CHAPTER I.

OF THE ORIGIN OF SPANISH POETRY, AND ITS PROGRESS TO JUAN DE MENA.

To poetry is given by general assent the first place amongst the imitative arts. Whether we regard the antiquity of its origin, the range of objects which it embraces, the duration and pleasure of its impressions, or the good it produces, we must be struck alike with its dignity and importance; and the history of its advances must ever go hand in hand with that of the other branches of human improvement. It is said that poetry and music civilized the nations; and this proposition, which, rigorously examined, is exaggerated, and even false, shows at least the influence that both have had in the formation of society. The lessons given by the first philosophers to men, the first laws, the most ancient systems, all were written in verse; whilst the fancy of the poets, the flattering pictures and pomp of rites, which they invented, interrupted, with a pleasing and necessary relaxation, the fatigue of rural labours.

It is true that poetry does not afterwards present itself with the dignity attendant upon the absolute and exclusive exercise of these various services; yet it preserves an influence so great in our instruction, in our moral perfection, and our pleasures, that we may consider it as a dispenser of the same benefits, though under different forms. It serves as an attraction to make truth amiable, or as a veil to screen her; it instructs infancy in the schools, awakens and directs the sensibilities of youth, ennobles the spirit with its maxims, sublimes it with its pictures, strews with flowers the path of virtue, and unbars to heroism the gates of glory. So many advantages, united with charms so fascinating, have excited in mankind an admiration and a gratitude eternal.

Its primary and essential business is to paint nature for our delight, as that of philosophy is to explain her phenomena for our instruction. Thus, whilst the philosopher, observing the stars, inquires into their proportions, their distances, and the laws of their motion, the poet contemplates and transfers to his verses the impression they make upon his fancy and feelings, the lustre with which they shine, the harmony that reigns amongst them, and the benefits which they dispense to the earth. The difficulty of fulfilling worthily and well the object of poetry is extreme, even though, considering the rapid progress which it sometimes makes, it might appear easy. From the vague maxim or insipid tale, rendered vigorous by the charm of an uncertain rhyme or rude measure, to the harmony and sustained elegance of the Iliad or Eneid; from the waggon and winelees of Thespis to the grand spectacle offered by the _Iphigénie_ or _Tancrède_, the distance is immense, and can only be overcome by the greatest efforts of application and genius.

Some nations, the favourites of Heaven, accomplish it with more promptitude, and pass quickly from the feebleness of first essays to the vigour of thoughts more grand, and combinations more perfect. Such was the case with Greece, where the genius of poetry, scarcely numbering a few moments of infancy, grew and raised itself to the height of producing the immortal poesies of Homer. Such, though with less brilliancy and perfection, was the case with modern Italy, where in the midnight of the barbarous ages that succeeded Roman refinement, appeared on the sudden Dante and Petrarch, bringing with them the dawn of the arts and of good taste. Other nations, less fortunate, wrestle entire centuries with rudeness and ignorance, and become more slowly sensible to the blandishments of elegance and harmony; and perfection, in the degree that men can attain it, is conquered by them solely by force of time and toil. This is found to be the case with the greater number of modern nations, and amongst them, we must of necessity mention Spain.

In Spain, as in almost all countries, written verse was anterior to prose; the _Poem of the Cid_ having appeared, being the first known book in Castilian, as well as the first work of poetry. In the midst of the confusion of languages caused by the invasion of the northern barbarians, the Romance, which was afterwards to be presented with so much splendour and majesty in the writings of Garcilasso, Herrera, Rioja, Cervantes, and Mariana, was assuming a definite form. Considering the work for the argument alone, few would have the advantage over it, at the same time that few warriors might dispute with Rodrigo de Bivar the palm of prowess and heroism. His glory, which eclipsed that of all the kings of his time, has been transmitted from age to age down to the present, by means of the infinite variety of fables which ignorant admiration has accumulated in his history. Consigned to poems, to tragedies, to comedies, to popular songs, his memory, like that of Achilles, has had the fortune to strike forcibly and occupy the fancy; but the Castilian hero, superior without doubt to the Greek in strength and in virtue, has not had the advantage of meeting with a Homer.

It was not possible to meet with one at the period when the rude writer of that poem sat down to compose it. With a language altogether uncouth, harsh in its terminations, vicious in its construction, naked of all culture and harmony; with a versification devoid of any certain measure and marked rhymes, and a style full of vicious pleonasms and ridiculous puerilities, destitute of the graces with which imagination and elegance adorn it; how was it possible to produce a work of genuine poetry, that should sweetly occupy the mind and ear? The writer is not however so wanting in talent, as not to manifest from time to time some poetic design, now in invention, now in sentiment, and now in expression. If, as Don Tomas Sanchez, the editor of this and other poems previous to the fifteenth century, suspects, there be wanting to that of the Cid merely a few verses at the beginning, it is surely a mark of judgment in the author that he disencumbered his work of all the particulars of his hero's life anterior to his banishment by Alfonso the Sixth. There the true glory of Rodrigo begins, and there the poem commences; relating afterwards his wars with the Moors and with the Count of Barcelona, his conquests, the taking of Valencia, his reconciliation with the king, the affront offered to his daughters by the Infantes of Carrion, the solemn reparation and vengeance which the Cid took for it, and his union with the royal houses of Arragon and Navarre, with which the work finishes, slightly indicating the epoch of the hero's death. In the course of his story, the writer is not wanting in vivacity and interest, great use of the dialogue, which is a point most to the purpose in animating the narration, and in occasional pictures that are not without merit in their art and composition. Such, amongst others, is the farewell of Rodrigo and Ximena, in the church of San Pedro de Cardeña, when he departs to fulfil the royal mandate. Ximena, prostrate on the steps of the altar where divine service is celebrated, makes a prayer to the Eternal in behalf of her husband, which concludes thus:

'Oh God, thou art the King of kings, and Sire of all mankind! Thee I adore, in thee I trust with all my heart and mind; And to divine San Pedro pray to help me in praying still, That thou wilt shield my noble Cid the Campeador from ill, And since we now must part, again to my embrace restore!' Her orison thus made, high mass is offered, and is o'er; They leave the church, they mount their barbs--with sad and solemn pace, The Cid to Donna Ximena went to take a last embrace; Donna Ximena, she bent down to kiss the hand of the Cid, Sore weeping with her bright black eyes, she knew not what she did; He turned, and kissed his little girls with all a father's love, 'Bless you, my girls,' he said, 'I you commend to God above, To your sweet mother and ghostly sire! When we shall meet again God only knows, but now we part.' Not one could say Amen. Thus, weeping in a way that none e'er saw the like, at length They part like nail from finger torn with agonizing strength. My Cid with his vassals thought to ride, and took the onward track; Waiting for all, his plumed head he evermore turned back. Out then, with gallant unconcern, Don Alvar Fanez spake: 'Come, come, my Cid, what means all this? cheer up for goodness' sake; In happy hour of woman born! fast wears the morn away; Since we must go, let us begone, nor dally with delay; A happier time shall turn to joy the very ills we rue; God, who has given us souls to feel, shall give us counsel too.'

There is doubtless a great distance between this parting and that of Hector and Andromache in the Iliad, but the picture of a hero's sensibility at the time of separation from his family is always pleasing; beautiful is that turning of his head when at a distance, and fine the idea that those same warriors to whom he gives in battle an example of fortitude and constancy, should then fortify and cheer him. Superior, in my opinion, for art and dramatic effect, is the act of accusation which the Cid makes against his traitor sons-in-law before the Cortes assembled to receive it. The first shock of the Infantes and the champions of Rodrigo in the lists has much animation and even style.

They grasp their shields before their hearts; down, down their lances go; Bowed are their crested helms until they touch the saddle-bow; Fiercely they strike their horses' sides with streaming rowels red, And onward to the encounter run: earth trembles to their tread. * * * * * Don Martin Antolinez, with the drawing of his sword, Illumined all the field.----

No record is left for us to ascertain who was the author of this first faint breath of Spanish poetry. Two writers flourished in the following age, in whom we trace the improvement and progress which the versification and language had now made. In the sacred poems of Don Gonzalo de Bercéo, and in the _Alexandro_ of Juan Lorenzo, are discovered more fluency, more connexion, and forms more determinate. The march of these authors, although difficult, is not so trailing and jejune as that of the preceding poet. The difference that subsists between the two later poets is, that Bercéo, if we except his narrative and some of his moral counsels, shows neither copiousness of erudition, variety of knowledge, nor fancy for invention; a deficiency arising from the nature of his subjects, which for the most part turn upon legends of the saints. Juan Lorenzo, on the contrary, is more rapt with his subject, and manifests an information so extensive in history, mythology, and moral philosophy, as to make his work the most important of all that were written in that age. The following verses on the same subject may serve to show the style of both.

"I, hight Gonzalo de Bercéo, going On pilgrimage, came one day to a mead, Green, and well-peopled with fair plants, which blowing Made it a place desirable indeed To a tired traveller; the sweet-scented flowers Gave forth a smell that freshened not alone Men's faces, but their fancies, whilst in showers Clear flowing fountains to the sky were thrown, Each singing to itself as on it rolled, Warm in midwinter, and in summer cold." BERCÉO.

"It was the month of May, a glorious tide, When merry music make the birds in boughs, Dressed are the meads with beauty far and wide, And sighs the ladye that has not a spouse: Tide sweet for marriages; flowers and fresh winds Temper the clime; in every village near Young girls in bevies sing, and with blythe minds Make each to each good-wishes of the year. Young maids and old maids, all are out of doors, Melting with love, to gather flowers at rest Of noon--they whisper each to each, amours Are good--and the most tender deem the best." LORENZO.

Alfonso the Tenth was then reigning in Castile; a prince, to whom, to render his glory complete, fortune ought to have given better sons, and vassals less ferocious. Posterity has given him the surname of The Wise; and beyond all doubt it was merited by the extraordinary man, who in an age of darkness could unite in himself the paternal and beneficent regards of the legislator, the profound combinations of the mathematician and astronomer, the talent and knowledge of the historian, and the laurels of the poet. He it was who raised his native language to its due honours, when he gave command that the public instruments, which before were engrossed in Latin, should be written in Spanish. Mariana, less favourable to his merits, asserts that this measure was the cause of the profound ignorance that afterwards ensued. But what was known before? The Latin then in use was as barbarous, was yet more barbarous than the Romance. The new uses to which the Romance was applied by that decree, the dignity and authority it acquired, influenced its culture, its polish, and its progress. Can it by any chance be believed that these advantages of the language had no literary influence, or that there can be diffused knowledge and a national literature, whilst the native language remains uncultivated? The assertion of Mariana then must be considered as a result of the somewhat pedantic prejudices of the age in which he lived; but, even leaving out of consideration the political convenience of the law, let us regard it as one of the causes, which having had an influence on the improvement of the language, must necessarily have influenced also the advancement of Spanish poetry.

There is an entire book of _Cantigas_ or _Letras_ to be sung, composed in the Galician dialect by this king, specimens of which are to be seen in the _Anales de Sevilla_ of Ortiz de Zuñiga; another entitled _El Tesoro_, which is a treatise on the philosopher's stone, as far as can be judged, for to the present day a great part remains undeciphered; and to him likewise is attributed that of _Las Querellas_, of which two stanzas only are preserved. Both are written in verses of twelve syllables, with rhymes crossed like those of the sonnet, to which is given the name of _coplas de arte mayor_, and which was a real improvement in Spanish poetry; as the rhythm of the Alexandrine verse, the measure used both by Bercéo and Lorenzo, was insufferable from its heaviness and monotony. Let us compare the coplas with which the book _El Tesoro_ commences, with the stanzas alluded to.

The strange intelligence then reached my ears That in the land of Egypt lived a man, Who, wise of wit, subjected to his scan The dark occurrences of uncome years: He judged the stars, and by the moving spheres, And aspects of the heavens, unveiled the dim Face of futurity, which then to him Appeared, as clear to us the past appears. A yearning toward this sage inspired my pen And tongue that instant, with humility Descending from my height of majesty; Such mastery has a strong desire o'er men: My earnest prayers I wrote--I sent--with ten My noblest envoys, loaded each apart With gold and silver, which with all my heart, I offered him, but the request was vain. With much politeness the wise man replied, 'You, sire, are a great king, and I should be Most glad to serve you, but in the rich fee Of gold and gems I take no sort of pride: Deign, then, yourself to use them; I abide Content in more abundant wealth; and may Your treasures profit you in every way That I can wish, your servant.' I complied; But sent the stateliest of my argosies, Which reached, and from the Alexandrian port Brought safe this cunning master to my court, Who greeted me with all kind courtesies: I, knowing well his great abilities, And learning in the movement of the spheres, Have highly honoured him these many years, For honour is the birthright of the wise.

The two coplas with which the book of _Las Querellas_ began, are altogether superior in style, harmony, and elegance.

'Cousin, friend, faithful vassal, all and each, Diego Perez Sarmiento, thee The ills which from my men adversity Makes me conceal, do I intend to teach; To thee who, far, alas! from friendship's reach, Hast left thy lands for my concerns in Rome, My pen flies; hearken to the words that come, For mournfully it grieves in mortal speech.

How lonely lies the monarch of Castile, Emperor of Germany that was! whose feet Kings humbly kissed, and at whose mercy-seat Queens asked for alms; he who in proud Seville Maintained an army sheathed from head to heel, Ten thousand horse and thrice ten thousand foot, Whom distant nations did with fear salute, Awed by his wisdom[A] and his sword of steel.'

There seems to be a century between verse and verse, between language and language; but what is yet more remarkable, to meet with _coplas de arte mayor_ of equal merit, as well in diction as in cadence, we must overleap almost two centuries more, and look for them in Juan de Mena.[B]

If the impulse which this great king gave to letters had been continued by his successors, Spanish literature would not only be two centuries forwarder, but would have produced more works, and those more perfect. The ferocious character of the times did not allow it. The fire of civil war began to blaze in the last years of Alfonso, with the disobedience and rebellion of his son, and continued, almost without intermission, for a whole century, till it arrived at the last pass of atrocity and horror in the tempestuous and terrible reign of Pedro. The Castilians, during this unhappy period, seem to have had no spirit but for hatred, no arms but for destruction. How was it possible, amidst the agitation of such turbulent times, for the torch of genius to shine out tranquilly, or for the songs of the muses to be heard? Thus only a very scanty number of poets can be named as flourishing then: Juan Ruiz, archpriest of Hita; the Infante Don Juan Manuel, author of _Conde Lucanór_; the Jew, Don Santo; and Ayala, the historiographer. The verses of these writers are some of them lost, others exist wholly unedited, and those only of the archpriest of Hita have seen the light, which, fortunately, are the most worthy, perhaps, of being known. The subject of his poems is the history of his loves, interspersed with apologues, allegories, tales, satires, proverbs, and even devotions. This author surpassed all former writers; and but few of those by whom he was succeeded, excelled him in faculty of invention, in liveliness of fancy and talent, or in abundance of jests and wit; and if he had taken care to choose or to follow more determinate and fixed metres, and had his diction been less uncouth and cumbrous, this work would have been one of the most curious monuments of the Middle Age. But the uncouthness of the style makes the reading insufferable. Of his versification and manner, let the following verses serve as specimens, in which the poet begs of Venus to interpose her influence with a lady whom he loved, who was, according to his pencil,

"Of figure very graceful, with an amorous look, correct, Sweet, lovely, full of frolic, mild, with mirth by prudence checked, Caressing, courteous, lady-like, in wreathed smiles bedecked, Whom every body looks upon with love and with respect. Lady Venus, wife of Love, at thy footstool low I kneel, Thou art the paramount desire of all, thy force all feel. O Love! thou art the master of all creatures; all with zeal Worship thee for their creator, or for sorrow or for weal. Kings, dukes, and noble princes, every living thing that is, Fear and serve thee for their being; oh, take not my vows amiss! Fulfil my fair desires, give good fortune, give me bliss, And be not niggard, shy, nor harsh; sweet Venus, grant me this! I am so lost, so ruined, and so wounded by thy dart, Which I carry close concealed and buried deep in my sad heart, As not to dare reveal the wound; I dare not e'en impart Her name; ere I forget her, may I perish with the smart! I have lost my lively colour, and my mind is in decay; I have neither strength nor spirits, I fall off both night and day; My eyes are dim, they serve alone to lead my steps astray, If thou do not give me comfort, I shall swoon and pass away."

Venus, amongst other counsels, says to him:--

"Tell all thy feelings without fear or being swayed by shame, To every amorous-looking miss, to every gadding dame; Amongst a thousand, thou wilt scarce find one that e'er will blame Thine unembarrassed suit, nor laugh to scorn thy tender flame. If the first wave of the rough sea, when it comes roaring near, Should frighten the rude mariner, he ne'er would plough the clear With his brass-beaked ship; then ne'er let the first word severe, The first frown, or the first repulse, affright thee from thy dear. By cunning hardest hearts grow soft, walled cities fall; with care High trees are felled, grave weights are raised; by cunning many swear: By cunning many perjured are, and fishes by the snare Are taken under the green wave; then why shouldst thou despair?"

Other passages much more striking might be quoted; and amongst them the description of the power of money, which has a severity and freedom, of which it would be difficult to find examples in other writers of that time, either in or out of Spain, though the independent Dante were to enter into the comparison; or the facetious apology and praise of little women, which begins:

I wish to make my speeches suit the season, Short; for I always liked, the more I read, Short sermons, little ladies, a brief reason; We fructify on little and well said, &c.[1]

But the examples already quoted will suffice for our assertion. Sometimes the poet, weary perhaps of monotony and heaviness, varies from the measure which he generally uses, and introduces another combination of rhymes in songs which he mingles with his narrative; as, for instance, the following:--

Near the vale's fresh fountain, Having past the mountain, I found relief, at play Of the first beams of day. I thought to die upon The mountain summits lone, With cold and hunger, lost Mid glaciers, snows, and frost. Beside the sparkling rill, At foot of a small hill, A shepherdess I met,-- I see her smiling yet: Her cheeks made e'en the red Ripe roses pale; I said To her, 'Good morrow, sweet, I worship at thy feet!' &c.

Don Tomas Antonio Sanchez has published the works of almost all the authors mentioned, with illustrations, excellent, as well for the notices given of them, as for the elucidation of the text, which the antiquity and rudeness of the language, and the errors of manuscripts, by their complication, obscured. There, as in an armoury, rest these venerable antiques, precious objects of curiosity for the learned, of investigation for the grammarian, of observation for the philosopher and historian, whilst the poet, without losing time in studying them, salutes them with respect, as the cradle of his language and his art.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote A: _Tablas_, in allusion to those celebrated calculations drawn up under the superintendence of this monarch, and called, after him, the _Alphonsine Tables_, a work truly extraordinary for the age.]

[Footnote B: Some learned men question whether these two works do actually belong to the time and author to whom they are ascribed; and the improvement which the versification and language present, forms a very strong presumption in favour of this doubt.]