680-684; and Marina, Historia de la Legislacion, Madrid, 1808,
fol., §§ 290, 291. As far as it goes, which is not through the
first of the seven divisions proposed, it consists, 1. of an
introduction by Alfonso; and 2. of a series of discussions on the
Catholic religion, on Heathenism, etc., which were afterwards
substantially incorporated into the first of the Partidas of
Alfonso himself.
Still, though Alfonso had been employed in preparing this code, he did
not see fit to finish it. He, however, felt charged with the general
undertaking, and seemed determined that his kingdom should not continue
to suffer from the uncertainty or the conflict of its different systems
of legislation. But he proceeded with great caution. His first body
of laws, called the “Espejo,” or “Mirror of all Rights,” filling five
books, was prepared before 1255; but though it contains within itself
directions for its own distribution and enforcement, it does not seem
ever to have gone into practical use. His “Fuero Real,” a shorter
code, divided into four books, was completed in 1255 for Valladolid,
and perhaps was subsequently given to other cities of his kingdom.
Both were followed by different laws, as occasion called for them,
down nearly to the end of his reign. But all of them, taken together,
were far from constituting a code such as had been projected by Saint
Ferdinand.[66]
[66] Opúsculos Legales del Rey Alfonso el Sabio, publicados,
etc., por la Real Academia de la Historia, Madrid, 1836, 2 tom.
fol. Marina, Legislacion, § 301.
This last great work was undertaken by Alfonso in 1256, and finished
either in 1263 or 1265. It was originally called by Alfonso himself
“El Setenario,” from the title of the code undertaken by his father;
but it is now always called “Las Siete Partidas,” or The Seven Parts,
from the seven divisions of the work itself. That Alfonso was assisted
by others in the great task of compiling it out of the Decretals, and
the Digest and Code of Justinian, as well as out of the Fuero Juzgo
and other sources of legislation, both Spanish and foreign, is not to
be doubted; but the general air and finish of the whole, its style and
literary execution, must be more or less his own, so much are they in
harmony with whatever else we know of his works and character.[67]
[67] “El Setenario” was the name given to the work begun in the
reign of St. Ferdinand, “because,” says Alfonso, in the preface
to it, “all it contains is arranged by sevens.” In the same way
his own code is divided into seven parts; but it does not seem
to have been cited by the name of “The Seven Parts” till above a
century after it was composed. Marina, Legislacion, §§ 292-303.
Preface to the edition of the Partidas by the Academy, Madrid,
1807, 4to, Tom. I. pp. xv.-xviii.
The Partidas, however, though by far the most important legislative
monument of its age, did not become at once the law of the land.[68]
On the contrary, the great cities, with their separate privileges,
long resisted any thing like a uniform system of legislation for the
whole country; and it was not till 1348, two years before the death of
Alfonso the Eleventh, and above sixty after that of their author, that
the Partidas were finally proclaimed as of binding authority in all
the territories held by the kings of Castile and Leon. But from that
period the great code of Alfonso has been uniformly respected.[69] It
is, in fact, a sort of Spanish common law, which, with the decisions
under it, has been the basis of Spanish jurisprudence ever since; and
becoming in this way a part of the constitution of the state in all
Spanish colonies, it has, from the time when Louisiana and Florida were
added to the United States, become in some cases the law in our own
country;--so wide may be the influence of a wise legislation.[70]
[68] Much trouble arose from the attempt of Alfonso X. to
introduce his code. Marina, Legislacion, §§ 417-419.
[69] Marina, Legis., § 449. Fuero Juzgo, ed. Acad., Pref., p.
xliii.
[70] See a curious and learned book entitled “The Laws of
the Siete Partidas, which are still in Force in the State of
Louisiana,” translated by L. Moreau Lislet and H. Carleton, New
Orleans, 1820, 2 vols. 8vo; and a discussion on the same subject
in Wheaton’s “Reports of Cases in the Supreme Court of the United
States,” Vol. V. 1820, Appendix; together with various cases in
the other volumes of the Reports of the Supreme Court of the
United States, e. g. Wheaton, Vol. III. 1818, p. 202, note (a).
“We may observe,” says Dunham, (Hist. of Spain and Portugal, Vol.
IV. p. 121,) “that, if all the other codes were banished, Spain
would still have a respectable body of jurisprudence; for we
have the experience of an eminent advocate in the Royal Tribunal
of Appeals for asserting, that, during an extensive practice of
twenty-nine years, scarcely a case occurred which could not be
virtually or expressly decided by the code in question.”
The Partidas, however, read very little like a collection of statutes,
or even like a code such as that of Justinian or Napoleon. They
seem rather to be a series of treatises on legislation, morals, and
religion, divided with great formality, according to their subjects,
into Parts, Titles, and Laws; the last of which, instead of being
merely imperative ordinances, enter into arguments and investigations
of various sorts, often discussing the moral principles they lay down,
and often containing intimations of the manners and opinions of the
age, that make them a curious mine of Spanish antiquities. They are,
in short, a kind of digested result of the opinions and reading of a
learned monarch, and his coadjutors, in the thirteenth century, on
the relative duties of a king and his subjects, and on the entire
legislation and police, ecclesiastical, civil, and moral, to which, in
their judgment, Spain should be subjected; the whole interspersed with
discussions, sometimes more quaint than grave, concerning the customs
and principles on which the work itself, or some particular part of it,
is founded.
As a specimen of the style of the Partidas, an extract may be made
from a law entitled “What meaneth a Tyrant, and how he useth his power
in a kingdom when he hath obtained it.”
“A tyrant,” says this law, “doth signify a cruel lord, who by force,
or by craft, or by treachery, hath obtained power over any realm or
country; and such men be of such nature, that, when once they have
grown strong in the land, they love rather to work their own profit,
though it be in harm of the land, than the common profit of all, for
they always live in an ill fear of losing it. And that they may be
able to fulfil this their purpose unencumbered, the wise of old have
said that they use their power against the people in three manners.
The first is, that they strive that those under their mastery be ever
ignorant and timorous, because, when they be such, they may not be
bold to rise against them nor to resist their wills; and the second
is, that they be not kindly and united among themselves, in such wise
that they trust not one another, for, while they live in disagreement,
they shall not dare to make any discourse against their lord, for fear
faith and secrecy should not be kept among themselves; and the third
way is, that they strive to make them poor, and to put them upon great
undertakings, which they can never finish, whereby they may have so
much harm, that it may never come into their hearts to devise any thing
against their ruler. And above all this, have tyrants ever striven to
make spoil of the strong and to destroy the wise; and have forbidden
fellowship and assemblies of men in their land, and striven always to
know what men said or did; and do trust their counsel and the guard of
their person rather to foreigners, who will serve at their will, than
to them of the land, who serve from oppression. And, moreover, we say,
that, though any man may have gained mastery of a kingdom by any of
the lawful means whereof we have spoken in the laws going before this,
yet, if he use his power ill, in the ways whereof we speak in this law,
him may the people still call tyrant; for he turneth his mastery which
was rightful into wrongful, as Aristotle hath said in the book which
treateth of the rule and government of kingdoms.”[71]
[71] Partida II. Tít. I. Ley 10, ed. Acad., Tom. II. p. 11.
In other laws, reasons are given why kings and their sons should be
taught to read;[72] and in a law about the governesses of king’s
daughters, it is declared:--
[72] Partida II. Tít. VII. Ley 10, and Tít. V. Ley 16.
“They are to endeavour, as much as may be, that the king’s daughters
be moderate and seemly in eating and in drinking, and also in their
carriage and dress, and of good manners in all things, and especially
that they be not given to anger; for, besides the wickedness that lieth
in it, it is the thing in the world that most easily leadeth women to
do ill. And they ought to teach them to be handy in performing those
works that belong to noble ladies; for this is a matter that becometh
them much, since they obtain by it cheerfulness and a quiet spirit; and
besides, it taketh away bad thoughts, which it is not convenient they
should have.”[73]
[73] Partida II. Tít. VII. Ley 11.
Many of the laws concerning knights, like one on their loyalty, and
one on the meaning of the ceremonies used when they are armed,[74]
and all the laws on the establishment and conduct of great public
schools, which he was endeavouring, at the same time, to encourage,
by the privileges he granted to Salamanca,[75] are written with even
more skill and selectness of idiom. Indeed, the Partidas, in whatever
relates to manner and style, are not only superior to any thing that
had preceded them, but to any thing that for a long time followed.
The poems of Berceo, hardly twenty years older, seem to belong to
another age, and to a much ruder state of society; and, on the other
hand, Marina, whose opinion on such a subject few are entitled to
call in question, says, that, during the two or even three centuries
subsequent, nothing was produced in Spanish prose equal to the Partidas
for purity and elevation of style.[76]
[74] Partida II. Tít. XXI. Leyes 9, 13.
[75] The laws about the Estudios Generales,--the name then given
to what we now call Universities,--filling the thirty-first
Título of the second Partida, are remarkable for their wisdom,
and recognize some of the arrangements that still obtain in many
of the Universities of the Continent. There was, however, at that
period, no such establishment in Spain, except one which had
existed in a very rude state at Salamanca for some time, and to
which Alfonso X. gave the first proper endowment in 1254.
[76] Marina, in Mem. de la Acad. de Hist., Tom. IV., Ensayo, p.
52.
But however this may be, there is no doubt, that, mingled with
something of the rudeness and more of the ungraceful repetitions
common in the period to which they belong, there is a richness, an
appropriateness, and sometimes even an elegance, in their turns of
expression, truly remarkable. They show that the great effort of their
author to make the Castilian the living and real language of his
country, by making it that of the laws and the tribunals of justice,
had been successful, or was destined speedily to become so. Their
grave and measured movement, and the solemnity of their tone, which
have remained among the characteristics of Spanish prose ever since,
show this success beyond all reasonable question. They show, too, the
character of Alfonso himself, giving token of a far-reaching wisdom and
philosophy, and proving how much a single great mind happily placed
can do towards imparting their final direction to the language and
literature of a country, even so early as the first century of their
separate existence.[77]
[77] As no more than a fair specimen of the genuine Castilian of
the Partidas, I would cite Part. II. Tít. V. Ley 18, entitled
“Como el Rey debe ser granado et franco”: “Grandeza es virtud que
está bien á todo home poderoso et señaladamente al rey quando
usa della en tiempo que conviene et como debe; et por ende dixo
Aristóteles á Alexandro que él puñase de haber en si franqueza,
ca por ella ganarie mas aina el amor et los corazones de la
gente: et porque él mejor podiese obrar desta bondat, espaladinol
qué cosa es, et dixo que franqueza es dar al que lo ha menester
et al que lo meresce, segunt el poder del dador, dando de lo suyo
et non tomando de lo ageno para darlo á otro, ca el que da mas de
lo que puede non es franco, mas desgastador, et demas haberá por
fuerza á tomar de lo ageno quando lo suyo non compliere, et si de
la una parte ganare amigos por lo que les diere, de la otra parte
serle han enemigos aquellos á quien lo tomare; et otrosi dixo que
el que da al que non lo ha menester non le es gradecido, et es
tal come el que vierte agua en la mar, et el que da al que lo non
meresce es como el que guisa su enemigo que venga contra él.”
CHAPTER IV.
JUAN LORENZO SEGURA.--CONFUSION OF ANCIENT AND MODERN MANNERS.--EL
ALEXANDRO, ITS STORY AND MERITS.--LOS VOTOS DEL PAVON.--SANCHO
EL BRAVO.--DON JUAN MANUEL, HIS LIFE AND WORKS, PUBLISHED AND
UNPUBLISHED.--HIS CONDE LUCANOR.
The proof that the “Partidas” were in advance of their age, both as to
style and language, is plain, not only from the examination we have
made of what preceded them, but from a comparison of them, which we
must now make, with the poetry of Juan Lorenzo Segura, who lived at the
time they were compiled, and probably somewhat later. Like Berceo, he
was a secular priest, and he belonged to Astorga; but this is all we
know of him, except that he lived in the latter part of the thirteenth
century, and has left a poem of above ten thousand lines on the life of
Alexander the Great, drawn from such sources as were then accessible
to a Spanish ecclesiastic, and written in the four-line stanza used by
Berceo.[78]
[78] The Alexandro fills the third volume of the Poesías
Anteriores of Sanchez, and was for a long time strangely
attributed to Alfonso the Wise, (Nic. Antonio, Bibliotheca
Hispana Vetus, ed. Bayer, Matriti, 1787-8, fol., Tom. II. p. 79,
and Mondejar, Memorias, pp. 458, 459,) though the last lines of
the poem itself declare its author to be Johan Lorenzo Segura.
What is most obvious in this long poem is its confounding the manners
of a well-known age of Grecian antiquity with those of the Catholic
religion, and of knighthood, as they existed in the days of its author.
Similar confusion is found in some portion of the early literature of
every country in modern Europe. In all, there was a period when the
striking facts of ancient history, and the picturesque fictions of
ancient fable, floating about among the traditions of the Middle Ages,
were seized upon as materials for poetry and romance; and when, to fill
up and finish the picture presented by their imaginations to those who
thus misapplied an imperfect knowledge of antiquity, the manners and
feelings of their own times were incongruously thrown in, either from
an ignorant persuasion that none other had ever existed, or from a
wilful carelessness concerning every thing but poetical effect. This
was the case in Italy, from the first dawning of letters till after the
time of Dante; the sublime and tender poetry of whose “Divina Commedia”
is full of such absurdities and anachronisms. It was the case, too,
in France; examples singularly in point being found in the Latin poem
of Walter de Chatillon, and the French one by Alexandre de Paris, on
this same subject of Alexander the Great; both of which were written
nearly a century before Juan Lorenzo lived, and both of which were
used by him.[79] And it was the case in England, till after the time
of Shakspeare, whose “Midsummer Night’s Dream” does all that genius
can do to justify it. We must not, therefore, be surprised to find it
in Spain, where, derived from such monstrous repositories of fiction
as the works of Dares Phrygius and Dictys Cretensis, Guido de Colonna
and Walter de Chatillon, some of the histories and fancies of ancient
times already filled the thoughts of those men who were unconsciously
beginning the fabric of their country’s literature on foundations
essentially different.
[79] Walter de Chatillon’s Latin poem on Alexander the Great was
so popular, that it was taught in the rhetorical schools, to the
exclusion of Lucan and Virgil. (Warton’s English Poetry, London,
1824, 8vo, Vol. I. p. clxvii.) The French poem begun by Lambert
li Cors, and finished by Alexandre de Paris, was less valued, but
much read. Ginguené, in the Hist. Lit. de la France, Paris, 4to,
Tom. XV. 1820, pp. 100-127.
Among the most attractive subjects that offered themselves to such
persons was that of Alexander the Great. The East--Persia, Arabia, and
India--had long been full of stories of his adventures;[80] and now, in
the West, as a hero more nearly approaching the spirit of knighthood
than any other of antiquity, he was adopted into the poetical fictions
of almost every nation that could boast the beginning of a literature,
so that the Monk in the “Canterbury Tales” said truly,--
[80] Transactions of the Royal Society of Literature, Vol. I Part
II. pp. 5-23, a curious paper by Sir W. Ouseley.
“The storie of Alexandre is so commune,
That every wight, that hath discretion,
Hath herd somewhat or all of his fortune.”
Juan Lorenzo took this story substantially as he had read it in the
“Alexandreïs” of Walter de Chatillon, whom he repeatedly cites;[81] but
he has added whatever he found elsewhere, or in his own imagination,
that seemed suited to his purpose, which was by no means that of
becoming a mere translator. After a short introduction, he comes at
once to his subject thus, in the fifth stanza:--
[81] Coplas 225, 1452, and 1639, where Segura gives three Latin
lines from Walter.
I desire to teach the story · of a noble pagan king,
With whose valor and bold heart · the world once did ring:
For the world he overcame, · like a very little thing;
And a clerkly name I shall gain, · if his story I can sing.
This prince was Alexander, · and Greece it was his right;
Frank and bold he was in arms, · and in knowledge took delight;
Darius’ power he overthrew, · and Porus, kings of might,
And for suffering and for patience · the world held no such wight.
Now the infant Alexander · showed plainly from the first,
That he through every hindrance · with prowess great would burst;
For by a servile breast · he never would be nursed,
And less than gentle lineage · to serve him never durst.
And mighty signs when he was born · foretold his coming worth:
The air was troubled, and the sun · his brightness put not forth,
The sea was angry all, · and shook the solid earth,
The world was wellnigh perishing · for terror at his birth.[82]
[82]
Quiero leer un libro · de un rey noble pagano,
Que fue de grant esforcio, · de corazon lozano,
Conquistó todel mundo, · metiol so su mano,
Terné, se lo compriere, · que soe bon escribano.
Del Princepe Alexandre, · que fue rey de Grecia,
Que fue franc è ardit · è de grant sabencia.
Venció Poro è Dário, · dos Reyes de grant potencia,
Nunca conosció ome su par · en la sufrencia.
El infante Alexandre · luego en su ninnéz
Comenzó à demostrar · que seríe de grant prez:
Nunca quiso mamar leche · de mugier rafez,
Se non fue de linage · è de grant gentiléz.
Grandes signos contiron · quando est infant nasció:
El ayre fue cambiado, · el sol escureció,
Todol mar fue irado, · la tierra tremeció,
Por poco quel mundo · todo non pereció.
Sanchez, Tom. III. p. 1.
Then comes the history of Alexander, mingled with the fables and
extravagances of the times; given generally with the dulness of a
chronicle, but sometimes showing a poetical spirit. Before setting out
on his grand expedition to the East, he is knighted, and receives an
enchanted sword made by Don Vulcan, a girdle made by Doña Philosophy,
and a shirt made by two sea fairies,--_duas fadas enna mar_.[83] The
conquest of Asia follows soon afterwards, in the course of which the
Bishop of Jerusalem orders mass to be said to stay the conqueror, as he
approaches the Jewish capital.[84]
[83] Coplas 78, 80, 83, 89, etc.
[84] Coplas 1086-1094, etc.
In general, the known outline of Alexander’s adventures is followed,
but there are a good many whimsical digressions; and when the
Macedonian forces pass the site of Troy, the poet cannot resist the
temptation of making an abstract of the fortunes and fate of that
city, which he represents as told by Don Alexander himself to his
followers, and especially to the Twelve Peers, who accompanied him in
his expedition.[85] Homer is vouched as authority for the extraordinary
narrative that is given;[86] but how little the poet of Astorga cared
for the Iliad and Odyssey may be inferred from the fact, that, instead
of sending Achilles, or Don Achilles, as he is called, to the court of
Lycomedes of Scyros, to be concealed in woman’s clothes, he is sent,
by the enchantments of his mother, in female attire, to a convent of
nuns, and the crafty Don Ulysses goes there as a peddler, with a pack
of female ornaments and martial weapons on his back, to detect the
fraud.[87] But, with all its defects and incongruities, the “Alexandro”
is a curious and important landmark in early Spanish literature; and
if it is written with less purity and dignity than the “Partidas” of
Alfonso, it has still a truly Castilian air, in both its language and
its versification.[88]
[85] Coplas 299-716.
[86] Coplas 300 and 714.
[87] Coplas 386, 392, etc.
[88] Southey, in the notes to his “Madoc,” Part I. Canto xi.,
speaks justly of the “sweet flow of language and metre in
Lorenzo.” At the end of the Alexandro are two prose letters
supposed to have been written by Alexander to his mother; but I
prefer to cite, as a specimen of Lorenzo’s style, the following
stanzas on the music which the Macedonians heard in Babylon:--
Alli era la musica · cantada per razon,
Las dobles que refieren · coitas del corazon,
Las dolces de las baylas, · el plorant semiton,
Bien podrien toller precio · à quantos no mundo son.
Non es en el mundo · ome tan sabedor,
Que decir podiesse · qual era el dolzor,
Mientre ome viviesse · en aquella sabor
Non avrie sede · nen fame nen dolor.
St. 1976, 1977.
_Las dobles_ in modern Spanish means the tolling for the
dead;--here, I suppose, it means some sort of sad chanting.
A poem called “Los Votos del Pavon,” The Vows of the Peacock, which
was a continuation of the “Alexandro,” is lost. If we may judge from
an old French poem on the vows made over a peacock that had been a
favorite bird of Alexander, and was served accidentally at table after
that hero’s death, we have no reason to complain of our loss as a
misfortune.[89] Nor have we probably great occasion to regret that we
possess only extracts from a prose book of advice, prepared for his
heir and successor by Sancho, the son of Alfonso the Tenth; for though,
from the chapter warning the young prince against fools, we see that
it wanted neither sense nor spirit, still it is not to be compared to
the “Partidas” for precision, grace, or dignity of style.[90] We come,
therefore, at once to a remarkable writer, who flourished a little
later,--the Prince Don Juan Manuel.
[89] Los Votos del Pavon is first mentioned by the Marquis
of Santillana (Sanchez, Tom. I. p. lvii.); and Fauchet says,
(Recueil de l’Origine de la Langue et Poésie Française, Paris,
1581, fol., p. 88,) “Le Roman du Pavon est une continuation des
faits d’Alexandre.” There is an account of a French poem on
this subject, in the “Notices et Extraits des Manuscrits de la
Bibliothèque Nationale,” etc., (Paris, an VII. 4to,) Tom. V. p.
118. Vows were frequently made in ancient times over favorite
birds (Barante, Ducs de Bourgogne, ad an. 1454, Paris, 1837, 8vo,
Tom. VII. pp. 159-164); and the vows in the Spanish poem seem
to have involved a prophetic account of the achievements and
troubles of Alexander’s successors.
[90] The extracts are in Castro, (Tom. II. pp. 725-729,) and the
book, which contained forty-nine chapters, was called “Castigos
y Documentos para bien vivir, ordenados por el Rey Don Sancho
el Quarto, intitulado el Brabo”; _Castigos_ being used to mean
_advice_, as in the old French poem, “Le _Castoiement_ d’un Père
a son Fils”; and _Documentos_ being taken in its primitive sense
of _instructions_. The spirit of his father seems to speak in
Sancho, when he says of kings, “que han de governar regnos e
gentes con ayuda de çientificos sabios.”
Lorenzo was an ecclesiastic,--_bon clérigo é ondrado_,--and his home
was at Astorga, in the northwestern portion of Spain, on the borders of
Leon and Galicia. Berceo belonged to the same territory, and, though
there may be half a century between them, they are of a similar spirit.
We are glad, therefore, that the next author we meet, Don John Manuel,
takes us from the mountains of the North to the chivalry of the South,
and to the state of society, the conflicts, manners, and interests,
that gave us the “Poem of the Cid,” and the code of the “Partidas.”
Don John was of the blood royal of Castile and Leon; grandson of
Saint Ferdinand, nephew of Alfonso the Wise, and one of the most
turbulent and dangerous of the Spanish barons of his time. He was born
in Escalona, on the 5th of May, 1282, and was the son of Don Pedro
Manuel, an Infante of Spain,[91] brother of Alfonso the Wise, with
whom he always had his officers and household in common. Before Don
John was two years old, his father died, and he was educated by his
cousin, Sancho the Fourth, living with him on a footing like that on
which his father had lived with Alfonso.[92] When twelve years old
he was already in the field against the Moors, and in 1310, at the
age of twenty-eight, he had reached the most considerable offices in
the state; but Ferdinand the Fourth dying two years afterwards, and
leaving Alfonso the Eleventh, his successor, only thirteen months old,
great disturbances followed till 1320, when Don John Manuel became
joint regent of the realm; a place which he suffered none to share
with him, but such of his near relations as were most involved in his
interests.[93]
[91] Argote de Molina, Sucesion de los Manueles, prefixed to the
Conde Lucanor, 1575. The date of his birth has been heretofore
considered unsettled, but I have found it given exactly by
himself in an unpublished letter to his brother, the Archbishop
of Toledo, which occurs in a manuscript in the National Library
at Madrid, to be noticed hereafter.
[92] In his report of his conversation with King Sancho, when
that monarch was on his death-bed, he says, “The King Alfonso
and my father in his lifetime, and King Sancho and myself in his
lifetime, always had our households together, and our officers
were always the same.” Farther on, he says he was brought up
by Don Sancho, who gave him the means of building the castle
of Peñafiel, and calls God to witness that he was always true
and loyal to Sancho, to Fernando, and to Alfonso XI., adding
cautiously, “as far as this last king gave me opportunities to
serve him.” Manuscript in the National Library at Madrid.
[93] Crónica de Alfonso XI., ed. 1551, fol., c. 19-21.
The affairs of the kingdom during the administration of Prince John
seem to have been managed with talent and spirit; but at the end of
the regency the young monarch was not sufficiently contented with
the state of things to continue his grand-uncle in any considerable
employment. Don John, however, was not of a temper to submit quietly to
affront or neglect.[94] He left the court at Valladolid, and prepared
himself, with all his great resources, for the armed opposition which
the politics of the time regarded as a justifiable mode of obtaining
redress. The king was alarmed, “for he saw,” says the old chronicler,
“that they were the most powerful men in his kingdom, and that they
could do grievous battle with him, and great mischief to the land.” He
entered, therefore, into an arrangement with Prince John, who did not
hesitate to abandon his friends, and go back to his allegiance, on the
condition that the king should marry his daughter Constantia, then a
mere child, and create him governor of the provinces bordering on the
Moors, and commander-in-chief of the Moorish war; thus placing him, in
fact, again at the head of the kingdom.[95]
[94] Ibid., c. 46 and 48.
[95] Crónica de Alfonso XI., c. 49.
From this time we find him actively engaged on the frontiers in a
succession of military operations, till 1327, when he gained over
the Moors the important victory of Guadalhorra. But the same year
was marked by the bloody treachery of the king against Prince John’s
uncle, who was murdered in the palace under circumstances of peculiar
atrocity.[96] The Prince immediately retired in disgust to his estates,
and began again to muster his friends and forces for a contest, into
which he rushed the more eagerly, as the king had now refused to
consummate his union with Constantia, and had married a Portuguese
princess. The war which followed was carried on with various success
till 1335, when Prince John was finally subdued, and, entering anew
into the king’s service, with fresh reputation, as it seemed, from a
spirited rebellion, and marrying his daughter Constantia, now grown up,
to the heir-apparent of Portugal, went on, as commander-in-chief, with
an uninterrupted succession of victories over the Moors, until almost
the moment of his death, which happened in 1347.[97]
[96] Mariana, Hist., Lib. XV. c. 19.
[97] Ibid., Lib. XVI. c. 4. Crónica de Alfonso XI., c. 178.
Argote de Molina, Sucesion de los Manueles.
In a life like this, full of intrigues and violence,--from a prince
like this, who married the sisters of two kings, who had two other
kings for his sons-in-law, and who disturbed his country by his
rebellions and military enterprises for above thirty years,--we should
hardly look for a successful attempt in letters.[98] Yet so it is.
Spanish poetry, we know, first appeared in the midst of turbulence and
danger; and now we find Spanish prose fiction springing forth from the
same soil, and under similar circumstances. Down to this time we have
seen no prose of much value in the prevailing Castilian dialect, except
in the works of Alfonso the Tenth, and in one or two chronicles that
will hereafter be noticed. But in most of these the fervor which seems
to be an essential element of the early Spanish genius was kept in
check, either by the nature of their subjects, or by circumstances of
which we can now have no knowledge; and it is not until a fresh attempt
is made, in the midst of the wars and tumults that for centuries seem
to have been as the principle of life to the whole Peninsula, that
we discover in Spanish prose a decided development of such forms as
afterwards became national and characteristic.
[98] Mariana, in one of those happy hits of character which are
not rare in his History, says of Don John Manuel, that he was “de
condicion inquieta y mudable, tanto que a muchos parecia nació
solamente para revolver el reyno.” Hist., Lib. XV. c. 12.
Don John, to whom belongs the distinction of producing one of these
forms, showed himself worthy of a family in which, for above a century,
letters had been honored and cultivated. He is known to have written
twelve works; and so anxious was he about their fate, that he caused
them to be carefully transcribed in a large volume, and bequeathed
them to a monastery he had founded on his estates at Peñafiel, as a
burial-place for himself and his descendants.[99] How many of these
works are now in existence is not known. Some are certainly among
the treasures of the National Library at Madrid, in a manuscript
which seems to be an imperfect and injured copy of the one originally
deposited at Peñafiel. Two others may, perhaps, yet be recovered;
for one of them, the “Chronicle of Spain,” abridged by Don John from
that of his uncle, Alfonso the Wise, was in the possession of the
Marquis of Mondejar in the middle of the eighteenth century;[100]
and the other, a treatise on Hunting, was seen by Pellicer somewhat
later.[101] A collection of Don John’s poems, which Argote de Molina
intended to publish in the time of Philip the Second, is probably lost,
since the diligent Sanchez sought for it in vain;[102] and his “Conde
Lucanor” alone has been placed beyond the reach of accident by being
printed.[103]
[99] Argote de Molina, Life of Don John, in the ed. of the Conde
Lucanor, 1575. The accounts of Argote de Molina, and of the
manuscript in the National Library, are not precisely the same;
but the last is imperfect, and evidently omits one work. Both
contain the four following, viz.:--1. Chronicle of Spain; 2.
Book of Hunting; 3. Book of Poetry; and 4. Book of Counsels to
his Son. Argote de Molina gives besides these,--1. Libro de los
Sabios; 2. Libro del Caballero; 3. Libro del Escudero; 4. Libro
del Infante; 5. Libro de Caballeros; 6. Libro de los Engaños;
and 7. Libro de los Exemplos. The manuscript gives, besides the
four that are clearly in common, the following:--1. Letter to
his brother, containing an account of the family arms, etc.; 2.
Book of Conditions, or Libro de los Estados, which may be Argote
de Molina’s Libro de los Sabios; 3. Libro del Caballero y del
Escudero, of which Argote de Molina seems to make two separate
works; 4. Libro de la Caballería, probably Argote de Molina’s
Libro de Caballeros; 5. La Cumplida; 6. Libro de los Engeños,
a treatise on Military Engines, misspelt by Argote de Molina,
Engaños, so as to make it a treatise on _Frauds_; and 7. Reglas
como se deve trovar. But, as has been said, the manuscript has a
hiatus, and, though it says there were twelve works, gives the
titles of only eleven, and omits the Conde Lucanor, which is the
Libro de los Exemplos of Argote’s list.
[100] Mem. de Alfonso el Sabio, p. 464.
[101] Note to Don Quixote, ed. Pellicer, Parte II. Tom. I. p. 284.
[102] Poesías Anteriores, Tom. IV. p. xi.
[103] I am aware there are poems in the Cancioneros Generales, by
a Don John Manuel, which have been generally attributed to Don
John Manuel, the Regent of Castile in the time of Alfonso XI.,
as, for instance, those in the Cancionero of Antwerp (1573, 8vo,
ff. 175, 207, 227, 267). But they are not his. Their language
and thoughts are quite too modern. Probably they are the work
of Don John Manuel who was Camareiro Mòr of King Emanuel of
Portugal, († 1524,) and whose poems, both in Portuguese and in
Spanish, figure largely in the Cancioneiro Gerale of Garcia
Rresende, (Lisboa, 1516, fol.,) where they are found at ff.
48-57, 148, 169, 212, 230, and I believe in some other places.
He is the author of the Spanish “Coplas sobre los Siete Pecados
Mortales,” dedicated to John II. of Portugal, († 1495,) which
are in Bohl de Faber’s “Floresta,” (Hamburgo, 1821-25, 8vo,
Tom. I. pp. 10-15,) taken from Rresende, f. 55, in one of the
three copies of whose Cancioneiro then existing (that at the
Convent of the Necessidades in Lisbon) I read them many years
ago. Rresende’s Cancioneiro is now no longer so rare, being in
course of publication by the Stuttgard Verein. The Portuguese
Don John Manuel was a person of much consideration in his time;
and in 1497 concluded a treaty for the marriage of King Emanuel
of Portugal with Isabella, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of
Spain. (Barbosa, Biblioteca Lusitana, Lisboa, 1747, fol., Tom.
II. p. 688.) But he appears very little to his honor in Lope de
Vega’s play entitled “El Príncipe Perfeto,” under the name of Don
Juan de Sosa. Comedias, Tom. XI., Barcelona, 1618, 4to, p. 121.
All that we possess of Don John Manuel is important. The imperfect
manuscript at Madrid opens with an account of the reasons why he had
caused his works to be transcribed; reasons which he illustrates by the
following story, very characteristic of his age.
“In the time of King Jayme the First of Majorca,” says he, “there was a
knight of Perpignan, who was a great Troubadour, and made brave songs
wonderfully well. But one that he made was better than the rest, and,
moreover, was set to good music. And people were so delighted with
that song, that, for a long time, they would sing no other. And so the
knight that made it was well pleased. But one day, going through the
streets, he heard a shoemaker singing this song, and he sang it so ill,
both in words and tune, that any man who had not heard it before would
have held it to be a very poor song, and very ill made. Now when the
knight heard that shoemaker spoil his good work, he was full of grief
and anger, and got down from his beast, and sat down by him. But the
shoemaker gave no heed to the knight, and did not cease from singing;
and the further he sang, the worse he spoiled the song that knight
had made. And when the knight heard his good work so spoiled by the
foolishness of the shoemaker, he took up very gently some shears that
lay there, and cut all the shoemaker’s shoes in pieces, and mounted his
beast and rode away.
“Now, when the shoemaker saw his shoes, and beheld how they were cut
in pieces, and that he had lost all his labor, he was much troubled,
and went shouting after the knight that had done it. And the knight
answered: ‘My friend, our lord the king, as you well know, is a good
king and a just. Let us, then, go to him, and let him determine, as
may seem right, the difference between us.’ And they were agreed to do
so. And when they came before the king, the shoemaker told him how all
his shoes had been cut in pieces and much harm done to him. And the
king was wroth at it, and asked the knight if this were truth. And the
knight said that it was; but that he would like to say why he did it.
And the king told him to say on. And the knight answered, that the king
well knew that he had made a song,--the one that was very good and had
good music,--and he said, that the shoemaker had spoiled it in singing;
in proof whereof, he prayed the king to command him now to sing it. And
the king did so, and saw how he spoiled it. Then the knight said, that,
since the shoemaker had spoiled the good work he had made with great
pains and labor, so he might spoil the works of the shoemaker. And the
king and all they that were there with him were very merry at this and
laughed; and the king commanded the shoemaker never to sing that song
again, nor trouble the good work of the knight; but the king paid the
shoemaker for the harm that was done him, and commanded the knight not
to vex the shoemaker any more.[104]
[104] A similar story is told of Dante, who was a contemporary
of Don John Manuel, by Sachetti, who lived about a century after
both of them. It is in his Novella 114, (Milano, 1815, 18mo,
Tom. II. p. 154,) where, after giving an account of an important
affair, about which Dante was desired to solicit one of the city
officers, the story goes on thus:--
“When Dante had dined, he left his house to go about that
business, and, passing through the Porta San Piero, heard a
blacksmith singing as he beat the iron on his anvil. What he
sang was from Dante, and he did it as if it were a ballad,
(_un cantare_,) jumbling the verses together, and mangling and
altering them in a way that was a great offence to Dante. He
said nothing, however, but went into the blacksmith’s shop,
where there were many tools of his trade, and, seizing first the
hammer, threw it into the street, then the pincers, then the
scales, and many other things of the same sort, all which he
threw into the street. The blacksmith turned round in a brutal
manner, and cried out, ‘What the devil are you doing here? Are
you mad?’ ‘Rather,’ said Dante, ‘what are _you_ doing?’ ‘_I_,’
replied the blacksmith, ‘_I_ am working at my trade; and you
spoil my things by throwing them into the street.’ ‘But,’ said
Dante, ‘if you do not want to have me spoil your things, don’t
spoil mine.’ ‘What do I spoil of yours?’ said the blacksmith.
‘You sing,’ answered Dante, ‘out of my book, but not as I wrote
it; I have no other trade, and you spoil it.’ The blacksmith,
in his pride and vexation, did not know what to answer; so he
gathered up his tools and went back to his work, and when he
afterward wanted to sing, he sang about Tristan and Launcelot,
and let Dante alone.”
One of the stories is probably taken from the other: but that of
Don John is older, both in the date of its event and in the time
when it was recorded.
“And now, knowing that I cannot hinder the books I have made from being
copied many times, and seeing that in copies one thing is put for
another, either because he who copies is ignorant, or because one word
looks so much like another, and so the meaning and sense are changed
without any fault in him who first wrote it; therefore, I, Don John
Manuel, to avoid this wrong as much as I may, have caused this volume
to be made, in which are written out all the works I have composed, and
they are twelve.”
Of the twelve works here referred to, the Madrid manuscript contains
only three. One is a long letter to his brother, the Archbishop of
Toledo, and Chancellor of the kingdom, in which he gives, first, an
account of his family arms; then the reason why he and his right
heirs male could make knights without having received any order of
knighthood, as he himself had done when he was not yet two years old;
and lastly, the report of a solemn conversation he had held with Sancho
the Fourth on his death-bed, in which the king bemoaned himself
bitterly, that, having for his rebellion justly received the curse of
his father, Alfonso the Wise, he had now no power to give a dying man’s
blessing to Don John.
Another of the works in the Madrid manuscript is a treatise in
twenty-six chapters, called “Counsels to his Son Ferdinand”; which is,
in fact, an essay on the Christian and moral duties of one destined by
his rank to the highest places in the state, referring sometimes to the
more ample discussions on similar subjects in Don John’s treatise on
the Different Estates or Conditions of Men, apparently a longer work,
not now known to exist.
But the third and longest is the most interesting. It is “The Book
of the Knight and the Esquire,” “written,” says the author, “in the
manner called in Castile _fabliella_,” (a little fable,) and sent to
his brother, the Archbishop, that he might translate it into Latin; a
proof, and not the only one, that Don John placed small value upon the
language to which he now owes all his honors. The book itself contains
an account of a young man who, encouraged by the good condition of
his country under a king that called his Cortes together often, and
gave his people good teachings and good laws, determines to seek
advancement in the state. On his way to a meeting of the Cortes, where
he intends to be knighted, he meets a retired cavalier, who in his
hermitage explains to him all the duties and honors of chivalry, and
thus prepares him for the distinction to which he aspires. On his
return, he again visits his aged friend, and is so delighted with his
instructions, that he remains with him, ministering to his infirmities
and profiting by his wisdom, till his death, after which the young
knight goes to his own land, and lives there in great honor the rest
of his life. The story, or little fable, is, however, a very slight
thread, serving only to hold together a long series of instructions
on the moral duties of men, and on the different branches of human
knowledge, given with earnestness and spirit, in the fashion of the
times.[105]
[105] Of this manuscript of Don John in the Library at Madrid, I
have, through the kindness of Professor Gayangos, a copy, filling
199 closely written folio pages.
The “Conde Lucanor,” the best known of its author’s works, bears
some resemblance to the fable of the Knight and the Esquire. It is a
collection of forty-nine tales,[106] anecdotes, and apologues, clearly
in the Oriental manner; the first hint for which was probably taken
from the “Disciplina Clericalis” of Petrus Alphonsus, a collection of
Latin stories made in Spain about two centuries earlier. The occasion
on which the tales of Don John are supposed to be related is, like the
fictions themselves, invented with Eastern simplicity, and reminds us
constantly of the “Thousand and One Nights,” and their multitudinous
imitations.[107]
[106] It seems not unlikely that Don John Manuel intended
originally to stop at the end of the twelfth tale; at least, he
there intimates such a purpose.
[107] That the general form of the Conde Lucanor is Oriental may
be seen by looking into the fables of Bidpai, or almost any other
collection of Eastern stories; the form, I mean, of separate
tales, united by some fiction common to them all, like that of
relating them all to amuse or instruct some third person. The
first appearance in Europe of such a series of tales grouped
together was in the Disciplina Clericalis; a remarkable work,
composed by Petrus Alphonsus, originally a Jew, by the name of
Moses Sephardi, born at Huesca in Aragon in 1062, and baptized as
a Christian in 1106, taking as one of his names that of Alfonso
VI. of Castile, who was his godfather. The Disciplina Clericalis,
or Teaching for Clerks or Clergymen, is a collection of
thirty-seven stories, and many apophthegms, supposed to have been
given by an Arab on his death-bed as instructions to his son. It
is written in such Latin as belonged to its age. Much of the book
is plainly of Eastern origin, and some of it is extremely coarse.
It was, however, greatly admired for a long time, and was more
than once turned into French verse, as may be seen in Barbazan
(Fabliaux, ed. Méon, Paris, 1808, 8vo, Tom. II. pp. 39-183). That
the Disciplina Clericalis was the prototype of the Conde Lucanor
is probable, because it was popular when the Conde Lucanor was
written; because the framework of both is similar, the stories of
both being given as counsels; because a good many of the proverbs
are the same in both; and because some of the stories in both
resemble one another, as the thirty-seventh of the Conde Lucanor,
which is the same with the first of the Disciplina. But in the
tone of their manners and civilization, there is a difference
quite equal to the two centuries that separate the two works.
Through the French version, the Disciplina Clericalis soon became
known in other countries, so that we find traces of its fictions
in the “Gesta Romanorum,” the “Decameron,” the “Canterbury
Tales,” and elsewhere. But it long remained, in other respects, a
sealed book, known only to antiquaries, and was first printed in
the original Latin, from seven manuscripts in the King’s Library,
Paris, by the Société des Bibliophiles (Paris, 1824, 2 tom.
12mo). Fr. W. V. Schmidt--to whom those interested in the early
history of romantic fiction are much indebted for the various
contributions he has brought to it--published the Disciplina anew
in Berlin, 1827, 4to, from a Breslau manuscript; and, what is
singular for one of his peculiar learning in this department, he
supposed his own edition to be the first. It is, on account of
its curious notes, the best; but the text of the Paris edition
is to be preferred, and a very old French prose version that
accompanies it makes it as a book still more valuable.
The Count Lucanor--a personage of power and consideration, intended
probably to represent those early Christian counts in Spain, who, like
Fernan Gonzalez of Castile, were, in fact, independent princes--finds
himself occasionally perplexed with questions of morals and public
policy. These questions, as they occur, he proposes to Patronio,
his minister or counsellor, and Patronio replies to each by a tale
or a fable, which is ended with a rhyme in the nature of a moral.
The stories are various in their character.[108] Sometimes it is an
anecdote in Spanish history to which Don John resorts, like that of
the three knights of his grandfather, Saint Ferdinand, at the siege of
Seville.[109] More frequently, it is a sketch of some striking trait
in the national manners, like the story of “Rodrigo el Franco and his
three Faithful Followers.”[110] Sometimes, again, it is a fiction of
chivalry, like that of the “Hermit and Richard the Lion-Hearted.”[111]
And sometimes it is an apologue, like that of the “Old Man, his Son,
and the Ass,” or that of the “Crow persuaded by the Fox to sing,”
which, with his many successors, he must in some way or other have
obtained from Æsop.[112] They are all curious, but probably the most
interesting is the “Moorish Marriage,” partly because it points
distinctly to an Arabic origin, and partly because it remarkably
resembles the story Shakspeare has used in his “Taming of the
Shrew.”[113] It is, however, too long to be given here; and therefore a
shorter specimen will be taken from the twenty-second chapter, entitled
“Of what happened to Count Fernan Gonzalez, and of the answer he gave
to his vassals.”
[108] They are all called _Enxiemplos_; a word which then meant
_story_ or _apologue_, as it does in the Archpriest of Hita,
st. 301, and in the “Crónica General.” Old Lord Berners, in his
delightful translation of Froissart, in the same way, calls the
fable of the Bird in Borrowed Plumes “an Ensample.”
[109] Cap. 2.
[110] Cap. 3.
[111] Cap. 4.
[112] Capp. 24 and 26. The followers of Don John, however, have
been more indebted to him than he was to his predecessors. Thus,
the story of “Don Illan el Negromantico” (Cap. 13) was found by
Mr. Douce in two French and four English authors. (Blanco White,
Variedades, Lóndres, 1824, Tom. I. p. 310.) The apologue which
Gil Blas, when he is starving, relates to the Duke of Lerma,
(Liv. VIII. c. 6,) and “which,” he says, “he had read in Pilpay
or some other fable writer,” I sought in vain in Bidpai, and
stumbled upon it, when not seeking it, in the Conde Lucanor, Cap.
18. It may be added, that the fable of the Swallows and the Flax
(Cap. 27) is better given there than it is in La Fontaine.
[113] Shakspeare, it is well known, took the materials for his
“Taming of the Shrew,” with little ceremony, from a play with
the same title, printed in 1594. But the story, in its different
parts, seems to have been familiar in the East from the earliest
times, and was, I suppose, found there among the traditions of
Persia by Sir John Malcolm. (Sketches of Persia, London, 1827,
8vo, Vol. II. p. 54.) In Europe I am not aware that it can be
detected earlier than the Conde Lucanor, Cap. 45. The doctrine of
unlimited submission on the part of the wife seems, indeed, to
have been a favorite one with Don John Manuel; for, in another
story, (Cap. 5,) he says, in the very spirit of Petruchio’s jest
about the sun and moon, “If a husband says the stream runs up
hill, his wife ought to believe him, and say that it is so.”
“On one occasion, Count Lucanor came from a foray, much wearied and
worn, and poorly off; and before he could refresh or rest himself,
there came a sudden message about another matter then newly moved. And
the greater part of his people counselled him, that he should refresh
himself a little, and then do whatever should be thought most wise. And
the Count asked Patronio what he should do in that matter; and Patronio
replied, ‘Sire, that you may choose what is best, it would please me
that you should know the answer which Count Fernan Gonzalez once gave
to his vassals.
“‘The story.--Count Fernan Gonzalez conquered Almanzor in Hazinas,[114]
but many of his people fell there, and he and the rest that remained
alive were sorely wounded. And before they were sound and well, he
heard that the king of Navarre had broken into his lands, and so he
commanded his people to make ready to fight against them of Navarre.
And all his people told him, that their horses were aweary, and that
they were aweary themselves; and although for this cause they might not
forsake this thing, yet that, since both he and his people were sore
wounded, they ought to leave it, and that he ought to wait till he and
they should be sound again. And when the Count saw that they all wanted
to leave that road, then his honor grieved him more than his body,
and he said, “My friends, let us not shun this battle on account of
the wounds that we now have; for the fresh wounds they will presently
give us will make us forget those we received in the other fight.” And
when they of his party saw that he was not troubled concerning his own
person, but only how to defend his lands and his honor, they went with
him, and they won that battle, and things went right well afterwards.
[114] Fernan Gonzalez is the great hero of Castile, whose
adventures will be noticed when we come to the poem about them;
and in the battle of Hazinas he gained the decisive victory
over the Moors which is well described in the third part of the
“Crónica General.”
“‘And you, my Lord Count Lucanor, if you desire to do what you ought,
when you see that it should be achieved for the defence of your own
rights and of your own people and of your own honor, then you must not
be grieved by weariness, nor by toil, nor by danger, but rather so act
that the new danger shall make you forget that which is past.’
“And the Count held this for a good history[115] and a good counsel;
and he acted accordingly, and found himself well by it. And Don John
also understood this to be a good history, and he had it written in
this book, and moreover made these verses, which say thus:--
[115] “Y el Conde tovo este por buen exemplo,”--an old Castilian
formula. (Crónica General, Parte III. c. 5.) Argote de Molina
says of such phrases, which abound in the Conde Lucanor, that
“they give a taste of the old proprieties of the Castilian”;
and elsewhere, that “they show what was the pure idiom of our
tongue.” Don John himself, with his accustomed simplicity, says,
“I have made up the book with the handsomest words I could.” (Ed.
1575, f. 1, b.) Many of his words, however, needed explanation
in the reign of Philip the Second, and, on the whole, the
phraseology of the Conde Lucanor sounds older than that of the
Partidas, which were yet written nearly a century before it.
Some of its obsolete words are purely Latin, like _cras_ for
_to-morrow_, f. 83, and elsewhere.
“Hold this for certain and for fact,
For truth it is and truth exact,
That never Honor and Disgrace
Together sought a resting-place.”
It is not easy to imagine any thing more simple and direct than
this story, either in the matter or the style. Others of the tales
have an air of more knightly dignity, and some have a little of the
gallantry that might be expected from a court like that of Alfonso
the Eleventh. In a very few of them, Don John gives intimations that
he had risen above the feelings and opinions of his age: as, in one,
he laughs at the monks and their pretensions;[116] in another, he
introduces a pilgrim under no respectable circumstances;[117] and in a
third, he ridicules his uncle Alfonso for believing in the follies of
alchemy,[118] and trusting a man who pretended to turn the baser metals
into gold. But in almost all we see the large experience of a man of
the world, as the world then existed, and the cool observation of one
who knew too much of mankind, and had suffered too much from them,
to have a great deal of the romance of youth still lingering in his
character. For we know, from himself, that Prince John wrote the Conde
Lucanor when he had already reached his highest honors and authority;
probably after he had passed through his severest defeats. It should
be remembered, therefore, to his credit, that we find in it no traces
of the arrogance of power, or of the bitterness of mortified ambition;
nothing of the wrongs he had suffered from others, and nothing of those
he had inflicted. It seems, indeed, to have been written in some happy
interval, stolen from the bustle of camps, the intrigues of government,
and the crimes of rebellion, when the experience of his past life,
its adventures, and its passions, were so remote as to awaken little
personal feeling, and yet so familiar that he could give us their
results, with great simplicity, in this series of tales and anecdotes,
which are marked with an originality that belongs to their age, and
with a kind of chivalrous philosophy and wise honesty that would not be
discreditable to one more advanced.[119]
[116] Cap. 20.
[117] Cap. 48.
[118] Cap. 8.--I infer from the Conde Lucanor, that Don John knew
little about the Bible, as he cites it wrong in Cap. 4, and in
Cap. 44 shows that he did not know it contained the comparison
about the blind who lead the blind.
[119] There are two Spanish editions of the Conde Lucanor: the
first and best by Argote de Molina, 4to, Sevilla, 1575, with a
life of Don John prefixed, and a curious essay on Castilian verse
at the end,--one of the rarest books in the world; and the other,
only less rare, published at Madrid, 1642. The references in the
notes are to the first. A reprint, made, if I mistake not, from
the last, and edited by A. Keller, appeared at Stuttgard, 1839,
12mo, and a German translation by J. von Eichendorff, at Berlin,
in 1840, 12mo. Don John Manuel, I observe, cites Arabic twice in
the Conde Lucanor, (Capp. 11 and 14,)--a rare circumstance in
early Spanish literature.
CHAPTER V.
ALFONSO THE ELEVENTH.--TREATISE ON HUNTING.--POETICAL CHRONICLE.--
BENEFICIARY OF UBEDA.--ARCHPRIEST OF HITA; HIS LIFE, WORKS, AND
CHARACTER.--RABBI DON SANTOB.--LA DOCTRINA CHRISTIANA.--A
REVELATION.--LA DANÇA GENERAL.--POEM ON JOSEPH.--AYALA; HIS RIMADO DE
PALACIO.--CHARACTERISTICS OF SPANISH LITERATURE THUS FAR.
The reign of Alfonso the Eleventh was full of troubles, and the unhappy
monarch himself died at last of the plague, while he was besieging
Gibraltar, in 1350. Still, that letters were not forgotten in it we
know, not only from the example of Don John Manuel, already cited, but
from several others which should not be passed over.
The first is a prose treatise on Hunting, in three books, written under
the king’s direction, by his Chief-huntsmen, who were then among the
principal persons of the court. It consists of little more than an
account of the sort of hounds to be used, their diseases and training,
with a description of the different places where game was abundant,
and where sport for the royal amusement was to be had. It is of small
consequence in itself, but was published by Argote de Molina, in the
time of Philip the Second, with a pleasant addition by the editor,
containing curious stories of lion-hunts and bull-fights, fitting it
to the taste of his own age. In style, the original work is as good as
the somewhat similar treatise of the Marquis of Villena, on the Art
of Carving, written a hundred years later; and, from the nature of the
subject, it is more interesting.[120]
[120] Libro de la Monteria, que mando escrivir, etc., el Rey Don
Alfonso de Castilla y de Leon, ultimo deste nombre, acrecentado
por Argote de Molina, Sevilla, 1582, folio, 91 leaves,--the text
not correct, as Pellicer says (note to Don Quixote, Parte II. c.
24). The Discurso of Argote de Molina, that follows, and fills
21 leaves more, is illustrated with curious woodcuts, and ends
with a description of the palace of the Pardo, and an eclogue in
octave stanzas, by Gomez de Tapia of Granada, on the birth of the
Infanta Doña Isabel, daughter of Philip II.
The next literary monument attributed to this reign would be important,
if we had the whole of it. It is a chronicle, in the ballad style,
of events which happened in the time of Alfonso the Eleventh, and
commonly passes under his name. It was found, hidden in a mass of
Arabic manuscripts, by Diego de Mendoza, who attributed it, with little
ceremony, to “a secretary of the king”; and it was first publicly
made known by Argote de Molina, who thought it written by some poet
contemporary with the history he relates. But only thirty-four stanzas
of it are now known to exist; and these, though admitted by Sanchez to
be probably anterior to the fifteenth century, are shown by him not to
be the work of the king, and seem, in fact, to be less ancient in style
and language than that critic supposes them to be.[121] They are in
very flowing Castilian, and their tone is as spirited as that of most
of the old ballads.
[121] This old rhymed chronicle was found by the historian Diego
de Mendoza among his Arabic manuscripts in Granada, and was sent
by him, with a letter dated December 1, 1573, to Zurita, the
annalist of Aragon, intimating that Argote de Molina would be
interested in it. He says truly, that “it is well worth reading,
to see with what simplicity and propriety men wrote poetical
histories in the olden times”; adding, that “it is one of those
books called in Spain _Gestas_,” and that it seems to him curious
and valuable, because he thinks it was written by a secretary of
Alfonso XI., and because it differs in several points from the
received accounts of that monarch’s reign. (Dormer, Progresos
de la Historia de Aragon, Zaragoza, 1680, fol., p. 502.) The
thirty-four stanzas of this chronicle that we now possess were
first published by Argote de Molina, in his very curious “Nobleza
del Andaluzia,” (Sevilla, 1588, f. 198,) and were taken from him
by Sanchez (Poesías Anteriores, Tom. I. pp. 171-177). Argote
de Molina says, “I copy them on account of their curiosity as
specimens of the language and poetry of that age, and because
they are the best and most fluent of any thing for a long time
written in Spain.” The truth is, they are so facile, and have so
few archaisms in them, that I cannot believe they were written
earlier than the ballads of the fifteenth century, which they so
much resemble. The following account of a victory, which I once
thought was that of Salado, gained in 1340, and described in the
“Crónica de Alfonso XI.,” (1551, fol., Cap. 254,) but which I now
think must have been some victory gained before 1330, is the best
part of what has been published:--
Los Moros fueron fuyendo
Maldiziendo su ventura;
El Maestre los siguiendo
Por los puertos de Segura.
E feriendo e derribando
E prendiendo a las manos,
E Sanctiago llamando,
Escudo de los Christianos.
En alcance los llevaron
A poder de escudo y lança,
E al castillo se tornaron
E entraron por la matanza.
E muchos Moros fallaron
Espedaçados jacer;
El nombre de Dios loaron,
Que les mostró gran plazer.
The Moors fled on, with headlong speed,
Cursing still their bitter fate;
The Master followed, breathing blood,
Through old Segura’s opened gate;--
And struck and slew, as on he sped,
And grappled still his flying foes;
While still to heaven his battle shout,
“St. James! St. James!” triumphant rose.
Nor ceased the victory’s work at last,
That bowed them to the shield and spear,
Till to the castle’s wall they turned
And entered through the slaughter there;--
Till there they saw, to havoc hewn,
Their Moorish foemen prostrate laid;
And gave their grateful praise to God,
Who thus vouchsafed his gracious aid.
It is a misfortune that this poem is lost.
Two other poems, written during the reign of one of the Alfonsos, as
their author declares,--and therefore almost certainly during that of
Alfonso the Eleventh, who was the last of his name,--are also now known
in print only by a few stanzas, and by the office of their writer, who
styles himself “a Beneficiary of Ubeda.” The first, which consists,
in the manuscript, of five hundred and five strophes in the manner of
Berceo, is a life of Saint Ildefonso; the last is on the subject of
Saint Mary Magdalen. Both would probably detain us little, even if they
had been published entire.[122]
[122] Slight extracts from the Beneficiado de Ubeda are in
Sanchez, Poesías Anteriores, Tom. I. pp. 116-118. The first
stanza, which is like the beginning of several of Berceo’s poems,
is as follows:--
Si me ayudare Christo · è la Virgen sagrada,
Querria componer · una faccion rimada
De un confesor que fizo · vida honrada,
Que nació en Toledo, · en esa Cibdat nombrada.
We turn, therefore, without further delay, to Juan Ruiz, commonly
called the Archpriest of Hita; a poet who is known to have lived at the
same period, and whose works, both from their character and amount,
deserve especial notice. Their date can be ascertained with a good
degree of exactness. In one of the three early manuscripts in which
they are extant, some of the poems are fixed at the year 1330, and
some, by the two others, at 1343. Their author, who seems to have been
born at Alcalá de Henares, lived much at Guadalaxara and Hita, places
only five leagues apart, and was imprisoned by order of the Archbishop
of Toledo between 1337 and 1350; from all which it may be inferred,
that his principal residence was Castile, and that he flourished in the
reign of Alfonso the Eleventh; that is, in the time of Don John Manuel,
and a very little later.[123]
[123] See, for his life, Sanchez, Tom. I. pp. 100-106, and Tom.
IV. pp. ii.-vi.;--and for an excellent criticism of his works,
one in the Wiener Jahrbücher der Literatur, 1832, Band LVIII.
pp. 220-255. It is by Ferdinand Wolf, and he boldly compares the
Archpriest to Cervantes.
His works consist of nearly seven thousand verses; and although, in
general, they are written in the four-line stanza of Berceo, we find
occasionally a variety of measure, tone, and spirit, before unknown in
Castilian poetry; the number of their metrical forms, some of which are
taken from the Provençal, being reckoned not less than sixteen.[124]
The poems, as they have come to us, open with a prayer to God, composed
apparently at the time of the Archpriest’s imprisonment; when, as one
of the manuscripts sets forth, most of his works were written.[125]
Next comes a curious prose prologue, explaining the moral purpose of
the whole collection, or rather endeavouring to conceal the immoral
tendency of the greater part of it. And then, after somewhat more of
prefatory matter, follow, in quick succession, the poems themselves,
very miscellaneous in their subjects, but ingeniously connected.
The entire mass, when taken together, fills a volume of respectable
size.[126]
[124] Sanchez, Tom. IV. p. x.
[125] Ibid., p. 283.
[126] The immoral tendency of many of the poems is a point that
not only embarrasses the editor of the Archpriest, (see p. xvii.
and the notes on pp. 76, 97, 102, etc.,) but somewhat disturbs
the Archpriest himself. (See stanzas 7, 866, etc.) The case,
however, is too plain to be covered up; and the editor only
partly avoids trouble by quietly leaving out long passages, as
from st. 441 to 464, etc.
It is a series of stories, that seem to be sketches of real events
in the Archpriest’s own life; sometimes mingled with fictions and
allegories, that may, after all, be only veils for other facts; and
sometimes speaking out plainly, and announcing themselves as parts
of his personal history.[127] In the foreground of this busy scene
figures the very equivocal character of his female messenger, the chief
agent in his love affairs, whom he boldly calls _Trota-conventos_,
because the messages she carries are so often to or from monasteries
and nunneries.[128] The first lady-love to whom the poet sends her is,
he says, well taught,--_mucho letrada_,--and her story is illustrated
by the fables of the Sick Lion visited by the other Animals, and of
the Mountain bringing forth a Mouse. All, however, is unavailing. The
lady refuses to favor his suit; and he consoles himself, as well as he
can, with the saying of Solomon, that all is vanity and vexation of
spirit.[129]
[127] St. 61-68.
[128] There is some little obscurity about this important
personage (st. 71, 671, and elsewhere); but she was named Urraca,
(st. 1550,) and belonged to the class of persons technically
called _Alcahuetas_, or “Go-betweens”; a class which, from the
seclusion of women in Spain, and perhaps from the influence
of Moorish society and manners, figures largely in the early
literature of the country, and sometimes in the later. The
Partidas (Part. VII. Tít. 22) devotes two laws to them; and
the “Tragicomedia of Celestina,” who is herself once called
Trota-conventos, (end of Act. II.,) is their chief monument. Of
their activity in the days of the Archpriest a whimsical proof is
given in the extraordinary number of odious and ridiculous names
and epithets accumulated on them in st. 898-902.
[129] St. 72 etc., 88 etc., 95 etc.
In the next of his adventures, a false friend deceives him and carries
off his lady. But still he is not discouraged.[130] He feels himself to
be drawn on by his fate, like the son of a Moorish king, whose history
he then relates; and, after some astrological ruminations, declares
himself to be born under the star of Venus, and inevitably subject to
her control. Another failure follows; and then Love comes in person to
visit him and counsels him in a series of fables, which are told with
great ease and spirit. The poet answers gravely. He is offended with
Don Amor for his falsehood, charges him with being guilty, either by
implication or directly, of all the seven deadly sins, and fortifies
each of his positions with an appropriate apologue.[131]
[130] When the affair is over, he says quaintly, “_El_ comiò la
vianda, è a _mi_ fiso rumiar.”
[131] St. 119, 142 etc., 171 etc., 203 etc. Such discoursing as
this last passage affords on the seven deadly sins is common in
the French Fabliaux, and the English reader finds a striking
specimen of it in the “Persone’s Tale” of Chaucer.
The Archpriest now goes to Doña Venus, who, though he knew Ovid, is
represented as the wife of Don Amor; and, taking counsel of her, is
successful. But the story he relates is evidently a fiction, though
it may be accommodated to the facts of the poet’s own case. It is
borrowed from a dialogue or play, written before the year 1300, by
Pamphylus Maurianus or Maurilianus, and long attributed to Ovid;
but the Castilian poet has successfully given to what he adopted
the coloring of his own national manners. All this portion, which
fills above a thousand lines, is somewhat free in its tone; and the
Archpriest, alarmed at himself, turns suddenly round and adds a series
of severe moral warnings and teachings to the sex, which he as suddenly
breaks off, and, without any assigned reason, goes to the mountains
near Segovia. But the month in which he makes his journey is March;
the season is rough; and several of his adventures are any thing but
agreeable. Still he preserves the same light and thoughtless air; and
this part of his history is mingled with spirited pastoral songs in
the Provençal manner, called “Cántigas de Serrana,” as the preceding
portions had been mingled with fables, which he calls “Enxiemplos,” or
stories.[132]
[132] St. 557-559, with 419 and 548. Pamphylus de Amore, F. A.
Ebert, Bibliographisches Lexicon, Leipzig, 1830, 4to, Tom. II. p.
297. P. Leyseri Hist. Poet. Medii Ævi, Halæ, 1721, 8vo, p. 2071.
Sanchez, Tom. IV. pp. xxiii., xxiv. The story of Pamphylus in
the Archpriest’s version is in stanzas 555-865. The story of the
Archpriest’s own journey is in stanzas 924-1017. The _Serranas_
in this portion are, I think, imitations of the _Pastoretas_
or _Pastorelles_ of the Troubadours. (Raynouard, Troubadours,
Tom. II. pp. 229, etc.) If such poems occurred frequently in
the Northern French literature of the period, I should think
the Archpriest had found his models there, since it is there he
generally resorts; but I have never seen any that came from north
of the Loire so old as his time.
A shrine, much frequented by the devout, is near that part of the
Sierra where his journeyings lay; and he makes a pilgrimage to
it, which he illustrates with sacred hymns, just as he had before
illustrated his love-adventures with apologues and songs. But Lent
approaches, and he hurries home. He is hardly arrived, however, when he
receives a summons in form from Doña Quaresma (Madam Lent) to attend
her in arms, with all her other archpriests and clergy, in order to
make a foray, like a foray into the territory of the Moors, against
Don Carnaval and his adherents. One of these allegorical battles,
which were in great favor with the Trouveurs and other metre-mongers
of the Middle Ages, then follows, in which figure Don Tocino (Mr.
Bacon) and Doña Cecina (Mrs. Hung-Beef), with other similar personages.
The result, of course, since it is now the season of Lent, is the
defeat and imprisonment of Don Carnaval; but when that season closes,
the allegorical prisoner necessarily escapes, and, raising anew such
followers as Mr. Lunch and Mr. Breakfast, again takes the field, and is
again triumphant.[133]
[133] St. 1017-1040. The “Bataille des Vins,” by D’Andeli, may be
cited, (Barbazan, ed. Méon, Tom. I. p. 152,) but the “Bataille de
Karesme et de Charnage” (Ibid., Tom. IV. p. 80) is more in point.
There are others on other subjects. For the marvellously savory
personages in the Archpriest’s battle, see stanzas 1080, 1169,
1170, etc.
Don Carnaval now unites himself to Don Amor, and both appear in state
as emperors. Don Amor is received with especial jubilee; clergy and
laity, friars, nuns, and _jongleurs_, going out in wild procession to
meet and welcome him.[134] But the honor of formally receiving his
Majesty, though claimed by all, and foremost by the nuns, is granted
only to the poet. To the poet, too, Don Amor relates his adventures of
the preceding winter at Seville and Toledo, and then leaves him to go
in search of others. Meanwhile, the Archpriest, with the assistance
of his cunning agent, _Trota-conventos_, begins a new series of love
intrigues, even more freely mingled with fables than the first, and
ends them only by the death of Trota-conventos herself, with whose
epitaph the more carefully connected portion of the Archpriest’s works
is brought to a conclusion. The volume contains, however, besides this
portion, several smaller poems on subjects as widely different as the
“Christian’s Armour” and the “Praise of Little Women,” some of which
seem related to the main series, though none of them have any apparent
connection with each other.[135]
[134] St. 1184 etc., 1199-1229. It is not quite easy to see how
the Archpriest ventured some things in the last passage. Parts of
the procession come singing the most solemn hymns of the Church,
or parodies of them, applied to Don Amor, like the _Benedictus
qui venit_. It seems downright blasphemy against what was then
thought most sacred.
[135] Stanzas 1221, 1229 etc., 1277 etc., 1289, 1491, 1492 etc.,
1550 etc., 1553-1681.
The tone of the Archpriest’s poetry is very various. In general, a
satirical spirit prevails in it, not unmingled with a quiet humor.
This spirit often extends into the gravest portions; and how fearless
he was, when he indulged himself in it, a passage on the influence
of money and corruption at the court of Rome leaves no doubt.[136]
Other parts, like the verses on Death, are solemn, and even sometimes
tender; while yet others, like the hymns to the Madonna, breathe the
purest spirit of Catholic devotion; so that, perhaps, it would not be
easy, in the whole body of Spanish literature, to find a volume showing
a greater variety in its subjects, or in the modes of managing and
exhibiting them.[137]
[136] Stanzas 464, etc. As in many other passages, the Archpriest
is here upon ground already occupied by the Northern French
poets. See the “Usurer’s Pater-Noster,” and “Credo,” in Barbazan,
Fabliaux, Tom. IV. pp. 99 and 106.
[137] Stanzas 1494 etc., 1609 etc.
The happiest success of the Archpriest of Hita is to be found in
the many tales and apologues which he has scattered on all sides to
illustrate the adventures that constitute a framework for his poetry,
like that of the “Conde Lucanor” or the “Canterbury Tales.” Most of
them are familiar to us, being taken from the old store-houses of Æsop
and Phædrus, or rather from the versions of these fabulists common in
the earliest Northern French poetry.[138] Among the more fortunate of
his very free imitations is the fable of the Frogs who asked for a
King from Jupiter, that of the Dog who lost by his Greediness the Meat
he carried in his Mouth, and that of the Hares who took Courage when
they saw the Frogs were more timid than themselves.[139] A few of them
have a truth, a simplicity, and even a grace, which have rarely been
surpassed in the same form of composition; as, for instance, that of
the City Mouse and the Country Mouse, which, if we follow it from Æsop
through Horace to La Fontaine, we shall nowhere find better told than
it is by the Archpriest.[140]
[138] The Archpriest says of the fable of the Mountain that
brought forth a Mouse, that it “was composed by Isopete.” Now
there were at least two collections of fables in French in the
thirteenth century, that passed under the name of Ysopet, and
are published in Robert, “Fables Inédites,” (Paris, 1825, 2 tom.
8vo); and as Marie de France, who lived at the court of Henry
III. of England, then the resort of the Northern French poets,
alludes to them in the Prologue to her own Fables, they are
probably as early as 1240. (See Poésies de Marie de France, ed.
Roquefort, Paris, 1820, 8vo, Tom. II. p. 61, and the admirable
discussions in De la Rue sur les Bardes, les Jongleurs et les
Trouvères, Caen, 1834, 8vo, Tom. I. pp. 198-202, and Tom. III.
pp. 47-101.) To one or both of these Isopets the Archpriest went
for a part of his fables,--perhaps for all of them. Don Juan
Manuel, his contemporary, probably did the same, and sometimes
took the same fables; e. g. Conde Lucanor, Capp. 43, 26, and 49,
which are the fables of the Archpriest, stanzas 1386, 1411, and
1428.
[139] Stanzas 189, 206, 1419.
[140] It begins thus, stanza 1344:--
Mur de Guadalaxara · un Lunes madrugaba,
Fuese à Monferrado, · à mercado andaba;
Un mur de franca barba · recibiol’ en su cava,
Convidol’ à yantar · e diole una faba.
Estaba en mesa pobre · buen gesto è buena cara,
Con la poca vianda · buena voluntad para,
A los pobres manjares · el plaser los repara,
l’agos del buen talante · mur de Guadalaxara.
And so on through eight more stanzas. Now, besides the Greek
attributed to Æsop and the Latin of Horace, there can be found
above twenty versions of this fable, among which are two in
Spanish, one by Bart. Leon. de Argensola, and the other by
Samaniego; but I think the Archpriest’s is the best of the whole.
What strikes us most, however, and remains with us longest after
reading his poetry, is the natural and spirited tone that prevails
over every other. In this he is like Chaucer, who wrote a little later
in the same century. Indeed, the resemblance between the two poets is
remarkable in some other particulars. Both often sought their materials
in the Northern French poetry; both have that mixture of devotion and
a licentious immorality, much of which belonged to their age, but some
of it to their personal character; and both show a wide knowledge
of human nature, and a great happiness in sketching the details of
individual manners. The original temper of each made him satirical
and humorous; and each, in his own country, became the founder of
some of the forms of its popular poetry, introducing new metres and
combinations, and carrying them out in a versification which, though
generally rude and irregular, is often flowing and nervous, and always
natural. The Archpriest has not, indeed, the tenderness, the elevation,
or the general power of Chaucer; but his genius has a compass, and his
verse a skill and success, that show him to be more nearly akin to the
great English master than will be believed, except by those who have
carefully read the works of both.
The Archpriest of Hita lived in the last years of Alfonso the Eleventh,
and perhaps somewhat later. At the very beginning of the next reign,
or in 1350, we find a curious poem addressed by a Jew of Carrion to
Peter the Cruel, on his accession to the throne. In the manuscript
found in the National Library at Madrid, it is called the “Book of the
Rabi de Santob,” or “Rabbi Don Santob,” and consists of four hundred
and seventy-six stanzas.[141] The measure is the old _redondilla_,
uncommonly easy and flowing for the age; and the purpose of the poem is
to give wise moral counsels to the new king, which the poet more than
once begs him not to undervalue because they come from a Jew.
[141] There are at least two manuscripts of the poems of this
Jew, from which nothing has been published but a few poor
extracts. The one commonly cited is that of the Escurial, used
by Castro, (Biblioteca Española, Tom. I. pp. 198-202,) and by
Sanchez (Tom. I. pp. 179-184, and Tom. IV. p. 12, etc.). The one
I have used is in the National Library, Madrid, marked B. b. 82,
folio, in which the poem of the Rabbi is found on leaves 61 to
81. Conde, the historian of the Arabs, preferred this manuscript
to the one in the Escurial, and held the Rabbi’s true name to
be given in it, viz. _Santob_, and not _Santo_, as it is in the
manuscript of the Escurial; the latter being a name not likely
to be taken by a Jew in the time of Peter the Cruel, though very
likely to be written so by an ignorant monkish transcriber. The
manuscript of Madrid begins thus, differing from that of the
Escurial, as may be seen in Castro, ut sup.:--
Señor Rey, noble, alto,
Oy este Sermon,
Que vyene desyr Santob,
Judio de Carrion.
Comunalmente trobado,
De glosas moralmente,
De la Filosofia sacado,
Segunt que va syguiente.
My noble King and mighty Lord,
Hear a discourse most true;
’T is Santob brings your Grace the word,
Of Carrion’s town the Jew.
In plainest verse my thoughts I tell,
With gloss and moral free,
Drawn from Philosophy’s pure well,
As onward you may see.
The oldest notice of the Jew of Carrion is in the letter of
the Marquis of Santillana to the Constable of Portugal, from
which there can be no doubt that the Rabbi still enjoyed much
reputation in the middle of the fifteenth century.
Because upon a thorn it grows,
The rose is not less fair;
And wine that from the vine-stock flows
Still flows untainted there.
The goshawk, too, will proudly soar,
Although his nest sits low;
And gentle teachings have their power,
Though ’t is the Jew says so.[142]
[142]
Por nascer en el espino,
No val la rosa cierto
Menos; ni el buen vino,
Por nascer en el sarmyento.
Non val el açor menos,
Por nascer de mal nido;
Nin los exemplos buenos,
Por los decir Judio.
These lines seem better given in the Escurial manuscript as
follows:--
Por nascer en el espino,
La rosa ya non siento,
Que pierde; ni el buen vino,
Por salir del sarmiento.
Non vale el açor menos,
Porque en vil nido siga;
Nin los enxemplos buenos,
Porque Judio los diga.
The manuscripts ought to be collated, and this curious poem
published.
After a preface in prose, which seems to be by another hand, and
an address to the king by the poet himself, he goes on:--
Quando el Rey Don Alfonso
Fynò, fyncò la gente,
Como quando el pulso
Fallesçe al doliente.
Que luego no ayudava,
Que tan grant mejoria
A ellos fyncava
Nin omen lo entendia.
Quando la rosa seca,
En su tiempo sale
El agua que della fynca,
Rosada que mas vale.
Asi vos fyncastes del
Para mucho tu far,
Et facer lo que el
Cobdiciaba librar, etc.
One of the philosophical verses is very quaint:--
Quando no es lo que quiero,
Quiero yo lo que es;
Si pesar he primero,
Plaser avré despues.
If what I find, I do not love,
Then love I what I find;
If disappointment go before,
Joy sure shall come behind.
I add from the unpublished original:--
Las mys canas teñilas,
Non por las avorrescer,
Ni por desdesyrlas,
Nin mancebo parescer.
Mas con miedo sobejo
De omes que bastarian[*]
En mi seso de viejo,
E non lo fallarian.
My hoary locks I dye with care,
Not that I hate their hue,
Nor yet because I wish to seem
More youthful than is true.
But ’t is because the words I dread
Of men who speak me fair,
And ask within my whitened head
For wit that is not there.
[*] buscarian?
After a longer introduction than is needful, the moral counsels begin,
at the fifty-third stanza, and continue through the rest of the work,
which, in its general tone, is not unlike other didactic poetry of the
period, although it is written with more ease and more poetical spirit.
Indeed, it is little to say, that few Rabbins of any country have given
us such quaint and pleasant verses as are contained in several parts of
these curious counsels of the Jew of Carrion.
In the Escurial manuscript, containing the verses of the Jew, are
other poems, which were at one time attributed to him, but which it
seems probable belong to other, though unknown, authors.[143] One of
them is a didactic essay, called “La Doctrina Christiana,” or Christian
Doctrine. It consists of a prose prologue, setting forth the writer’s
penitence, and of one hundred and fifty-seven stanzas of four lines
each; the first three containing eight syllables, rhymed together,
and the last containing four syllables unrhymed,--a metrical form not
without something of the air of the Sapphic and Adonic. The body of
the work contains an explanation of the creed, the ten commandments,
the seven moral virtues, the fourteen works of mercy, the seven deadly
sins, the five senses, and the holy sacraments, with discussions
concerning Christian conduct and character.
[143] Castro, Bibl. Esp., Tom. I. p. 199. Sanchez, Tom. I. p.
182; Tom. IV. p. xii.
I am aware that Don José Amador de los Rios, in his “Estudios
Históricos, Políticos y Literarios sobre los Judios de España,”
a learned and pleasant book published at Madrid in 1848, is of
a different opinion, and holds the three poems, including the
Doctrina Christiana, to be the work of Don Santo or Santob of
Carrion. (See pp. 304-335.) But I think the objections to this
opinion are stronger than the reasons he gives to support it;
especially the objections involved in the following facts, viz.:
that Don Santob calls himself a Jew; that both the manuscripts
of the Consejos call him a Jew; that the Marquis of Santillana,
the only tolerably early authority that mentions him, calls him a
Jew; that no one of them intimates that he ever was converted,--a
circumstance likely to have been much blazoned abroad, if it had
really occurred; and that, if he were an unconverted Jew, it is
wholly impossible he should have written the Dança General, the
Doctrina Christiana, or the Ermitaño.
I ought, perhaps, to add, in reference both to the remarks made
in this note, and to the notices of the few Jewish authors in
Spanish literature generally, that I did not receive the valuable
work of Amador de los Rios till just as the present one was going
to press.
Another of these poems is called a Revelation, and is a vision, in
twenty-five octave stanzas, of a holy hermit, who is supposed to have
witnessed a contest between a soul and its body; the soul complaining
that the excesses of the body had brought upon it all the punishments
of the unseen world, and the body retorting, that it was condemned to
these same torments because the soul had neglected to keep it in due
subjection.[144] The whole is an imitation of some of the many similar
poems current at that period, one of which is extant in English in a
manuscript placed by Warton about the year 1304.[145] But both the
Castilian poems are of little worth.
[144] Castro, Bibl. Esp., Tom. I. p. 200. By the kindness of
Prof. Gayangos, I have a copy of the whole. To judge from the
opening lines of the poem, it was probably written in 1382:--
Despues de la prima · la ora passada,
En el mes de Enero · la noche primera
En cccc e veiynte · durante la hera,
Estando acostado alla · en mi posada, etc.
The first of January, 1420, of the Spanish Era, when the scene is
laid, corresponds to A. D. 1382. A copy of the poem printed at
Madrid, 1848, 12mo, pp. 13, differs from my manuscript copy, but
is evidently taken from one less carefully made.
[145] Hist. of Eng. Poetry, Sect. 24, near the end. It appears
also in French very early, under the title of “Le Débat du
Corps et de l’Ame,” printed in 1486. (Ebert, Bib. Lexicon, Nos.
5671-5674.) The source of the fiction has been supposed to be a
poem by a Frankish monk (Hagen und Büsching, Grundriss, Berlin,
1812, 8vo, p. 446); but it is very old, and found in many forms
and many languages. See Latin Poems attributed to Walter Mapes,
and edited for the Camden Society by T. Wright (1841, 4to, pp. 95
and 321). It was printed in the ballad form in Spain as late as
1764.
We come, then, to one of more value, “La Dança General,” or the Dance
of Death, consisting of seventy-nine regular octave stanzas, preceded
by a few words of introduction in prose, that do not seem to be by the
same author.[146] It is founded on the well-known fiction, so often
illustrated both in painting and in verse during the Middle Ages, that
all men, of all conditions, are summoned to the Dance of Death; a kind
of spiritual masquerade, in which the different ranks of society, from
the Pope to the young child, appear dancing with the skeleton form of
Death. In this Spanish version it is striking and picturesque,--more
so, perhaps, than in any other,--the ghastly nature of the subject
being brought into a very lively contrast with the festive tone of
the verses, which frequently recalls some of the better parts of
those flowing stories that now and then occur in the “Mirror for
Magistrates.”[147]
[146] Castro, Bibl. Española, Tom. I. p. 200. Sanchez, Tom. I.
pp. 182-185, with Tom. IV. p. xii. I suspect the Spanish Dance of
Death is an imitation from the French, because I find, in several
of the early editions, the French Dance of Death is united, as
the Spanish is in the manuscript of the Escurial, with the “Débat
du Corps et de l’Ame,” just as the “Vows over the Peacock” seems,
in both languages, to have been united to a poem on Alexander.
[147] In what a vast number of forms this strange fiction
occurs may be seen in the elaborate work of F. Douce, entitled
“Dance of Death,” (London, 1833, 8vo,) and in the “Literatur
der Todtentänze,” von H. F. Massmann (Leipzig, 1840, 8vo). To
these, however, for our purpose, should be added notices from the
Allgemeine Deutsche Bibliothek, (Berlin, 1792, Vol. CVI. p. 279,)
and a series of prints that appeared at Lubec in 1783, folio,
taken from the paintings there, which date from 1463, and which
might well serve to illustrate the old Spanish poem. See also K.
F. A. Scheller, Bücherkunde der Sässisch-niederdeutschen Sprache,
Braunschweig, 1826, 8vo, p. 75. The whole immense series, whether
existing in the paintings at Basle, Hamburg, etc., or in the
old poems in all languages, one of which is by Lydgate, were
undoubtedly intended for religious edification, just as the
Spanish poem was.
The first seven stanzas of the Spanish poem constitute a prologue, in
which Death issues his summons partly in his own person, and partly in
that of a preaching friar, ending thus:--
Come to the Dance of Death, all ye whose fate
By birth is mortal, be ye great or small;
And willing come, nor loitering, nor late,
Else force shall bring you struggling to my thrall:
For since yon friar hath uttered loud his call
To penitence and godliness sincere,
He that delays must hope no waiting here;
For still the cry is, Haste! and, Haste to all!
Death now proceeds, as in the old pictures and poems, to summon,
first, the Pope, then cardinals, kings, bishops, and so on, down to
day-laborers; all of whom are forced to join his mortal dance, though
each first makes some remonstrance, that indicates surprise, horror, or
reluctance. The call to youth and beauty is spirited:--
Bring to my dance, and bring without delay,
Those damsels twain, you see so bright and fair;
They came, but came not in a willing way,
To list my chants of mortal grief and care:
Nor shall the flowers and roses fresh they wear,
Nor rich attire, avail their forms to save.
They strive in vain who strive against the grave;
It may not be; my wedded brides they are.[148]
[148] I have a manuscript copy of the whole poem, made for me by
Professor Gayangos, and give the following as specimens. First,
one of the stanzas translated in the text:--
A esta mi Danza traye de presente
Estas dos donçellas que vedes fermosas;
Ellas vinieron de muy mala mente
A oyr mis canciones que son dolorosas.
Mas non les valdran flores ny rosas,
Nin las composturas que poner solian.
De mi si pudiesen partir se querrian,
Mas non puede ser, que son mis esposas.
And the two following, which have not, I believe, been printed;
the first being the reply of Death to the Dean he had summoned,
and the last the objections of the Merchant:--
_Dice la Muerte._
Don rico avariento Dean muy ufano,
Que vuestros dineros trocastes en oro,
A pobres e a viudas cerrastes la mano,
E mal despendistes el vuestro tesoro,
Non quiero que estedes ya mas en el coro;
Salid luego fuera sin otra peresa.
Ya vos mostraré venir à pobresa.--
Venit, Mercadero, a la dança del lloro.
_Dice el Mercader._
A quien dexaré todas mis riquesas,
E mercadurias, que traygo en la mar?
Con muchos traspasos e mas sotilesas
Gané lo que tengo en cada lugar.
Agora la muerte vinó me llamar;
Que sera de mi, non se que me faga.
O muerte tu sierra á mi es gran plaga.
Adios, Mercaderes, que voyme á finar!
The fiction is, no doubt, a grim one; but for several centuries it
had great success throughout Europe, and it is presented quite as
much according to its true spirit in this old Castilian poem as it is
anywhere.
A chronicling poem, found in the same manuscript volume with the
last, but very unskilfully copied in a different handwriting,
belongs probably to the same period. It is on the half-fabulous,
half-historical achievements of Count Fernan Gonzalez, a hero of the
earlier period of the Christian conflict with the Moors, who is to
the North of Spain what the Cid became somewhat later to Aragon and
Valencia. To him is attributed the rescue of much of Castile from
Mohammedan control; and his achievements, so far as they are matter
of historical rather than poetical record, fall between 934, when the
battle of Osma was fought, and his death, which occurred in 970.
The poem in question is almost wholly devoted to his glory.[149] It
begins with a notice of the invasion of Spain by the Goths, and comes
down to the battle of Moret, in 967, when the manuscript suddenly
breaks off, leaving untouched the adventures of its hero during the
three remaining years of his life. It is essentially prosaic and
monotonous in its style, yet not without something of that freshness
and simplicity which are in themselves allied to all early poetry. Its
language is rude, and its measure, which strives to be like that in
Berceo and the poem of Apollonius, is often in stanzas of three lines
instead of four, sometimes of five, and once at least of nine. Like
Berceo’s poem on San Domingo de Silos, it opens with an invocation,
and, what is singular, this invocation is in the very words used by
Berceo: “In the name of the Father, who made all things,” etc. After
this, the history, beginning in the days of the Goths, follows the
popular traditions of the country, with few exceptions, the most
remarkable of which occurs in the notice of the Moorish invasion. There
the account is quite anomalous. No intimation is given of the story of
the fair Cava, whose fate has furnished materials for so much poetry;
but Count Julian is represented as having, without any private injury,
volunteered his treason to the king of Morocco, and then carried it
into effect by persuading Don Roderic, in full Cortes, to turn all the
military weapons of the land into implements of agriculture, so that,
when the Moorish invasion occurred, the country was overrun without
difficulty.
[149] See a learned dissertation of Fr. Benito Montejo, on the
Beginnings of the Independence of Castile, Memorias de la Acad.
de Hist., Tom. III. pp. 245-302. Crónica General de España, Parte
III. c. 18-20. Duran, Romances Caballerescos, Madrid, 1832, 12mo,
Tom. II. pp. 27-39. Extracts from the manuscript in the Escurial
are to be found in Bouterwek, trad. por J. G. de la Cortina,
etc., Tom. I. pp. 154-161. I have a manuscript copy of the first
part of it, made for me by Professor Gayangos. For notices, see
Castro, Bibl., Tom. I. p. 199, and Sanchez, Tom. I. p. 115.
The death of the Count of Toulouse, on the other hand, is described as
it is in the “General Chronicle” of Alfonso the Wise; and so are the
vision of Saint Millan, and the Count’s personal fights with a Moorish
king and the King of Navarre. In truth, many passages in the poem so
much resemble the corresponding passages in the Chronicle, that it
seems certain one was used in the composition of the other; and as the
poem has more the air of being an amplification of the Chronicle than
the Chronicle has of being an abridgment of the poem, it seems probable
that the prose account is, in this case, the older, and furnished the
materials of the poem, which, from internal evidence, was prepared for
public recitation.[150]
[150] Crónica General, ed. 1604, Parte III. f. 55. b, 60. a-65.
b. Compare, also, Cap. 19, and Mariana, Historia, Lib. VIII. c.
7, with the poem. That the poem was taken from the Chronicle
may be assumed, I conceive, from a comparison of the Chronicle,
Parte III. c. 18, near the end, containing the defeat and death
of the Count of Toulouse, with the passage in the poem as given
by Cortina, and beginning “Cavalleros Tolesanos trezientos y
prendieron”; or the vision of San Millan (Crónica, Parte III. c.
19) with the passage in the poem beginning “El Cryador te otorga
quanto pedido le as.” Perhaps, however, the following, being a
mere rhetorical illustration, is a proof as striking, if not as
conclusive, as a longer one. The Chronicle says, (Parte III. c.
18,) “Non cuentan de Alexandre los dias nin los años; mas los
buenos fechos e las sus cavallerías que fizo.” The poem has it,
in almost the same words:--
Non cuentan de Alexandre · las noches nin los dias;
Cuentan sus buenos fechos · e sus cavalleryas.
The meeting of Fernan Gonzalez with the King of Navarre at the battle
of Valparé, which occurs in both, is thus described in the poem:--
And now the King and Count were met · together in the fight,
And each against the other turned · the utmost of his might,
Beginning there a battle fierce · in furious despite.
And never fight was seen more brave, · nor champions more true;
For to rise or fall for once and all · they fought, as well they
knew;
And neither, as each inly felt, · a greater deed could do;
So they struck and strove right manfully, · with blows nor light
nor few.
Ay, mighty was that fight indeed, · and mightier still about
The din that rose like thunder · round those champions brave and
stout:
A man with all his voice might cry · and none would heed his shout;
For he that listened could not hear, · amidst such rush and rout.
The blows they struck were heavy; · heavier blows there could not be;
On both sides, to the uttermost, · they struggled manfully,
And many, that ne’er rose again, · bent to the earth the knee,
And streams of blood o’erspread the ground, · as on all sides you
might see.
And knights were there, from good Navarre, · both numerous and bold,
Whom everywhere for brave and strong · true gentlemen would hold;
But still against the good Count’s might · their strength proved weak
and cold,
Though men of great emprise before · and fortune manifold.
For God’s good grace still kept the Count · from sorrow and from
harm,
That neither Moor nor Christian power · should stand against his
arm, etc.[151]
[151]
El Rey y el Conde · ambos se ayuntaron,
El uno contra el otro · ambos endereçaron,
E la lid campal alli · la escomençaron.
Non podrya mas fuerte · ni mas brava ser,
Ca alli les yva todo · levantar o caer;
El nin el Rey non podya · ninguno mas façer,
Los unos y los otros · façian todo su poder.
Muy grande fue la façienda · e mucho mas el roydo;
Daria el ome muy grandes voces, · y non seria oydo.
El que oydo fuese seria · como grande tronydo;
Non podrya oyr voces · ningun apellido.
Grandes eran los golpes, · que mayores non podian;
Los unos y los otros · todo su poder façian;
Muchos cayan en tierra · que nunca se ençian;
De sangre los arroyos · mucha tierra cobryan.
Asas eran los Navarros · cavalleros esforçados
Que en qualquier lugar · seryan buenos y priados,
Mas es contra el Conde · todos desaventurados;
Omes son de gran cuenta · y de coraçon loçanos.
Quiso Dios al buen Conde · esta gracia façer,
Que Moros ni Crystyanos · non le podian vençer, etc.
Bouterwek, trad. Cortina, p. 160.
This is certainly not poetry of a high order. Invention and dignified
ornament are wanting in it; but still it is not without spirit, and,
at any rate, it would be difficult to find in the whole poem a passage
more worthy of regard.
In the National Library at Madrid is a poem of twelve hundred and
twenty lines, composed in the same system of quaternion rhymes that
we have already noticed as settled in the old Castilian literature,
and with irregularities like those found in the whole class of poems
to which it belongs. Its subject is Joseph, the son of Jacob; but
there are two circumstances which distinguish it from all the other
narrative poetry of the period, and render it curious and important.
The first is, that, though composed in the Spanish language, it is
written wholly in the Arabic character, and has, therefore, all the
appearance of an Arabic manuscript; to which should be added the fact,
that the metre and spelling are accommodated to the force of the Arabic
vowels, so that, if the only manuscript of it now known to exist be
not the original, it must still have been originally written in the
same manner. The other singular circumstance is, that the story of the
poem, which is the familiar one of Joseph and his brethren, is not told
according to the original in our Hebrew Scriptures, but according to
the shorter and less interesting version in the eleventh chapter of the
Koran, with occasional variations and additions, some of which are due
to the fanciful expounders of the Koran, while others seem to be of the
author’s own invention. These two circumstances taken together leave
no reasonable doubt that the writer of the poem was one of the many
Moriscos who, remaining at the North after the body of the nation had
been driven southward, had forgotten their native language and adopted
that of their conquerors, though their religion and culture still
continued to be Arabic.[152]
[152] Other manuscripts of this sort are known to exist; but I
am not aware of any so old, or of such poetical value. (Ochoa,
Catálogo de Manuscritos Españoles, etc., pp. 6-21. Gayangos,
Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain, Tom. I. pp. 492 and 503.) As
to the spelling in the Poem of Joseph, we have _sembraredes_,
_chiriador_, _certero_, _marabella_, _taraydores_, etc. To avoid
a hiatus, a consonant is prefixed to the second word; as “cada
_g_uno” repeatedly for _cada uno_. The manuscript of the Poema
de José, in 4to, 49 leaves, was first shown to me in the Public
Library at Madrid, marked G. g. 101, by Conde, the historian; but
I owe a copy of the whole of it to the kindness of Don Pascual de
Gayangos, Professor of Arabic in the University there.
The manuscript of the “Poem of Joseph” is imperfect, both at the
beginning and at the end. Not much of it, however, seems to be lost. It
opens with the jealousy of the brothers of Joseph at his dream, and
their solicitation of their father to let him go with them to the field.
Then up and spake his sons: · “Sire, do not deem it so;
Ten brethren are we here, · this very well you know;--
That we should all be traitors, · and treat him as a foe,
You either will not fear, · or you will not let him go.
“But this is what we thought, · as our Maker knows above:
That the child might gain more knowledge, · and with it gain our
love,
To show him all our shepherd’s craft, · as with flocks and herds
we move;--
But still the power is thine to grant, · and thine to disapprove.”
And then they said so much · with words so smooth and fair,
And promised him so faithfully · with words of pious care,
That he gave them up his child; · but bade them first beware,
And bring him quickly back again, · unharmed by any snare.[153]
[153] The passage I have translated is in Coplas 5-7, in the
original manuscript, as it now stands, imperfect at the beginning.
Dijieron sus filhos: · “Padre, eso no pensedes;
Somos diez ermanos, · eso bien sabedes;
Seriamos taraidores, · eso no dubdedes;
Mas, empero, si no vos place, · aced lo que queredes.
“Mas aquesto pensamos, · sabelo el Criador;
Porque supiese mas, · i ganase el nuestro amor,
Enseñarle aiemos las obelhas, · i el ganado mayor;
Mas, enpero, si no vos place, · mandad como señor.”
Tanto le dijeron, · de palabras fermosas,
Tanto le prometieron, · de palabras piadosas,
Que el les dió el ninno, · dijoles las oras,
Que lo guardasen a el · de manos enganosas.
Poema de José, MS.
When the brothers have consummated their treason, and sold Joseph to a
caravan of Egyptian merchants, the story goes on much as it does in the
Koran. The fair Zuleikha, or Zuleia, who answers to Potiphar’s wife in
the Hebrew Scriptures, and who figures largely in Mohammedan poetry,
fills a space more ample than usual in the fancies of the present poem.
Joseph, too, is a more considerable personage. He is adopted as the
king’s son, and made a king in the land; and the dreams of the real
king, the years of plenty and famine, the journeyings of the brothers
to Egypt, their recognition by Joseph, and his message to Jacob, with
the grief of the latter that Benjamin did not return, at which the
manuscript breaks off, are much amplified, in the Oriental manner, and
made to sound like passages from “Antar,” or the “Arabian Nights,”
rather than from the touching and beautiful story to which we have been
accustomed from our childhood.
Among the inventions of the author is a conversation which the
wolf--who is brought in by his false brethren, as the animal that had
killed Joseph--holds with Jacob.[154] Another is the Eastern fancy,
that the measure by which Joseph distributed the corn, and which was
made of gold and precious stones, would, when put to his ear, inform
him whether the persons present were guilty of falsehood to him.[155]
But the following incident, which, like that of Joseph’s parting in
a spirit of tender forgiveness from his brethren[156] when they sold
him, is added to the narrative of the Koran, will better illustrate the
general tone of the poem, as well as the general powers of the poet.
[154]
Rogo Jacob al Criador, · e al lobo fue a fablar;
Dijo el lobo: “No lo mando · Allah, que a nabi[*] fuese a matar,
En tan estranna tierra · me fueron á cazar,
Anme fecho pecado, · i lebanme a lazrar.”
MS.
[*] _Nabi_, Prophet, Arabic.
[155]
La mesura del pan · de oro era labrada,
E de piedras preciosas · era estrellada,
I era de ver toda · con guisa enclabada,
Que fazia saber al Rey · la berdad apurada.
· · · · · · · · · · · ·
E firio el Rey en la mesura · e fizola sonar,
Pone la á su orella · por oir e guardar;
Dijoles, e no quiso · mas dudar,
Segun dize la mesura, · berdad puede estar.
MS.
It is Joseph who is here called king, as he is often in the
poem,--once he is called emperor, though the Pharaoh of the
period is fully recognized; and this costly measure, made of
gold and precious stones, corresponds to the cup of the Hebrew
account, and is found, like that, in the sack of Benjamin, where
it had been put by Joseph, (after he had secretly revealed
himself to Benjamin,) as the means of seizing Benjamin and
detaining him in Egypt, with his own consent, but without giving
his false brethren the reason for it.
[156]
Dijo Jusuf: “Ermanos, · perdoneos el Criador,
Del tuerto que me tenedes, · perdoneos el Señor,
Que para siempre e nunca · se parta el nuestro amor.”
Abrasò a cada guno, · e partiòse con dolor.
MS.
On the first night after the outrage, Jusuf, as he is called in the
poem, when travelling along in charge of a negro, passes a cemetery on
a hill-side where his mother lies buried.
And when the negro heeded not, · that guarded him behind,
From off the camel Jusuf sprang, · on which he rode confined,
And hastened, with all speed, · his mother’s grave to find,
Where he knelt and pardon sought, · to relieve his troubled mind.
He cried, “God’s grace be with thee still, · O Lady mother dear!
O mother, you would sorrow, · if you looked upon me here;
For my neck is bound with chains, · and I live in grief and fear,
Like a traitor by my brethren sold, · like a captive to the spear.
“They have sold me! they have sold me! · though I never did them
harm;
They have torn me from my father, · from his strong and living arm,
By art and cunning they enticed me, · and by falsehood’s guilty
charm,
And I go a base-bought captive, · full of sorrow and alarm.”
But now the negro looked about, · and knew that he was gone,
For no man could be seen, · and the camel came alone;
So he turned his sharpened ear, · and caught the wailing tone,
Where Jusuf, by his mother’s grave, · lay making heavy moan.
And the negro hurried up, · and gave him there a blow;
So quick and cruel was it, · that it instant laid him low;
“A base-born wretch,” he cried aloud, · “a base-born thief art thou;
Thy masters, when we purchased thee, · they told us it was so.”
But Jusuf answered straight, · “Nor thief nor wretch am I;
My mother’s grave is this, · and for pardon here I cry;
I cry to Allah’s power, · and send my prayer on high,
That, since I never wronged thee, · his curse may on thee lie.”
And then all night they travelled on, · till dawned the coming day,
When the land was sore tormented · with a whirlwind’s furious sway;
The sun grew dark at noon, · their hearts sunk in dismay,
And they knew not, with their merchandise, · to seek or make their
way.[157]
[157] As the original has not been printed, I transcribe the
following stanzas of the passage I have last translated:--
Dio salto del camello, · donde iba cabalgando;
No lo sintio el negro, · que lo iba guardando;
Fuese a la fuesa de su madre, · a pedirla perdon doblando,
Jusuf a la fuesa · tan apriesa llorando.
Disiendo: “Madre, sennora, · perdoneos el Sennor;
Madre, si me bidieses, · de mi abriais dolor;
Boi con cadenas al cuello, · catibo con sennor,
Bendido de mis ermanos, · como si fuera traidor.
“Ellos me han bendido, · no teniendoles tuerto;
Partieronme de mi padre, · ante que fuese muerto;
Con arte, con falsia, ellos · me obieron buelto;
Por mal precio me han · bendido, por do boi ajado e cucito.”
E bolbiose el negro · ante la camella,
Requiriendo à Jusuf, · e no lo bido en ella;
E bolbiose por el camino · aguda su orella,
Bidolo en el fosal · llorando, que es marabella.
E fuese alla el negro, · e obolo mal ferido,
E luego en aquella ora · caio amortesido;
Dijo, “Tu eres malo, · e ladron conpilido;
Ansi nos lo dijeron tus señores · que te hubieron bendido.”
Dijo Jusuf: “No soi · malo, ni ladron,
Mas, aqui iaz mi madre, · e bengola a dar perdon;
Ruego ad Allah i a · el fago loaiçon,
Que, si colpa no te tengo, · te enbie su maldicion.”
Andaron aquella noche · fasta otro dia,
Entorbioseles el mundo, · gran bento corria,
Afallezioseles el sol · al ora de mediodia,
No vedian por do ir · con la mercaderia.
Poema de José, MS.
The age and origin of this remarkable poem can be settled only by
internal evidence. From this it seems probable that it was written
in Aragon, because it contains many words and phrases peculiar to
the border country of the Provençals,[158] and that it dates from
the latter half of the fourteenth century, because the four-fold
rhyme is hardly found later in such verses, and because the rudeness
of the language might indicate even an earlier period, if the tale
had come from Castile. But in whatever period we may place it, it
is a curious and interesting production. It has the directness and
simplicity of the age to which it is attributed, mingled sometimes
with a tenderness rarely found in ages so violent. Its pastoral air,
too, and its preservation of Oriental manners, harmonize well with
the Arabian feelings that prevail throughout the work; while in its
spirit, and occasionally in its moral tone, it shows the confusion of
the two religions which then prevailed in Spain, and that mixture of
the Eastern and Western forms of civilization which afterwards gives
somewhat of its coloring to Spanish poetry.[159]
[158] This is apparent also in the addition sometimes made of an
_o_ or an _a_ to a word ending with a consonant, as _mercadero_
for _mercader_.
[159] Thus, the merchant who buys Joseph talks of Palestine as
“the Holy Land,” and Pharaoh talks of making Joseph a Count. But
the general tone is Oriental.
The last poem belonging to these earliest specimens of Castilian
literature is the “Rimado de Palacio,” on the duties of kings and
nobles in the government of the state, with sketches of the manners and
vices of the times, which, as the poem maintains, it is the duty of
the great to rebuke and reform. It is chiefly written in the four-line
stanzas of the period to which it belongs; and, beginning with a
penitential confession of its author, goes on with a discussion of the
ten commandments, the seven deadly sins, the seven works of mercy,
and other religious subjects; after which it treats of the government
of a state, of royal counsellors, of merchants, of men of learning,
tax-gatherers, and others; and then ends, as it began, with exercises
of devotion. Its author is Pedro Lopez de Ayala, the chronicler, of
whom it is enough to say here, that he was among the most distinguished
Spaniards of his time, that he held some of the highest offices
of the kingdom under Peter the Cruel, Henry the Second, John the
First, and Henry the Third, and that he died in 1407, at the age of
seventy-five.[160]
[160] For the Rimado de Palacio, see Bouterwek, trad. de Cortina,
Tom. I. pp. 138-154. The whole poem consists of 1619 stanzas. For
notices of Ayala, see Chap. IX.