Let Palmerin of England be preserved as a
singular relic of antiquity.
Cervantes
It would seem to have been a foible with the early critics of Spanish
romance to seek to discover a Portuguese origin for practically all
of its manifestations. They appear to have argued from the analogy of
Amadis that all romantic effort hailed from the Lusitanian kingdom,
yet they are never weary of descanting upon the Provençal and Moorish
influences which moulded Spanish romance! It is precisely as if one
said: "Yes, the Arthurian story displays every sign of Norman-French
influence, but all the same, it was first cast into literary form in
Wales. England? Oh, England merely accepted it, that's all."
The Palmerin series ran almost side by side with Amadis in a
chronological sense, and tradition ascribed its first book to an
anonymous lady of Augustobriga. But there is reason to believe, from
a passage in Primaleón, one of its sections, that it was the work of
Francisco Vasquez de Ciudad Rodrigo. No early Portuguese version is
known, and the Spanish edition of the first romance of the series,
Palmerin de Oliva, printed at Seville in 1525, was certainly not the
earliest impression of that work. The English translation, by Anthony
Munday, was published in black letter in 1588.
Palmerin de Oliva
No sooner did Palmerin de Oliva appear than it scored a success only
second to that of Amadis, its resemblance to which can scarcely be
called fortuitous, and, as in the case of that romance, translations
and continuations were multiplied with surprising rapidity.
The commencement of Palmerin de Oliva carries us once more to
the enchanted shores of the Golden Horn. Reymicio, the Emperor of
Constantinople, had a daughter named Griana, whom he had resolved
to give in marriage to Tarisius, son of the King of Hungary, and
nephew to the Empress. But Griana had given her heart to Florendos
of Macedon, to whom she had a son. Dreading the wrath of her father,
she permitted an attendant to carry the infant to a deserted spot,
where it was found by a peasant, who took it to his cottage, and
brought it up as his own son, calling the child Palmerin de Oliva,
because he had been found on a hill which was covered with a luxuriant
growth of palm and olive trees.
When the boy grew up he accepted his humble lot with equanimity. But
on learning that he was not the son of a peasant he longed for a life
of martial excitement. Adventure soon afforded him a taste of its
dazzling possibilities. While traversing a gloomy forest in search
of game he encountered a merchant beset by a ferocious lion. He slew
the beast, and learned that the traveller was returning to his own
country from Constantinople. Attaching himself to the man of commerce,
Palmerin accompanied him to the city of Hermide, where his grateful
companion furnished him with arms and a horse. Thus accoutred for
the life chivalric, he betook himself to the Court of Macedon, where
he received the honour of knighthood from Florendes, the son of the
king of that country, and his own father.
A quest soon presented itself to him. Primaleón, King of Macedon,
had long been a sufferer from a grievous sickness. His physicians
assured him that could he obtain water from a certain fountain his
malady would disappear. But the spring in question was guarded by
an immense serpent of such ferocity that to approach its lair meant
certain death. Knight after knight had essayed the adventure, only to
be crushed in the monster's venomous folds, so that the life-giving
waters the ailing King so sorely required continued to be withheld
from him. This condition of affairs seemed to Palmerin to present him
with an opportunity for distinguishing himself, and without realizing
the strenuous nature of the task before him he leapt into the saddle
and cantered off in the direction of the serpent-guarded fountain.
The Fairy Damsels
Very conscious of the honour of knighthood which but so lately
had been conferred upon him, and inordinately proud of the gilded
spurs which glittered on his mailed heels, Palmerin was not a little
pleased that he had succeeded in attracting the attention of a bevy
of young and beautiful ladies, who stood where field and forest met,
watching his rather haughty progress with laughing eyes. Had he been
less occupied with himself and his horse, which he forced to curvet
and caracole in the most outrageous fashion, he would have seen that
the damsels before whom he wished to cut such a fine figure were of
a beauty far too ethereal to be human, for the ladies who watched
him with such amusement were princesses of the race of Faery, and
had waylaid the young knight with the intention of giving him such
aid as fairies have in their power.
Palmerin greeted them with all the distinction of which he was capable.
"God save you, fair damsels," he said, bowing almost to his horse's
mane. "Can you tell me if I am near the serpent-guarded fountain?"
"Fair sir," replied one of the sylphs, "you are within a league of
it. But let us entreat you to turn back from such a neighbourhood
as this. Many famous knights have we seen pass this way to do battle
with the monster who guards its waters, but none have we seen return."
"It is not my custom to turn my back upon an enterprise," said
Palmerin loftily. "Did I understand you to say the fountain lies
within a league of this place?"
"Within a short league, Sir Knight," replied the fairy. Then, turning
to her companions, she said: "Sisters, this would seem to be the
youth we have awaited so long. He appears bold and resolute. Shall
we confer upon him the gift?"
Her companions having given their assent to this proposal, the fairy
then enlightened Palmerin regarding the true character of herself
and her attendant maidens, and assured him that wherever he went,
or whatever adventure he undertook, neither monster nor magician
would have the power to cast enchantment upon him. Then, directing
him more particularly to the lair of the serpent, they disappeared
in the recesses of the forest.
Riding on, he speedily came within view of the fountain, but had
scarcely beheld its silver waters bubbling from a green hill-side
when a horrible hissing warned him of the proximity of its loathly
guardian. All unafraid, however, he spurred his terrified horse
forward. A blast of fire, belched from the monster's mouth, surged
over him, but he bent low in the saddle and avoided it. Then,
dashing at the bristling head, poised on a neck thick as a pillar,
and armoured with dazzling scales, he struck fiercely at it with his
falchion. The serpent tried to envelop horse and man in its folds,
but ere it could bring its grisly coils to bear upon them Palmerin
had smitten off its head.
Returning to Macedon, the young hero was at once overwhelmed by the
applications of importunate monarchs that he should assist them in
one enterprise or another. All of these Palmerin achieved with such
consummate address that his fame spread into all parts of Europe,
and we find him as far afield as Belgium, where he delivered the
Emperor of Germany from certain traitor knights who besieged him
in the town of Ghent. It was during this adventure that he met and
became enamoured of the Emperor's daughter, the beauteous Polinarda,
who had on one occasion appeared to him in a dream. But the young
paladin felt that if he were to render himself worthy of such a
peerless lady he must subdue many knights in her name, and undertake
adventures even more onerous than those through which he had already
come scathless. Learning, therefore, of a great tournament in the
land of France, he journeyed thither, and bore off the prize.
Returning to Germany, Palmerin found the Emperor engaged in a war
with the King of England, at the instance of the King of Norway,
who had requested his assistance against the British monarch. This
partisanship did not, however, appeal to Trineus, the Emperor's son,
who, enamoured of the princess Agriola, daughter of the English king,
privately departed with Palmerin, his object being to aid the father
of his lady-love. After undergoing many adventures, the companions
succeeded in carrying off the English princess, but while voyaging
homeward were attacked by a furious tempest and were driven on the
shores of the Morea. When the elements subsided Palmerin landed on
the neighbouring island of Calpa, to engage in the sport of hawking,
and during his absence the vessel in which he had left his friends
was seized by Turkish pirates, who carried Agriola as a present to
the Grand Turk. Trineus was even less happily situated, for being
marooned upon an island, which we must surely regard as that of Circe,
he was immediately transformed into a dog. To add to this indignity,
his transformation did not take the shape of any of the more noble
varieties of the canine race, but that of a tiny lap-dog, such as
are found in ladies' boudoirs.
In the meantime Palmerin, all unconscious of the fate of his friends,
was discovered in the island of Calpa by Archidiana, daughter of
the Soldan of Babylon, who at once pressed him into her service,
refusing to allow him to depart. Archidiana had from the first
conceived a violent passion for the handsome young adventurer,
whose embarrassment was heightened by the knowledge that her cousin,
Ardemira, had likewise fallen in love with him. The knight, however,
stoutly repelled the fair advances, and Ardemira took her repulse so
much to heart that she burst a blood-vessel and expired, shortly after
the party had arrived at the Babylonian Court. Hearing of her demise,
Amaran, son of the King of Phrygia, to whom she had been affianced,
hastened to Babylon, and precipitately accused Archidiana of her death,
offering to make good his assertion by an appeal to arms. Palmerin,
as in duty bound, espoused the princess's quarrel, slew Amaran in
single combat, and by doing so won the good graces of the Soldan,
whom he assisted in the war with Phrygia which followed.
The Soldan, elated by his military successes, resolved to extend his
empire, and with this object in view fitted out a great expedition
against Constantinople, which Palmerin was forced to accompany. But
during a tempest which the Babylonian fleet encountered he commanded
the seamen of his own vessel to steer for the German coast. On reaching
it he made his way to the capital, and made himself known in secret
to Polinarda, with whom he spent some time.
But his heart misgave him regarding the fate of his friend Trineus,
and he resolved to set out in quest of that unhappy prince. Journeying
across Europe, he arrived at the city of Buda, where he learned that
Florendos, Prince of Macedon, had recently slain Tarisius, who, it
will be remembered, was his rival for the hand of the Princess Griana,
and whom she had been forced to marry by her tyrannous father, the
Emperor of Constantinople. Florendos had, however, been taken captive
by the kinsmen of Tarisius, and had been sent to Constantinople,
where he was condemned to be burnt at the stake, along with Griana,
who was believed to be his accomplice. On hearing of the impending
fate of those who, unknown to him, were his parents, Palmerin at once
repaired to Constantinople, where he maintained their innocence,
defeated their accusers, the nephews of Tarisius, in a combat à
outrance, and succeeded in saving them from the terrible fate which
had awaited them. While he lay in bed recovering from his wounds he
was visited by the grateful Griana, who, from a mark upon his face
and the account of his exposure as an infant, knew that he must be
her son. On hearing her story the Emperor joyfully received Palmerin
and acknowledged him as his successor.
The Quest for Trineus
But his new accession to power did not render Palmerin unmindful
of his vow to search for his lost friend Trineus. Sailing over the
Mediterranean in quest of him, he fell in with an overwhelming force of
Turks, and was taken prisoner. Brought to the palace of the Grand Turk,
he succeeded in liberating the princess Agriola from the power of that
tyrant. Effecting his own escape, he came to the palace of a princess
to whom Trineus in his shape of a lap-dog had been presented by those
who had found him. This lady had contracted a severe inflammation in
the nose (unromantic detail!), and requested Palmerin to accompany
her to Mussabelin, a Persian magician, whom she believed to be able
to remove the distressing complaint. But the sage informed her that
only by means of the flowers of a tree which grew near the Castle of
the Ten Steps could she be cured.
Now the castle of which the magician spoke was guarded by
enchantment. But that dread power was harmless to Palmerin, ever
since the fairy sisters had provided him with an antidote against
it. Making his way to the magic castle, he secured the flowers of
the healing tree, and also took captive an enchanted bird, which was
destined to announce the hour of his death by an unearthly shriek. He
further ended the enchantments of the castle, and when they finally
dissolved, Trineus, who had accompanied him in canine shape, was
restored to his original form.
The subsequent adventures of Palmerin bear such a strong likeness
to those already related of him as to render their recital a work
of supererogation. From the Court of one soldan he proceeds to that
of another, enchantment follows enchantment, as combat treads upon
the heels of combat. Finally Palmerin and Trineus return to Europe,
and wed their respective ladies.
Cervantes' curate is perhaps too hard upon Palmerin de Oliva. "Then,
opening another volume, he found it to be Palmerin de Oliva. 'Ha! have
I found you?' cried the curate; 'here, take this Oliva; let it be
hewn in pieces and burnt, and the ashes scattered in the air.'" This
notwithstanding, there are some brilliant passages in the romance we
have just outlined--grains of golddust in a desert of unrestrained
and undisciplined narrative--such flashes of genius as we find here
and there in Shelley's Zastrozzi, St Irvyne, and the other hysterical
outpourings of his Oxford days.
Primaleón
There is no doubt regarding the thoroughly Spanish character and
origin of Primaleón, son and successor to Palmerin de Oliva, although,
owing to the prejudice of the time for mystery and Orientalism, its
author, Francisco Delicado, saw fit to announce it as a translation
from the Greek. The first edition was printed in 1516, and several
translations shortly followed, that in English, by Anthony Munday,
being dedicated to Sir Francis Drake, and published in 1589. This
translation, however, dealt only with that portion of the romance which
related to the exploits of Polendos, but Munday completed the whole
in editions published in 1595 and 1619. The adventures of Polendos
constitute, however, by far the best part of the work.
Polendos was the son of the Queen of Tharsus. Returning one day from
the chase, he beheld a little old woman sitting on the steps of the
palace, from which he removed her by a most ungallant but forceful
kick. "It was not in this manner that your father Palmerin succoured
the unfortunate," cried the crone, on picking herself up. Polendos
thus learned the secret of his birth, for he was indeed the son of
Palmerin and the Queen of Tharsus, and, exalted by the intelligence,
he burned to distinguish himself by feats of arms worthy of his
sire. Departing for Constantinople to make himself known to his
father, he encountered many adventures on the way. Arrived at the
imperial city, he did not long remain there, but set out to rescue the
Princess Francelina from the power of a giant and a dwarf, who held
her in bondage in an enchanted castle. Returning to Constantinople,
he greatly distinguished himself at a tournament held on the occasion
of the marriage of one of the Emperor's daughters, and Primaleón,
the real hero of the story, son of Palmerin and Polinarda, desirous
of emulating the exploits of his half-brother, was duly knighted,
and took part in the mêlée. The rest of the romance is occupied
with the adventures of this young hero and those of Duardos (Edward)
of England. In the course of his adventures Palmerin had slain the
son of the Duchess of Armedos, who vowed that she would only give
her daughter in marriage to the man who could bring her the head
of Primaleón. One by one Primaleón slew the lovers of Gridoina,
the Duchess's daughter, so that in time she came to detest the mere
mention of his name. But one evening Primaleón arrived at her castle,
and, not knowing who he was, she fell deeply in love with him. The
child of their affections was Platir, whose exploits were recounted
by the same author, and published at Valladolid in 1533. We may well
pass over this very indifferent romance, and bestow our attention
and interest upon its more entertaining successor.
Palmerin of England
This is perhaps the best of the series. The first Spanish edition was
believed to be lost; but a French translation from it was published
at Lyons in 1553, and an Italian one at Venice in 1555. Southey
maintained that there never was a Spanish original of this story,
and that it was first written in Portuguese. But this hypothesis was
upset by Salva's discovery of a copy of the lost Spanish original,
written by Luis Kuxtado [48] and published at Toledo in two parts, in
1547 and 1548. Southey attempted to show in his English translation
of Palmerin of England that a consideration of its mise en scène
would afford irrefragable proof of its Lusitanian origin--surely
a good illustration of the dangers and fallacies connected with
this species of reasoning. An argument of equal cogency could be
advanced for its original English authorship, as most of its action
takes place within the borders of the 'perilous isle' of Britain,
in which respect it follows Amadis, its model.
In Palmerin of England we are provided with a biographical sketch of
the hero's parents. Don Duardos, or Edward, son of the King of England,
was wedded to Flerida, daughter of Palmerin de Oliva. While engaged
in the chase, he lost his way in the depths of an English forest,
and sought shelter in a mysterious castle, where he was detained by
a giantess, Eutropa, whose brother he had slain. But Dramuziando,
her nephew, son of the giant whom Duardos had sent to his death,
was of milder mood than his terrible aunt, and conceived a strange
friendship for the captive Duardos.
In the meantime Flerida, alarmed at Duardos' absence, set out to search
for him, accompanied by a train of attendants, and while traversing the
forest in the hope of tracing him gave birth to twin sons, who were
baptized in the greenwood by her chaplain. The ceremony had scarcely
come to an end when a wild man, an inhabitant of the forest recesses,
burst from the undergrowth, and, seizing upon the infant princes,
carried them off. None might stay him, for he was accompanied by two
lions of such size and ferocity that their appearance struck terror
into the hearts of the stoutest of Flerida's retainers.
The savage conveyed the infants, who had been named Palmerin
and Florian, to his den, where he resolved to give them to the
lions. Flerida returned disconsolately to the palace, and dispatched
a messenger to Constantinople with news of her losses. On receiving
this intelligence, Primaleón and a number of the Grecian knights took
ship for England, and, learning of the imprisonment of Duardos in the
castle of the giantess, they essayed his deliverance. But they made
the mistake, common to errantry, of attempting to do so singly and not
in a body, and so, one by one, fell a rather easy prey to the giant
Dramuziando, who forced them to combat each new enemy who approached.
The sylvan savage who had destined the royal twins as food for his
lions had reckoned without his wife, whose motherly instincts prompted
her to save the children from a fate so dire. Having prevailed upon
her uncouth mate to spare them, she brought them up along with her
own son Selvian. In course of time they became expert in the chase
and woodcraft, and on one of his excursions in the forest while
following the slot of a red deer Florian encountered Sir Pridos,
son of the Duke of Wales, who took him to the English Court, where
he was brought before his mother, Flerida. Attracted to the savage
youth, she adopted him, and trained him in the usages of civilization,
calling him 'the Child of the Desert.'
Florian had not long been lost to the sylvan family when Palmerin and
Selvian, wandering one day by the sea-coast, observed a galley cast
upon the shore by the violence of a tempest. From this vessel Polendos
(whose prior adventures were recited in the romance of Primaleón)
disembarked, having come to England with other Greek knights in search
of Duardos. Palmerin and Selvian requested him to take them on board
his vessel, which put to sea once more, and shortly afterward arrived
at Constantinople, where they were brought before the Emperor, who,
of course, was in ignorance of the extraction of Palmerin, but knew of
his high rank from letters he had received from a certain Lady of the
Bath, who seems to have acted as the hero's good genius. The Emperor,
impressed by such an introduction, knighted Palmerin, whose sword was
girded to his side by Polinarda, the daughter of Primaleón. During
Palmerin's residence at Constantinople a tournament was held, in
which he and a stranger knight, who bore for his device a savage
leading two lions, greatly distinguished themselves. The stranger
departed still incognito, but was afterward discovered to be Florian,
who was thenceforth known as 'the Knight of the Savage.'
Palmerin fell an easy victim to the charms of the princess Polinarda,
but the precipitate nature of his wooing, prompted, probably, by
his sylvan upbringing, offended the courtly damsel, and she forbade
him her presence. In despair at her coldness, he quitted the Grecian
capital, and journeyed toward England, under the name of 'the Knight
of Fortune,' taking Selvian as his squire. On the way he encountered
a wealth of adventure, in which he was uniformly successful, and at
last arrived in the dominions of his grandfather. But while passing
through the forest inhabited by his savage foster-father he came
face to face with him, and recounted his adventures. Pressing on,
he came to a castle in the neighbourhood of London, the castellan
of which begged of him to do battle with the Knight of the Savage,
who had slain his son. Arriving in London, he defied Florian, but
the Princess Flerida intervened and forbade the combat, which was
not resumed, for Palmerin having at last overcome Dramuziando and
set Duardos at liberty, the birth of the twin brothers was revealed
by Doliarte, a magician, and confirmed by their savage foster-father.
The Castle of Almaurol
Spurred on by the love of adventure, Florian and Palmerin disdained
to lead a life of ease at Court, and set out on their travels. We
cannot follow them here through the maze of exploit into which they
are plunged, but many of their trials, especially those undergone
by Palmerin in the Perilous Isle, are among the most interesting
and attractive in the series which bears his name. In several of
the passages the amiable giant Dramuziando figures to advantage,
but his aunt, the vindictive Eutropa, still retains her ill-will
to the family of the Palmerins, and is constant in the exercise of
her machinations against them. These are, however, challenged and
countered by the skill of the magician Doliarte. The chief scene
of adventure is the castle of Almaurol, where, under the care of a
giant, dwelt the beautiful but haughty Miraguarda, whose lineaments
were pictured on a shield which was suspended over the gate of the
castle. It was guarded by a body of knights, who had become enamoured
of the original, and when other paladins arrived vaunting the charms
of their ladies these gave them battle. Among these victims of the
fair Miraguarda was the giant Dramuziando, but during his custody
of the picture it was purloined by Alhayzar, the Soldan of Babylon,
whose lady, Targiana, daughter of the Grand Turk, had commanded him
to bring it to her as a trophy of his prowess.
The writer of the romance appeared to think it necessary at this
point to recall his heroes to Constantinople in order to espouse
them to their respective ladies. Palmerin was united to Polinarda,
and his brother Florian to Leonarda, Queen of Thrace, so that the
lovers were made happy. These espousals, however, by no means bring
the romance to a conclusion, for we learn that matters had become
complicated by the passion of the daughter of the Grand Turk for the
newly wedded Florian. That gay young prince, while residing at the
Court of the lady's father, had taken the liberty of eloping with
her, and although she was now safely married to Alhayzar, Soldan of
Babylon and picture-thief, she still retained a strong affection for
her former lover, which was mingled with resentment that he should
have deserted her charms for those of the Queen of Thrace. To ease
the clamours of her jealous heart, she employed a magician to work
woe upon the Thracian queen, who, while she took the air in the
gardens of her palace, was pounced upon by two enormous griffins,
and conveyed to a magic castle, where she was transformed into a
huge serpent. Her disconsolate husband found in her deliverance an
adventure quite to his taste, and, having consulted the wise Doliarte,
succeeded in discovering the place where his wife was imprisoned and
in freeing her from the enchantment which had been laid upon her.
In accomplishing this, however, he seriously offended the proud
Alhayzar, who determined to avenge the affront placed upon his
queen, and demanded the person of Florian from the Emperor of
Constantinople. On receiving the imperial refusal which naturally
followed his request, he invaded the Greek territories, with an
army of two hundred thousand men, recruited from all the kingdoms
and satrapies of the Orient, real and imaginary. Three sanguinary
battles occurred, in one of which Alhayzar was slain and the pagan
army totally annihilated.
Cervantes' Eulogy
Cervantes launches into an extravagant eulogy of this romance. "This
Palmerin of England," he says, "let it be kept and preserved as a
thing unique, and let another casket be made for it such as Alexander
found among the spoils of Darius.... This book, Sir Comrade, is of
authority, for two reasons: the one because it is a right good one
in itself, and the other because the report is that a wise king of
Portugal composed it. All the adventures at the Castle of Miraguarda
are excellent, and managed with great skill; the discourses are courtly
and clear, observing with much propriety and judgment the decorum of
the speaker. I say then, saving your good pleasure, Master Nicholas,
this and Amadis de Gaul should be saved from the fire, and all the
rest be, without further search, destroyed."
Saving your good pleasure, Master Cervantes, I would come to an issue
with you regarding this. For though Palmerin of England is the best
romance of those which recount the adventures of that line, still
it does not bear away the bell quite so easily as you say. Indeed,
its merits are not transcendently above those of its kind, and its
faults are of the same character. Again, true Spaniard as you are,
do you not praise it so greatly because you believe it to be the
work of a king? And do you not demean yourself to the level of a
newspaper critic when you doom to extinction those romances which
you have not read? Further, as a Castilian gentleman, do you agree
with the author's most despiteful entreatment of that sweet sex for
whose sake all romances were written? No good knight, no good man,
could have penned so many stupidities concerning their envy, their
fickleness, their lack of reason, as he has done; and still worse,
he has made them mere puppets, moving as the strings are pulled. For
one thing I thank him, however--his character of the magician Doliarte,
a wise sage dwelling in the Valley of Perdition, lost in contemplation
of mysterious things. Nay, for a greater thing I have to thank him
also, the colours of the marvellous, the intoxicating magic with which
he has suffused his story; and if the rush of it, the spell of it,
transported you to the forests of Faery and blinded you to the book's
demerits, you are perhaps to be excused if your enchanted eyes refused
to behold them and saw only the outward glamours of that rainbow world.