CHAPTER II.

OF SPANISH POETRY TO THE TIME OF GARCILASSO.

Both language and versification present themselves more fully formed and more vigorous, in the verses written by the poets of the fifteenth century; and this progress is matter of no surprise, if we attend to the multitude of circumstances which at that time concurred to favour poetry. The floral games, established at Tolosa in the middle of the former century, and introduced by the kings of Arragon into their states towards the conclusion of the same; the concourse of wits who contended for the prizes proposed at these solemnities; the ceremonies observed in them; the rank and consideration given to the art of song; the favour of princes; a more extended knowledge of ancient books; the light which now broke forth from all parts, and dispersed the dark mists of so many barbarous centuries; a growing acquaintance with Italy, which, with a happier and more mercurial genius, had been enlightened before the rest of Europe;--all contributed powerfully to the kind reception of this art, the first that becomes cultivated when nations approach their civilization. Thus, in casting our eyes upon the ancient _Cancioneros_ wherein the poetry of this period was collected, the first thing that surprises us is the multitude of authors, and the second, their quality. Juan the Second, who found much pleasure in listening to their rhymes, and who occasionally rhymed himself, introduced this taste into his court, and thus all the grandees, in imitation of him, either protected or cultivated it. The Constable Don Alvaro made verses; the Duque de Arjona made verses; the celebrated D. Enrique de Villena made verses; the Marques de Santillana made verses; in fact, a hundred others more or less illustrious than they.

The form which had now been given to versification was much less imperfect than that of former ages. _Coplas de arte mayor_ and octosyllabic verses prevailed over the tedious heaviness of the Alexandrine: their crossed rhymes struck upon the ear more delightfully, and stunned it not with the rude and heavy hammered sounds of the quadruplicate rhyme; whilst the poetic period, more clear and voluminous, came from time to time upon the spirit with some pretensions of elegance and grace. The writers of this period sweetened down a little the austere aspect which the art had hitherto presented, and abandoning the lengthy poems, devotional legends, and wearisome series of dry precepts and bald sentences, devoted themselves to subjects more proportioned to their powers, and the murmurs of the love-song and tone of the elegy were now most commonly felt upon their lips. Lastly, a more general reading of the Latin writers taught them sometimes the mode of imitation, and at others, furnished those allusions, similes, and ornaments, which served to embellish their verse.

Amongst the great number of poets which flourished then, the one that most excels all others for the talent, knowledge, and dignity of his writings, is Juan de Mena. He raised, in his _Laberinto_, the most interesting monument of Spanish poetry in that age, and with it left all cotemporary writers far behind him. The poet in this work is represented as designing to sing the vicissitudes of Fortune: whilst he dreads the difficulty of the attempt, Providence appears to him, introduces him into the palace of that divinity, and becomes his guide and tutor. There he beholds, first, the earth, of which he gives a geographical description, and afterwards the three grand wheels of Fortune, upon which revolve the present, past, and future times. Each wheel is composed of seven circles, allegorical symbols of the influence which the seven planets have upon the lot of men, in the inclinations which they give them; and in each circle are an innumerable multitude of people, who receive their temper and disposition from the planet to which the circle belongs; the chaste from the moon, the warlike from Mars, the wise from the sun, and so on of the rest. The wheel of time present is in motion, the other two at rest; whilst that of future time is covered with a veil, so that although forms and the images of men are apparent, they are but dimly distinguishable. The work, conceived upon this plan, naturally divides itself into seven divisions: and the poet in describing what he sees, or in conversing with Providence, paints all the important personages with whom he was acquainted; recounts their celebrated actions, assigns their causes, displays great information in history, mythology, natural, moral, and political philosophy, and deduces, from time to time, admirable precepts and maxims for the conduct of life, and the government of nations. Thus the _Laberinto_, far from being a collection of frivolous or insignificant coplas, where the most we have to look for is artifice of style and rhyme, must be regarded as the production of a man learned in all the compass of science which that epoch permitted, and as the depository of all that was then known.

If the invention of this picture, which, without doubt, is the product of a comprehensive and philosophical mind, had belonged exclusively to our poet, his merit would be infinitely greater, and we must have conceded to him, in a plan so noble, the gift of genius. But the terrible visions of Dante and the _Trionfi_ of Petrarch being now known in Spain, the force of fancy necessary to create the plan and argument of the _Laberinto_, appears much less; Mena having done nothing more than imitate these writers, changing the situation of the scene in which he places his allegorical world. His sentiments are noble and grand, his views just and virtuous. We see him take advantage of his subject, and apostrophize therein the monarch of Castile, reminding him that his laws should not be like spiders' webs, but curb alike the strong and the weak: elsewhere he prays him to repress the horror of a practice that was then growing common, of poisonings between the closest connexions; now he is indignant at the barbarism which had burnt the books of D. Enrique de Villena;[C] and now he represents the slaughters and disorders in Castile, as a punishment for the repose in which the grandees were leaving the infidels, in order to attend solely to their own ambition and avarice.

Juan de Mena expresses himself generally with more fire and energy than delicacy and grace; his course is unequal; his verses at times are bold and resonant, at others, they grow weak for want of cadence and metre; his style, animated, vivid, and natural at times, occasionally borders on the turgid and the trivial: language, in fine, in his hands is a slave that he holds but to obey him, and follow willingly or by compulsion the impulse which the poet gives it. No one has manifested, in this way, either greater boldness or loftier pretension; he suppresses syllables, modifies phrases at his will, lengthens or contracts words at his pleasure, and when he does not find in his own language the expressions, or modes of expression, which he wants, he sets himself to search for them in the Latin, the French, the Italian, in short, where he can. Spanish idiom not being yet finished in its formation, gave occasion and opportunity for these licenses,--licenses which would have been converted into privileges of poetic language, if the talents of this writer had been greater, and his reputation more permanent. The poets of the following age, whilst polishing the harshnesses of diction, and making an innovation in the metres and subjects of their compositions, did not preserve the noble freedom and acquisitions which their predecessors had gained in favour of the tongue. Had they followed their example in this, the Castilian language, and, above all, the language of its poetry, so harmonious, so various, so elegant and majestic, would have had no cause to envy the richness and flexibility of any other. The _Laberinto_ has met with the fate of all works which, departing from the common sphere, form epochs in an art. It has been several times printed and reprinted: many have imitated it, and some respectable critics have written commentaries on it, and, amongst them, Brocensis. Thus it has been transmitted to us: if it has not been read throughout with delight, from the rudeness of the language and monotony of the versification, it has at least been dipped into with pleasure, occasionally quoted, and always mentioned with esteem. The author would have conciliated greater respect, if, when he imposed on himself the task of writing on the events of the day, he had removed at a distance from the tumults and intrigues which were then passing in Castile. This would have been the way both to see them better, and to judge of them with greater freedom. Juan de Mena took upon himself a duty which a courtier could not satisfactorily fulfil; and his vigorous spirit, employing but half its power in regard to circumstances, was left far below the dignity and eminence to which, with greater boldness, it could easily have attained.

The other most distinguished poets of this century were the Marques de Santillana, one of the most generous and valiant knights that adorned it, a learned man, and an easy and sweet love poet, just and serious in sentiment; Jorge Manrique, who flourished after, and who, in his coplas on the death of his father, left a fragment of poetry, the most regular and purely written of that time; Garci Sanchez de Badajoz, who wrote verses with much fire and vivacity; and, lastly, Macías, anterior to them all, the author of only four songs, but who will never be forgotten for his amours and melancholy death.[D]

Whoever looks in the old _Cancioneros_ for a poetry constantly animated, interesting, and agreeable, will be disappointed. After perusing one or two pieces, wherein indulgence towards the writer supplies their frequent want of merit, the book drops from our hands, and we have little inclination to stoop to resume it. It is true that we often meet with an ingenious thought, an apposite image, and a stanza well constructed; but it is equally true, that we stumble, at the same instant, upon ideas puerile, mean, and trivial, upon uncouth verses, and indeterminate rhymes. The writer is seen to struggle with the rudeness of the language, as well as with the heaviness of the versification, and, in spite of all the efforts he makes, entirely overcome by the difficulty, he neither strikes out true expression nor elegant harmony. They knew, and they handled Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Lucan, and other ancient poets; but if occasionally they subjected them to their service with propriety, they more frequently drew from those sources incoherent allusions, and a learning that degenerated into inapposite and puerile pedantry.[E] They did not succeed in imitating either the simplicity of their plans, or the admirable art with which, in their compositions, they knew how to unfold a thought with vigour, and to sustain and graduate the effect from first to last. Finally,--their verses, though more tolerable than those of a more ancient period, have the great disadvantage of monotony, and inability to accommodate themselves to the variety, elevation, and grandeur which the poetic period ought to possess in correspondence with the images, affections, and sentiments it developes.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote C: "Again and yet again do I deplore This injury; dissatisfied Castile Has lost a treasure, whose rare worth, I feel, The thoughtless nation never knew before. She lost thy books, all unappreciated! In funeral expiation some were thrown To the devouring flames, and others strewn About, in ruinous disorder spread. Surely, in Athens, the false books of fled Protagoras, esteemed so reprobate, Were to the fire consigned with greater state, When to the angry Senate they were read."]

[Footnote D: Macías was a gentleman of the Grand Master's, Don Enrique de Villena. Among the ladies who attended on this nobleman was one with whose beauty our poet became captivated; and neither the seeing her married to another, the reproofs of the Grand Master, nor, in fact, the prison into which he ordered him to be consigned, could conquer his fatal attachment. The husband, fired with wrath, concerted with the alcaide of the tower in which his rival was imprisoned, and found means to dart at him, through a window, the lance he bore, and with it pierced him to the heart. Macías was at that moment singing one of the songs he had composed upon his mistress, and thus expired with her name and love upon his lips. The two qualities of troubadour and lover united in him, made him an object of celebrity, and almost of reverence, with the poets of the age. Most of them celebrated him, and his name, to which was joined the title of _Enamorado_, is still proverbial, as a designation for devoted lovers. The reader will not be displeased to see the verses which Mena devoted to him in the _Laberinto_: they may serve to show the character of that poet's fancy.

"We in this radiant circle looked so long, That we found out Macías; in a bower Of cypress, was he weeping still the hour That ended his dark life and love in wrong. Nearer I drew, for sympathy was strong In me, when I perceived he was from Spain; And there I heard him sing the saddest strain That e'er was tuned in elegiac song. 'Love crowned me with his myrtle crown; my name Will be pronounced by many, but, alas, When his pangs caused me bliss, not slighter was The mournful suffering that consumed my frame! His sweet snares conquer the lorn mind they tame, But do not always then continue sweet; And since they caused me ruin so complete, Turn, lovers, turn, and disesteem his flame: Danger so passionate be glad to miss; Learn to be gay; flee, flee from sorrow's touch; Learn to disserve him you have served so much, Your devoirs pay at any shrine but his: If the short joy that in his service is, Were but proportioned to the long, long pain, Neither would he that once has loved, complain, Nor he that ne'er has loved despair of bliss. But even as some assassin or night-rover, Seeing his fellow wound upon the wheel, Awed by the agony, resolves with zeal His life to' amend, and character recover; But when the fearful spectacle is over, Reacts his crimes with easy unconcern: So my amours on my despair return, That I should die, as I have lived, a lover!'"]

[Footnote E: This song of Santillana, not entirely devoid either of grace or pathos, may serve as a specimen of the manner in which these writers applied their learning.

1. First shall the singing spheres be dumb, And cease their rolling motion, Alecto pitiful become, And Pluto move devotion, Ere to thy virtues, printed deep Within my heart, I prove Thoughtless, or leave thine eyes to weep, My soul, my life, my love!

2. Successful Cæsar first shall cease To fight for an ovation, And force defenced Priamedes To sign a recantation, Ere, my sweet idol, thou shalt fret, Neglect in me to trace, Ere I one lineament forget In all that charming face.

3. Sinon shall guilelessly behave, Thais with virtue, Cupid Meekly--Sardanapalus brave, And Solomon grow stupid, Ere, gentle creature, from my mind Thine image flits away, Whose evermore I am, resigned Thy biddings to obey.

4. Swart Ethiopia shall grow chill With wintry congelation, Cold Scythia hot, and Scylla still Her boiling tide's gyration, Ere my charmed spirit shall have power To tear itself away, In freedom, but for one short hour, From thy celestial sway.

5. Lions and tigers shall make peace With lambs, and play together, Sands shall be counted, and deep seas Grow dry in rainy weather, Ere Fortune shall the influence have To make my soul resign Its bliss, and call itself the slave Of any charms but thine.

6. For thou the magnet art, and I The needle, oh my beauty! And every hour thou draw'st me nigh, In voluntary duty; Nor is this wonderful, for call The proudest, she will feel That thou the mirror art of all The ladies in Castile.]