibido  en  ellos,  el 
uso  de  los  palos  que  hace  aqui,  mas  necesario  que  la 
defensa,  la  fragosidad  del  pais ;  se  han  vedado  las  dan- 
zas  de  hombres ;  se  han  hecho  cesar  a  media  tarde  las 
de  mugeres ;  y  finalmente  se  obliga  a  disolver  antes 
de  la  oracion,  las  romerias  que  son  la  unica  diversion 
de  estos  laboriosos  e  inocentes  pueblos.  ^Como  es 
posible  que  esten  bien  hallados  y  contentos  con  tan 
rnolesta  policia  ?  Se  dira  que  todo  se  sufre. — Yes  ver- 
dad;  todo  se  sufre — pero  se  sufre  de  mala  gana  <y 
quien  no  pondera  las  consecuencias  de  tan  largo  y  for- 
zado  sufrimiento  ?  El  estado  de  libertad  es  una  situa- 
cion  de  paz  y  de  alegria ;  el  de  sujecion  lo  es  de  in- 
quietud  y  disgusto ;  por  consiguiente,  el  primero  cs 
durable,  el  segundo  expuesto  a  mudanzas. 

"  No  basta  que  los  pueblos  esten  quietos,  es  preciso 
que  esten  contentos ;  y  solo  en  corazones  insensibles,  y 
en  cabezas  vacias  de  todo  principio  de  politica  puede 
abrigarsela  ideadeaspirar  a  lo  primero  sin  lo  segundo. 
Los  que  miran  con  indiferencia  este  punto :  6  no  pene- 
tran  la  relacion  que  hay  entre  la  libertad  y  la  prospe- 
ridad  de  los  pueblos ;  6  por  lo  menos  la  desprecian :  y 
tan  malo  es  uno  corao  otro.  Sin  embargo  esta  rela- 


279 


cion  es  bien  digna  de  la  atencion  de  una  administra- 
cion  justa  y  suave.  Un  pueblo  libre  y  alegre,  sera 
precisamente  active  y  laborioso  ;  y  siendolo  sera  bien 
morigerado  y  obediente  a  la  justicia.  Quanto  mas 
goze,  tanto  mas  amara  el  gobierno  en  que  vive ;  tanto 
mejor  la  obedecera ;  tanto  mas  de  buen  grado  con- 
currira  a  sustentarle  y  defenderle.  Quanto  mas 
goze,  tanto  mas  tendra  que  perder ;  tanto  mas  temera 
el  desorden,  y  tanto  mas  respetara  la  autoridad  desti- 
nada  a  reprimirle.  Este  pueblo  tendra  mas  ansia  de 
enriquecerse,  porque  sabra  que  aumentara  su  placer  al 
paso  que  su  fortuna.  En  una  palabra,  aspirara  con  mas 
ardor  a  su  felicidad,  porque  estara  mas  seguro  de  go- 
zarla.  Siendo  pues  este  el  primer  objeto  de  todo  buen 
gobierno,  <  como  es  que  se  ha  descuidado  tanto,  entre 
nosotros?  Hasta  lo  que  se  llama  prosperidad  pub* 
lica,  si  acaso  es  otra  que  el  resultado  de  la  felicidad 
de  los  particulares,  pende  tambien  de  este  objeto  J 
porque,  el  poder  y  la  fuerza  de  un  estado  no  consiste 
solo  en  la  muchedumbre,  ni  en  lariqueza,  sino  tambien 
en  el  caracter  moral  de  sus  habitantes.  En  efeto  <  que 
fuerza  podra  tener  una  nacion  compuesta  de  hombres 
debiles  y  corrompidos,  duros,  insensibles,  y  agenos  de 
todo  iriteres  y  amor  publico  ?  Pof  6l  contrario,  Jos  in- 
dividuos  de  un  pueblo  frequentemente  congregados  a 
solazarse  y  divertirse  libremente,  formaran  siempre  un 
pueblo  unido  y  afectuoso,  conoceran  Un  iriteres  corriun, 
y  estaran  mas  distantes  de  sacrificarle  a  su  interes  pwr- 
ticular;  serdn  de  animo  mas  elevado  porque  seran 
mas  libres,  y  por  lo  mismo,  ser&n  tambien  de  co- 
razon  mas  recto  y  enforzado.  Cada  uno  estimara 
su  clase,  porque  se  estimara  £  si  mismo ;  y  estimara 


280 

las  demas,  porque  querra  que  la  suya  sea  estimada. 
De  esle  modo,  respetando  la  Gerarquia,  y  el  orden 
establecido  por  la  constitucion,  viviran  segun  ella ;  la 
amaran ;  y  la  defenderan  vigorosamente,  creyendo  que 
se  defienden  a  si  mismo.  Tan  cierto  es,  que  la  liber- 
tad  y  la  alegria  de  los  pueblos  estan  mas  distantes  del 
desorden,  que  la  tristeza  y  la  sujecion. 

"  No  se  crea  por  esto,  que  yo  mire  como  inutil  u 
opresiva  la  magistratura  encargada  de  velar  sobre  el 
sosiego  publico ;  creo  por  el  coutrario,  que  sin  ella,  sin 
su  continua  vigilancia,  sera  imposible  conservar  la 
tranquilidad  y  el  buen  orden ;  se  muy  bien  que  la  li- 
cencia  suele  andar  muy  cerca  de  la  libertad,  y  que  es 
necesario  un  freno  que  detenga  a  los  que  quieran  tras- 
pasar  sus  limites.  Pero,  he  aqui  el  punto  mas  dificil 
de  la  jurisprudencia  civil,  he  aqui  donde  pecan  tantos 
Jueces  indiscretos  que  confunden  la  vigilancia  con  la 
opresion.  No  hay  fiestas,  no  hay  concurrencias,  no 
hay  diversion  en  que  no  presenten  al  pueblo  los  instru- 
mentos  del  poder  y  de  la  Justicia.  A  juzgar  por  las 
apariencias,  pudiera  decirse  que  tratan  solo  de  estable- 
cer  su  autoridad  sobre  el  terror  de  los  subditos  ;  6  de 
asegurar  el  propio  descanso  a  expensas  de  su  iibertad 
y  su  gusto.  Es  en  vano.  El  pueblo  no  se  divertira 
mientras  no  este  en  plena  Iibertad  de  divertirse ;  porque 
entre  rondas  y  patrullas,  entre  corchetes  y  soldados, 
entre  varas  y  bayonetas,  la  Iibertad  se  amedrenta,  y  la 
timiola  e  inocente  alegria,  huye  y  desaparece.  No  es 
este  el  camino  de  alcanzar  el  fin  para  que  fue  institui- 
do  el  magistrado  publico.  Si  es  licito,  comparar  lo 
humilde  con  lo  excelso,  su  vigilancia  debia  parecerse 
a  la  del  ser  supremo,  ser  cierta  y  continua,  pero  invi- 


281 

sible ;  ser  conocida  detodos,  sin  ser  presente  a  ninguno ; 
andar  cercar  del  desorden  para  reprimirle,  y  de  la  li- 
bertad  para  protegerla.  En  una  palabra  ser  freno  de 
los  malos ;  araparo  y  escudo  de  los  buenos.  De  otro 
modo,  el  respetable  aparato  de  la  Justicia  se  convertira 
en  instrumento  de  opresion  y  tirauia,  y  obrando  con- 
tra su  mismo  institute,  afligira  y  turbara  a  los  mismos 
que  debiera  consolar  y  proteger. 

"  Tales  son  nuestras  ideas,  acerca  de  las  diversiones 
populares.  No  hay  provincia,  no  hay  distrito,  no 
hay  villa,  ni  lugar  que  no  tenga  ciertos  entretcnimien- 
tos,  ya  habituates,  ya  periodicos,  cstabiecidos  por  cos- 
tumbre,  exercicios  de  fucrza,  de  agilidad  6  de  ligere- 
za,  bayles  6  mericndas,  paseos,  fiestas,  disfraces  6  rao- 
gigangas.  Sean  los  que  fueran  estos  regocijos  6  di- 
versiones, todos  seran  buenos  e  inocentes  con  tal  que 
sean  publicos.  Al  buen  Juez  toca  proteger  al  pueblo 
en  estos  sencillos  pasatiempos,  disponcr  y  arreglar  los 
lugares  destinados  para  ellos,  alejar  de  ello  quanto 
pucda  turbarle,  y  dexarle  libremcnte  entregarse  al  es- 
parcimiento  y  alegria.  Si  alguna  vcz  se  presenta  a 
verle,  sea  mas  bien  para  animarle  que  para  amedren- 
trarle  6  darle  sujecion.  Sea  como  un  padre  que  se 
cornplace  en  la  alegria  de  sus  hijos  no  como  un  tirano 
embidioso  del  contento  de  sus  esclavos. 

"  En  conclusion,  el  pueblo  como  diximos  al  prin- 
cipio,  el  pueblo  que  trabaja  no  necesita  que  el  gobier- 
no  le  divierta  pero  si  que  le  dcxc  divertirsc." 


"  The  labouring  class  of  society  require  diversions, 
but  not  exhibitions;  the  government  is  not  called 


282 

upon  to  divert  them,  but  to  permit  them  to  divert 
themselves.  For  the  few  days,  the  short  moments 
which  they  can  devote  to  recreation  and  entertain- 
ment, they  will  naturally  seek,  and  easily  find  amuse- 
ments for  themselves.  Let  them  merely  be  unmolest- 
ed, and  protected  in  the  enjoyment  of  them.  A 
bright  sky  and  fine  weather,  on  a  holiday,  which  will 
leave  them  at  liberty  ia  walk,  run,  throw  the  bar,  to 
play  at  ball,  coits,  or  skittles,  or  to  junket ,  drink,  dance 
and  caper  on  the  grass,  will  fill  all  their  desires,  and 
yield  them  complete  gratification  and  contentment. 
At  so  cheap  a  rate  may  a  whole  people,  however  nu- 
merous, be  delighted  and  amused. 

*4  How  happens  it  then,  that  the  majority  of  the 
people  of  Spain  have  no  diversion  at  all  ?  For  every 
coe  who  has  travelled  through  our  provinces  must 
have  made  this  melancholy  remark.  Even  on  the 
greatest  festivals,  instead  of  that  boisterous  merriment 
and  noise  which  should  bespeak  the  joy  of  the  inha- 
bitants, there  reigns  throughout  the  market-places 
and  streets,  a  slothful  inactivity,  a  gloomy  stillness, 
which  cannot  be  remarked  without  the  mingled  emo- 
lions  of  surprise  and  pity.  The  few  persons  who 
leave  their  houses,  seem  to  be  driven  from  them  by 
listlessness,  and  dragged  as  far  as  the  threshold,  the 
market,  or  the  church-door.  There,  muffled  in  their 
cloaks,  leaning  against  some  corner,  seated  on  some 
bench,  or  lounging  backwards  and  forwards,  without 
object,  aim,  or  purpose,  they  pass  their  hours,  aye, 
I  may  say  their  whole  evenings,  without  mirth,  re- 
creation, or  amusement.  When  you  add  to  this  pic- 
ture, the  dreariness  and  filth  of  the  villages,  the  poor 


283 

and  slovenly  dress  of  the  inhabitants,  the  gloominess 
and  silence  of  their  air,  the  laziness,  the  want  of  con- 
cert and  union  so  striking  every  where,  who  but 
would  be  astonished ;  who  but  would  be  afflicted  by 
so  mournful  a  phaBnomenon  ?  This  is  not  indeed  the 
place  to  expose  the  errors  which  conspire  to  produce 
it;  but  whatever  those  errors  may  be,  one  point  is 
clear — that  they  are  all  to  be  found  in  the  laws.  With- 
out wandering  from  my  subject,  I  may  be  permitted 
to  observe,  that  the  chief  mistake  lies  in  the  faulty 
police  of  our  villages.  Many  magistrates  are  misled, 
by  an  ill-judged  zeal,  to  suppose  that  the  perfection 
of  municipal  government  consists  in  the  subjection  of 
the  people ;  they  imagine  that  the  great  object  of  sub- 
ordination is  accomplished,  if  the  inhabitants  tremble 
at  the  voice  of  Justice,  and  no  one  ventures  to  move, 
or  even  to  breathe,  at  the  very  sound  of  her  name. 
Hence  any  mob,  any  noise  or  disturbance,  is  termed 
a  riot  or  a  tumult ;  and  every  little  dispute  or  scuffle 
becomes  the  subject  of  a  criminal  proceeding,  in- 
volving in  its  consequences  examinations  and  arrests, 
imprisonments  and  fines,  with  all  the  train  of  legal 
persecutions  and  vexations.  Under  such  an  oppres- 
sive police,  the  people  grow  dispirited  and  dishearten- 
ed ;  and  sacrificing  their  inclinations  to  their  security, 
they  abjure  diversions,  which,  though  public  and  in- 
nocent, are  replete  with  embarrassments,  and  have 
recourse  to  solitude  and  inaction,  dull  and  painful 
indeed  to  their  feelings,  but  at  least  unmolested  by 
law,  and  unattended  with  danger. 

"  The  same  system  has  occasioned  numl>erless  re- 
gulations of  police,  not  only  injurious  to  the  liberties, 


284 

but  prejudicial  to  the  welfare  and  prosperity  of  the 
villages,  yet  not  less  harshly  or  less  rigorously  en- 
forced on  that  account.  There  are  some  places  where 
music  and  ringing  of  bells*,  others  where  balls  and 
marriage  suppers  are  prohibited.  In  one  village  the 
inhabitants  must  retire  to  their  houses  at  the  curfew, 
in  another  they  must  not  appear  in  the  streets  without 
a  light ;  they  must  not  loiter  about  the  corners,  or 
stop  in  the  porches ;  and  in  all  they  are  subject  to 
similar  restraints  and  privations. 

"  The  rage  for  governing,  in  some  cases  perhaps 
the  avarice  of  the  magistrates,  has  extended  to  the 
most  miserable  hamlets,  regulations  which  would 
hardly  be  necessary  in  all  the  confusion  of  a  metropo- 
lis ;  and  the  wretched  husbandman  who  has  watered 
the  earth  with  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  and  slept  on 
the  ground  throughout  the  week,  cannot  on  Saturday 
night  bawl  at  his  will  in  the  streets  of  his  village, 
or  chaunt  his  ballad  at  the  door  of  his  sweetheart. 

"  Even  the  province  in  which  I  live  (Asturias),  re- 
markable for  the  natural  cheerfulness  and  innocent 
manners  of  its  inhabitants,  is  not  exempt  from  the 
hardship  of  similar  regulations.  Indeed  the  discon- 
tent which  they  produce,  and  which  I  have  frequent- 
ly witnessed,  has  suggested  many  of  these  reflections 
on  the  subject.  The  dispersion  of  its  population  for- 
tunately prevents  that  municipal  police,  which  has 

*  There  is  a  custom  in  Spanish  Tillages  of  parading  the 
streets  on  holiday  nights  with  the  bells  taken  from  the 
mules  and  wethers.  The  rude  kind  of  music  they  pro. 
duce  is  called  cencerrada. 


been  contrived  for  regular  villages  and  towns;  but 
the  cottagers  assemble  for  their  diversions  at  a  sort  of 
wake,  called  Romerias,  or  Pilgrimages.  And  there 
it  is  that  the  regulations  of  the  police  pursue  and  mo- 
lest them.  Sticks,  which  are  used  more  on  account 
of  the  inequality  of  the  country,  than  as  a  precaution 
for  self-defence,  are  prohibited  in  these  wakes.  Men 
dances  are  forbidden ;  those  of  women  must  close  early 
in  the  evening ;  and  the  wakes  themselves,  the  sole 
diversion  of  these  innocent  and  laborious  villagers, 
must  break  up  at  the  hour  of  evening  prayer.  How 
can  they  reconcile  themselves  with  any  cheerfulness 
to  such  vexatious  interference?  It  may  indeed  be 
said  "  they  bear  it  all."  Yes,  it  is  true,  they  do  bear 
it  all ;  but  they  bear  it  with  an  ill  will ;  and  who  is 
blind  to  the  consequences  of  long  and  reluctant  sub- 
mission ?  The  state  of  freedom  is  a  state  of  peace 
and  cheerfulness;  a  state  of  subjection  is  a  state  of 
uneasiness  ami  discontent.  The  former  then  is  perma- 
nent and  durable,  the  latter  unstable  and  changeable. 
"  All,  therefore,  is  not  accomplished  when  the 
people  are  quiet;  they  should  also  be  contented  ;  and 
it  is  only  a  heart  devoid  of  feeling,  or  a  head  unac- 
quainted with  the  principles  of  government,  that  can 
harbour  a  notion  of  securing  the  first  of  these  objects 
without  obtaining  the  second.  They  who  disregard  it, 
either  do  not  see  the  necessary  connexion  between  liberty 
and  prosperity ;  or,  if  they  see  it,  they  neglect  it.  The 
error  in  either  case  is  equally  mischievous.  For  surely 
this  connexion  deserves  the  attention  of  every  just  and 
mild  government.  A  free  and  cheerful  people  are  al- 


286 

Trays  active  and  laborious ;  and  an  active  and  labori- 
ous people  are  always  attentive  to  morals,  and  ob- 
servant of  the  laws.  The  greater  their  enjoyments, 
the  more  they  love  the  government  under  which  they 
live,  the  better  they  obey  it,  and  the  more  cheerfully 
and  willingly  do  they  contribute  to  its  maintenance 
and  support.  The  greater  their  enjoyments,  the  more 
they  have  to  lose ;  and  the  more  therefore  they  fear 
any  disturbance,  and  the  more  they  respect  the  au- 
thorities intended  to  repress  it.  Such  a  people  feel 
more  anxiety  to  enrich  themselves,  because  they  must 
be  conscious  that  the  increase  of  their  pleasures  will 
keep  pace  with  the  improvement  of  their  fortunes. 
In  a  word,  they  strive  more  ardently  to  better  their 
condition,  because  they  are  certain  of  enjoying  the 
fruits  of  their  exertion.  If  such  then  be  one  of  the 
chief  objects  of  a  good  government,  why  is  it  so  dis- 
regarded among  ns  ?  Even  public  prosperity,  as  it 
is  called,  if  it  be  any  thing  but  the  aggregate  of  in- 
dividual happiness,  depends  upon  the  attainment  of 
the  object  in  question ;  for  the  power  and  strength  of 
a  state  do  not  consist  entirely  in  multitudes  or  riches, 
but  in  the  moral  character  of  its  inhabitants.  In  point 
of  fact,  can  any  nation  be  strong  whose  subjects  are 
weak,  corrupt,  harsh,  unfeeling,  and  strangers  to  all 
sentiment  of  public  spirit  and  patriotism  ?  On  the 
other  hand,  a  people  who  meet  often,  and  in  security, 
in  public,  for  the  purposes  of  diversion,  must  neces- 
sarily become  an  united  and  affectionate  people ;  they 
can  feel  what  a  common  interest  is,  and  are  conse- 
quently less  likely  to  sacrifice  it  to  their  own  personal 


287 

views  and  individual  advantage.  They  have  a  higher 
spirit,  because  they  are  freer;  a  consciousness  of 
which  improves  their  notions  of  rectitude,  and  exalts 
their  sentiments  of  honour  and  courage.  Every  in- 
dividual respects  his  own  class  in  such  a  society,  be- 
cause he  respects  himself;  and  he  respects  that  of 
others,  as  the  best  mode  of  ensuring  respect  for  his 
own.  Jf  once  the  people  respect  the  government, 
and  the  subordination  established  by  law,  they  regu- 
late their  conduct  by  it,  they  grow  attached  to  the 
institutions  of  their  country,  and  defend  them  with 
spirit ;  because,  in  so  doing,  they  are  convinced  that 
they  are  defending  themselves.  So  clear  is  it  that 
freedom  and  cheer  fulness  are  greater  enemies  of  disor- 
der than  subjection  and  melancholy. 

"  Let  me  not,  however,  be  suspected  of  consider- 
ing a  magistracy  or  police,  appointed  to  preserve  the 
public  peace,  as  in  itself  either  useless  or  oppressive. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  my  firm  persuasion,  that  with- 
out such  an  institution,  without  its  unremitting  vigi- 
lance, neither  tranquillity  nor  subordination  can  be 
preserved.  I  am  well  aware  that  license  hovers  on 
the  very  confines  of  liberty,  and  that  some  restraint 
must  be  devised  to  keep-in  those  who  would  pass  the 
limits.  This  is  indeed  the  most  delicate  point  in  civil 
jurisprudence;  and  it  is  this,  that  so  many  inju- 
dicious magistrates  mistake,  by  confounding  vigilance 
with  oppression.  Hence,  at  every  festival,  at  every 
public  diversion,  or  harmless  amusement,  they  ob- 
trude Upon  the  people  the  insignia  of  magistracy  and 
power.  To  judge  by  appearances,  one  should  sup- 


288 

pose  that  their  aim  was  to  build  their  authority  on 
the  fears  of  the  subject,  and  to  purchase  their  own 
convenience  at  the  exponce  of  the  freedom  and  plea- 
sure of  the  public.  In  every  other  view,  such  pre- 
cautions are  idle.  For  the  people  never  divert  them- 
selves without  complete  exemption  from  restraint  in 
their  diversions.  Freedom  is  scared  away  by  watch- 
men and  patroles,  constables  and  soldiers ;  and  at  the 
sight  of  staves  and  bayonets,  harmless  and  timorous 
mirth  takes  the  alarm,  and  disappears.  This  is  sure- 
ly not  the  method  of  accomplishing  the  purposes  for 
which  magistracy  was  established ;  whose  vigilance, 
if  I  may  be  permitted  so  awful  a  comparison,  should 
resemble  that  of  the  Supreme  Being,  should  be  per- 
petual and  certain,  but  invisible ;  should  be  acknow- 
ledged by  every  body,  but  seen  by  nobody ;  should 
watch  license,  in  order  to  repress  it,  and  liberty,  in 
order  to  protect  it.  In  one  word,  it  should  operate 
as  a  restraint  on  the  bad,  as  a  shield  and  protection 
to  the  good.  The  awful  insignia  of  justice  are  other- 
w  ise  the  mere  symbols  of  oppression  and  tyranny  ; 
and  the  police,  in  direct  opposition  to  the  views  of  its 
institution,  only  vexes  and  molests  the  persons  whom 
it  is  bound  to  shelter,  comfort,  and  protect. 

"  Such  are  my  ideas  upon  popular  diversions.  There 
is  neither  province  nor  district,  town  nor  village,  but 
has  particular  usages  in  its  amusements,  practised  ei- 
ther habitually,  or  at  particular  periods  of  the  year ; 
various  exercises  of  strength,  for  instance,  or  feats  of 
agility ;  balls  too,  and  junketings,  walks,  holidays, 
disguises,  masking*,  and  mummeries.  Whatever 


289 

their  diversions  may  be,  if  they  are  public  they  must 
be  innocent.  It  is  the  duty  then  of  the  good  magis- 
strate  to  protect  the  people  in  these  simple  pastimes, 
to  lay  out  and  keep  in  order  the  places  destined  for 
them,  to  remove  all  obstacles,  and  to  leave  the  inhabi- 
tants at  full  liberty  to  abandon  themselves  to  their 
boisterous  merriment,  their  rude  but  harmless  effu- 
sions of  joy.  If  he  appear  sometimes  among  them,  it 
should  be  to  encourage,  not  to  intimidate  them ;  it 
should  be  like  a  father,  gratified  at  the  mirth  of  his 
children  ;  not  like  a  tyrant,  envious  of  the  gaiety  of 
his  slaves. 

"  In  short,  to  return  to  our  former  remark,  the  peo- 
ple do  not  eali  upon  the  government  to  divert  them, 
but  merely  to  permit  them  to  divert  themselves." 

• 
ttdUt  dta 

-  .  • 

• 

• 


. 


. 
1) 


rfoijtvr  no  tewov.ariJ  ni 
TO  .-feTToy  dift  %&  itaw  gfi  Ta[Iijl 

APPENDIX. 

•is. 

sdrmTciiJ  moit 
bnc   ?>fo 

•  I)  ? 

-oafc  yrij  aidiiw  anotJiaoqinOD  iiT3'boai  nl- 

IN  addition  to  a  variety  of  metres  bor- 
rowed from  the  Italians,  the  Spaniards 
have  several  others  peculiar  to  them- 
selves. Such  are  the  redonditta  mayor 
and  menor,  and  the  trochaic  metre 
commonly  used  in  their  ballads.  They 
occasionally  employ  blank  verse,  but 
most  of  their  poetical  compositions  are 
in  rhyme.  Of  rhymes  they  have  two 
sorts ;  the  consonante  or  full  rhyme, 
which  is  nearly  the  same  as  the  Italian ; 
and  the  asonante,  which  the  ear  of  a 
foreigner  would  not  immediately  distin- 
guish from  a  blank  termination.  An 
asonante  is  a  word  which  resembles  an- 


other  in  the  vowel  on  which  the  last 
accent  falls,  as  well  as  the  vowel  or 
vowels  that  follow  it ;  but  every  conso- 
nant after  the  accented  vowel  must  be 
different  from  that  in  the  corresponding 
syllable.  Thus :  tds  and  amor,  pecho, 
fuego,  alamo,  paxara,  are  all  asonantes. 
In  modern  compositions  where  the  aso- 
nante is  used,  every  alternate  verse  is 
blank,  but  the  poet  is  not  at  liberty  to 
change  the  asonante  till  the  poem  is 
concluded.  The  old  writers  were,  I  be- 
lieve, under  no  such  restriction.  The 

dramatic  authors  certainly  assumed  the 
v,  »cjj*ji**»L*  iijiij  in  jj3cii/  v  inoinmoo 

privilege  of  <  varying  their  numbers  at 
pleasure ;  for,  when  the  asonante  ber 
came  buthensome,  they  interposed  a 
couplet,  a  sonnet,  or  a  full  rhyme,  and 
were  thus  relieved  from  their  embarrass- 

»  U*>j  •»*«•*  v     J  2JS  vjrn*><i  jflj  vTTfi3(I  <il  113 i< 

ment.  Whatever  facility  this  lax  mode 
of  rhyming  may  afford,  it  accounts 
very  insufficiently  for  the  fertility  of 

Lope  de  Vega:  as  there  arc  few  poets 
-iis«B3iani3B3T>nDjnv/  inow  s  21  aVivowoeo 


of  his  time  who  use  it  so  sparingly,  and 
none  who  more  frequently  display  their 
ingenuity  in  other  more  difficult  forms 
of  composition. 

Since  that  period  the  asonantes  are 
become  more  popular,  but  the  public 
more  severe  in  their  judgment  of  them. 
All  modern  comedies  written  in  verse 
are  written  in  asonantes ;  but  the  same 
vowels  are  required  to  recur  at  every 
other  termination  throughout  each  act, 
and  some  severer  critics  object  to  its 
being  altered  even  in  the  course  of  the 
play.  Such,  however,  is  the  fertility  of 
the  Castilian  language  in  rhymes  of 
this  nature,  that  the  difficulty  is  said  to 
consist  in  avoiding  a  resemblance  of 
sound  in  the  blank  places,  rather  than 
in  finding  it  for  the  others. 


jb> 

APPENDIX. 

No.  4. 
.   .  .tfo 

(See  Page  203.) 

" 

• 

XHE  reader  may  be  curious  to  compare 
the  following  imitations  of  this  little 
poem. 

Ma  foi,  c'est  fait  de  moi ;  car  Isabcau 

M'a  conjure  de  liii  fitire  un  rondeau. 

Cela  me  met  dans  une  peiue  extreme : 

Quoi !  treize  vers,  huit  en  eauy  cinq  en  erne? 

Je  lui  ferois  aussitfit  un  bateau. 

En  voila  cinq  pourtant  en  un  monceau. 

Faisons  en  huit  en  invoquant  Brodeau, 

Et  puis  mettons  par  quelque  stratageme — 

Ma  foi,  c'est  fait. 

Si  je  pouvois  encor  de  mon  cerveau 
Tirer  cinq  vers,  1'ouvrage  sera  beau. 
Mais  cependant  je  suis  dedans  Tonziemc  ; 
Et  si  je  crois  que  je  fais  le  douzieme, 
En  voila  treize,  ajustez  au  niveau — 

Ma  foi,  c'  cst  fait. 

VOITURE. 


294 

Doris,  qui  sait  qu'  aux  vers  quelquefois  je  me  plais, 

Me  demande  un  sonnet  ;  et  je  m'en  desespere. 

Quatorze  vers  ;  Grand  Dieu  !  le  moyen  de  les  faire  ! 

En  voila  cependant  quatre  deja  de  fails. 

Je  ne  pouvois  d'  abord  trouver  de  rime  ;  mais 

En  faisant  on  apprend  a  se  tirer  d'  affaire. 

Poursuivons  :  les  quatrains  ne  m'etonneront  gueres, 

Si  du  premier  tercet  je  pus  faire  les  frais. 

Je  commence  au  hasard  ;  et,  si  je  ne  m'abuse, 

Je  n'ai  pas  commence  sans  1'  aveu  de  la  muse. 

Puisqu'en  si  peu  de  terns  je  m'en  tire  du  net, 

J'  entame  le  second,  et  ma  joie  est  extreme  ; 

Car  des  vers  commandes  j'acheve  le  treizieme  ; 

Comptez  s'ils  sont  quatorze3  et  voila  le  sonnet. 

DSSMARAIS. 


b  10!  .? 

\r  oV«  to!  £ 


S        ,*t  S 
1        .618 

FINIS. 


IQt 


9J[  sioforipfowp  my  xuis  *i. 

ire'in  a^te  jtenno?.  ^jj  9biUR/ns>b  >M 
!  3ii«l  aai  ab  na^om  si  !  i»iQ  bfunO  ^  aiw'asiolswQ 
.z)i£i  sb  BJpb  aiijerip  ioK&naq^o  ^Liov  nSL 
eiam  i  amh  ab  -revjJoiJ  biode'b  giovuoq  MI  si. 
.9ii£&£  'b  iw  t  SB  £  biraiqqfi  no  tnfigint  n3 
'm  on  e»ii  Bitsi/p  ggf  :  gnoviirgino*! 

33!  ^lifil  aim  aj  teaiot  isimaicr  ub  13 
ERRATA. 
i  M  jjf>  •  DfBaBfl  ur.  rorrwnmoo  9l» 

P.  11.  line  13.  for  Sannaxa.ro  r&A  Sannazariut.  ., 

30.       '14.  for  Medivilla  read  Medinilla. 

^jtCSi^U   <JU   JJ31J    IS  113  JJUolU  A 

S3.  17.  for  may  read  might. 

fy.  4.fotavantajare*AaVentaja. 

66.  15.  for  forgo  read  /orqfo. 

72.  11.  for  gray  read  grey.^,  )fl0g 

1.  for  t/iii-  read  the. 
31r«i3W^ 
21.  torpor  que  re^A  porque. 

101.  25.  for  des  de  read  cfescfc. 

144.  13.  for  esto  y  read  wtoy. 

195.  21.  for  qunato  read  quanto. 

213.  4.  for  my  read  mi. 

2l4^  23.  for  quiso  read  quwrf. 

319.  1*.  for  r«JJ«doKd  read  Madrid, 


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