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DON FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO
DRAMA EN CUATRO ACTOS
POR
EULOGIO FLORENTINO SANZ
EDITED BY R. SELDEN ROSE, PH.D.
INSTRUCTOR IN SPANISH IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
GINN AND COMPANY
BOSTON--NEW YORK--CHICAGO--LONDON
ATLANTA--DALLAS--COLUMBUS--SAN FRANCISCO
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY R. SELDEN ROSE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
=The Athenæum Press=
GINN AND COMPANY--PROPRIETORS--BOSTON--U.S.A.
* * * * *
PREFACE
The features of "Don Francisco de Quevedo" that led to its selection as
a text for the use of students of the second or even first year are its
historical background, its ease and purity of style, and the sustained
interest of the plot. As regards the chief character, Quevedo, he is in
a large measure the embodiment of the whole literary spirit of the first
half of the seventeenth century and at the same time the champion of
political reform. The play is written in Castilian of such simplicity
that it presents almost no syntactical difficulties, and at the same
time embodies a useful vocabulary. The development of the plot, the
struggle between Olivares and Quevedo, is thoroughly logical and is
aided by scenes so intensely dramatic that they hold the interest of the
reader at all times. Some of these scenes, so characteristic of even the
best plays of the Romantic School, to-day seem to verge on the
melodramatic. For this reason the student should be reminded that the
heroic thunder of this kind of play was most acceptable to the
theater-goers of the middle of the last century. A sense of humor, then,
should temper any critical attitude on the part of those who may be
inclined to take our play's shortcomings or exaggerations too seriously.
The fact that Florentino Sanz is comparatively unknown will justify the
detailed Biographical Sketch.
The text is a careful reproduction of that of the first edition, Madrid,
1848, except, of course, for frequent corrections in punctuation. Only
the important stage directions have been retained; others that in great
profusion specify the facial expression and tone of voice of the actors
have been rejected in many places as more cumbersome than useful.
R.S.R.
CONTENTS
EULOGIO FLORENTINO SANZ
HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION
VERSIFICATION
DON FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO
NOTES
VOCABULARY
EULOGIO FLORENTINO SANZ
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
The name of Eulogio Florentino Sanz is little known outside of Spain,
where for more than seventy years it has been closely linked with his
chief dramatic achievement, "Don Francisco de Quevedo," and with his
translations from Heine. Now and then the plea that something be done
toward bringing out an edition of his works has found expression but met
with no response. To read his scattered verses it is necessary to search
the pages of that wilderness of papers, dailies, weeklies, monthlies,
and annuals, which appeared in Madrid between 1840 and 1870. Though we
are told that he wrote much, it is none the less true that he published
next to nothing. In 1848, at the age of twenty-seven he was freely
spoken of as one of the most promising of his generation of poets and
dramatists. Vanity and indolence at maturity prevented his fulfilling
the promise.
His boyhood was spent in Arévalo in the province of Ávila, where he was
born March 11, 1821. The village priest taught him Latin, and later he
may have been a student at the University of Valladolid. Of the years
that passed before he came to Madrid we know little besides a few
anecdotes. According to one of these Sanz paid youthful court to the
daughter of a glazier whose ruin was threatened by lack of business. The
daughter told young Florentino of her father's difficulties in the
course of an evening interview, whereupon the ambitious lover quickly
organized a band of followers and broke all the windows in Arévalo.
Early in February of 1843 he was in Madrid, where he began to write for
the newspapers. Two years later a few poems published in the _Semanario
Pintoresco_, _El Heraldo_, and _La Risa_ won him some recognition. He
now identified himself with the group of romantic poets who held their
meetings in the famous Café del Príncipe. His sonnet "La Discordia,"
published in the _Semanario Pintoresco_, February, 1843, furnishes
indisputable evidence of his romantic tendencies. In it a waning moon,
fratricide, corpses, "infernal sonrisa," and an agonized mother provide
all the thrills of romantic horror; but it may be wiser to pass over in
silence such outbursts as this.
As a member of a circle which gathered in the Café del Recreo (1846) he
lived in the very thick of romanticism. Its meetings are thus described:
At that time there existed in Madrid a club of literary fledglings.
The majority of the young men who ten years later had won
conspicuous places in the world of letters gathered there without
knowing exactly why. The nucleus at the Café del Recreo had been
formed by no one, nobody was formally presented, no one of our
number had been a friend or schoolmate of any one of the others;
the gathering was there _because it was there_, it existed _because
it existed_. The company included besides Sanz himself the poets
Mariano Cazurro, Antonio Trueba, Ventura Ruiz Aguilera, Antonio
Hurtado, José Albuerne, Antonio Arnao, the journalist Eduardo
Asquerino, the statesman Cánovas, and the dramatist Fernández y
González.--José de Castro y Serrano, _Prólogo_ (pp. ix-x) to "Obras
de Francisco Zea," Madrid, 1858.
The movements and activities of Sanz in the literary world began to be
chronicled in such papers as the _Fandango_, published by Wencelao
Ayguals de Izco and Francisco Villegas. They speak of him as "our friend
and collaborator." From them we learn that he was occupied in writing
_semblanzas_, or portraits, of the most conspicuous literary lights of
the hour. Though these _semblanzas_ seem to have circulated in
manuscript, they never were printed. Eduardo de Lustoñó declared[1]
that Sanz was always a presumptuous person and particularly so in 1845.
Lustoñó wrote a squib, stupid enough to be sure, in which he implies
that the purpose of the _semblanzas_ was to ridicule the pedants.
Lustoñó enrolled him as private soldier in what he called his "Regiment
of Men of Letters," but it was an unconscious tribute to the ability of
Sanz to admit him even as a private in a regiment whose officers were:
Colonel, Quintana; Majors, Hartzenbusch, Tassara; Captains, Bretón,
Rivas; Lieutenants, Campoamor, Mesonero Romanos, and Frías,--all of whom
have won enduring fame.
On the night of February 1, 1848, "Don Francisco de Quevedo" was
presented in the Teatro del Príncipe. The distinguished actor and poet
Don Julian Romea chose the occasion for a benefit performance. The play
was an instant success. The number of the _Semanario Pintoresco_ which
followed the first performance printed a flattering review:
The drama "Don Francisco de Quevedo," presented at the Príncipe for
the benefit of Don Julian Romea, has won for its author, Don
Eulogio Florentino Sanz, a place of distinction among our
dramatists. Success in portraying the personage from whom the piece
takes its name, resourceful stagecraft, daring situations, and a
versification now serious, now gay, frolicsome or sorrowful, but
always agreeable, facile, and correct, these are the distinguishing
features of the play with which Señor Sanz has made himself known
to the theater-going public. Don Julian Romea gave an able
interpretation of the part of Don Francisco de Quevedo, Señora Díaz
was excellent as the Infanta Margarita. The rest of the cast
contributed ably to the success of the drama.
This notice conveys some idea of the striking enthusiasm with which the
piece was received.
In keeping with his literary predilections Sanz had already identified
himself politically with the progressive liberal party.
[Footnote 1: _Imparcial de Madrid_, December 3, 1901.]
In the years immediately preceding the overthrow of the Conservatives
(1845) Sanz gave his services to the progressive liberal cause. In 1849
he was editor of _La Patria_, whose first number appeared on January 2.
It announced a policy of political moderation, but its real purpose was
the most strenuous opposition to the government of the reactionary
conservatives. Sanz was generally believed to be editor-in-chief.
Suddenly on the fourth of January he resigned[2] with no explanation
whatsoever to the subscribers. A little later he appeared on the staff
of _La Víbora, periódico venenoso redactado por los peores literatos de
España, bajo la dirección de nadie_ ("The Viper, a venomous paper,
edited by the worst scribblers in Spain, under the management of
nobody"). The censorship was as crushing as in the days of Larra. Later,
in September, _La Patria_ announced another periodical, _La Sátira_,
adding that it was to be under the direction of the editors of the
short-lived _Víbora_. This second attempt also met with disaster. Again
in June of 1851 Sanz resigned from another paper, _El Mundo Nuevo_.
[Footnote 2: Notices of the appearance of this paper and of Sanz's
resignation will be found in _La Guía_ of January 3 and 4, 1849.]
In 1854 the tide turned. The revolution of July found him writing his
second play, "Los Achaques de la Vejez."[3] The conclusion of the last
act had to be postponed while Sanz was taking part in the popular rising
which he had so earnestly sought. While he was waiting for his share of
the rewards of victory the play was produced at the Príncipe on the
evening of October 13. On the fourteenth there appeared in _La Iberia_
the following notice, written probably by his devoted friend Pedro Calvo
Asensio:
_Los Achaques de la Vejez_. This notable comedy by the gifted and
well-known author Don Eulogio Florentino Sanz was played
[Footnote 3: The original manuscript of this play is preserved in the
Biblioteca Nacional at Madrid. At the end of Act I appears the date
Junio 13, 1854. At the end of the second Julio 5, 1854, and on the last
sheet Setiembre 25, 1854.]
last night with brilliant success. At the end of the second act the
author was called upon the stage, and at the end of the play the
enthusiasm of the audience grew to such extraordinary proportions
that Sr. Sanz was again called upon to appear. However, we were
denied the satisfaction of seeing him, as he had left the theater.
The actors also were called before the curtain amidst tumultuous
applause as a just reward for their signal success in the
presentation of the play. The audience was as we had expected,
large and select. Our conviction that the management may look
forward to well-filled houses gives us great satisfaction.
The writing of this play was in a measure Sanz's answer to the challenge
of his enemies and detractors to repeat the success of "Don Francisco de
Quevedo." By this second triumph his fame and reputation were firmly
established. This time the theme is a domestic one developed with even
greater skill than that displayed in the earlier play. As might be
expected, Act I, scene iv, contains a pessimistic and cynical allusion
to the tangled politics that preceded the revolution.
By a royal order of November 11 Sanz was appointed secretary of the
first class to the Spanish legation in Berlin.[4] This appointment he
probably owed to the good offices of his friend Nicomedes Pastor Díaz.
Sanz took possession of his new post on the ninth of January, 1855,
after having made the journey from Madrid in the company of Gregorio
Cruzada Villamil. In June he was granted four months' leave of absence
on account of ill health due to the severity of the climate. In August
he was made Commander of the Order of Charles III in recognition of his
distinguished service. His final resignation from the post was received
in November of 1856. He left Berlin for Madrid on February 1, 1857.
[Footnote 4: All the papers relating to Sanz's diplomatic career are
preserved in the Archivo del Ministerio del Estado. They were collected
at the instance of his "widow," who desired that she be accorded a
pension in keeping with the dignity of the posts held by her
distinguished husband. The papers are filed under _Personal Español,
Letra S, Año 1853. Número 159. Expediente relativo a Sanz, don Eulogio
Florentino_.]
His only poem surely written in Berlin is the "Epístola a Pedro."[5] It
is a tender tribute to the memory of the poet Enrique Gil, who had died
in Berlin ten years before. Its verses are among the most delicately
beautiful that Sanz ever wrote. The poem opens with an expression of the
longing which Sanz feels for his beloved Spain, and above all for
Madrid:
Pues recuerda la patria, a los reflejos
de su distante sol, el desterrado
como recuerdan su niñez los viejos.
[Footnote 5: Pedro is Don Pedro Calvo Asensio, the editor-in-chief of
_La Iberia_, in which the poem first appeared. It was later republished
in 1881 in the "Almanaque de _La Iberia_."]
He stands before the grave of Enrique Gil and mourns for the poet who
died unwept in a foreign land. In deep sincerity of feeling no other
poem of Sanz approaches the "Epístola." Fortunately it has been given to
the public both in Menéndez y Pelayo's "Cien Mejores Poesías" and in
"The Oxford Book of Spanish Verse."
These two years of residence in Berlin had a profound effect upon the
temper of Sanz's later verse. It was only natural that his removal from
the turmoil of life in Madrid, with its petty jealousies and quarrels,
literary and political, should exercise a broadening and sobering
influence upon his muse. After this date the flow of idle humorous verse
ceased. Inspired chiefly by the exquisite delicacy of Heine's lyrics, he
set himself to imitation and translation of his German model. It is not
too much to say that all his published verse after this was deeply
tinged with this side of Heine.
In the spring of 1857 he was in Madrid again, enjoying his prestige as a
poet, diplomat, and political writer. His presence at a gathering of
literary men in May to do honor to the memory of the great Quintana was
an event.[6] A week earlier his translation of fifteen of Heine's lyrics
had appeared in the _Museo Universal_ under the caption "Poesía Alemana,
Canciones de Enrique Heine." What a grateful contrast they furnish to
the undisciplined bursts of romantic thunder that he was writing only a
few years before! Sanz had been completely won over to the intense
refinement of emotion and diction of Heine. From this time on, the
expression of gentle melancholy and spiritual sensitiveness dominates
the few poems that he published.
[Footnote 6: Cf. _La Iberia_, May 22, 1857.]
The brief taste of diplomatic life which he had had seems to have put an
end to any really creative activity. A tribute to the memory of the
young poet Francisco Zea, written in May, 1858,[7] contains what is
really his farewell to a life of letters. Therein, after discussing the
pessimistic statement of Larra that in Spain "No se lee porque no se
escribe, y no se escribe porque no se lee," he declares that people in
Spain are writing, but that no one is reading. It is not the fault of
those who write, he continues, and waste the treasures of their youth in
a fruitless struggle. In Spain one must write for pure love of letters,
and unfortunately this is the most platonic of loves. There are few
readers of literature in general, and of lyric poetry almost none. He
resents the intrusion of the latter into the drama, where it is heard
with pleasure by people, comfortably seated in stalls, who in the
morning could not endure Fray Luis de León or Francisco de la Torre. His
small stock of patience exhausted, Sanz turned to diplomatic life.
[Footnote 7: "Obras En Verso y Prosa de Don Francisco Zea." Madrid, pp.
552, 556.]
On the eleventh of August of 1859 he was appointed Minister to the
Empire of Brazil, and on the same day he was named representative in the
Cortes. A month later he wrote to the Secretary of State to say that he
must resign the post "for reasons which I have had the honor to submit
verbally to your Excellency's consideration." At this time he seems to
have gone into complete retirement, resisting the entreaties of
theater-managers and actors to write again for the stage. In the next
fourteen years he published only a half-dozen or more poems, although
his name appeared in the list of _colaboradores_ of several papers,
among them the _Gaceta Literaria_, _España Literaria_, and _La América_.
Apparently his disillusionment was complete. In the _Versos a Amalia_
(_La América_, Sept. 8, 1858) are these significant lines:
Sonreí de ambición ante la vana
Sombra de mi deseo;
Y al despuntar el sol de mi mañana,
Vi mi horizonte azul (¡que ya no veo!)...
* * * * *
Yo fué persiguiendo la límpida estrella
Que allá en lontananza
Resplandece entre todas; aquella
Que deslumbra con locos reflejos,
Que siempre se sigue, que nunca se alcanza.
¡Pérfida estrella de la esperanza
Que alumbra sólo, sólo de lejos!
* * * * *
Yo en la mar busqué la gloria
Y de allí torno sin ella.
In September of 1872 Sanz was drawn from his retreat by an appointment
to Tangier as Minister Plenipotentiary at a salary of 15,000 pesetas
annually. He began his duties in December and continued at his post for
exactly a year. Again he pleaded ill health and was granted two months'
leave of absence. That he did not return immediately to Madrid is clear
from his request of February 12 to be allowed to bring into Cadiz, duty
free, a hundred bottles of wine. Early in January, 1873, his appointment
to Tangier was confirmed by Amadeo. On the establishment of the
republic in February Sanz tendered his resignation, but Castelar himself
refused to accept it. In June he finally left his post at Tangier after
having been appointed Minister Plenipotentiary to the United States of
Mexico. As usual he excused himself on the ground of ill health, and his
resignation was accepted in the following September. Sanz certainly
could not complain that his merits were unrecognized. In the decree
appointing him to the post at Tangier his honors are mentioned as _Gran
Cruz de la Real y Distinguida Orden de Carlos III, Orden Civil de Maria
Victoria, Caballero de la Ínclita de San Juan de Jerusalem, ex Diputado
a Cortes_.
His movements from this time forward are extremely difficult to follow.
In 1878 his name appears in the official list of members of the
_Asociación de Escritores y Artistas_, and his domicile is given as 45
Calle de Atocha. The men that knew him in the closing years of his life
agree that he dragged out a miserable existence in the utmost poverty,
dependent upon the generosity of his friends. They speak highly of his
moral integrity, deploring at the same time the weakness of character
which prevented his realizing the promise of his early years. He died
April 29, 1881, and was buried in the cemetery of San Lorenzo.
HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION
When Philip IV became king of Spain in 1621 he inherited a kingdom whose
resources had been recklessly wasted. His father, Philip III, had been
ruled by the most inept of ministers, the Duke of Lerma. Great sums of
money, wrung from the productive lower classes, had been spent to carry
on a fruitless war in the Netherlands, to provide amusement for an idle,
frivolous court, and to fill the pockets of the minister's creatures.
Government was in the hands of a bureaucracy of parasites. The
collective conscience of the governing class had withered and died. The
office-holders in this bureaucracy had come to regard the acquisition of
riches at the expense of the state as one of their official privileges.
If Spain were to maintain her preëminent position as the greatest power
in Europe the most radical economic reform was necessary. Stimulus must
be given to the productive activity of the country by relief from
oppressive taxation, and expenditure must be wisely restrained and
administered.
The situation demanded a man of exceptional keenness of vision, great
energy, and absolute integrity. There were not lacking men who foresaw
the disaster that threatened, men who still kept some of that energy and
fearlessness that had made America a Spanish dependency, but such
individuals were silenced as menaces rather than encouraged as helpers.
In Philip himself the mental vigor and physical stamina of the Spanish
Hapsburgs had been greatly diminished. The consanguineous marriages of
his immediate ancestors had weakened the stock. There can be no doubt
that he loved his people in his own pitiful, ineffectual way, but he
was hopelessly weak; lacking in the ability and even the will to rule,
he delegated government to Don Gaspar de Guzmán, Count of Olivares and
soon to be the first Duke of San Lúcar.
Here, on the other hand, was a man of undoubted energy and courage. Yet
his weakness was his utter lack of vision and his inability to profit by
the mistakes of his predecessors. He had many a lesson to learn in the
failure of the reigns of Philip II and Philip III; he should have seen
that the reason for the disasters of the former was the continuance of a
hopeless war in the Netherlands for the sake of an ideal of religious
unity which the progress of the sixteenth century had made impossible;
above all he should have realized the economic folly of a system of
taxation and industrial repression that was choking the nation.
Olivares himself was to blame for the initial appearance in the
machinery of the State of only a few vital weaknesses, for at the
beginning of his administration many fatal tendencies were already at
work. But because he failed to check those tendencies he must ever be
the scapegoat. To be sure he signalized his arrival by a few months of
rigid economy, but he did not cut deep enough. He soon realized the
futility of saving where there was nothing to save. Then, either because
he failed to see the source of the evil or because he lacked the
constructive ability to attack it, he went to the extreme of lavish
expenditure. As the situation grew more and more hopeless he temporized,
striving to hide the internal decay beneath a gilded exterior of
ostentatious wealth. As he plunged deeper his critics grew bolder, and
to silence them his rule became more barbarously arbitrary.
Moreover, he found himself face to face with the great Richelieu at the
head of a rich and well-administered France. Under him France was to
become organized and to extend her dominions to her natural physical
boundaries--at the expense of Spain. Olivares ruled Spain from 1621
until 1643, Richelieu ruled France from 1622 until 1642; it was a
life-long duel between the two ministers. Richelieu laid the foundation
for the greatness of Louis XIV, while Olivares made inevitable the
abject impotence of Spain under Charles II.
The culminating disasters began to arrive in 1640 with the rebellion of
Catalonia. The determination of the Catalans in 1626 to grant Philip no
more arbitrary taxes marks the beginning of the revolt that ended with
the entire loss of Catalonia. Olivares could never forget its opposition
to his will. While the Catalans in 1639 were bravely resisting the
entrance of French troops into Roussillon, Santa Coloma, the viceroy of
Olivares, made even more severe his policy of sternness and repression.
The Catalans were to be driven against the French and to be made to
understand by the application of brute force that the welfare of their
particular province was of small importance beside the prosperity of the
kingdom in general. The Spanish soldiers quartered upon them behaved
with such lawlessness that in May of 1640 the population of Barcelona
broke into open rebellion. Santa Coloma was cut down in his attempt to
escape the consequences of his lack of diplomacy and tact. From
Barcelona the revolt soon spread through the entire province. It has
been said that the gentle measures of repression inaugurated by the new
viceroy, the Duke of Cardona, particularly displeased Olivares, who saw
at last what he believed to be his opportunity utterly to crush Catalan
liberty. The answer of the Catalans was to throw themselves into the
hands of the French and Richelieu, by seeking foreign aid against
Castile.
In September 1640 an army under the Marqués de los Vélez was sent north
to straighten out the tangled affairs of Catalonia. At first he was
successful, but in January 1641 he was beaten back from Barcelona itself
after a bloody defeat at the hands of the local soldiery.
To make sure of French aid the rebels offered their allegiance to Louis
XIII of France, and the revolt was kept alive with French money and
soldiers, while Philip's armies were invariably defeated.
To complete our picture of the political situation we must turn for a
moment to Portugal. There reluctant allegiance to the Spanish crown had
already been severely strained during the previous reign by the
high-handed procedure of Lerma, the favorite of Philip III. Portuguese
administrative offices had been filled in Madrid, and the country was
inconsiderately taxed to maintain Castilian sovereignty. Under Philip IV
the regent of the kingdom was Doña Margarita, Duchess of Mantua and
granddaughter of Philip II.[8] While she was ostensibly in control of
the difficult Portuguese situation, the real ruler was Don Miguel
Vasconcellos, a Portuguese of scant ability and bloodthirsty instincts;
he was kept in command by Olivares dictating from Madrid. The
announcement of Vasconcellos to the nation that it was the intention of
Olivares to remove the last vestige of constitutional rule in Portugal
by the suppression of the Portuguese Cortes drove the patriots to rally
about the Duke of Braganza. A well-planned conspiracy was set on foot to
place Braganza on the throne of Portugal and thus to rid the country
forever of the hated Castilian sovereignty.
[Footnote 8: Philip II had married his daughter, the infanta Catalina,
to Charles Emmanuel of Savoy.]
After the failure of all his attempts to bring Braganza to Madrid,
Olivares tried desperately to win his favor by apparently putting the
fate of Portugal entirely in his hands. It was a fatal course. Olivares
sent him large sums of money to raise troops to keep the Portuguese
situation in control and help in the repression of the Catalans; then he
put Braganza at the head of them.
In November of 1640 Braganza proclaimed himself king. The regent
Margaret was imprisoned. Vasconcellos was killed by the mob.
The news was received in Madrid with the deepest dismay. Pellicer[9]
wrote: "These announcements should be written with blood, and deserve to
be wept over rather than written, for they contain nothing less than the
rebellion of Portugal and the coronation of Don Juan, whom they call
Juan IV, the Duke of Braganza." It is commonly stated that Olivares
announced the news of the rebellion to Philip by congratulating him upon
the opportunity thus offered to seize the property of Braganza.
[Footnote 9: _Avisos de 11 de Diciembre de 1640._]
To add to the troubles in Portugal and Catalonia just described, a plot
by the Duke of Medina Sidonia to make himself independent sovereign of
Andalusia was discovered only just in time to prevent a serious rising.
The advisability of Philip's putting himself in person at the head of
the troops in the north had long been the subject of earnest and bitter
discussion between Olivares and his enemies. The latter had urged upon
Philip the necessity of seeing with his own eyes the pass to which
matters had been brought by the ineptitude and recklessness of his
minister. This could best be accomplished by a visit of inspection to
the revolted provinces. Moreover, with Philip and Olivares away from the
capital the queen and those of the nobility who were working for the
downfall of Olivares could proceed with a freer hand.
When once the royal party had left, Doña Isabel set about her task with
true nobility and great energy. She was almost heroic in her efforts to
encourage and inspire with loyalty to the crown the troops garrisoned in
Madrid. She even sold her jewels to raise money for the campaign in
Aragon.
Philip, meanwhile, was traveling slowly northward with great pomp and
ceremony. Olivares was straining every nerve to prevent the king's
realizing the desperateness of the situation. The monarch was denied to
all visitors, and his attention was distracted by elaborate hunting
expeditions. As he progressed toward Aragon, the French, moving
southward, occupied Monzón.
December of 1642 found Philip again in Madrid. Portugal was hopelessly
lost, Roussillon was in the hands of the French, while Catalonia and
Aragon were in open revolt. Briefly sketched, this was the political
situation at the opening of our play.
* * * * *
While Spain was at this time economically bankrupt, the reigns of Philip
III and Philip IV comprise nevertheless the most brilliant decades of
the Golden Century. These are the years that are marked by the greatest
literary activity of Lope de Vega, Cervantes, and Quevedo. Lope had made
the theater national and had prepared the way for the romantic genius of
Calderón, while a throng of lesser lights, such as Tirso de Molina and
Juan Ruiz de Alarcón, were delighting the capital with plays in great
profusion. For all this a great stimulus had come from the
theater-loving Philip III, who lavished money without stint upon the
gorgeous production of comedies, pageants, and masques.
Cervantes had shown the way to the novelists. In prose fiction true
characterization had developed to keep pace with extensive and elaborate
narrative elements. At the same time the outburst of lyric poetry was no
less striking. The ability to write verse had become truly a necessary
qualification for social success and even for political advancement.
Great magnates surrounded themselves with a retinue of poets and men of
letters who depended upon them for their support.
Don Francisco de Quevedo y Villegas, the central figure of our play, was
one of the greatest personalities in this brilliant court. He was born
in 1580. At barely twenty he left the University of Alcalá and plunged
immediately into the life of the magnificently corrupt court of Philip
III at Valladolid. When the capital was moved to Madrid in 1606 he had
already won fame as a poet. The manuscripts of his satirical writings
in prose and verse were eagerly sought and widely read. His thrusts were
aimed at the ridiculous aspects of court life. His own indulgence in a
career of thorough dissipation filled him with contempt for his wretched
companions. Intimate association with men in high positions reached by
either noble birth or corrupt influence made him familiar with the vices
of Philip's government and with the ineffectiveness of the Spanish
bureaucratic administration. In his "Sueños" (Visions) he satirized
unsparingly men from all the walks of life. His attacks were at times
mocking jeers at human weaknesses and at others outbursts of desperate
fury against current injustice and stupidity.
After a short period of retirement from the capital he became the firm
friend of Don Pedro Téllez Girón, Duke of Osuna, who had been named
viceroy of Sicily in 1610. The uncommonly strong bond of friendship
between these two men was founded upon mutual admiration of common
qualities of fearlessness and red-blooded dash and spirit. In 1616
Quevedo followed Osuna to Naples, where he was of great service to him
as adviser and confidential emissary. These years of semi-official
activity brought Quevedo into the very midst of the tangle of politics
involving France, Italy, and Spain, and above all into the bog of
bureaucratic corruption. Osuna's business in Madrid with the prime
minister, Lerma, was managed by Quevedo. Now Lerma and his creatures
were amenable to reason only when accompanied by bribes. Access to him
was denied to all who brought no gifts. Quevedo's disgust at these
methods was boundless, but there was no avoiding them.[10] In
recognition of his distinguished services Quevedo was made a knight of
the order of St. James in 1618.[11]
[Footnote 10: No less a person than the Attorney General wrote to Osuna
of a prominent person at court, "Your Excellency may be quite sure of M.
He wants a carpet; send him two, and pray God that some one else does
not give him three."]
[Footnote 11: In the play there is a trifling anachronism according to
which we are to believe that in 1643 Quevedo had not yet received this
honor.]
In 1620 Osuna came to Madrid to answer the charge of having conspired to
make himself independent viceroy of Naples. On his arrival he was thrown
into prison, while Quevedo was held in custody at a distance from
Madrid. Osuna died in 1624 before his guilt or innocence could be
clearly proved. Quevedo afterward fought to clear his protector's name.
At least he has secured his fame to posterity by the famous sonnet,
Faltar pudo su patria al grande Osuna,
Pero no a su defensa sus hazañas;
Diéronle muerte y carcel las Españas,
De quien el hizo esclava la Fortuna.
Lloraron sus invidias una a una
Con las propias naciones las extrañas;
Su tumba son de Flandes las campañas,
Y su epitafio la sangrienta luna.
* * * * *
While Quevedo was enduring his enforced retirement Philip III died
(March, 1621) and was succeeded by his son Philip IV. Uceda, the
former's minister, was sent to follow his father Lerma into retirement
and disgrace. Olivares, who had already won the confidence of young
Philip, was installed as prime minister.
Superficial reforms by which Olivares signalized his arrival momentarily
led Quevedo to hope for better things. He wrote to celebrate the wisdom
of the new minister and to assure him of his loyalty. He was soon at
liberty to enjoy the fame and wholesome respect that his political
prominence and keen satire had won him. His enemies were numerous, but
they dared not attack him. Olivares himself courted Quevedo, but the
latter, grown discreet for the moment, lent his ear and not his heart:
he could not give himself to a minister who was already beginning to
show his unwillingness to go to the root of the evils that were ruining
the country.
During these years of comparative political inactivity Quevedo had
greater opportunity to study the vicious standards of living that stain
this period of Spanish history. His writings are full of the scathing
irony of his youth on the one hand, or of passionate religious fervor on
the other. At other moments he indulges his tendency to seek refuge and
comfort in the gentle stoicism of Seneca.
His reckless slurs on women did not prevent his taking a wife in 1633.
Perhaps Doña Esperanza de Aragón possessed the qualities that Quevedo
had flippantly demanded:
Noble, virtuous, and of good understanding, neither ugly nor
beautiful; of these two extremes I prefer her beautiful, because it
is better to have something to guard than some one to flee from.
Neither rich nor poor, that she may not be buying me, nor I her. I
desire her cheerful, for in our daily life we shall not lack for
gloom. I wish her neither a young girl nor an old woman, cradle nor
coffin, because I have forgotten my lullabies and not yet learned
the prayers for the dying. I should thank God infinitely if she
were deaf and a stammerer. But after all I shall esteem a woman
such as I desire _y sabré sufrir la que fuere como yo la merezco_.
Their married life was cut short by the death of Doña Esperanza in the
middle of the following year.
There can be no doubt of Quevedo's thinly-veiled distrust of the
administration of Olivares during these years, nor that he foresaw the
impending catastrophe. The campaign which he was now carrying on against
the favorite drew upon him not only the fear but the hatred of Olivares.
Philip himself was blind to the state of the peninsula, thanks to
Olivares' successful efforts to keep him amused.
Finally one day early in December of 1639 Philip found in his napkin a
petition in verse. It contained an eloquent description of the wretched
condition of the country and a bitter arraignment of Olivares. Every
circumstance pointed to Quevedo as the author. On the seventh of
December he was arrested and his papers were confiscated. His
disappearance was so sudden and complete that it was generally believed
that he had been summarily done to death, but in reality he had been
rushed to a dungeon in the monastery of San Marcos just outside the
walls of the city of León. Here he received treatment probably intended
to cause his death, for he wrote to his friend Adán de la Parra:
Although at first I had a tower of this holy dwelling for my
prison... within a short time I was brought to another a great deal
more comfortless. There I remain. It is nothing more than an
underground room, as damp as a spring, so dark that it is almost
always night in it, and so cold that it never ceases to seem
January. Clear enough! they that take pleasure in seeing me suffer
do not wish to cut once for all that which they must finally cut,
but they wish rather that the frequency of their blows may make my
martyrdom more painful by its longer continuance; for thus their
satisfaction gains in length.
The tomb where I am buried alive is barely twenty-four feet long
and nineteen wide. The vault and walls are in many places crumbling
with dampness, and everything is so miserable that it appears
rather the refuge of outlaw robbers than the prison of an honest
man.
To enter it one must pass through two doors equally strong. One is
at the level of the monastery floor and the other at the level of
my cell, after twenty-eight steps that have the look of a
precipice. Both are always closed except at moments when, more by
courtesy than through confidence, they leave one open but the other
doubly guarded.
In the middle of the room there stands a table where I am writing.
It is large enough to permit of thirty or more books, with which my
holy brothers keep me provided. At the right (to the south) I have
my neither very comfortable nor extremely wretched bed.
The furniture of this miserable habitation consists of four chairs,
a brasier, and a lamp. There is always noise enough, for the sound
of my fetters drowns other greater ones, if not by its volume, by
its pitifulness.... Not long ago I had two pairs, but one of the
monks obtained permission to leave me with only one pair. Those
that I am wearing now weigh about eight or nine pounds; the ones
they took off were much heavier.... Such is the life to which I
have been reduced by him who because I would not be his favorite is
to-day my enemy.
He endured his confinement with fortitude, sustained by the conviction
that he had given his best for the cause of justice.
The series of disasters that ultimately caused the fall of Olivares on
January 23, 1643, has been discussed in another part of this
introduction. Quevedo's release followed in June, but the iron had
already entered his soul. A little more than two weeks before his death
he wrote to his friend Francisco de Oviedo in a tone of profound
discouragement:
They write bad news from everywhere, desperate news; and the worst
of it is that every one expected it. All this, Don Francisco, I
know not if it be drawing to its close or if it be already ended.
God knows, for there are many things which, though they seem to
exist and to have being, are no longer more than a word and a form.
He died at the age of sixty-five on September 8, 1645, at Villanueva de
los Infantes.
Even the bare enumeration of the more important events of Quevedo's life
suggests his eager activity. This characteristic is the most striking
feature of his style. An idea is no sooner suggested than it is left
undeveloped to make way for another, set down often in a sentence which
in its turn is without a satisfactory conclusion; or the expression of
it is so condensed that we marvel at its retaining any lucidity. Many of
his earlier writings are little more than a series of sketches that
appear to have been written with feverish impatience but at the same
time with great penetration. In his satirical verses there is a world of
double meanings and allusions that leaves the reader's mind dizzy. The
variety of his works is great. His facile creative brain passed from a
ribald ballad or _letrilla_ to a life of St. Francis de Sales or a
treatise on Divine Providence. But through them all one can discern the
motif of patriotism in the form of virulent satire against the vices
that were gnawing at the life of the nation, or of a fervent plea for
better standards in public and private life. When he felt the impotence
of his rage or the fruitlessness of his pleas he turned earnestly and
longingly to his cherished Seneca. But even in this frame of mind we
cannot help feeling that there is something intensely passionate in his
very patience. He gave his best years to the battle against national
decay. Perhaps it is not too much to say that he died of disappointment
and disgust.
Quevedo's life, then, is by no means devoid of aspects that would appeal
strongly to a romantic poet like Florentino Sanz. The most striking
feature, of course, is his struggle with Olivares, followed by apparent
defeat and imprisonment at San Marcos de León, which in reality meant a
moral victory in the face of persecution. This in itself was an ideal
situation to call forth the heroics of a romantic poet. Furthermore,
Quevedo could properly complain that he had been misunderstood. He was
giving himself to a great cause while many of his contemporaries
recognized only the superficial wit or the obscenity of his satire. His
proud scorn of stupidity and all mediocrity was easily susceptible of a
romantic twist into a lofty contempt for the miserable human creatures
that drag out their darkened groveling lives. To make the play an
unqualified success it was necessary that Quevedo succumb to the gentle
passion, although in reality Quevedo's stern heart had little room for
it. There can be no denying his cynical disbelief in feminine virtue.
Associations of his own choice gave him little opportunity for illusions
on that score. To be sure, he married at fifty-two, but circumstances
lead us to doubt his happiness. Quevedo in love is thorny ground for
any author. It is difficult to understand how Sanz succeeded in making
this innovation as plausible as it is. It is his surrender to virtues so
sterling as those of Margarita de Saboya that saves him from being
ridiculous. Perhaps one may be pardoned for a furtive smile at the
implication that Quevedo must depart to mope in his tower, while
Margarita, herself a widow, pines in the convent.
The name Quevedo has come to connote vaguely a personage of achievements
as fabulous as those of Robin Hood. His undoubted skill as a swordsman
has made him the hero of a thousand nocturnal escapades. His proverbial
wit has forced upon him the responsibility for doubtful puns and
innumerable bits of repartee. Unfortunately this is true to such a
degree that to the uninitiated Quevedo is little more than a buffoon or
a swaggering swordsman. It is easy to see that in his play Sanz intended
to combat this mistaken conception. When it was first presented in 1848
there existed no authoritative and accessible edition of Quevedo's
works[12] where he could be adequately studied and a fair estimate of
him made. Such works of his as were spread broad-cast were usually the
more objectionable excerpts from his less creditable works. They
appeared in wretched volumes bearing a close resemblance to some that
are published even now under such titles as "Quevedo, His Wittiest
Prose, His Funniest Verses." Sanz felt the injustice deeply and set
about its correction.
[Footnote 12: The first volume of Fernández-Guerra's splendid edition
appeared in 1852.]
Those who knew Sanz personally[13] have been left with the clear
impression that through the medium of Quevedo, Sanz poured forth his
invective against those that refused to recognize his own ability.
[Footnote 13: I speak especially of Don Juan Perez de Guzman and Don
Julio Nombela, both of whom have been kind enough to give me all the
data at their disposal.]
There can be no doubt that the ultimate source, or rather the
inspiration, of the play was the appeal to Sanz of the personality of
Quevedo. There are other more tangible sources that may be briefly
indicated. An important element in the plot is Queen Isabel's struggle
to obtain from Olivares a certain letter which had been written in blood
by the Conde de Villamediana and which would prove her fidelity to her
husband, Philip. The existence of such a valuable document is pure
invention. Villamediana's contemporaries are unanimous in saying that
after being stabbed he died almost instantly and that his only words
were "Esto es hecho." The romantic circumstances of Villamediana's
attachment to the queen had been rehearsed to the public only a few
years before the production of "Don Francisco de Quevedo." In 1841 the
Duke of Rivas had published his four ballads, "Los Toros," "Las Máscaras
y Cañas," "El Sarao," and "Final," under the title "El Conde de
Villamediana." The affair then would be fresh in the minds of Sanz and
his public. Don Juan de Tassis y Peralta, Count of Villamediana, was
born in Lisbon in 1580, and was brought up in the court of Philip III.
In 1614 he served in Italy, and the end of 1618 found him again in
Madrid, where he lived magnificently, indulging freely his tastes for
paintings, jewels, and horses. His satirical pen, attacking even the
Duke of Lerma and the royal confessor, Fray Luis de Aliaga, was the
cause of his exile from Madrid in 1618. At the accession of Philip IV he
was recalled to Madrid and made a gentleman in waiting to the queen.
Fallen ministers and the favorites of Philip III continued to be marks
for his attacks. Olivares, the enemy of Villamediana and Doña Isabel,
probably brought his libels to the attention of Philip. On August 21,
1622, as Villamediana was driving through the Calle Mayor, a man halted
his coach, and, as the count was descending, ran him through the heart.
The gossips of Madrid attributed the murder to Olivares, giving as his
motive his hatred and fear of Villamediana. Others laid the blame upon
Philip, whose jealousy had been aroused, they said, by Villamediana's
marked attentions to Doña Isabel.
Further historical material for the play Sanz took from two arraignments
of the administration of Olivares published by Valladares. The use of
these sources by Sanz will be pointed out as briefly as possible. The
circumstances of the imprisonment of Doña Margarita in Ocaña, her flight
to Madrid, and her subsequent treatment at the hands of Olivares are
presented in detail in the "Caída de su Privanza y Muerte del
Conde-Duque de Olivares, Gran Privado del Señor Rey Don Felipe IV, el
Grande, con los motivos y no imaginada disposición de dicha Caída,"[14]
and in the "Memorial de Don Francisco de Quevedo contra el Conde-Duque
de Olivares. Dado al Rey Don Felipe Quarto."[15] According to the
account in the latter she had received no reply to her complaints
against the evil conduct of Vasconcellos and the suicidal policy of
Olivares toward the Duke of Braganza.[16]
[Footnote 14: _Sem. Erud._, III, pp. 1-62.]
[Footnote 15: Ibid., XV, pp. 215-245.]
[Footnote 16: It should be noted here that Quevedo's journey to Lisbon
to bring back the proofs of Margarita's story is an ingenious fiction
concocted by Sanz. In reality Quevedo was a prisoner in San Marcos de
León.]
The interview between Olivares and the queen about the establishment of
the young Prince of the Asturias in separate apartments with an
independent household (Act II, scene ii) was evidently taken from the
"Memorial" (p. 214) and from the "Caída" (p. 49). Says Philip, "And why,
Conde-Duque, would he not be better off in the apartment that you
yourself occupy? It is especially for the firstborn of the king, and is
the one in which my father and myself were when we were princes." There
also is mentioned the removal of the Count of Lemos, the Marquis of
Castel Rodrigo, and Don Fernando de Borja from the palace.
In Act III, scene ii, Margarita laments the loss of Spanish possessions
through the ineptitude of Olivares: