FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE SIXTEENTH TO THE LATTER HALF OF THE
SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
INTRODUCTION.
GENERAL VIEW OF THE STATE OF POETICAL AND RHETORICAL CULTIVATION
IN SPAIN DURING THE ABOVE PERIOD.
The union of the kingdoms of Castile and Arragon, in consequence of
the marriage of Isabella, the heiress of the Castilian throne, with
Ferdinand king of Arragon, forms an epoch in Spanish literature, as
well as in Spanish power. Hitherto Spain had been occupied only with
her own internal affairs. The monarchs contended for their prerogatives
with the powerful barons of their respective states; and the two
kingdoms waged war against each other. The only object which they
pursued in common, was the overthrow of the Moorish principality of
Granada, which was enabled to resist them, as long as their political
jealousy of each other counter-balanced their mutual zeal for religion
and conquest. Spain, in her detached situation to the west of the
Pyrenees, never appeared so completely separated from the rest of
Europe as in the middle of the fifteenth century. With Italy, Spain
maintained no relations, except such as were purely ecclesiastical.
A marked change, however, took place on the union of the crowns of
Castile and Arragon, though the union of the two monarchies was not
properly consolidated until after Ferdinand’s death, which happened in
1516. Since the year 1492, Granada had been a Castilian province. The
poets had no longer the feats of the Zegris and Abencerrages to record;
and the Spanish knights had no infidels to vanquish, unless they
travelled to Africa in quest of them. If, however, they were successful
in that quarter of the world, their victories did not present subjects
of such interest to the Castilian muse as former achievements had
afforded. The love of industry and social order, which distinguished
the people of Arragon, at length extended to Castile; and the old
chivalrous spirit declined in proportion as the use of gunpowder, which
was at this period rapidly increasing, became more general. The manners
of the Spaniards of both monarchies, had now approximated to those
of the Italians; and the analogy between the Castilian and Italian
languages, could not fail to be remarked, whenever opportunities for
making that observation occurred. Ferdinand soon afforded such an
opportunity; his ambition induced him to take an active part in the
transactions of Italy, and his interference was attended with success.
The victorious Gonsalvo Fernandez de Cordova, admired as the conqueror
of Granada, and a second Cid, and surnamed, by way of distinction, _El
gran Capitan_, presented the crown of Naples to his sovereign in the
year 1504. The political union which then took place between Spain and
Italy, and which continued longer than a century, paved the way for
that influence of the Italian poetry on the Spanish, which soon after
became manifest.
About the same period that Ferdinand and Isabella united their
dominions, they also co-operated in the establishment of that terrible
tribunal which soon became known throughout Europe by the name of
the Spanish Inquisition, and which to the disgrace of human reason
exercised during two centuries and a half its monstrous powers in
their fullest extent. A crafty policy contrived to render religion
its instrument, in subjugating to one common tyranny the reason and
the rights of mankind; for the establishment of regal despotism in
both kingdoms was the great object of this institution, and its whole
organization corresponded with the end for which it was destined.
The pope, who penetrated the design of the founders, viewed their
proceedings with much dissatisfaction; but even the pope was obliged
to support the pretended interest of the church, and to honour
Ferdinand by bestowing on him, as a peculiar distinction, the title
of “Catholic King.” Thus the court of Rome contributed to annul the
privileges of the Cortes of Castile and Arragon, and to invest the
whole powers of government, without limitation, in the hands of an
absolute monarch: and thus did political artifice triumph over the
energy of one of the noblest nations in the world, at the very moment
when the genius of that nation had begun to expand, when the promising
flower had burst forth from the bud, and was about to unfold itself in
full vigour and beauty. A simultaneous and concordant cultivation of
the different powers of the human mind was now as little to be hoped
for in Spain as the improvement of her political constitution. Under
these circumstances the literary genius of the country could not be
expected to reach that high maturity of taste which always presupposes
a certain degree of harmony in the moral and intellectual faculties.
Poetic freedom was circumscribed by the same shackles which fettered
moral liberty. Thoughts which could not be expressed without fear of
the dungeon and the stake, were no longer materials for the poet to
work on. His imagination instead of improving them into poetic ideas,
and embodying them in beautiful verse, had to be taught to reject them.
But the eloquence of prose was more completely bowed down under the
inquisitorial yoke than poetry, because it was more closely allied to
truth, which, of all things, was the most dreaded.
The yoke of this odious tribunal weighed, however, far less heavily on
the imagination than on the other faculties of the mind; and it must
be confessed that a wide field still remained open for the range of
fancy, though the boundaries of religious doctrine were not permitted
to be overstepped. To suppose that the Spanish inquisition could have
entirely annihilated the poetic genius of the nation, it must also be
supposed, that at the period of its establishment, there had existed
a style of poetry altogether hostile to such an institution, and that
the spirit of the inquisition was directly opposed to the spirit of
the nation. But it would be forming a false notion of the horrors of
the inquisition, to imagine that they were ever felt in Spain in the
same manner as in other countries, and particularly in the Netherlands,
where that tribunal was introduced hand in hand with foreign despotism.
When the inquisition was established in Spain, it harmonized to all
appearance, that is to say, as far as orthodox faith was concerned,
with the prevailing opinions of the Spanish Christians. It was
ostensibly directed not so much against heretics as against infidels,
namely, Mahometans and Jews. Its operations were accordingly commenced
by waging war against those infidels, for no sect of Christian heretics
existed at that period in Spain, and the inquisition took care that
none should be afterwards formed. To maintain the purity of the
ancient faith was the avowed object of the inquisition; and its wrath
was poured out on the unfortunate Jews, Moors, and Moriscos, (the
descendants of the Moors), with the view of removing every blemish
from the faith of a nation, which prided itself in its orthodoxy. This
bigotted pride was a consequence of the contest maintained in Spain
during four centuries and a half, between Catholic Christianity and
Mahometanism. The Spanish Christians celebrated the conquest of Granada
as the triumph of the church; and the inquisition, which at first
excited terror, soon became an object of veneration with men in whose
hearts religious enthusiasm was inseparably blended with patriotism.
This view of the subject may serve to explain how it happened in the
sequel, and particularly during the reign of Philip II. that while,
throughout all the rest of Europe men shuddered at the very name of the
Spanish inquisition, the Spaniards still lived under it as happily
and cheerfully as ever; and also how, from the operation of the same
cause, the ecclesiastical shackles had not a more injurious effect on
the developement of the poetic genius of the nation. The conduct of the
inquisition was no subject of alarm to those who were confident that
they never could have any personal concern with it; for the suspicion
of deficiency in Catholic orthodoxy, the ground on which that tribunal
acted, was more degrading in Spain than the most odious crimes in other
countries. Before the establishment of the inquisition, fanaticism was
so firmly rooted in the minds of the Spaniards, that all scepticism
in matters of religion was abhorred as a deadly sin. He, however,
who submitted with blind devotion to the decrees of the church, was
held to have a clear conscience, and in that sort of clear conscience
the Spaniards prided themselves. The inquisition disturbed the good
Catholic as little in his social enjoyments, as criminal justice the
citizen who lived in conformity with the laws. The Spaniard was cruel
only to heretics and infidels, because he thought it his duty to hate
them; but in the orthodox bosom of his native country, he was animated
by a spirit of gaiety of which the literature of Spain presents
abundant proofs. While the Duke of Alba in the Netherlands ruled
with the axe of the executioner, Cervantes, in Spain, wrote his Don
Quixote, and Lope de Vega, who himself held a post connected with the
inquisition, produced his admirable comedies. The dramatic literature
of Spain flourished with most brilliancy during the reigns of the
three Philips, from 1556 to 1665, and that is precisely the period
when the Spanish inquisition exercised its power with the greatest
rigour and the most sanguinary cruelty. Many melancholy traces of
fanaticism are certainly observable in the literature of Spain during
the reigns of the three Philips; but those traces are so insulated, and
the painful impression which they naturally produce on liberal minds
is so far compensated, by the noblest traits of humanity, that to him,
who, from reading the works of the Spanish poets, should turn to the
perusal of the political history of the Spaniards during the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries, and particularly to the history of their
transactions in the Netherlands and America, it might well appear that
he had become acquainted with two distinct nations.
Indeed, notwithstanding the generally prejudicial effects of the
restrictions imposed by the inquisition on intellectual freedom,
those restrictions could not fail, under the circumstances which have
been described, to prove in one respect favourable to the polite
literature of Spain. The poetic genius which, at the period of the
establishment of this tribunal, was energetically developing itself
throughout the Peninsula, was not now to be annihilated. Its strength
was even augmented by that growing national pride, which the union of
the Castilian and Arragonian monarchies fostered. During the period
marked by the reign of Charles I. better known by his Germanic imperial
title of Charles V. which was nearly half a century, namely, from the
year 1516 to the year 1555, the Austrian and Spanish monarchies were
also united, and Spain acquired rich possessions in a new quarter of
the world. The Spanish arms were not so victorious under the three
Philips as under Charles V. But, sacrificed as this gallant nation was
to fanaticism and the most despicable of governments, its spirit never
sunk under disaster, and its genius vented itself in the cultivation
of poetry, because it was excluded by religious despotism from every
graver study, except the scholastic philosophy of the convent. It
is also to be considered, that the influence of the ever debasing
despotism of the Spanish government could operate only gradually in
extinguishing the energies of national genius. The bold manifestation
of the spirit of freedom in Castile and Arragon on the accession
of Charles V. was attended with discouraging results, because the
nobility and the third estate did not unite in support of their common
interests. Had that union existed, Spain would probably have presented
the first model of a constitutional, and at the same time a vigorous
monarchy. That honour was withheld by fate: but the genius of the
Spanish people was not so easily suppressed as their political and
religious freedom. Kings might rule as they pleased; they might madly
shed the blood of their subjects, or waste the treasures drawn from
America; but the people, who had yielded to despotism only for the sake
of religion, continued in their hearts to be what they had always been,
till the influence of time consummated their subjugation. The Spanish
patriot, who fought in the cause of his king and country, was until
then, in his own estimation, still a free man. Kings received homage in
verse as well as in prose; but a court poetry, like that which existed
in France in the reign of Lewis XIV. was never known in Spain. The
kings of Spain, too, never bestowed any very liberal encouragement
on the poetic literature of their country. Charles V. honoured a few
Spanish and Italian poets with some degree of attention, according to
the fashion of the princes of that age; for in the sixteenth century a
poet was accounted an extremely useful man for business of every sort;
but that sovereign seems to have taken a more particular interest in
Italian than in Spanish literature. Philip II. from his joyless throne,
occasionally cast a glance of favour on a man of talent; but restless
ambition and blind bigotry occupied his gloomy mind, and deprived him
of all susceptibility for the beautiful. His son, Philip III. though of
a more amiable character, was too indolent to take a warm interest in
any thing whatever. Philip IV. however, did more for Spanish literature
than any of his predecessors since the time of John II. His taste for
pomp and splendour, to which he thoughtlessly gave himself up, while
decay and disorder preyed upon the vitals of the state, disposed
him to favour the Spanish theatre. Calderon, whom he pensioned, was
indebted to him for that leisure which enabled him to devote his life
to dramatic poetry. But Calderon only improved on the labours of
predecessors, who, without receiving the pay of kings, produced works
which did honour to the nation, and were approved and rewarded by the
public. Spanish literature owes nothing to kings, and has to thank only
the popular spirit for all its brightest flowers. The drama, therefore,
remained wholly national, even after the imitation of Italian forms
had long prevailed in the lyric and epic poetry of Spain. Writers
for the stage must of necessity obey the voice of a public possessing
sufficient energy of character to condemn every piece which does not
pay homage to the popular taste. The whole history of the Spanish
theatre exhibits this dominion of the public over authors; and the
particular taste of the dramatists being formed under the influence
of the general poetic genius of the nation, they very willingly, like
Lope de Vega, followed the stream, even though, like him, they well
knew what the true theory of their art required. The cultivation of
prose was more completely left to the individual taste of the authors;
but any instance of encouragement from the throne was as uncommon with
respect to it as to poetry. Antonio de Solis, who received a pension
from Philip IV. as historiographer, for writing the History of Spanish
America, was indebted for that honour in some measure to his reputation
as a poet, and his various acquirements, but by no means for any
particular esteem he had obtained on account of his talent for prose
composition.
During the whole of this period, however, intellectual talents were
never undervalued, either by the kings, or the nobles of Spain. In
that country, as well as in Italy, the higher orders considered it a
duty to seek distinction through learning, and poetry was the soul
both of Spanish and Italian literature. Most of the Spanish poets of
this period, if not of noble birth, belonged, at least, to families of
consideration. Heroes, statesmen, ecclesiastics, all composed verses,
and poetry was most intimately interwoven with all the relations of
social life. No where did chivalrous gallantry so long survive the
extinction of real chivalry as in Spain; and poetry was the exhaustless
language of that gallantry, whether it displayed itself in secret
love intrigues, or at public entertainments and festivals. Every
characteristic national amusement, as for instance, a bull fight,
proved an incitement to the writing of sonnets and romances. There
are found in various Spanish poems of this period many expressions
and allusions which have reference to popular amusements, but the
poetic sense of which is only intelligible to readers who bear in
their recollection the favourite diversions of the nation. The
romantic intrigues which were common in high life, formed models for
the intricate plots of the Spanish comedies; but no ordinary powers
of invention were necessary to enable the dramatic author to maintain
on the stage a competition with the scenes which actually occurred
in society. Throughout the whole country, singing and dancing were
essential ingredients in every amusement. Learned musical composition
had, at this time, little attraction for the Spaniards; but wherever
joy was, musicians were not wanting, and every dance had its song.
In the mean time the cultivation of the other fine arts, afforded
little aid to Spanish poetry, as the overwhelming interest attached to
it in its golden age directed the intellectual energies of the nation
almost exclusively to that one object. All other liberal pursuits were
consequently left far behind.
Spanish taste was, at this period, entirely left to form itself, being
abandoned to the influence of Italian literature, and the authority of
eminent national authors. The Italian system of academies found little
favour in Spain. Perhaps the jealousy of the inquisition foreboded evil
from meetings of men of letters. Be this as it may, Spanish literature
sustained little loss by the want of those institutions. The Royal
Academy for the Spanish language and literature was not established
until the eighteenth century.
The intimate union, which, during the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries, subsisted between the eloquence of prose and poetry in
Spain, renders a separate history of each unnecessary. A division
may, however, be advantageously made in the whole body of the Spanish
literature of this period, though the two sections cannot form two
distinct epochs. From the introduction of the Italian style into
Spanish poetry, until the decline of learning in the latter years of
the reign of Philip IV. no literary revolution was experienced in
Spain. The _corrupters of taste_, as certain writers who appeared
in the latter half of this period are called by some of the Spanish
critics, only continued a movement, the impulse of which had been given
long before by various authors, and particularly by the dramatic poets.
Several of these writers were contemporaries with authors who placed
a high value on classical correctness, and yet they exercised a much
greater influence over the general literature of Spain than the latter.
To confound Calderon, who perfected the Spanish comedy, according to
its true national character, with the corrupters of taste, is an idea
which could only have been entertained in the eighteenth century,
when it became customary in Spain, as every where else, to measure all
productions of genius by the rules of French criticism. But at the same
time, that Spanish poetry approximated as closely to the Italian, as
the necessary connection of the former with the national style would
permit, that national style, with all its faults and beauties, still
maintained the pre-eminence; and the passion for Italian correctness
again declined. This crisis in Spanish literature, occasioned by the
struggle between Italian refinement and the bold eccentricity of the
national manners, occurred in the age of Cervantes. At that time Lope
de Vega shone with more brilliancy in the eyes of his countrymen than
Cervantes, and the party of the former gained the victory and kept the
field. The taking of a distinct view of the progress of poetry and
eloquence in Spain, will therefore be facilitated, if the period of the
influence of Cervantes and Lope de Vega be made an historical resting
point. It is doubtless very remarkable, that Cervantes, who created an
epoch in the general literature of Europe, should not have produced
sufficient effect on the Literature of his own country, to justify the
choosing him as the founder of a new epoch in its literary history. An
opportunity will hereafter arise for reverting to this subject.[147]
FIRST SECTION.
_History of Spanish Poetry and Eloquence, from the Introduction
of the Italian Style to the Age of Cervantes and Lope de Vega._
OCCASION OF THE INTRODUCTION OF THE ITALIAN STYLE.
After the complete consolidation of the monarchies of Castile and
Arragon by the accession of Charles of Austria, the grandson of
Isabella and Ferdinand, there appears to have been, for a short
time, a suspension of all literary activity in Spain. The political
convulsions which then agitated the interior of the two united
kingdoms, occupied the public mind too powerfully to allow any interest
to be felt in calmer and more agreeable objects. But as soon as the
civil contests were terminated by the success of the Austrian party,
and the enterprising Charles, incited by Francis I. employed the force
of his Spanish states to win new dominions in Italy, the poetic genius
of Spain revived in all its pristine vigour. In the meantime, the
ancient dialect of the Arragonian provinces began to be supplanted
by the Castilian, which became the language of the state and of
public business throughout Spain. Castile was then considered the
heart of the whole monarchy. Madrid rose to the rank of the capital
of Spain, and Saragossa sunk into the condition of a provincial town.
It was therefore no very extraordinary event, that a Catalonian,
whose maternal language still possessed a certain degree of poetic
consideration, should, in connection with a Castilian, produce a
revolution in Castilian poetry.
BOSCAN.
Juan Boscan Almogavèr, who, in concert with his friend Garcilaso de
la Vega, introduced the Italian style into Castilian poetry, was born
in Barcelona, towards the close of the fifteenth century. He belonged
to one of the Patrician families of that city, of equal rank with
the nobility of the country. Though possessing a liberal education,
and sufficient fortune to enable him to gratify his inclination for
literary studies, without regard to any secondary views, he embarked,
notwithstanding, on his first outset in life for a short period in
the profession of arms. He afterwards travelled, but the countries he
visited are not mentioned in the brief notices which remain of him.
If, however, it be supposed that he went at this time to Italy, and
rendered himself intimately acquainted with the literature of that
country, it appears that he was still far from entertaining the idea
of transplanting the forms and manner of Italian poetry into Spain;
for the Castilian verses, which he wrote in his youth, were all in
the ancient lyric style, which, since the time of Juan de Mena no one
had thought it necessary to try to improve. It was not until 1526,
when, after having flourished at the court of Charles V. he had made
a happy marriage, and was settled in his native city, that a Venetian
induced him to imitate the Italian poetry in the Castilian language.
The emperor resided for some time in Granada; and, among the foreign
ministers who repaired to his court, was Andrea Navagero, the envoy
from Venice, a man of great literary and historical knowledge, and,
like every well-educated Italian of that age, a writer of canzoni
and sonnets. Boscan, having formed an intimate friendship with this
minister, was taught by him to view the Italian poetry and also the
classical latin in quite a new light. The Spanish lyric poetry, which
with all its gothic excrescences was still pleasing to the nation,
if not so barbarous in his eyes as in those of his Italian friend,
appeared to him, when compared with a sonnet of Petrarch, at least,
in the point of good taste greatly inferior. He now readily perceived
the nature and felt the value of the precision and correctness of the
great works of antiquity. Animated by his new ideas, he fearlessly
ventured to follow the counsel of Navagero, in spite of the menacing
clamour of the friends of the old national forms. He took upon himself
the character of a reformer of the lyric poetry of his nation, and
commenced his labours by writing sonnets in the manner of Petrarch.
The metrical structure of the sonnet had long been known in Spain;[148]
but the genius of Castilian poetry was adverse to that form, and the
Spaniards had manifested very little predilection for any thing like
the elegant correctness of Petrarch. Boscan had therefore elevated
himself above the literature of his country, when he perceived that it
was necessary to infuse a new spirit into Castilian poetry before it
could be reconciled to the Italian forms. His friend Garcilaso de la
Vega participated in this opinion. But thousands of voices were raised
against the reformers. Some insisted that preference was to be given to
the old Castilian verse on the ground of euphony. Others went further,
and asserted that the ear could perceive no distinction between the
new verse and prose. Finally, a third party discovered that Italian
poetry was effeminate, and was fit only for Italians and women. Boscan
relates that this violent opposition made him reflect seriously on the
propriety of proceeding with his design; but as he was soon convinced
of the futility of the reasons urged against him, he persisted in
his undertaking. His party rapidly increased and soon obtained the
superiority, not indeed throughout the whole mass of the public, but in
that portion of society which was most enlightened and refined.[149]
The other circumstances of Boscan’s life, in so far as they are known,
have little interest for the literary historian. The mature part of
his age was chiefly spent in his native city Barcelona, or in the
neighbouring country. The urbanity of his manners and his talents
recommended him to the family of Alba, which was then one of the most
brilliant of the noble houses of Castile, and to which the homage of
the Spanish poets was from that time constantly paid. Boscan was for
some time Ayo, or first governor of the young Don Fernando de Alba,
who was afterwards the terror of the enemies of the Spanish monarchy.
He appears, however, to have soon resigned this employment, in order
to divide his time between study and the society of literary friends.
The year in which he died is not exactly known; it is only ascertained
that his death happened before the year 1544.[150] He prepared for the
press a collection of his poems, to which he added those of his friend
Garcilaso; but the work was not published until after his death.[151]
From the point at which Boscan found Castilian poetry, to that in
which it was necessary it should be placed before he could open for
himself a new path, the distance was considerable, and the transition
was to be accomplished by a single bound. That he succeeded in this
undertaking was owing not so much to his genius, as to a natural
susceptibility for the real beauties of Italian and ancient poetry,
accidentally excited at the favourable moment, and to a talent for
the imitation of classical models, without altogether discarding that
tone of feeling which was properly his own. To estimate, however, the
full value of Boscan’s talent, it is not only necessary to examine
the works by which he introduced a new style into Spanish poetry,
but to take a retrospective view of the productions of the Castilian
muse in the ancient manner. It is only by this comparison that a just
conception can be formed of the surprise with which the Spaniards
must have regarded the bold attempt of Boscan. He was the first among
his countrymen who had an idea of classical perfection in works of
imagination; and though the greater part of his poems fall below that
standard, they all afford evidence of his endeavours to reach it. An
aspiration so entirely unaffected and unembarrassed, had never been
manifested by any previous Spanish poet. Between the kind of poetry
which he introduced into his native land and that which he abandoned,
there was no visible passage. But lest the merits of Boscan should be
too highly rated, it is proper to observe, that at this time a reform
of the Spanish poetry, precisely such as that to which his efforts gave
birth, was, notwithstanding the clamour of his opponents, desired by
the more cultivated part of the Spanish public, though, perhaps, there
no where existed any distinct perception of the wished-for object. Had
it been otherwise, Boscan must have stood alone, and the numerous poets
of his nation, who have equalled or surpassed him in the new style,
never would have followed his example.
The early productions of Boscan, which form the first book of his
works, are scarcely distinguishable by any trace of superior delicacy
or correctness from the poems of the same descriptions contained in the
_Cancionero general_. The very title of the longest of these youthful
essays, namely, _Mar de Amor_ (the Sea of Love) excites an anticipation
of the fantastic flights of the old Spanish muse; and it is impossible
to read the first strophe without being convinced that the author still
adhered to the original character of Castilian song.[152] It was,
however, only at the request of his friend Garcilaso de la Vega, who
said that he received from these poems the same sort of pleasure as
from pretty children, that Boscan renounced his intention of entirely
suppressing them.
The second book of Boscan’s poems, contains _sonetos_ and _canciones_,
in the style of the Italian _sonetti_ and _canzoni_. They all betray,
in a greater or less degree, the disciple of the school of Petrarch;
but the spirit of Spanish poetry still displays itself throughout the
whole. The language, though it successfully imitates the precision
of Petrarch, seldom attains the sweetly flowing melody of its model.
In painting the feelings, the shadows are charged with stronger
colours than the Italian Petrarchists of the sixteenth century
permitted themselves to employ. Impetuous passion, which, with higher
pretensions, was, on account of its very violence, less capable of
commanding sympathy than a mild enthusiasm, strikingly distinguished
Boscan’s poetry from that which was the object of his imitation. The
contrast was farther increased by the constantly recurring picture
of a struggle between passion and reason. But these were precisely
the traits which disclosed the true Spanish character. It was not
individual feeling that prevented Boscan from equalling the delicacy
and softness of the Italian sonetto and canzone, for as his biography,
and still more his other poems, shew he was a man of a very mild
disposition. But it was necessary that the language of love, to appear
natural and true to a Spaniard, should burn and rage. At the same
time, to satisfy Spanish taste, reason was to be introduced to deliver
her precepts amidst the storm of passion, to prove its force by her
feebleness, and to give to lyric composition a moral gravity which was
not desired by the Italians. In so far however as the Spanish character
permitted the experiment to go, the fascinating tone of Petrarch was
very happily seized by Boscan;[153] and in the expression of tender
passion he has even sometimes surpassed the Italian poet.[154]
The greater part of the third book of these poems is occupied by a
paraphrastic translation of the Greek poem of Hero and Leander. Nothing
of the kind had been previously known in the Spanish language. The
metrical form which Boscan chose for his translation, was that of
rhymeless iambics, or an imitation of the blank verse of the Italians.
The language is so pure and elegant, the versification so natural, and
the tone of the narrative so soft, and at the same time so elevated,
that it is impossible not to be pleased even with the prolixity which
the influence of the taste for romantic poetry has introduced into
this free translation. To this translation succeeds a poem in the
Italian style, entitled a _Capitulo_, and some epistles in tercets. The
_Capitulo_, as it is called, is a love elegy, abounding in pleasing
ideas and images, but on the whole too much spun out, like most Italian
poems of the same kind. It has also its full share of genuine Spanish
hyperbole and amorous despair.[155] The best of his epistles is, “The
Answer to Diego Mendoza,” who was himself the first epistolary poet
among the Spaniards, and whom it will soon be necessary to notice more
at length. After the new poetical career was opened, these authors vied
in imitating the epistles of Horace; but it is plain that the elegiac
tenderness of Tibullus was constantly present to the mind of Boscan.
In his Answer to Mendoza, the descriptions of domestic and rural life
charm by their exquisite delicacy, and possess a still more powerful
interest than the moral reflections, though these are unaffected and
noble, and conceived in the true spirit of didactic poetry.[156]
Boscan’s works conclude with a narrative poem in the Italian style,
which has no other title than that which denotes the structure of the
verse, namely, _octava rima_. Some ideas and images are borrowed from
the Italian poets; but the whole invention and the execution of the
greater part of the details belong to Boscan. The merit of the fable,
however, is not great. A mythological allegory, describing the empire
of love, forms the introduction to a poetical relation of a festal
meeting of Venus, Cupid, and the other inhabitants of that imaginary
region. Little Cupids are dispatched all over the world by Venus to
defend her against the reproaches of unreasonable men, and to make
known the real blessings of love. One of those winged envoys directs
his course towards Barcelona, the natal city of the poet, gives a
particular account of his mission to the fair ladies of that town, and
takes the opportunity of saying many gallant things to them. As to the
construction of the fable of this poem, Boscan certainly gave himself
very little trouble. His object appears merely to have been to compose
a romantic picture of greater extent than a sonnet or a cancion, and to
make his countrymen sensible of the charm of descriptive poetry in the
Italian manner. It is impossible not to admire the grace and facility
with which Boscan has accomplished this purpose. The descriptions are
so animated,[157] and all the details so elegant and engaging, that
the tediousness of some of the parts is amply compensated by the happy
execution of the whole. Light plays of fancy embellish the lyric and
romantic passages; and, upon the whole, this is a work which no other
of the same kind by later Spanish poets has excelled.[158]
If a comprehensive view be taken of the merits of Boscan, it will be
impossible, notwithstanding the striking faults which appear in his
works, and particularly in his sonnets, to withhold from him the title
of the first classical poet of Spain. Some of his expressions are
now antiquated, but upon the whole his language has continued a model
for succeeding ages. Simplicity and dignity had never, in the same
degree, and under a form so correct, been united with poetic truth
and feeling by any previous Spanish author. The partizans of the old
national poetry reproached him with being an imitator; but without
the kind of imitation by which he naturalized in his language a taste
for the literature of Italy and the ancient classics, it would have
been impossible for Spanish poetry to have gained that field in which
it afterwards competed with the Italian. That he did not obtrude upon
his countrymen a kind of poetry irreconcilable with the genius of the
language and the national character, is evident from the rapidity
with which the new taste spread over the whole of Spain, and extended
into Portugal, and from its duration in both kingdoms. The poetic
innovators, at whose head Boscan stood, were certainly blameable, in so
far as they wished to banish entirely the ancient Spanish style, which
was also, in its own manner, susceptible of classical improvement. But
it is doubtful whether the partizans of that style would have thought
of perfecting it after classical models, had not the disciples of the
Italian school unexpectedly shewn the high cultivation of which Spanish
poetry was capable under new forms. This Boscan first made manifest,
not by critical reasoning, but by example; and his modesty contributed
not a little to attract to his party the more liberal minded of his
countrymen. Had he commenced his reform by trying to beat down the old
style with theoretical argument, or egotistical declamation, he would
only have rendered himself an object of ridicule; for the public he had
to deal with was not indisposed to improvement, but would not submit to
have lessons read to it magisterially.
After Boscan, his friends, who participated in the fame of that reform
to which he shewed the way, are justly entitled to the next place in
the history of Spanish poetry.
GARCILASO DE LA VEGA.
The first Spanish poet who followed the example of Boscan was Garcilaso
de la Vega, a young Castilian, descended from a family of consideration
in Toledo, and born, according to the statements of different authors,
either in 1500 or 1503. His poetic talent was early developed, and he
had written several lyric pieces in the old Spanish style, when his
acquaintance with Boscan, which soon grew into friendship, commenced.
The character of the poetry of the ancients and of Italy was then
seen by him in a new light. He proceeded with ardour to the study
of classical models, and of Petrarch and Virgil in particular. The
improvement of pastoral poetry in his native tongue, appears to have
been his first object. But it was his lot to follow the restless
profession of arms; and the wars of Charles V. carried him abroad, and
dragged him from country to country. In the year 1529, he distinguished
himself in the Spanish corps, which was attached to the imperial army
opposed to the Turks. While in Vienna he was involved in a romantic
intrigue, between a near relation of his own and a lady of the court.
The imperial dignity, it appears, was conceived to be compromised
by this intrigue, and Garcilaso was punished for his interference by
imprisonment in an Island of the Danube. There he composed one of
his canciones, in which he bewails his destiny, but at the same time
celebrates the Danube and the countries through which it flows.[159]
His imprisonment probably was not of long duration. In the year 1535,
he served in the adventurous expedition of Charles V. against Tunis,
in which he acquired both glory and wounds. In Naples and Sicily,
he devoted, as far as circumstances would permit, his moments of
relaxation to poetry. He execrated war, and exerted all the powers
of his imagination in painting an Arcadian pastoral life, but still
remained a soldier.[160] It may be presumed, however, that his military
talents were not inconsiderable, for when the imperial army in the year
1536, penetrated into the South of France, Garcilaso de la Vega, who
could then be only thirty-three, or at most thirty-six years of age,
commanded eleven companies of infantry. That campaign, which did not
terminate so fortunately as it commenced, was the last to Garcilaso,
and tore him from the world in the bloom of life. The emperor in person
ordered him to take by assault, a fort, the garrison of which harrassed
the army in its retreat. Garcilaso executed this command with more
gallantry than prudence. He wished to be the first to scale the walls.
He attained his object, but was struck with a stone on the head, and
thrown down from the ramparts. Being mortally wounded, he was removed
to Nice, where, a few weeks after, he died.
It would be difficult to discover from the works of Garcilaso, that the
author had spent a considerable portion of his short life in camps,
and had died in the bed of military honour, the victim of his courage;
for he approaches even more closely than Boscan to the tenderness of
Petrarch. The general tone of his poetry is so soft and melancholy,
that it is only by occasional characteristic traits, that the Spaniard
is recognized; but it must be confessed that when such passages do
occur, the exaggeration is striking enough.[161] In his sonnets,
which are not numerous, the imitation of Petrarch is obvious; but he
sometimes betrays that affectation of wit, which was still in Spain
regarded as an ingenious manner of expressing vehement and profound
passion.[162] One however exhibits throughout a delicacy of style and
sweetness of manner, equalled by few pieces of the same kind, in the
Spanish language.[163] He was not equally successful in seizing the
character of the Italian canzone, of which he, as well as Boscan, was
an imitator; and his reputation rests chiefly on his pastoral poems,
which therefore deserve to be more particularly noticed.
Since the rude dramatic eclogues of Juan de la Enzina pastoral poetry
had made no progress in Spain. But Garcilaso de la Vega imitated Virgil
and Sanazzar, and so happily united the romantic character with the
correctness of the ancients, that his eclogues, though only one of
them can be regarded as a masterpiece, surpass all Italian poems of
the kind, those in the Arcadia of Sanazzar alone excepted. The fine
Neapolitan sky appears to have had the same influence on Garcilaso
as on Virgil and Sanazzar; and he seems to have regarded Naples as
his poetical country. The first of his eclogues is by far the most
beautiful, and marks an epoch in Spanish pastoral poetry. The whole
composition has the metrical form of an Italian canzone. The invention
is very simple. In the four introductory strophes, in which is
interwoven a dedication to the Viceroy of Naples, Don Pedro de Toledo,
Marquis of Villafranca, the author describes, with all the simplicity
which belongs to true pastoral poetry, the meeting of two shepherds,
Salicio and Nemoroso, who alternately give vent to their feelings in
melancholy strains. These elegiac songs reply to each other without
interruption, and the relation subsisting between them gives to the
whole lyric composition a proper consistence and unity. This is all the
plan of the eclogue. But the glow of enthusiastic feeling, the happy
choice of expression, and the harmony of versification so completely
satisfactory to the ear, to be found in almost every line of these
songs of sorrow, cannot fail to give delight to every mind susceptible
of elegiac and beauty. Accordingly the Spanish critics are nearly
unanimous in pronouncing this eclogue one of the finest works in their
language. The subject of the first song is the infidelity--of the
second, the death of a mistress; and the latter complaint appears to be
founded in fact. But Garcilaso would have better secured the sympathy
of the more scrupulous Spanish reader, had he entirely passed over the
cause of the lamented fair one’s decease. The lady whom he describes as
a pastoral nymph, lost her life it seems in childbed; for an apostrophe
of the complaining shepherd to Lucina, indicates plainly enough the
nature of her death. But is the affected delicacy which takes offence
at a trait so truly natural and pathetic, worthy of the attention of an
author? In the first strain in which the shepherd Salicio deplores the
infidelity of his mistress, the interest appears to be raised as far
as it is possible to carry it.[164] Passion is here elevated to the
highest pitch, and then lost in a most affecting self sacrifice.[165]
But the song in which Nemoroso laments the death of his mistress, even
surpasses the former in elegiac force, perhaps because it possesses
greater softness. In retracing his recollections the mourner draws a
series of melancholy pictures which have an indescribable charm. The
beauty of the poem rises with the description of the beauty of the
departed shepherdess.[166] The passage in which Nemoroso relates how
he carries in his bosom a lock of his Eliza’s hair, from which he is
never separated--how when alone he spreads it out, weeps over it, dries
it with his sighs, and then examines and counts every single hair--is
unexampled either in ancient or modern literature.[167] Occasional
imitations of Virgil have been pointed out, but they harmonize so
completely with the romantic spirit of the poem, that were it not
for the particular references which critics have made, they would
in general escape the notice of even the most erudite. The poem, as
a whole, is evidently the genuine offspring of the author’s soul.
Materials of an affecting but prosaic nature are, by his art, converted
into the most graceful and impressive poetry.
As Garcilaso only imitated the ancients by the introduction of certain
ideas and images, and not in the structure of his eclogues, he
considered himself at liberty to vary their form at pleasure. But here
his good taste abandoned him. The second and longest of his eclogues is
an unnatural mixture of heterogeneous styles. An unfortunate shepherd
deplores his unsuccessful love. Another shepherd joins him, and their
conversation proceeds unconstrained in a romantic pastoral tone; but
it is impossible to discover any reason for the changes which take
place in the verse. Tercets are succeeded by rhymeless iambics, after
which the tercets re-appear and are followed by the syllabic measure
of a canzone. The simple dialogue suddenly becomes dramatic. The fair
huntress, whose indifference is the subject of the first shepherd’s
lament, appears upon the scene. The lover seizes and refuses to let
her go, until she swears to listen to his addresses. She makes the
required vow, and when at liberty flies. The despair of the shepherd
then becomes frenzy; and a third shepherd, who has in the mean time
arrived, enters into conversation with the one who first joined the
unhappy lover, on the means of restoring him to reason. The author
seizes this opportunity to convert his eclogue into a most unseasonable
eulogium on the house of Alba. One of the shepherds proposes that
medical assistance should be obtained, and mentions a physician named
Severo; but this name is assigned to a learned friend of Garcilaso and
the Alba family. Nothing more is necessary, according to the critical
conception of the author, to warrant the making a poetical digression
from his account of the merits of the physician, whose miraculous skill
is to recover the frantic shepherd, to the history of the house of
Alba, which he details in iambic blank verse.
In the third and last of Garcilaso’s eclogues, the genuine pastoral
character is resumed. The lyric dialogue in octaves, or Italian
stanzas, pleasingly harmonizes with the soft description of amatory
sorrows given in this poem.
Garcilaso made essays in other kinds of poetry, but with less success.
An elegy written to console the Duke of Alba for the death of his
brother, is an imitation, or rather a translation of an Italian poem by
Frascatoro, and is at once cold and verbose. More of interest belongs
to another elegy which is addressed to Boscan, and which the author
wrote at the foot of Mount Etna. Mythological recollections excited
by that classic ground, melancholy complaints of the miseries of war,
and tender anxieties for a loved object in the poet’s native land,
diffuse a charm over the whole of this elegant poem, which is besides
remarkable for comparisons and images full of novelty and truth.[168]
Garcilaso is also the author of a small epistle in which he has
endeavoured to seize the true horatian tone. It is not sufficiently
important to deserve particular notice, but it is easy to recognize in
it the fine tact of this author, to whom the critic, however severely
he may judge his faults, cannot deny the title of the second classic
poet of Spain.
DIEGO DE MENDOZA.
The third classic poet, and at the same time the first classic prose
writer of Spain, is Don Diego Hurtado de Mendoza,[169] a native of
Granada, where he was born in the beginning of the sixteenth century,
but in what year is not known. Descended from one of the first familes
of the country, he had before him the prospect of high honours, which,
as he was one of five children, his parents destined him to reach
through the church. Being educated for the clerical profession, he
received what was then considered a learned education. Besides the
classical languages of antiquity, he acquired the Hebrew and Arabic.
At the university of Salamanca, he studied scholastic philosophy,
theology, and ecclesiastical law. While yet a student he was the
inventor of the comic romance or novel, for it was at Salamanca that
he wrote his celebrated work, the Life of Lazarillo de Tormes. Having
become as conspicuous for a vigorous and sound understanding as for his
wit and learning, the Emperor Charles V. who perceived that his talents
might be employed with advantage in public business, drew him from his
studies. He had not long left the university when he was appointed
imperial envoy to Venice. He availed himself of the opportunities
which this situation afforded to cultivate an intercourse with learned
Italians, and to obtain an intimate knowledge of the spirit of
Italian literature. Before his departure for Italy, he appears to have
formed an acquaintance with Boscan; but he was patriot enough not to
despise the old Spanish poetry. Though he loved the Italian poets, he
preferred the ancients, and in particular Horace, who, like himself
a man of the world, might occasionally assist him in his journey
through the slippery path of political life; and certainly few poets
could have divided themselves between literature and politics with as
much dexterity as Mendoza. He was, however, far from being a cringing
courtier. His low opinion of diplomatic dignity is stated frankly,
and even somewhat coarsely, in one of his epistles, in which he
exclaims:--“O these ambassadors, the perfect ninnies! when kings wish
to cheat they begin with us. Our best business is to take care that we
do no harm, and indeed never to do or say any thing that we may not
run the risk of making ourselves understood.”[170] The ambassador of a
prince of such deep dissimulation as Charles V. might naturally enough
form an unfavourable opinion of his office; but he who could speak his
mind in this manner, even when at his post, must have retained some of
the spirit of old Spanish freedom.
The emperor made no mistake in the choice of his ambassador, of whose
turn of thinking he doubtless was not ignorant, but on the exercise
of whose talents he knew he could rely. He considered him the fittest
person that could be selected to go to the council of Trent, and
recommend, by an elegant manner, the truths he wished to be told to the
assembled fathers in the name of the Spanish nation. This commission
Mendoza executed to the satisfaction of the emperor. The speech which
he delivered before the council in 1545 was highly admired, and
Charles was convinced that it was impossible to confide the affairs
of Italy to better hands. In the year 1547, Mendoza appeared at the
papal court, then the centre of all political intrigues, as imperial
ambassador, and invested with powers which rendered him the terror
of the French party in Italy. The emperor at the same time appointed
him captain-general and governor of Sienna, and other strong places
in Tuscany. He was ordered to humble the pope, Paul III. even in his
own court; and to repress, by force, the movements of the restless
Florentines, who still hoped, under the protection of France, to shake
off the yoke of the Medicis. A man of less firmness of character would
have been totally unfit for such a task; but the terrible energy with
which Mendoza performed it, exasperated in the highest degree the
opposite party, and more particularly the Florentines. The repeated
insurrections in Tuscany could not be suppressed without measures of
great severity, and Mendoza was consequently detested as a tyrant by
all Italians who were not reconciled to the introduction of Spanish
garrisons. In Sienna he was constantly exposed to assassination; and on
one occasion, a musket ball directed against him killed the horse on
which he rode. His intrepidity, however, was not to be shaken, and he
continued to administer his difficult government until Paul III. died,
and was succeeded by Julius III. a pope inclined to the Spanish party.
The new pope wishing to bestow on Mendoza a particular mark of respect,
appointed him Gonfalonier, or Standard-bearer to the church. In this
character, Mendoza marched against the rebels in the ecclesiastical
territories, and made them submit to the pope.
Thus did a Spanish poet, alike feared and admired, govern Italy for
the space of six years. During this stormy period of his life, Mendoza
composed verses, visited the Italian universities, purchased Greek
manuscripts, and collected a large library. Since the days of Petrarch
no friend of literature had shewn so much zeal for the acquisition
of Greek manuscripts. He spared no pains nor expense to procure them
even from Greece, and sent special messengers for that purpose to
the convent of Mount Athos. He availed himself of a service he had
rendered to the Ottoman sultan, to obtain supplies of corn for the
empty granaries of Venice, and of manuscripts for his own library. Many
a Greek work came first to the press from his valuable collection.
Whoever wished to promote the study of ancient literature, found in
him a friend and protector; and to him the learned bookseller, Paulus
Manutius, dedicated his edition of the philosophic writings of Cicero,
to the study of which Mendoza was particularly attached, and for the
correct publication of which he even made critical observations on the
manuscripts.
Literature and politics, it appears, did not afford sufficient
occupation for this extraordinary man. He chose also to engage in
affairs of gallantry; and, according to the manners of the age, gave to
such pursuits, at least in verse, the character of romantic passion.
His looks, however, were not calculated to recommend him to the fair
sex; for his biographers state that he was far from handsome, and that
the glance of his fiery eye was more repulsive than inviting. But
Mendoza was active, accomplished, and in the possession of power; and
the favour which these advantages obtained for him with some Roman
ladies, was numbered among the offences with which his enemies loudly
reproached him. The repeated charges brought against him made at last
an impression on the emperor; and that monarch, who had begun to
contemplate the resignation of his crown, and who was now desirous of
establishing tranquillity in his states, thought fit, in the year 1554,
to recall this too rigid governor to Spain.
The latter part of the history of Mendoza’s life is not uniformly
related by his biographers. According to some he retired to the
country, devoted himself to poetry and philosophy, and appeared very
seldom at the court of Philip II. Others assert that, though he no
longer retained his former influence, he continued a member of the
council of state under Philip II. and was present with that monarch at
the great battle of St. Quintin, fought in the year 1557. This much is
certain, that he was soon after engaged in an adventure at the court,
which, for a man of his age and knowledge of the world, was of a very
singular nature. An altercation arose in the palace between him and a
courtier, who, according to Mendoza’s own declaration, was his rival in
the affections of a lady. This man, whose name is not mentioned, in a
fit of violent exasperation, drew a dagger; upon which Mendoza seized
him, and threw him from a balcony into the street. What afterwards
became of his antagonist is not recorded; but the transaction was the
subject of serious observation, and the grave Philip regarded it as
a high offence against the dignity of his person and his court. He
was, however, content to inflict a moderate punishment, and merely
condemned Mendoza to a short imprisonment. The old statesman occupied
the period of his imprisonment in the ancient Spanish style, namely,
in composing lamentations on the unkindness of his mistress:[171] and
these romantic effusions do not appear to have been considered by his
contemporaries as absurd and ridiculous at his time of life. But the
sorrows expressed in his amatory ditties did not drive the venerable
lover to despair; for when he was soon after set at liberty, though
still exiled from court, he observed with the eye of a politician the
insurrection of the Moriscoes, or converted Arabs of Granada; and when
the insurrection broke out into a formal war, he noted down all the
remarkable events, and afterwards detailed them in an historical work,
which has obtained for him the name of the Spanish Sallust. He profited
of this opportunity to collect a great number of Arabic manuscripts.
Observations on the works of Aristotle, a translation of the Mechanics
of that philosopher, and some political treatises, were, it appears,
the last of his literary labours. He was thus actively and usefully
employed until his death, which happened when he was upwards of
seventy, at Valladolid, in the year 1575. He bequeathed his collection
of books and manuscripts to the king, and it still forms one of the
most valuable portions of the library of the Escurial.[172]
A detailed account of the life of this distinguished man, cannot
be regarded as a biographical excrescence in a history of Spanish
Literature; for in no other poet’s life and works is the real Castilian
spirit of the age of Charles V. so clearly displayed as in those of
Diego de Mendoza. The universality of his literary talent will be best
understood, when it is known with what energy, precision, and facility
he accommodated himself to, and controuled the circumstances in which
he happened to be placed in all the practical relations of life.
That trait too in the portrait of his mind, which is most worthy of
observation, namely, the constancy with which, instead of abandoning
one species of mental activity for another, he continued throughout the
different periods of his life, from youth to extreme old age, always to
unite in his person the poet, the man of letters, and the statesman,
gives reason to expect that his works, however differing in kind, will
be found to possess a certain common character.
Diego de Mendoza did more for the poetic literature of his country
than his countrymen seem to have acknowledged. Spanish writers, it
is true, place him next in rank to Boscan and Garcilaso de la Vega,
among the poets who introduced the Italian style into Castilian
poetry. But they cannot pardon the harshness of his versification in
those poems in which he adopted the metrical forms of Italy. Rendered
fastidious by the rhythmical harmony which a Castilian ear can never
dispense with, the Spaniards have held in very trifling estimation the
epistles of Mendoza; though those compositions, in a striking manner,
extended the boundaries of Castilian poetry. As an epistolary poet,
he might justly be styled the Spanish Horace, if his tercets flowed
as smoothly as the hexameters of the latin poet. Making allowance,
however, for the want of that pure harmony and that didactic delicacy
in which Horace is inimitable, Mendoza’s epistles may rank among the
best productions of the kind in modern literature. With the exception
of Boscan and Garcilaso de la Vega, no Spanish poet had evinced any
traces of that horatian spirit with which this author was endowed. In
the collection of Mendoza’s poems, these epistles are merely called
_cartas_ (letters.) Some of them are of a romantic cast, and overloaded
with tedious love complaints. But the rest, like Horace’s epistles,
are didactic, full of agreeable but sound philosophy, precise and yet
unconstrained in expression, and rescued from the monotonous effect
of moral instruction, by a happy interchange of precepts, images, and
characters. A masculine understanding, which clearly penetrates all
social relations, and a noble spirit, which estimates the blessings
of life according to their real value, diffuse over these epistles a
charm at once serene and attractive. Some of the most beautiful, for
example, that addressed to Boscan, which is best known, and which on
account of the answer is printed among Boscan’s poems, were composed
in Italy during the more early part of the author’s life. But in
estimating the poetical works of Mendoza, chronological arrangement
is of little importance, for as a poet he preserved equality from the
commencement to the close of his career. His epistle to Boscan is
in part an imitation of that of Horace to Numicius.[173] The latter
half, however, belongs exclusively to Mendoza. In this portion of the
epistle he presents to his friend the outline of the charming picture
of domestic happiness, to which Boscan himself, in the answer already
mentioned, has given a higher finish; and the taste which can overlook
the beauty of this picture on account of want of smoothness in the
versification, must be depraved by the affectation of refinement.[174]
Another epistle, addressed to Don Luis de Zuñiga, contains an
ingenious and striking comparison of the character of two heterogeneous
and equally foolish classes of men. The one wholly attached to the
vulgar pleasures of the moment, and stupidly indifferent to the affairs
of the world;[175] while the other, on the contrary, is cheated by
restless cares and anxieties out of the enjoyment of the present.[176]
In these epistles, Mendoza unfolded the result of his experience, as
the Infante Juan Manuel did a century and a half earlier, in his Count
Lucanor, though in a totally different manner. Mendoza’s style is that
of an accomplished man of the world, formed in the school of the latin
poets.
Mendoza’s sonnets possess neither the grace nor the harmony essential
to that species of composition. They owe their existence to the amatory
spirit of the age rather than to the poetic inspiration of the author.
Though he composed in the Italian manner with less facility than
Boscan and Garcilaso, he felt more correctly than they or any other
of his countrymen, the difference between the Spanish and Italian
languages, with respect to their capabilities for versification. The
Spanish admits of none of those pleasing elisions, which, particularly
when terminating vowels are omitted, render the mechanism of Italian
versification so easy, and enable the poet to augment or diminish the
number of syllables according to his pleasure; and this difference
in the two languages renders the composition of a Spanish sonnet a
difficult task. Still more does the Spanish language seem hostile
to the soft termination of a succession of feminine rhymes, for the
Spanish poet, who adopts this rule of the Italian sonnet, is compelled
to banish from his rhymes, all infinitives of verbs, together with
a whole host of sonorous substantives and adjectives.[177] Mendoza,
therefore, availed himself of the use of masculine rhymes in his
sonnets; but this metrical license was strongly censured by all
partizans of the Italian style. Nevertheless had he given to his
sonnets more of the tenderness of Petrarch, it is probable that they
would have found imitators. Some of them, indeed, may be considered as
successful productions, and throughout all the language is correct and
noble.[178]
Mendoza’s canciones have nearly the same character as his sonnets,
except that they more obviously mark the influence of the horatian
ode on the lyric fancy of the author. The versification, which is
sonorous, though deficient in harmony, is occasionally united with a
degree of obscurity from which the other productions of Mendoza are
totally exempt.[179] The least successful of his poems in the Italian
style is a mythological tale in octave verse, founded on the history of
Adonis, but along with which the author has interwoven the history of
Atalanta. The story is, however, related in a very pleasing manner.
The Spaniards give the preference, not to this first class of the
poetic works of Mendoza, but to the second, which consists of lyric
poems in the old national style, the origin of which it is, however,
easy to perceive must be referred to a more highly cultivated age.
The similarity between these poems and others of the same sort in the
_Romancero general_, clearly proves that many of the poets of the age
of Charles V. had tacitly agreed to improve the old national poetry,
without, like the impetuous Castillejo, (of whom further mention will
soon be made) waging open war against the reformers of the school of
Boscan. Many of Mendoza’s lyric pieces are inserted in the _Romancero
general_ without the author’s name. In these compositions the syllabic
measure seems to have been the chief object of improvement. But this
improvement, however successful, was at the same time necessarily
limited; and the beautiful forms of the Italian canzone possessed
too striking a superiority over the most cultivated forms of rhyme
in the old redondillas, to yield to the latter in any collision. All
Mendoza’s lyric compositions are in stanzas of four lines; and the
pieces of this description now obtained, by way of distinction, the
name of redondillas, which seems originally to have been applied to all
trochaic verses in lines of four feet.[180] But songs in stanzas of
five lines, though in other respects similar to those just mentioned,
are called in Mendoza’s collection _quintas_ or _quintillas_. The
trochaic stanza in four lines of three feet,[181] of which the
_Romancero general_ also contains several specimens, was found to be
most suitable to _endechas_, or funeral songs, in the old national
style, and to compositions of that class Mendoza applied it. He wrote
many romantic epistles in the redondilla stanza of four lines; and
did not neglect the other old lyric forms, such as the _Villancicos_,
&c. The improvement of style, which is an essential feature of all
these poems, was limited by Mendoza to accuracy of expression, and to
softening the quaintness of the old subtilties: to these, however,
he himself sometimes resorted; and he seems to have been of opinion,
that the character of this kind of poetry rendered their occasional
introduction indispensable. In compositions of a tender and melancholy
character,[182] he is less successful than in those of a comic
cast.[183]
Considering Mendoza’s wit and knowledge of mankind, it may naturally
be presumed that his satyrical poems, which however exist only in
manuscript, mark a great advancement in this species of poetry in
Spain. These poems are mentioned by all Mendoza’s biographers; one
is called _La Pulga_ (the Flea,) another _La Caña_ (the Reed), and
a third bears the comical title of _Elogio de la Zanahoria_ (Eulogy
on the Parsnip.) None, however, have yet passed the ordeal of the
inquisition. Their titles seem to indicate a kind of coarse humour in
the style of the burlesque satyres of the Italians.
Some of Mendoza’s prose compositions have, however, obtained greater
celebrity than his poems; and they unquestionably form an epoch in the
history of Spanish prose. The comic romance of _Lazarillo de Tormes_,
which Mendoza wrote while he was a student at Salamanca, is either the
very first production of its kind, or at least the first that obtained
any thing like literary consideration. Soon after its publication it
was translated into Italian, and subsequently into French, and by
the means of this French translation it has been read throughout all
Europe. Relations of interesting tricks of roguery, probably formed at
a more early period a favourite amusement with the Spaniards; for that
adroit feats of cunning and deception have had for them a charm of a
peculiar kind, the whole history of their comic literature sufficiently
proves. Mendoza, therefore, gave to his humorous fancy a direction
conformable to the spirit of his country, when he chose, as the subject
of his work, the Adventures of a Beggar Lad, who makes a kind of
fortune by dint of cheating and roguery; and the comic interest of the
production was enhanced by its contrast with the pompous romances of
chivalry. In the perusal of such a tale, the Spanish reader willingly
descended from the romantic ideal world to the sphere of common life.
The skill with which Mendoza has sketched the vices of avarice and
selfishness in the persons into whose service Lazarillo enters, is
no less remarkable than the bold regard for truth which led him to
include priests in the number of his odious characters. The inquisition
of course could not expect that the Spaniards should regard the
ecclesiastic profession as a security against every vice; and Lazarillo
de Tormes sufficiently proves that in Mendoza’s time the priesthood
was not guaranteed against public satire in Spain. Under the reign of
Philip II. however, satires of this kind became subject to a certain
degree of restraint; and since that period Mendoza’s romance has only
been suffered to escape because its free circulation was once permitted
by the inquisition. No critic has hitherto called in question the truth
and accuracy of the pictures of vulgar life in Lazarillo de Tormes;
but an author named de Luna, who styles himself an interpreter of the
Castilian language, published a new edition of the romance with the
view of correcting the diction. De Luna likewise added a second part
to the story, for Mendoza in his maturer years never felt inclined to
finish the comic work which he had commenced in his youth.[184]
A very different spirit animates the historical work in which Mendoza
traces the history of the rebellion of Granada.[185] Mendoza formed
his style, as a historian, principally on that of Sallust, and only
occasionally imitated Tacitus for the sake of variety. Were it not that
he sometimes oversteps the bounds of true elegance and falls into an
overstudied and artificial manner, this work might be ranked, without
reserve, among the best historical models; and notwithstanding the
affectation with which it is here and there disfigured,[186] it is,
unquestionably, after the works of Machiavell and Guicciardini, the
first production of modern literature that deserves to be compared with
the classic histories of antiquity.
However carefully Mendoza polished the rhetorical form of his history,
still the importance of the materials and a true philosophic spirit
are every where prominent throughout his representation of facts.
Being himself a native of Granada, his power of rightly viewing the
events, and the impression he received from them, must have been much
the same as if he had been an eye witness of all that passed. Besides,
he derived his information from the most authentic sources; for at the
period in question he was residing on his estate in the vicinity of the
theatre of the war. His nephew, the Marquis de Mondejar, was for some
time commander in chief of the army against the rebels; and Mendoza
himself had long been so intimately connected with the government
at Madrid, that no individual in Spain had better opportunities of
obtaining that knowledge of the secret as well as of the ostensible
springs of transactions which is necessary for a just historical
representation of events. The atrocious measures adopted by Phillip
II. to suppress the insurrection in Granada, were, however, no less
opposed to the sound political views of Mendoza, than the fanatic
cruelty and glaring injustice by which the unhappy Moriscos had been
driven into rebellion appear, however good a catholic he may have
been, to have revolted his feelings. But neither his opinion nor his
compassion could be openly avowed. He therefore availed himself of all
the subtle windings of the historical art, to render his representation
of events easily intelligible to those who thought as he did, and at
the same time to secure himself against any literal interpretation
which spiritual or temporal despotism might have employed to his
disadvantage. Wherever undeniable facts, which the government according
to its own maxims could not venture to conceal, clearly expose the
folly and inhumanity by which the Moors were reduced to despair,
Mendoza apparently refrains from pronouncing any judgment, while
the poignant manner in which he relates the facts, is in itself a
sufficient condemnation.[187]
When the fault rests rather with the agents of the government than
with the government itself, he seems to attack only the former.
In order that the just cause of the Moriscos might be, for once,
powerfully vindicated, he puts, after the manner of the ancients, a
speech into the mouth of one of the chiefs of the conspirators.[188]
This is the only speech in the work which seems sufficient to shew
that at least it was not inserted from a spirit of servile imitation;
but he occasionally ventures, contrary to the practice of modern
languages, to approximate his narrative style to that of the writers of
antiquity; as for example, where he employs a succession of verbs in
the infinitive mood.[189] The Spaniards, however, seem to have regarded
the grammatical freedom used by Mendoza as perfectly conformable to the
genius of their language. During the gloomy and suspicious government
of Philip II. this excellent work was only to be read in manuscript. It
was first published at Madrid, in the year 1610, five-and-thirty years
after the death of the author, and was reprinted at Lisbon in 1617;
but both editions were purposely mutilated.[190] The text was at last
given complete in the edition of the work, which appeared in 1776.
SAA DE MIRANDA.
The fame of the great reform of the Castilian poetry having
penetrated into Portugal, a similar reform took place in the poetry
of that nation. At this time the Castilian language was held in
such high consideration in Portugal, that even Portuguese poets,
without undervaluing their national tongue, thought themselves bound
occasionally to write verses in Castilian, to entitle them to be
regarded as perfect masters of the poetic art. In the first half of the
sixteenth century, two of the most celebrated of these Portuguese poets
laboured with such success to extend the dominion of Castilian pastoral
poetry, that the thread of the history of Spanish literature would be
broken, were a notice of the poetic merits of these two celebrated men
confined solely to the history of the literature of Portugal. One of
them, Francisco de Saa de Miranda, who was born in 1494, and died in
1558, belongs, however, in so eminent a degree, to his own nation, and
the circumstances of his life are so closely connected with the history
of Portuguese poetry, that it would be an injustice to Portuguese
literature to rank him exclusively among the poets of Spain. Besides,
most of his poetic works, with the exception of his pastoral poems,
are written in the Portuguese language.[191] The other Portuguese
poet, who claims attention in the history of Spanish poetry, is Jorge
de Montemayor. He, through his residence in Spain, became wholly a
Spaniard:--the work to which he chiefly owes his celebrity is written
in Spanish; and he had so decided an influence on Spanish literature,
that this would be the proper place for introducing an account of
his short life and of his poetry, did not Saa de Miranda’s Castilian
pastorals, which are of older date, demand a previous notice.[192]
The bucolic effusions of Saa de Miranda exhibit in their general tone
more traits of resemblance to Theocritus, than are to be found in the
writings of Garcilaso de la Vega. Garcilaso’s pastoral style, with all
its simplicity, was not sufficiently rural for Saa de Miranda. Like
Theocritus his feelings seem to have dictated to him pure rural ideas;
and he transferred this characteristic of his Portuguese eclogues
to those which he wrote in Spanish, which are the most numerous.
Nevertheless, even in his rural poems he did not wish to renounce the
attributes of the loftier style of poetry. He was, however, heedless of
all critical distinction of the different kinds of poetry, and would,
without scruple, commence a poem, in the metre of an Italian canzone,
as an ode, proceed with it in epic metaphors,[193] and conclude it in
the simplest idyllic style. With equal indifference he chose sometimes
octave verse, sometimes tercets for his pastoral poems, which thus
alternately assume a lyric and a dramatic tone. This capricious
mixture of poetic genera and styles deteriorates in no slight degree
the quality of Saa de Miranda’s poetry. The elevated tone of the ode
forms a singular contrast when introduced in the same composition along
with the easy familiar style, which, in the opinion of Saa de Miranda,
the pure pastoral character of his poetry required. But no modern
poet has succeeded so well in the union of simplicity and grace; and
in this respect the eclogues of Saa de Miranda are unequalled. When
he describes the gambols of the nymphs, with whom his fancy animates
his native woodland scenes;[194]--when he sketches impetuous storms
of passion, softened by the charm of his colouring, yet kept true to
nature;[195]--when he introduces nymphs discoursing;[196]--or, when
he abandons himself to a tone of elegiac melancholy;[197]--one knows
not whether most to admire, the delicate truth and penetrating depth
of his ideas, or the artless precision and facility of his expression.
In such cases he often abandons the natural style of Theocritus for
a more lofty or ideal manner. When, in some of his other eclogues,
his shepherds converse on their occupations or superstitions,[198]
he likewise departs from the prosaic nature of real pastoral life,
such as he had the opportunity of observing in his native country,
and gradually elevates it to romantic ideality. It happened, however,
that he occasionally found the prosaic truth of his pictures
sufficiently interesting, and then to be truly natural he avoided all
embellishment.[199]
Some of Saa de Miranda’s popular songs, called _Cantigas_, a term which
in Portuguese corresponds with _Villancicos_ in Spanish, are inimitable
for grace and simplicity.[200]
MONTEMAYOR.
The poet who is celebrated in Spanish literature by the name of Jorge
de Montemayor, was born in the year 1520, at Montemor, a little town
of Portugal, not far from Coimbra. He took for his name that of his
native city, spelt and pronounced in the Spanish way, probably because
his own family name was not deemed sufficiently sonorous; and thus the
latter has been entirely lost. The talent of this young Portuguese
developed itself without the aid of a previous literary cultivation.
At an early period of life he served in the Portuguese army, and, as
there is reason to believe, in the rank of a common soldier. His taste
for music, and the reputation he had acquired as a singer, induced him
to visit Spain, where the Infant Don Philip, afterwards Philip II.
had formed a company of court musicians, who were to accompany him
on his travels through Italy, Germany, and the Netherlands. Jorge de
Montemayor, being admitted as a vocal member of this travelling musical
company, gained an opportunity of seeing the world, and at the same
time making himself master of the Castilian language, which became to
him a second mother tongue. He was, however, attached to Spain by a
still closer link, namely, his love for a beautiful Castilian lady,
whom he occasionally introduces in his poems under the name of Marfida.
This Marfida became the deity of his poetry; and when, on his return
to Spain, he found her wedded to another, he endeavoured to divert his
sorrow by poetic effusions, in which he represented the faithless
beauty as a romantic shepherdess; and, uniting these with several
of his other compositions, he formed the whole into a romance. This
romance, which he entitled _Diana_, was received by the Spanish public
with a degree of favour never before extended to any Spanish book,
Amadis de Gaul excepted; and it speedily found no fewer imitators than
Amadis itself. The Queen of Portugal was desirous that the celebrated
author of Diana should return to his native country. She recalled
him, and he obeyed the honourable mandate. No further particulars of
his history are known. He died by some violent means, either in 1561
or 1562. He was upwards of forty at the period of his death, which,
according to some accounts, took place in Portugal, and according to
others in Italy.[201]
The Diana of Montemayor is one of the few romantic works which belong
entirely to the soul of the inventor, which are embued throughout with
individual interest, and which on that very account exercise the more
influence over unsophisticated minds, because the author possessed
sufficient poetic genius successfully to convey the joys and sorrows
of his own heart under the forms of a general interest. But this
romance can never be to any other cultivated people what it was to the
Spaniards of the sixteenth century. Still less can it be regarded as a
classical fragment, even though judged according to the lenient rules
by which every fragment is estimated; unless, indeed, after the manner
of some modern critics, new rules of art be deduced from defective
examples, for the sake of admiring as incomparable the grossest
absurdities, under the title of romantic complexity. But with all its
faults, this unfinished pastoral romance (for it was not brought to a
conclusion by Montemayor) possesses a poetic merit, which entitles it
to the esteem of all ages.
The design of the work, so far as Montemayor’s ideas render his
intention obvious, sometimes charms by its graceful simplicity,
and at others becomes grotesque, through an illegitimate romantic
combination of heterogeneous species of composition. The shepherd
Sireno, who represents the poet himself, on his return to his native
country, visits the scene of the innocent joys which the inconstant
shepherdess Diana once shared along with him. Overwhelmed with grief,
he draws out first a lock of hair belonging to his mistress; and then
one of her letters, which he reads. While he is thus communing with
himself, he is joined by another romantic adorer of the beautiful
Diana. This shepherd, whose love had always been unrequited, now joins
his lamentations to those of the once happy Sireno, and each vies
with the other in claiming to himself the heaviest load of misery.
They are joined by a shepherdess, named Selvagia, who has been no
less unfortunate in love than themselves. She relates her history
very circumstantially, and thus terminates the first book. In the
second, the conversation of these lovers is continued, until three
nymphs appear, one of whom relates Sireno’s history in a song of some
length. Up to the conclusion of this song, the pastoral simplicity of
the story is preserved uninterrupted by any incident approximating to
the terrible; but suddenly a party of savage robbers completely armed
appears. The nymphs are about to fly, but are detained by the robbers.
A battle then ensues between the robbers and the shepherds, the latter
attacking the former with stones. The robbers are on the point of
overcoming their rustic antagonists, when a heroine, habited as a
huntress, rushes from a wood, and bending her bow, pierces the robbers
with her arrows, and liberates the nymphs. The fair huntress then joins
the party of nymphs and shepherds, and in her turn also relates her
history. This narrative, together with the conversations and songs to
which it gives rise, concludes the second book. In the third book the
story assumes the character of a fairy tale. The nymphs lead their
protectress, together with the rest of the party, through a thick
forest to the castle of the wise Felicia, who is represented as a kind
of priestess to the goddess Diana. The description of the wonders and
magnificence of the castle occupies a great portion of the third book.
The wise Felicia conducts the party to a superb hall of state, where
they behold a numerous collection of majestic statues, representing
Roman emperors, Castilian knights, and Castilian ladies. Even a place
is found for the statue of a Moorish knight, of whose conflicts with
the Christians a long history is related in this sanctuary of the
goddess Diana. By means of enchantment Felicia cures Sireno of the
torments of love. At length, in the sixth book, the poet releases
his shepherds and shepherdesses from Felicia’s palace, and the reader
for the first time becomes acquainted with the shepherdess Diana. She
attaches the blame of her infidelity to her parents, by whom, during
the absence of Sireno, she was forced to give her hand to another. In
the following scenes, to the conclusion of the seventh book, where
Montemayor’s labour terminates, the history of the principal characters
makes no further progress. Some of the other lovers in the romance are,
however, united according to their wishes.
This composition, in which it is easy to recognize the uncultivated
genius of a poet, who, to give vent to the emotions of his soul, deemed
it necessary to wander through the whole region of romance, can only
be regarded by the unprejudiced critic as a fantastical frame-work,
serving to display pictures of the feelings and a philosophy of the
heart, which constitute the prominent features of the whole poem.
To paint romantic fidelity under the most fascinating and various
forms, and at the same time to exhibit in a poetic point of view the
theory of that fidelity, which even in a poem could only be verified
by facts, was the idea which guided Montemayor’s inventive fancy, and
the execution of which bears the full impression of his genius. The
versified portion of the romance is the soul of the whole composition.
A series of lyric poems, partly in the Italian and partly in the old
Castilian style, are introduced; but these compositions are strikingly
distinguished from the eclogues of Saa de Miranda by an epigrammatic
poignancy, which frequently degenerates into antiquated subtlety.[202]
But this epigrammatic turn usually imparts a more pointed precision
to the lyrical expression, and a degree of consistency to the whole
composition, which in no way injures its pastoral simplicity;[203]
and when judged according to the characteristic form of the popular
songs, called _Villancicos_, it by no means presents, to Spaniards
in particular, the idea of too much refinement or incongruity with
rustic nature.[204] In order to judge candidly of the pastoral truth
of these compositions, it is necessary to have the Spanish romantic
ideas of nature present to the mind. Montemayor is inexhaustible in new
turns and images for the expression of tenderness. In depth of feeling
he vies with Saa de Miranda; and, though his poetry is occasionally
deficient in rhythmical polish, it in general presents so exquisite
a union of the grace of language, with a happy concordance of ideas,
that the reader must soon become warmed by the spirit of the poet, even
though he should begin to peruse the work with indifference.[205]
Montemayor’s style of romantic prose has been a model for all writers
of pastoral romances in the Spanish language. How far he himself
imitated the prose of Sanazzar, cannot easily be ascertained, as it is
not known whether or not Sanazzar’s Arcadia[206] was the prototype of
his Diana. Though it is certain that Montemayor carefully endeavoured
to give precision and dignity of expression, and to impart harmony
to every line of his composition, his language nevertheless appears
neither laboured nor affected. His taste seems to have been in
only a few instances seduced by the influence of that ostentatious
solemnity, which distinguished the common chivalrous romances, written
in imitation of Amadis de Gaul. In general he remained faithful to
the dignified simplicity, which the author of the Amadis appears to
have regarded as the genuine characteristic of the lofty style of
romantic prose. To this style his protracted but rhythmically pleasing
sentences may justly be said to belong.[207] It is but seldom that a
low expression escapes him.[208] His descriptions are never deficient
in vividness and force.[209] It is only in the didactic passages in
which he propounds his philosophy of love, that his language becomes
tinged with the scholastic formality, which at the period in which he
wrote, was considered indispensable when any scholastic ideas were
to be expressed; for though Montemayor had not received that kind of
education, which in his age was considered learned, he had picked up
some notions of the scholastic philosophy, which, when they interested
him, he was fond of introducing into the romance of his heart.[210]
The other works of Montemayor, which are not so celebrated as his
Diana, are to be found in a collection of his poems, which, according
to the old custom, is entitled a _Cancionero_.[211]
HERRERA.
Fernando de Herrera, a poet very different in character from
Montemayor, must next be included among the authors who chiefly
contributed to reform Castilian poetry, during the first half of the
sixteenth century. Of the history of his life but little is known. He
was a native of Seville, and was born, according to the conjectures
of his Spanish biographers, about the commencement of the sixteenth
century. Thus he flourished at the same time as Diego de Mendoza, and
afforded another instance of the light of poetical improvement being
directed from the south of Spain. It appears that he did not enter
into the ecclesiastical state, to which he finally devoted himself,
until he attained a mature age; but he must have received a literary
education, as he possessed no ordinary knowledge of the ancient and
modern languages, geography, mathematics, and scholastic philosophy.
According to a portrait which has been preserved of him, he appears to
have been a handsome man; and some of the editors of his works alledge
that the lady whom he has celebrated in his verses under various names,
was not merely an ideal object of the poet’s tenderness. The admirers
of his poetry have applied to him, after the Italian manner, the
surname of the _divine_; and this epithet, rendered so equivocal by its
application to Pietro Aretino, was never bestowed on any other Spanish
poet. These few particulars are all that are known relative to the life
of Fernando de Herrera. He died at an advanced age, probably soon after
the year 1578.[212]
Why Herrera should have obtained the title of divine, in preference
to all the other poets of his nation, would appear almost
incomprehensible, were it not known that two opposite parties vied with
each other in exalting him; and, to avoid the appearance of yielding
on either side, considered themselves reciprocally bound to pronounce
compositions sublime which neither could regard as natural. Herrera
was, notwithstanding, a poet of powerful talent, and one who evinced
undaunted resolution in pursuing the new path which he had struck out
for himself. The novel style, however, which he wished to introduce
into Spanish poetry, was not the result of a spontaneous essay, flowing
from immediate inspiration, but was theoretically constructed on
artificial principles. Thus, amidst traits of real beauty, his poetry
every where presents marks of affectation. The great fault of his
language is too much singularity; and his expression, where it ought to
be elevated, is merely far-fetched.
Herrera fancied he had discovered that the diction of the Spanish
poets, even in their best works, was too common, too nearly allied
to the language of prose, and consequently very far removed from the
classical dignity which distinguishes the Greek and Roman poetry. This
opinion induced him to form for himself a new style. He classed words
according to his fancy, into elegant and inelegant, and was careful
to employ in his verse only those to which he attributed the former
character. He connected words, under significations which they do not
bear in common language; and in contradistinction to the spirit of
prose, he regarded certain repetitions, for example, the conjunction
_and_ as very appropriate to poetry. He also introduced into his verse,
a free arrangement of words, after the model of the latin construction.
Finally, he thought he could enrich the language of poetry by new
words, which he formed by analogy from existing Castilian words, or
adopted immediately from the latin.[213] This peculiarity of style
was regarded as the perfection of poetry, by the party who idolized
Fernando de Herrera.[214]
Those, however, who have no inclination to confound pompous with
poetic language, or diction with the essence of poetry, must still
allow to Herrera the possession of poetic ideas and precision of
manner, as well as a true dignity of expression, and an elegant
harmony of versification. His language is not always affected, and his
thoughts and descriptions, though frequently overstrained, are never
trivial.[215] Notwithstanding all the faults of his style, he must be
accounted the first classical ode writer in modern literature, for
the attempts of the Italian poet Chiabrera to emulate Pindar, are of
more recent date; and here it is worthy of remark, that the Spanish
odes of Herrera and the Italian odes of Chiabrera resemble each other
in a mixture of the style of the Pindaric ode, with the style of the
canzone. Through the medium of that lyric form only, was the spirit of
Pindar felt by these imitators; and both were the more easily deceived,
as the genius of the Spanish and Italian languages has a relation to
the metrical structure of the canzone, somewhat similar to that which
the genius of the Greek language bears to Pindaric verse. But the rapid
and bold succession of thoughts and images, which animates the odes
of Pindar, could not be imitated by poets, who, even in their boldest
flights of fancy were bound down by the laws of the Italian canzone, to
the luxurious harmony of its protracted verbose periods. Thus Herrera’s
odes, like those of Chiabrera, bear only a remote resemblance to
their prototypes. Odes, however, they must be termed, though Herrera
himself has classed them, under the general title of _canciones_, along
with imitations of the Italian style, purely romantic, but versified
according to similar rules. In his celebrated odes on the battle of
Lepanto, in which the Spaniards under Don John of Austria, the natural
son of Charles V. obtained a brilliant victory over the Turks, the
magnificence of the rhythm would be sufficiently attractive, though
the ideas conveyed in the torrent of sonorous syllables possessed less
poetic beauty than really belong to them.[216] Occasionally, however,
Herrera’s ideas degenerate into fantastical hyperboles; for instance,
when boasting of his hero, he says, that Don John of Austria, that
glorious conqueror of the infidels and the elements, combines within
himself “whatever of heavenly power animates terrestrial bodies;” and
that therefore “the fixed earth, the extended waters, the circumambent
air, and the ever glowing flames depend on him, so that through the
secret control which he exercises over earth, water, air, and fire, all
these elements are his works.”[217] But passages of real beauty occur
in Herrera’s odes, which afford a sufficient compensation for this sort
of bombast.[218] Among the odes for which Herrera has chosen a softer
theme, the prize of superiority has been justly awarded to the Ode to
Sleep. It is one of those compositions which may be said to be single
in their kind. The graceful choice of language, the picturesque effect,
the delicate keeping in the composition, and the finish given to all
the details in strict conformity with the true spirit of the theme,
impart to this ode or cancion a lyric beauty which must render it in
all ages an object of admiration, not only to the lover, but to the
critic of poetry.[219]
The other poems of Herrera, though extremely numerous, require only
a slight notice.[220] His best sonnets, which are among the happiest
imitations of Petrarch in the Spanish language, are characterized
by the recurrence of some of the author’s favourite images, as for
example, the comparison of his mistress to light, or the evening
star,[221] &c. He is frequently very successful in the management of
these similes; but at other times he falls into strange absurdities,
such as making the “curling waves of gold of his sweet light float
in the wind.”[222] But extravagant tropes of this kind could not be
very offensive to Spanish taste, which had been accustomed to indulge
the orientalisms of the old national style, and they were indeed not
only tolerated but esteemed. It might have been expected that a writer
possessing so much critical judgment as Herrera, would, as an imitator
of Petrarch, have endeavoured to naturalize in his native tongue, the
simplicity of the Italian poet; but he was too much a Spaniard to be
pleased with such simplicity. His elegies, and other lyric compositions
in the Italian syllabic measure, have all the same character.
Herrera endeavoured, by other means than poetical composition, to give
to the national taste of the Spaniards a direction conformable to
his own principles. He wrote a “Critical Commentary on the Poems of
Garcilaso de la Vega.”[223] This commentary has served as a model for
many similar works, which have been the means of circulating various
kinds of useful knowledge without having contributed in any remarkable
degree to the advancement of taste. Herrera, as a theorist, failed
to establish any fixed point or station from which he might have
taken a clear and consistent view of the whole region of poetry. His
criticism everlastingly turns on detached ideas and words; and whenever
opportunities for displaying his learning occur, he digresses into all
the regions of philosophy and literature. Of the indistinctness of his
notions, relative to the different species of poetry, some idea may
be formed from his definition of the elegy. He says--“an elegy should
be simple, soft, tender, amiable, terse, clear, and if it may be so
called, noble; affecting to the feelings, and moving them in every way;
neither very inflated nor very humble, nor obscured by affected phrases
or far-fetched fables.”[224]
LUIS DE LEON.
Luis Ponce de Leon, the next lyric poet to be noticed, pursued a course
very different from that of Herrera, whose contemporary he was. He
is usually called, by abbreviation, merely Luis de Leon, and did not
obtain the surname of divine, to which, however, he might have laid
claim with infinitely more justice than Herrera, if his pious humility
would have permitted him to entertain the idea of maintaining any
competition for earthly honours.[225]
This poet, who for classical purity of style and moral dignity of
ideas, had never been surpassed in Spanish literature, was, like
Herrera and Mendoza, a native of the south of Spain. He was born at
Granada, in the year 1527, where the family of the Ponces de Leon,
which was connected with the most distinguished of the Spanish
nobility, flourished. At an early period of life, Luis de Leon felt
a poetic inspiration, and cherished a love of retirement, which
rendered him indifferent to outward show, and all the pleasures of
the great world. He found only in poetry and in the contemplation
of a superior existence that food for which his soul longed. His
tranquil and gentle mind exhibited none of the gloomy features of
monkish fanaticism, but was devoted to moral and religious meditation.
As soon as he had finished his scholastic studies, he entered, of his
own free choice, into the ecclesiastical state. He was sixteen years
of age when he made his profession in the order of St. Augustine
at Salamanca. Theology now became his proper occupation. In Spain,
especially at that period, a man of the character of Luis de Leon, even
if he possessed a mind capable of divesting itself of prejudice, could
scarcely be expected to doubt the dogmas of the catholic faith; but his
poetic imagination, which was not to be satisfied with their dry and
scholastic interpretation, irresistibly impelled him to adorn them.
Luis transferred the mild enthusiasm of his pious feelings into the
theological studies, to which his vocation devoted him. On religious
subjects he was a learned and diligent author; but his heart found, at
least during the first years of his monastic life, only in poetry, the
faithful interpreter of his love for that pure truth, to the attainment
of which all his arduous efforts were directed. Though invested in
his thirty-third year with the dignity of doctor of theology, he
maintained, even within the cloister, his intimacy with the classic
writers of antiquity. The Hebrew poetry also worked powerfully on his
imagination; and on one occasion he nearly fell a martyr to an attempt
to translate and comment on the Song of Solomon. He was very far from
wishing to give a too liberal interpretation of the amatory language
of the original. He explained the sacred poem in perfect accordance
with the sense attributed to it by the church. But the inquisition
had, at that time, strictly prohibited the translation of any part of
the bible into the vulgar tongue. Luis de Leon, therefore, ventured
to communicate his version in confidence to one friend only; but that
friend was not faithful to his trust, and the translation found its
way into the hands of several individuals. It was soon denounced to
the inquisition, and the author was immediately thrown into prison by
that terrible tribunal. He himself mentions, in one of his letters,
that for the space of five years he was deprived of all communication
with mankind, and was not even permitted to see the light of day.[226]
Conscious of his innocence, he enjoyed during his captivity, according
to his own testimony, a tranquillity and satisfaction of mind which he
never afterwards so fully experienced, when restored to freedom, and
the society of his friends.[227] At length justice was done to him,
he returned in triumph to his monastery, and was reinstated in his
ecclesiastical dignities. From that period, he appears to have been
wholly devoted to the duties of his order and the study of theology. He
died in 1591, in the sixty-fourth year of his age, being at that time
general and provincial vicar of Salamanca.