Chapter 16

"What now? what stand'st thou mutely thinking,Thou of my thought the only treasure?Lira.I'm thinking how thy dream of pleasureAnd mine so fast away are sinking;It will not fall beneath the handOf him who wastes our native land.For long, or e'er the war be o'er,My hapless life shall be no more.Morandro.Joy of my soul, what has thou said?Lira.That I am worn with hunger so,That quickly will th' o'erpowering woeFor ever break my vital thread.What bridal rapture dost thou dream,From one at such a sad extreme?For, trust me, ere an hour be past,I fear I shall have breathed my last.My brother fainted yesterday,By wasting hunger overborne;And then my mother, all out-wornBy hunger, slowly sunk away.And if my health can struggle yetWith hunger's cruel power, in truthIt is because my stronger youthIts wasting force hath better mat.But now so many a day hath pass'd,Since aught I've had its powers to strengthen;It can no more the conflict lengthen,But it must faint and fail at last.Morandro.Lira, dry thy weeping eyes;But ah! let mine, my love, the moreTheir overflowing rivers pour,Wailing thy wretched agonies.But though thou still art held in strifeWith hunger thus incessantly;Of hunger still thou shalt not die.So long as I retain my life.I offer here from you high wall,To leap o'er ditch and battlement;Thy death one instant to prevent,I fear not on mine own to fall.The bread the Roman eateth now,I'll snatch away and bear to thee;For, oh! 'tis worse than death to see,Lady, thy dreadful state of woe."[71]

After this the scenes of horror accumulate;—children crying to their mothers for bread; brothers lamenting over each other's suffering; and some repining at, and others nobly anticipating the hour when death and flames are to envelope all. Such scenes, denuded of their poetry, are mere horrors; but clothed, as Cervantes has clothed them, in the language of the affections, and of the loftier passions of the soul, thereader, even while trembling with the excitement, reads on and exults at last, when not a Numantine survives to grace Scipio's triumph. Nothing can be more truly national than the drama; and, as if fearful that a Spanish audience would feel too deeply the catastrophe, he introduces Spain, the river Duero, War, Sickness, and Famine, as allegorical personages, who, while they mourn over the present, prophesy the future triumphs of their country. Another merit of this play is one not usual in Spanish authors: it is of no more than the necessary length to develope its interest; there is no long spinning out, and except quite at the outset, before the poet had warmed to his subject, it has not a cold or superfluous line. It is indeed a monument worthy of Cervantes's genius, and proves the height to which he could soar, and brings him yet in closer resemblance to Shakspeare; showing that he could depict the grand and terrible, the pathetic and the deeply tragic, with the same master hand. It is said that this tragedy was acted during the frightful siege of Saragossa by the French in the last war; and the Spaniards found in the example of their forefathers, and in the spirit and genius of their greatest man, fresh inducements to resist: this is a triumph for Cervantes, worthy of him, and shows how truly and how well he could speak to the hearts of his countrymen.

In the comedy "Life in Algiers" there cannot be said to be any plot at all. Cervantes brought back from his captivity an intense horror of Christian suffering in Africa; and he had it much at heart to awaken in the minds of his countrymen, not only sympathy, but a spirit of charity, that would lead them to assist in the redemption of captives. He thus brings forward various pictures of suffering, such as would best move the hearts of the audience, and such as he himself had witnessed. Aurelio and Silvia, affianced lovers, are captives, and are respectively loved by Yusuf and Zara, the Moors who own them. In the old Spanish style, feelings are personified and brought on the stage. Fatima, Zara'sconfidant, seeks by incantations to bend Aurelio to her mistress's will. She is told by a Fury, that such power cannot be exercised over a Christian, but Necessity and Occasion are sent to move him by the suggestions they instil by whispers, and which he echoes as his own thoughts. He almost falls into the snare they present by filling his mind with prospects of ease and pleasure, in exchange for the hardships he undergoes; but he resists the temptation, and is finally set free with Silvia. Besides, these, we have the picture of two captives, who escape and cross the desert to Oran, as Cervantes had once schemed to do himself. One of them appears worn and famished—willing to return to captivity so to avoid death: he prays to the Virgin, and a lion is sent, who guards and guides him on his darksome solitary way. To rouse still more the compassion of the audience, there is one scene where the public crier comes on to sell a mother and father, and two children: the elder one has a sense of his situation and of the trials he is to expect with firmness; the younger knows nothing beyond his fear at being tern from his mother's side. A merchant buys the younger, and bids him come with him.

"Juan.I cannot leave my mother, sir, to goWith others.

Mother.Go, my child—ah! mine no more,But his who buys thee.

Juan.Mother dear, dost thouDesert me?

Mother.Heaven! How pitiless thou art!

Merchant.Come, child, come!

Juan.Brother, let's go together.

Francisco.It is not in my choice—may heaven go withthee!

Mother.Remember, oh, my treasure and my joy,Thy God!

Juan.Where do they take me without you,My father!—my dear mother!

Mother.Sir, permitFor one brief moment that I speak to myPoor child—short will the satisfaction be,Long, endless sorrow following close behind.

Merchant.Say what thou wilt; 'tis the last time thou canst.

Mother.Alas! it is the first that e'er I feltSuch woe.

Juan.Mother, keep me with thee;Suffer me not to go, I know not where.

Mother.Fortune has, since I bore thee, my sweet child,Hidden her face—the heavens are dark—the seaAnd the wild winds combine for my dismay;The very elements our enemies!Thou knowest not thy misery, althoughThou art its victim—and such ignoranceIs happiness for thee! My only love,Since to see thee no more I am allow'd,I pray thee never to forget to seekThe favour of the Virgin in thy prayers—The queen of goodness she—of grace and hopeShe can unloose thy chain, and set thee free.

Aydar.Hark to the Christian what advice she gives!Thoud'st have him lost as thee, false infidel!

Juan.My mother, let me stay—let not these MoorsTake me away.

Mother.My treasures go with thee.

Juan.In faith, I fear these men!

Mother.But I more fearThou wilt forget thy God, me and thyself,When thou art gone: thy tender years are such,That thou wilt lose thy faith amidst this raceOf infidels—teachers of lies.

Crier.Silence!And fear, old wicked woman, that thy headPay for thy tongue!"

At the end of the play, Juan is seduced by fine clothes and sweetmeats to become a Mahometan. When we think of the Spanish horror of renegades, and its fierce punishment, we may imagine the effect that such scenes, brought vividly before them, must have had. The play ends with the arrival of a vessel, with a friar on board, charged with money to redeem the captives, and the universal joy the Christians feel; Cervantes had felt such himself, and well could paint it. The whole play, though without plot, and rendered wild and strange by the introduction of allegorical personages, yet is full of the interest of pathetic situations and natural feelings, simply, but vividly represented; suchdoubtless, roused every sentiment of horror and compassion, and even vengeance in a Spanish audience. In some respects we feel otherwise; and when one of the captives relates the cruel death of a priest burnt by slow fire, by the Moors, in retaliation of a Moor burnt by the inquisition, our indignation is rather levelled against that nefarious institution, which, unprovoked, punished those who adhered to the faith of their fathers, and filled the whole world with abhorrence for its name. Such, Cervantes could not feel; and in reading his works, and those of all his countrymen, nothing jars with our feelings so much as the praise ever given to the most savage cruelties of the Dominicans, and the merciless reprobation expressed towards those who dared revenge their wrongs.

From the publication of these works to "Don Quixote," what a gap! He would seem to have lived as an unlighted candle—suddenly, a spark touches the wick, and it burst into a flame. "Don Quixote" is perfect in all its parts. The first conception is admirable. The idea of the crazed old gentleman who nourished himself in the perusal of romances till he wanted to be the hero of one, is true to the very bare truth of nature, and how has he followed it out? Don Quixote is as courageous, noble, princely, and virtuous as the greatest of the men whom he imitates: had he attempted the career of knight errantry, and afterwards shrunk from the consequent hardships, he had been a crazy man, and no more; but meeting all and bearing all with courage and equanimity, he really becomes the hero he desired to be. Any one suffering from calamities would gladly have recourse to him for help, assured of his resolution and disinterestedness, and thus Cervantes shows the excellence and perfection of his genius. The second part is conceived in a different spirit from the first; and to relish it as it deserves, we must enter into the circumstances connected with it. Cervantes was desirous of not repeating himself. There is less extravagance, less of actual insanity on the part of the hero. He no longer mistakes an inn for a castle, nora flock of sheep for an army. He sees things as they are, although he is equally expert in giving them a colouring suited to his madness. This, however, renders the second part less entertaining to the general reader, less original, less brilliant; but it is more philosophic, more full of the author himself: it shows the deep sagacity of Cervantes, and his perfect knowledge of the human heart. Its drawback, for the second part is not as perfect as the first, consists in the unworthy tricks of the duchess—very different from the benevolent disguise of the princess Micomicona, the deceptions of this great lady are at once vulgar and cruel.

The greatest men have looked on "Don Quixote" as the best book that ever was written. Godwin said, "At twenty, I thought 'Don Quixote' laughable—at forty, I thought it clever—now, near sixty, I look upon it as the most admirable book in the whole world." In Coleridge's "Literary Remains," there are some admirable remarks on "Don Quixote;" they are too long to be inserted here, but I cannot refrain from quoting the contrast he draws between the Don and Sancho Panza. He says, "Don Quixote grows at length to be a man out of his wits; his understanding is deranged; and hence, without the least deviation from the truth of nature, without losing the least trait of personal individuality, he becomes a substantial living allegory, or personification of the reason and moral sense divested of the judgment and understanding. Sancho is the converse. He is the common sense without reason or imagination; and Cervantes not only shows the excellence and power of reason in Don Quixote, but in both him and Sancho the mischiefs resulting from a severance of the two main constituents of sound intellectual and moral action. Put him and his master together, and they form a perfect intellect; but they are separated and without cement: and hence, each having need of the other for its whole completeness, each has at times a mastery over the other; for the common sense, though it may see thepractical inapplicability of the dictates of the imagination of abstract reason, yet cannot help submitting to them. These two characters possess the world—alternately and interchangeably the cheater and the cheated. To impersonate them, and to combine the permanent with the individual, is one of the highest creations of genius, and has been achieved by Cervantes and Shakspeare almost alone."

Of the "Novellas," or tales of Cervantes, I had intended to give a detail, but have no space; they are among the best of his works. They cannot compete with the best of Boccaccio: they have not his energy of passion—his soul-melting tenderness—his tragic power and matchless grace; but the tales of Cervantes are full of interest and amusement: they possess the merit also of being perfectly moral; he calls them himself Novellas Exemplares, and there is not a word that need be slurred over or omitted. It is strange also that as afterwards the intrigue of his comedies was so bad, that of some of his stories is so good, that Beaumont and Fletcher—than whom no dramatists better understood the art of fabricating plays—have adopted two, ("La Señora Cornelia" and "Las Dos Doncellas"), and so adopted them as to follow them line for line, and scene by scene. There is a very beautiful interview in "Las Dos Doncellas," between a cavalier and a lady at night, by the sea-shore; Beaumont and Fletcher have but translated and versified this, and it stands among the most effective of their scenes.[72]

The "Voyage to Parnassus" has the inherent Spanish defect of length, otherwise it has great merit: the ridicule is playful—the machinery poetic—the story well adapted for burlesque. There had been a poem, written on the subject of a voyage to Parnassus, by Cezare Caporali—an Italian of Perugia. Cervantes begins his poem by mentioning the return of the Italian, and how he, who ever desired todeserve the name of poet, resolved to follow his example. In playful derision of his poverty, he describes his departure: a piece of bread and a cheese in his wallet, were all his provision—"light to carry, and useful for the voyage and then he bids adieu to his lowly roof—"Adieu to Madrid—adieu to its fountains, which distil ambrosia and nectar—to its prado—to its society—to the abodes of pleasure and deceit." He arrives at Carthagena, and sees Mercury, who invites him to embark on board a boat, and to come to assist in the defence of Parnassus, which had been attacked by a host of poetasters. The skiff is fancifully described:—

And lo! of verses framed, the bark,[73]From the maintop to water mark,Without a word of prose betwixt;The upper decks were glosses mix'd—A hodge-podge badly put together,Ill-married all with one another:—And of romances form'd, the crew,A daring people glad to doThe wildest acts, however fierce.The poop was made of other verse:'Twas form'd of sonnets, each one rare,Written all with the nicest care.Two tercets, bold as muse could write,The gunnels framed from left to right,And gave free scope unto the oar.The gangway's length was measured o'erBy elegies most sad and long,More apt for tears than gladsome song.The mast that rose unto the skyAn ode embodied, long and dry,Tarr'd o'er with songs of dreary length,So to ensure its weight and strength.And all the yards that ran acrossWere burthens harsh—you're at no lossTheir hard material to find:The parrel creaking to the wind,Of redondillas gay and free;So that more easy it might be.The ropes and tackle—rigging all—Of seguidillas light and small,Each twined with fancies gay and fickle,The which the soul are apt to tickle;The thwarts, of stanzas staunch and strong,Planks to support a world of song;While the pennants, flying lightly,Love songs framed so gay and sprightly.Sestinas grave, and blank verse ready,Shaped the keel both sharp and steady;That like a duck the bark might swim,And o'er the waters lightly skim.

Embarked on board this fanciful galley. Mercury shows him a long catalogue of poets, asking his advice as to their admission. Cervantes takes this occasion to characterise several of his contemporary poets, in a manner that in his day might have been keenly satirical or warmly laudatory: there is no doubt that there is a good deal of irony in his praise, but a portion also is sincere. The whole is obscure and uninteresting to us. In the midst of the examination, a crowd of poets rush into the skiff, in numbers that threaten its safety; and the syrensare obliged to raise a storm to scatter them. After this, he beholds a cloud obscure the day, and from this cloud falls down a shower of poets, and, among them, Lope de Vega, "a renowned poet, whom none excels, or even equals, in prose or verse." The voyage now proceeds prosperously; the vessel glides along impelled by oars formed of verses druccioli, (such as have a dactyl at the end of each line), and the sails, which are stretched to the height of the mast, were

Woven of many a gentle thought,Upon a woof that love had wrought,Fill'd by the soft and amorous windWhich breathed upon us from behind—Eager to waft us swift along;While the fair queens of ocean-song—The syrens three, around us float,And so impel the dancing boat;And crested waves are spread around,Snowy flocks on a verdant ground;And the crew are at work reciting,Or sweet love-laden sonnets writing,Or singing soft the sweetest laysAll in their gentle ladies' praise.

They, at last, arrive at Parnassus; and then follows a description of the gardens of the Hesperides: arrived before Apollo, he invites them to sit down; on this, all the seats around are speedily occupied, and Cervantes remains standing. He then gives an account to Apollo of his writings, in which he praises himself modestly enough, and, after alluding to his poverty, sums up all, by saying, "that he is contented with little, though he desires much, and that his chief annoyance is to find himself standing there, when all others sit." Apollo answers him complimentarily, and bids him double up his cloak, and sit on that; but poor Cervantes has no cloak. "Well," replies Apollo, "even thus I am glad to see you; virtue is a mantle with which penury can hide and cover its nakedness, and thus avoid envy." "I bowed my head to this advice, and remained standing; for it is wealth or favour alone that can fabricate a seat." Poetry herself now appears, and her description is the most poetic passage Cervantes ever wrote. The arts and sciences hovered round her, and, in serving her, were themselves served; sincethus all nations held them in higher veneration. All things he represents as bringing tribute to Poetry:—the rivers, their currents; the ocean, its changeful tides, and secret depths; herbs present their virtues to her; trees, their fruits and flowers; and stones the power they hold within; holy love presents her with its chaste delights; soft peace her happy rest; fierce war, her achievements. The wise and beautiful lady knew all, disposed of all, and filled all things with admiration and pleasure. There is real poetry in this description, melody in the verse, and truth and beauty in the imagery. But we get weary; for page succeeds to page, and the poem never ends. A second storm ensues. Neptune endeavours to submerge and destroy the poetasters; but Venus prevents them from sinking, by turning them into empty gourds and leathern bottles, which swim about in a thousand different manners. A battle, at last, ensues between the real and would-be poets; while Cervantes, full of annoyance, hurries away, seeking out his old and dusky dwelling, and throws himself wearied upon his bed.

There is a whimsical postscript to the "Voyage to Parnassus," written in prose, and very amusing. It recounts the visit of a would-be poet, who brings Cervantes a letter from Apollo. The god reproaches him for having gone away from Parnassus without having taken leave of him and his daughters, and says the only excuse he can admit is his hurry to visit his Mecænas, the great count of Lemos at Naples: another token that Cervantes was disappointed in not receiving an invitation.

The last of Cervantes's works, the one he was occupied upon up to the hour cf his death, was "Persiles and Sigismunda,"—a romance, full of wild adventures, of love and war, of danger, escape, and indeed every variety of accident of "flood and field." It shows the true bent of the author's mind, who delighted to revel, like his own Don Quixote, in the very excesses of the imagination; and showing thus, how in his advanced age, he had forgotten none of his youthful tastes. He wrote it inimitation of Heliodorus: it is amusing in parts, and in parts interesting; but now that the taste for this heterogeneous, though imaginative, species of writing has passed away it will scarcely find readers sufficiently persevering, and sufficiently fond of the fabulous and strange, to dwell upon its enchainment of impossible adventures.

[55]Viardôt

[56]This circumstance is mentioned by M. Viardôt only; and was unknown to every other biographer.

[57]Viardôt.

[58]Viardôt.

[59]Bouterwek says, erroneously, that Los Rios has interwoven Cervantes's novel of the "Captive" into his biography, as being authentic, and relating to himself. This is a mistake: Los Rios conceives, indeed, that the mention made by the captive of "a soldier, by name Saavedra," alludes to Cervantes himself, who adopted that surname, as of course he does; but the history he gives of his captivity is drawn from other sources, such as are used, with some additions, for the present narrative.

[60]Topographia y Historia general de Argel, repartido en cinco tratados, do se veran casos estranos, muertas espantoas, y tormentas exquisitas, que conviene se entiendan en la christianidad: con mucha doctrina y elegancia curiosa. Por el Maestro Fray Diego de Haedo, Abad de Funestra. Fol. Valladolid, 1612.

[61]Viardôt.

[62]For the sake of the curious we append a translation of the registry of Cervantes's liberation, as found by Los Rios in the archives of the order of mercy, and quoted by him in his "Proofs of the Life." These documents consist of two registers; one of the receipt of money for his redemption given by the friars Juan Gil, procurer-general for the order of the most Holy Trinity and Antonio de la Vella, minister of the monastery of the said order in the city of Baeza; and the second testified the payment of the money in Algiers. The first runs thus:—"In the said city of Madrid, on the 31st of July, of the year 1579, in the presence of me, the notary, and the underwritten witnesses, the said fathers, friar Juan Gil and friar Antonio de la Vella, received 300 ducats, at eleven rials each ducat, being 230 ducats, from the hand of donna Leonora de Cortinas, widow, formerly wife of Rodrigo de Cervantes, and fifty ducats from donna Andrea de Cervantes, inhabitants of Alcalà, now in this court (this expression is always used to signify Madrid), to contribute to the ransom of Miguel de Cervantes, an inhabitant of the said city, son and brother of the above named, who is captive at Algiers in the power of Ali Mami, captain of the vessels of the fleet of the king of Algiers, who is thirty-three years of age, has lost his left hand; and from them they received two obligations and receipts, and received the said sum before me, the notary, being witnesses, Juan de Quadros and Juan de la Peña Corredor, and Juan Fernandez, residing in this court: in faith of which the said witnesses, friars, and I, the said notary, sign our names."The second register is as follows:—"In the city of Algiers, on the 19th of September, 1580, in presence of me, the said notary, the rev. father friar Juan Gil, the above named redeemer, ransomed Miguel de Cervantes, a native of Alcalà de Henares, aged thirty-three, son of Rodrigo de Cervantes and of donna Leonora de Cortinas, and an inhabitant of Madrid; of a middle size, much beard, maimed of the left arm and hand, taken captive in the galley el Sol, bound from Naples to Spain, where he had been a long time in the service of H. M. He was taken 26th September, 1575, being in the power of Hassan Pacha, king: his ransom cost 500 crowns of gold in Spanish gold; because, if not, he was to be sent to Constantinople; and, therefore, on account of this necessity, and that this Christian should not be lost in a Moorish country, 220 crowns were raised among the traders and the remaining 250 collected from the charities of the redemption. Three hundred ducats were given in aid; and they were assisted by the charity of Francisco de Caramanchel, of whom is the patron the very illustrious Señor Domingo de Cardenas Zapata, of the council of H. M., with fifty doubloons, and by the general charity of the order they were assisted by fifty more; and the remainder of the sum, the said order engaged to repay, being money belonging to other captives, who gave pledges in Spain for their ransom; and, net being at present in Algiers, they are not ransomed; and the said order are under obligation to return the money to the parties, the captives not being ransomed; and besides were given nine doubloons to the officers of the galley of the said king Hassan Pacha, who asked it as their fees: in faith of which sign their names, &c."

"In the said city of Madrid, on the 31st of July, of the year 1579, in the presence of me, the notary, and the underwritten witnesses, the said fathers, friar Juan Gil and friar Antonio de la Vella, received 300 ducats, at eleven rials each ducat, being 230 ducats, from the hand of donna Leonora de Cortinas, widow, formerly wife of Rodrigo de Cervantes, and fifty ducats from donna Andrea de Cervantes, inhabitants of Alcalà, now in this court (this expression is always used to signify Madrid), to contribute to the ransom of Miguel de Cervantes, an inhabitant of the said city, son and brother of the above named, who is captive at Algiers in the power of Ali Mami, captain of the vessels of the fleet of the king of Algiers, who is thirty-three years of age, has lost his left hand; and from them they received two obligations and receipts, and received the said sum before me, the notary, being witnesses, Juan de Quadros and Juan de la Peña Corredor, and Juan Fernandez, residing in this court: in faith of which the said witnesses, friars, and I, the said notary, sign our names."

The second register is as follows:—

"In the city of Algiers, on the 19th of September, 1580, in presence of me, the said notary, the rev. father friar Juan Gil, the above named redeemer, ransomed Miguel de Cervantes, a native of Alcalà de Henares, aged thirty-three, son of Rodrigo de Cervantes and of donna Leonora de Cortinas, and an inhabitant of Madrid; of a middle size, much beard, maimed of the left arm and hand, taken captive in the galley el Sol, bound from Naples to Spain, where he had been a long time in the service of H. M. He was taken 26th September, 1575, being in the power of Hassan Pacha, king: his ransom cost 500 crowns of gold in Spanish gold; because, if not, he was to be sent to Constantinople; and, therefore, on account of this necessity, and that this Christian should not be lost in a Moorish country, 220 crowns were raised among the traders and the remaining 250 collected from the charities of the redemption. Three hundred ducats were given in aid; and they were assisted by the charity of Francisco de Caramanchel, of whom is the patron the very illustrious Señor Domingo de Cardenas Zapata, of the council of H. M., with fifty doubloons, and by the general charity of the order they were assisted by fifty more; and the remainder of the sum, the said order engaged to repay, being money belonging to other captives, who gave pledges in Spain for their ransom; and, net being at present in Algiers, they are not ransomed; and the said order are under obligation to return the money to the parties, the captives not being ransomed; and besides were given nine doubloons to the officers of the galley of the said king Hassan Pacha, who asked it as their fees: in faith of which sign their names, &c."

[63]It is usually said, and Viardôt repeats it, that Cervantes was driven from his theatrical labours by the success of Lope de Vega. This is not the fact. Lope sailed with the Invincible Armada, and it was not until his return that he began his dramatic career. The fact seems simply to have been that Cervantes, feeling the animation of genius within him, yet not having discovered its proper expression, was, to a certain degree, successful as a dramatist, though he could not originate a style which should give new life to the modern drama: thus his gains were moderate, and he found himself unable to support those dependant on him. The place of commissary offered itself to rescue him from this state of poverty. Afterwards, when Lope began his career, Cervantes found indeed, that, he filled the public eye, and had hit its taste; and that his dramas, with their jéjune plots and uninterwoven incidents, however, adorned by poetry and the majesty of passion, were thrown aside and forgotten.

[64]This monument excited attention in the capital—Lope de Vega in his comedy of "La Esclava de su Galan," "The slave of her Lover" makes a lady living in great retirement in this country, say, "I visited Seville but twice: once to see the king, whom heaven guard! and a second time to see the wondrous edifice of the monument; so that I was only to be tempted out by the grandest objects which heaven or earth contains."

[65]"AL TUMULO DEL REY EN SEVILLA.'Voto á Dios que me espanta esta grandeza,y que diera un doblon por describilla,porque ¿ á quien no suspende y maravillaesta maquina insigne, esta braveza?Por Jesu Christo vivo, cada piezavale mas que un millon, que es mancillaque esto no duré un siglo.—O gran Sevilla;Roma triunfante en animo y riqueza.Apostare que el anima del muerto,por gozar esto sitio, hoy ha dexadoel Cielo de que goza eternamente!'Esto oyo un valenton, y dixo: 'Es ciertolo que dice voace, seor soldado,y quien dixere lo contrario miente.'Y luego en continentecaló el chapeo, requirio la espada,miro al soslayo, fuese, y no hubo nada."

[65]

"AL TUMULO DEL REY EN SEVILLA.'Voto á Dios que me espanta esta grandeza,y que diera un doblon por describilla,porque ¿ á quien no suspende y maravillaesta maquina insigne, esta braveza?Por Jesu Christo vivo, cada piezavale mas que un millon, que es mancillaque esto no duré un siglo.—O gran Sevilla;Roma triunfante en animo y riqueza.Apostare que el anima del muerto,por gozar esto sitio, hoy ha dexadoel Cielo de que goza eternamente!'Esto oyo un valenton, y dixo: 'Es ciertolo que dice voace, seor soldado,y quien dixere lo contrario miente.'Y luego en continentecaló el chapeo, requirio la espada,miro al soslayo, fuese, y no hubo nada."

"AL TUMULO DEL REY EN SEVILLA.

'Voto á Dios que me espanta esta grandeza,y que diera un doblon por describilla,porque ¿ á quien no suspende y maravillaesta maquina insigne, esta braveza?Por Jesu Christo vivo, cada piezavale mas que un millon, que es mancillaque esto no duré un siglo.—O gran Sevilla;Roma triunfante en animo y riqueza.Apostare que el anima del muerto,por gozar esto sitio, hoy ha dexadoel Cielo de que goza eternamente!'Esto oyo un valenton, y dixo: 'Es ciertolo que dice voace, seor soldado,y quien dixere lo contrario miente.'Y luego en continentecaló el chapeo, requirio la espada,miro al soslayo, fuese, y no hubo nada."

[66]Los Rios—Pruebas de la Vida.

[67]"When I was at Valladolid, a letter was brought to my house which cost a rial. It contained a bad, silly discourteous sonnet, without wit or point, speaking ill of 'Don Quixote,'—so that I grudged the rial infinitely."—Postcript to the "Voyage to Parnassus."

[68]Torres Marquez, master of the pages to the archbishop of Toledo, was a friend of Cervantes, and took every occasion to proclaim his genius and worth. It was through him, probably, that the archbishop bestowed a pension on him.

[69]The Argensolas were men much esteemed in their day, and are so often mentioned by Cervantes and Lope de Vega, that they must not be passed over in silence. But as there is nothing very original in their writings, we shall take the liberty of dismissing them in a note. The elder, Lupercio, the historiographer for Aragon, secretary to the empress Maria of Austria, and secretary of state to the count of Lemos when viceroy of Naples, died in that city in 1613, at the age of forty-eight. He founded an academy at Naples, and was a studious and laborious man. He burned a considerable portion of his poems just before his death, as not worthy to survive him. Bartolomé was an ecclesiastic. He followed his brother to Naples. On his death he quitted Italy. He continued the "Annals of Aragon," and wrote a history of the conquest of the Molucca islands; a work written with judgment and elegance. His secular poetry is so similar to his brother's that they cannot be distinguished one from the other. Following the same school, adopting the same tastes, and neither of them original, it is not surprising that their productions bore a close resemblance. The best works, however, of Bartolomé are his sacred Canzoni. He died at Saragossa, in the year 1531, at the age of sixty-five.

[70]Coleridge's summary of the character and life of Cervantes, though not correct in letter, is admirable in spirit: "A Castilian of refined manners; a gentleman true to religion, and true to honour. A scholar and a soldier; he fought under the banners of don John of Austria, at Lopanto, and lost his arm, and was captured. Endured slavery, not only with fortitude, but with mirth; and, by the superiority of nature, mastered and overawed his barbarian owner. Finally ransomed, he resumed his native destiny—the awful task of achieving fame; and for that reason died poor, and a prisoner, while nobles and kings, over their goblets of gold, gave relish to their pleasures by the charms of his divine genius. He was the inventor of novels for the Spaniards; and in his "Persiles and Sigismunda" the English may find the germ of their "Robinson Crusoe.""The world was a drama to him. His own thoughts, in spite of poverty and sickness, perpetuated for him the feelings of youth. He painted only what he knew, and had looked into; but he knew, and had looked into much indeed; and his imagination was ever at hand to adapt and modify the world of his experience. Of delicious love he fabled, yet with stainless virtue."

"The world was a drama to him. His own thoughts, in spite of poverty and sickness, perpetuated for him the feelings of youth. He painted only what he knew, and had looked into; but he knew, and had looked into much indeed; and his imagination was ever at hand to adapt and modify the world of his experience. Of delicious love he fabled, yet with stainless virtue."

[71]Quarterly Review, vol. XXV.

[72]There is an excellent translation of ten from among them; we may also mention that there is an admirable old English translation of Don Quixote, by Shelton.

[73]"De la quilla á la gavia, ó estraña cosa!toda de versos era fabricada,sin que se entremiese alguna prosa.Las ballesteras eran de ensaladade glosas, todas hechas á la boda,de la que se llamó Malmaridada:era la chusma de romances todagente atrevida, empero necesariapues á todas acciones se acomoda.La popa de materia extraordinaria,bastarda, y de legitimos sonetos,de labor peregrina en todo y varia.Eran dos valentisimos tercetoslos espaldares de la izquierda y diestra,para dar boga larga muy perfetos.Hecha ser la cruxia se me muestrade una luenga y tristisima elegia,que no en cantar, sino en llorar es diestra.Por esta entiendo yo que se dirialo que suele, decirse á un desdichado,quando lo pasa mal, pasó cruxia.El árbol hasta el cielo levantadode una dura cancion prolixa estabade canto de seis dedos embreado.El y la entena que por el cruxabade duros estrambotes—la maderade que eran hechos claro se mostraba.La racamenta, que es siempre parlera,Toda la componian de redondillas,Con que ella se mostraba mas ligera,las xarcias parecian seguidillas,de disparates mil y mas compuestasQue suelen en el alma hacer cosquillas.las rumbadas, fortisimas y honestasestancias, eran tablas ponderosas,que llevan un poema y otro á cuestas.Era cosa de ver las bulliciosasvanderillas que a ayre tremolaban,De varias rimas algo licenciosas.Los grumetes, que aqui y alli cruxabande encadenados versos parecian,puesto que como libres trabajaban,todas las obras muertas componianO versos sueltos, ó sextinas gravesque la galera mas gallarda hacian."

[73]

"De la quilla á la gavia, ó estraña cosa!toda de versos era fabricada,sin que se entremiese alguna prosa.Las ballesteras eran de ensaladade glosas, todas hechas á la boda,de la que se llamó Malmaridada:era la chusma de romances todagente atrevida, empero necesariapues á todas acciones se acomoda.La popa de materia extraordinaria,bastarda, y de legitimos sonetos,de labor peregrina en todo y varia.Eran dos valentisimos tercetoslos espaldares de la izquierda y diestra,para dar boga larga muy perfetos.Hecha ser la cruxia se me muestrade una luenga y tristisima elegia,que no en cantar, sino en llorar es diestra.Por esta entiendo yo que se dirialo que suele, decirse á un desdichado,quando lo pasa mal, pasó cruxia.El árbol hasta el cielo levantadode una dura cancion prolixa estabade canto de seis dedos embreado.El y la entena que por el cruxabade duros estrambotes—la maderade que eran hechos claro se mostraba.La racamenta, que es siempre parlera,Toda la componian de redondillas,Con que ella se mostraba mas ligera,las xarcias parecian seguidillas,de disparates mil y mas compuestasQue suelen en el alma hacer cosquillas.las rumbadas, fortisimas y honestasestancias, eran tablas ponderosas,que llevan un poema y otro á cuestas.Era cosa de ver las bulliciosasvanderillas que a ayre tremolaban,De varias rimas algo licenciosas.Los grumetes, que aqui y alli cruxabande encadenados versos parecian,puesto que como libres trabajaban,todas las obras muertas componianO versos sueltos, ó sextinas gravesque la galera mas gallarda hacian."

There is a vulgar English proverb of such a one being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. We are reminded of it when we compare the several careers of Cervantes and Lope de Vega. If we judged without inquiry, we should imagine no man more likely to obtain popularity through his works, than the author of "Don Quixote." His disposition was cheerful and unrepining; to the last hour of his life he displayed lightness of heart, even to the censure of a dull envious rival (Figueroa), who remarks, that such was his weakness, that he wrote prefaces and dedications even on his death bed,—prefaces, as we have shown, full of animation and wit. Yet he lived in penury, died obscurely, and went to his grave unhonoured, except by his friends; while all Madrid flocked to do honour to the funeral of Lope; and two volumes of eulogiums and epitaphs form but a select portion of all that was written to commemorate his death. It is true that posterity has been more just: great pains have been taken to give forth correct editions of Cervantes's works, and to ascertain the events of his life; while the twenty-one volumes of Lope's "Obras Sueltas" are full of errors, and his plays are only to be obtained in single pamphlets, badly printed, both to sight and sense.

It is curious to read the epithets of praise heaped on this favourite of his age, during his life and immediately on his death. His friend and disciple Montalvan adopts a phraseology very similar to that in use withthe emperor of China, when he is styled "Brother of the sun" and "Uncle of the stars." He with all the pomp of Spanish hyperbole, names him "the portent of the world; the glory of the land; the light of his country; the oracle of language; the centre of fame; the object of envy; the darling of fortune; the phoenix of ages: prince of poetry; Orpheus of sciences; Apollo of the muses; Horace of poets; Virgil of epics; Homer of heroics; Pindar of lyrics; the Sophocles of tragedy; and the Terence of comedy. Single among the excellent, and excellent among the great: great in every way and in every manner." Such was the usual style of speaking of Lope,—his common appellation being the phoenix of Spain. And now, while editions of "Don Quixote" are multiplied, and each hour adds to the fame of Cervantes, we inquire concerning Lope, principally for the sake of discovering the cause of the excessive admiration with which he was regarded in his own time. The life written by Montalvan, the biography compiled with such care and elegance by Lord Holland, and various researches given to light in several numbers of the "Quarterly Review," (written we believe, by Mr. Southey), are (in addition to the works of Lope himself) our principal guides in tracing the following pages.

Lope de Vega Carpio was born at Madrid[74], in the house of Geronimo de Soto, near the gate of Guadalaxara, on the 26th of November, 1562, on the day of St. Lope, bishop of Verona, and was baptized on the 6th of December following, in the parish church of San Miguel de les Octeos. Hisparents were in the same situation as these of Cervantes—hidalgos, but poor. We have an account of Felix de Vega, father of the poet, which shows him to have been a good and pious man, and a careful father. He was very attentive to his religious duties, and had rooms in the Hospital de la Corte, whither his children accompanied him, and they performed several menial offices, and washed the feet of the poor—comforting and helping the convalescent with clothes and money. The good example thus implanted imparted a charitable and pious turn to Lope's life,—and still more to that of his elder sister, Isabel de Carpio, who was singularly pious, and died in 1601.[75]Felix de Vega was also a poet, as his son informs us in the "Laurel de Apolo," in some verses of respectful and graceful allusion[76]; so that he added the inheritance of a poetical temperament to his pious instructions.

The boy early displayed great tokens of talent. What we are told of him does not exceed the accounts given of other young prodigies, and we are willing to believe the relations handed down of this wonderful child, who, whatever his other merits were, showed himself to the end of his life the prince of words, having written more than any other man ever did, and we may believe, therefore, that he acquired the art of using them earlier than others. At two years old he was remarkable for the vivacity of his eyes, and the drollness of his ways, showing even thus early, tokens of his after career; he was eager even then to learn; andknew his letters before he could speak, repeating his lessons by signs before he could utter the words. At five years old he read Spanish and Latin—and such was his passion for verses, that before he could use a pen he bribed his elder schoolfellows with a portion of his breakfast, to write to his dictation, and then exchanged his effusions with others for prints and hymns. Thus truly he lisped in numbers; as he says of himself in the epistle before referred to, "I could scarcely speak when I used a pen to give wings to my verses and is another proof, (if proof were wanting that the sun shines at noon day) of innate talent. At twelve he was master of rhetoric and grammar, and of Latin composition, both in prose and verse. To the latter accomplishment we must put the limit, that probably he was as learned as his masters; and that was not much, for the Latin verses he published in later life are excelled by any clever Etonian of the fourth form. In addition to these classical attainments, he had learned to dance, and fence, and sing.

He was left early an orphan, and his vivacious disposition led him into various scrapes and adventures. The most important among these was an elopement from school when fourteen years of age, impelled by a desire of seeing the world. He concerted with a friend of his, Fernando Muñoz, who was filled with a similar desire: they both provided as well as they could for the necessities of the journey, and went on foot as far as Segovia, where they bought a mule for 15 ducats; with this they proceeded to Lavañeza, and Astorga—where meeting, we may guess, with several of those various discomforts we find detailed in "Lazarillo de los Tormes," and otherpicarescoworks, as inevitable in Spanish inns, they became disgusted, and made up their minds to return. When they had got back as far as Segovia, their purses were emptied of small money, and they had recourse to a silversmith, the one to sell a chain and the other to change a doubloon. The silversmith's suspicions wereawakened and he sent for a judge, and the judge, a miracle in Spain, was a just judge, as Montalvan says, "he must have had a touch of conscience about him"—for he neither robbed nor threw them into prison; but questioning them and finding them agree in their story, and that their fault was that of youth, not of vice, he sent them back to Madrid, with an alguazil, who restored them, doubloons, chain and all, into the hands of their relations, "which," says Montalvan, "he did at small cost. Such then was the honesty of the ministers of justice, who now-a-days would have thought they had not gained enough had they not made an eight-days' lawsuit about it."

The youth soon after became an inmate in the house of the grand inquisitor, don Geronimo Manrique, bishop of Avila; it would appear that he was there as aprotegé, and that the bishop thought his talents deserving protection and encouragement. His own expression is, "Don Geronimo Manrique educated me." He delighted the prelate with various eclogues that he wrote, and a comedy called the "Pastoral of Jacinto,"—from which Montalvan dates the change Lope de Vega operated in the Spanish theatre. This comedy is not extant, therefore it is impossible to pass a judgment upon it; but the name of pastoral rather seems to limit it to an imitation of the plays then in vogue; indeed his eulogist only mentions this difference, that he had reduced the number of acts to three. Montalvan goes on to speak as if he, at this time, brought out successful plays, but this arises rather from the confusion of his expressions, than mistake: he wrote them, it is true, for he tells us so himself; but there is no trace of any being played. Meanwhile, feeling that his knowledge was slight, and his education unfinished, with the assistance of the bishop, he entered the university of Alcala, where he remained four years, until he graduated, and was distinguished among his companions in the examinations.

On leaving the university of Alcala, he entered the service of the duke of Alva[77], who became attached to him, and made him not only his secretary but his favourite. A doubt is raised as to which duke this is; whether it be the oppressor of the Low Countries, or his successor: chronology seems to determine that it was the former. It has already been mentioned in this work, that the duke of Alva,—whose name in the Netherlands, and with us, is stamped with all the infamy that remorseless cruelty, blind bigotry, and faithlessness bestows—was regarded in Spain as the hero of the age. Lope introduces the mention of a statue in the "Arcadia," and says, "This last, whose grey head is adorned by the ever verdant leaves of the ungrateful Daphne, merited by so many victories, is the immortal soldier, don Fernando de Toledo, duke of Alva, so justly worthy of that fame, which you behold lifting herself to heaven from the plumes of the helmet, with the trump of gold, through which for ever she will proclaim his exploits, and spread his name from the Spanish Tagus to the African Mutazend; from the Neapolitan Sabeto to the French Garonne. He is a Pompilius in religion; a Radamanthus in severity; Belisarius in guerdon; Anaxagoras in constancy; Periander in wedlock; Pomponius in veracity; Alexander Severus in justice; Regulus in fidelity; Cato in modesty; and finally a Timotheus in the felicity which attended all his wars."

At the request of the duke of Alva he wrote his "Arcadia." It has been mentioned how the imitations of Sannazaro's pastoral had become the fashion in Spain. The "Diana" of Montemayor, its continuation by Gil Polo, and the "Galatea" of Cervantes, were all read with enthusiasm. What the charm of this composition is, we can scarcely guess; yet we feel it ourselves when we read the "'Arcadia" of sir Philip Sidney. The sort of purely sentimental life of the shepherds and shepherdesses, with their flocks, pipes, and faithful dogs, appears to shut out the baser portion of existence, and to enable us to live only for the affections,—a state of being, however impracticable, always alluring; and when to this is added the delightful climate of Spain, which invested pastoral life with all the loveliness and amenity of nature, we are the less surprised at the prevalence of the taste. Lope was very young when he entered the lists, and wrote his "Arcadia." There is exaggeration in its style, and in its sentiments; yet no one can open it without becoming aware of the talent of the author. The poetry with which it is interspersed possesses the peculiar merit of Lope—perspicuity, and an easy artless flow in its ideas; as for instance, the cancion imitated from the ancients, beginning,

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