CHAPTER IV.

FROM THE ARGENSÓLAS AND OTHER POETS TO GONGÓRA.

None of the authors of this time equalled the Argensólas in severity of sentiment, facility of rhyme, or correctness and propriety of language. They are so paramount in this last quality, that Lope de Vega says of them, that they came to Castile from Arragon to teach the Castilian language. Their learning, the dignity of their maxims, their connexions, and the great protection extended to them by the Count de Lemus, were the causes of that kind of sovereignty which they exercised over their cotemporaries, and of that authority recognised and confirmed by the praises that were lavished on them from all quarters. They have been entitled the Horaces of Spain, and have ever been regarded as poets of the first rank, preserving a reputation almost as inviolate as Garcilasso himself.

Without intending to diminish the just esteem which is their due, or to contend with their many admirers, we may observe, that their fame appears to us much greater than their merit; and that if language owes them much for the exact attention and propriety with which they wrote it, poetry is indebted to them less, and that their reputation appears to rest more on their freedom from the vices, than on any great display of the virtues of composition. In lyric poetry they are easy, pure, and ingenious; but generally devoid of enthusiasm, majesty, and fancy. As little have they in their love pieces the grace and tenderness which erotic poetry requires; and if we except some sonnets of Lupercio, not one of their compositions in this class can be quoted as deserving to arrest the attention, or be recommended to the memory of lovers. I will not speak of the _Isabella_ and the _Alexandra_, as it is evident to all, even without the necessity of a profound acquaintance with the subject, that these compositions have nothing of the tragedy in them but the name, and the coolly atrocious deaths with which they end. Their severe character, the bias of their disposition, more ingenious and neat than florid and expansive, the wit and mirth which at times they knew how to fling forth, were more fit for moral and satiric poetry, in which they have succeeded best. There are in them an infinite number of strokes, some valuable for their depth and boldness, and many for that ingenuity of thought, that facility and propriety of expression, which has rendered them proverbial.

"Well say the vulgar, that the man's an ass, Who, having his own villa roofed with glass, Wreaks or his hate or spleen, from all aloof, In flinging stones upon his neighbour's roof. * * * * * The grave authority of gold, Never provoked by harsh asperity, Because it never heard a harsh reply. * * * * * The nuptial bed your industry profanes With lawless tires, and even the cradle stains; Into the winepress throws, ere half matured, The virgin grapes; delay is not endured; Picks locks, breaks bars, climbs walls however steep, And drugs the total family with sleep. * * * * * So the genteel adult'ress, on her charms Relying, with feigned warmth and false alarms, Stands sure of her soothed consort; now she faints, Now, agitated, pours forth wild complaints; From her disloyal bosom breathes deep sighs, And for a flood of tears prepares her eyes; Storms at the servants for their lawful zeal, And acts the indignant rage she does not feel: Her honest husband, credulous, beholds, And growing tenderer as she louder scolds, Gives useless satisfaction to his wife, Embraces, kneels to her to end the strife, Drinks with warm kiss the atrocious tears that rise To his dear Portia's well commanded eyes: But, though her protestations more renew, Her escritoire will tell thee if they are true; Search but the desk, and, gracious Gods! what schemes Must be found out, in what perfidious reams! * * * * * And if the jug's of plate, engraved with cost, Or with a Satyr's laughing face embossed, 'Twill more, forsooth, assuage thy thirst than e'er Did the plain jug of horrid earthenware! When from plain vessels, filled with water pure, I wet the thirsty lip, I drink secure: Say, would a vase whereon rich sculptures live, Filled in a palace, like assurance give? No! the Greek tyrants for their guests of old, Mixed poison always in a vase of gold."

These passages, extracted from various satires of Bartolomé, and many others of equal or superior merit, which might be quoted as well from him as from Lupercio, prove their happy genius for this kind of poetry. They have been compared to Horace, and undoubtedly bear most similarity to him, notwithstanding the preference that Bartolomé gave to Juvenal.[J] But at what a distance do they stand from him! The vivacity, the freedom, the variety, the conciseness, the exquisite and delicate mixture of praise and censure, the amiable disdain, and spirit of friendship, which enchant and despond in that ancient model, are all wanting in them, and condemn the excessive condescension or want of taste which led their cotemporaries to give them the title of Horaces. Facility of rhyming led them to string tercetos together without end, in which, if we meet with no unnecessary words, we find plenty of unnecessary thoughts. This causes their satires and epistles frequently to appear prolix, and even at times wearisome. Horace would have counselled Lupercio to shorten the introduction of his satire on the Marquesilla, and many of the tales that occur in it; and Bartolomé to suppress, in his fable of the Eagle and Swallow, the long enumeration of birds, useless and unseasonable for a poet, superficial and scanty for a naturalist; he would have reminded both, in short, that strokes of satire, like arrows, should carry feathers and fly, to wound with certainty and force. It is painful, on the other hand, to find that they never leave the tone of ill-temper and suspicion which they once assume; and that neither indignation against vice, nor friendship, nor admiration, can draw from them one warm sentiment or gleam of enthusiasm. We choose friends amongst the authors we read, as amongst the men we have to deal with: I confess that I am not for those poets who, to judge by their verses, never appear to have loved nor esteemed any body.

Villegas was a disciple of the younger Argensóla, and if to the native talent he had joined some portion of the judgment and good sense of his master, he would have left nothing to desire in the department which he cultivated. He was the first that introduced Anacreontics in Spanish poetry, and, in spite of their defects, his Cantilenas and Monostrophes are read with delight, and remain imprinted on the minds of youth. The cause of this is, that there is vivacity in them, playfulness, grace, and cadence, which are the qualities that characterise this class of compositions, charming alike the imagination and the ear. His longer verses have not had equal success, because their ease, their harmony, and learning, do not compensate for the dissatisfaction caused by affectation, pedantry, and want of enthusiasm, for the violent transpositions, vicious modes of speech, and, lastly, the ringing changes and puerile antitheses in which they abound.[K]

He attempted another innovation, which required for its establishment greater powers than his. He set himself to compose Castilian sapphics, hexameters, and distichs; and although the specimens he published are not altogether unsuccessful, especially the sapphic, from its analogy to endecasyllabic verse,[L] he has had no successor in this enterprise. The hexameter demands a prosody more determinate and fixed than the Spanish language possesses, to satisfy the ear; and therefore the imitation of it is so much the more difficult, not to say impossible. He would, doubtless, however, have enriched the art by establishing this novelty, had it not been necessary, for this purpose, that the art were then in its infancy, in order that the docile and flexible language might accommodate itself to the will of the poet, and had he been the colossal genius that could subjugate others, and dictate to them a law of like versification. It was an unfortunate time to introduce fresh measures, when the fine endecasyllabics of Garcilasso, Leon, and Herrera were known, and when the consistency and fixedness of the language and poetry did not permit them to retrocede to their infancy, which was absolutely necessary to exercise them in the manège of Latin versification.

The reputation of this poet did not then correspond to the proud hopes he cherished when he published his book. In this, he insulted Cervantes, scoffed at Góngora, jested with Lope de Vega; and, fancying himself some superior star about to eclipse his cotemporaries, he represented himself at the head of his _Eroticas_, as a rising sun extinguishing the stars with its rays, and raised the arrogant note,--_Sicut sol matutinus: me surgente, quid istæ?_ Even if he had united in himself the talents of Horace, Pindar, and Anacreon, in all their extent and purity, from which he was yet far distant, this would have been an unpardonable boast, which not even his youth could excuse. The public is always greater than any writer, how great soever he may be; and it is necessary for him to present himself before it with modesty, unless he wishes to pass for a madman or a fool. Villegas, after impertinently irritating his equals, caused no sensation on the public, but attracted the rude and biting sarcasms of Góngora, and the just and moderate reprehension of Lope.[M] He was consigned to oblivion till the appearance of the Parnaso Español, in which collection he had an eminent place; from that time, he was again printed, with a prefatory discourse, in which Don Vincente de los Rios, a man of vast learning and exquisite taste, but on this occasion too good-natured, assigned to him the palm of lyric poetry, which no subsequent critic has confirmed.

The Spanish poets had cultivated up to this time almost every species of Italian versification. The harmonious and rounded octave, the exact and laborious terza, the artificial sonnet, the trifling sextine, the canzone in its infinite combinations, and blank verse, although for the most part extremely ill managed[N]--were the forms of all their compositions, which came to be reflections, more or less luminous, of ancient, and of Tuscan poetry. Some coplas and trobas were made, though very few, in which the taste prior to Garcilasso prevailed; but when the use of the _asonante_[O] became general in the last third division of this sixteenth century, the taste and inclination for _Romances_ became equally in vogue, and in them were continued, and, as it were, perpetuated, the old Castilian poesies.

Utterly stript of the complexity and force, to which imitation in other kinds of writing obliged them to have recourse, their authors little caring for a resemblance with the odes of Horace, or the canzone of Petrarch, and composing them more happily by instinct than by art, the _Romances_ could not have the pomp and loftiness of the odes of Leon, Herrera, and Rioja. Yet were they peculiarly the lyric poetry of Spain: in them music employed its accents; they were heard at night in the halls and gardens to the sound of the harp or guitar; they served as the vehicle and the incentive of love, as well as shafts for satire and revenge; they painted most happily Moorish customs and pastoral manners, and preserved in the memory of the vulgar the prowess of the Cid and other champions. In fine, more flexible than other kinds of composition, they accommodated themselves to all kinds of subjects, made use of a language rich and natural, clothed themselves with a mezzo-tinto soft and sweet, and presented on every hand that facility and freshness which rise from originality, and which flow without effort and without study.

There are in them more fine and energetic expressions, more delicate and ingenious passages, than in the whole range of Spanish poetry besides. The Morisco ballads, in particular, are written with a vigour and a sprightliness of style that absolutely enchant. Those customs in which prowess and love are so beautifully blended, those Moors so gallant and so tender, that so romantic and delicious country, those names so sweet and so sonorous, each and all contribute to give novelty and poetry to the compositions wherein they are portrayed. The poets afterwards grew weary of disguising gallantries under the Morisco dress, and had recourse to the pastoral. Then to challenges, tournaments, and devices, succeeded green meads, brooks, flowers, and ciphers carved on trees; and what the Romances lost in vigour by the change, they gained in sweetness and simplicity.

The invention in both kinds was beautiful, and it is wonderful to see with how little effort, and with what conciseness, they describe the scenery, the hero, and the feelings that agitate him. Now, it is the alcayde of Molina, who, entering the town, alarms the Moors by the report that the Christians are ravaging their fields; now, it is the unfortunate Aliatar, borne bloody and lifeless to his grave in melancholy pomp through the very gate whence the day before he was seen to issue, full of gaiety and life: there it is a simple beauty, who having lost her earrings, the keepsake of her lover, is in great affliction, dreading the reproaches that await her; and here it is the solitary and rejected shepherd, who, indignant at the sight of two turtles billing in a poplar, scares them away with stones.

The defects of these compositions spring from the same source as their beauties, or, to speak more correctly, are the excess or abuse of those very beauties. Their facility and freedom often degenerated into negligence and slovenliness, their ingenuity into affectation; puns, conceits, and false ornaments were introduced with so much the more liberty, as they more assisted those flights of gallantry which passed for refinements of speech, and as they appeared more excusable in works written merely for self-amusement. The principal authors of this poetry cannot be decidedly ascertained; but the golden epoch of the _Romances_ was before Lope de Vega, Liaño, and a thousand others, not even remembered, introduced the bad taste which afterwards corrupted the whole literature of Spain; it comprises the youth of Góngora and Quevedo, and terminates in the Prince de Esquilache, the only one after them that succeeded in giving to the _Romances_ the colouring, grace, and lightness, which they formerly possessed. But this taste, if on the one hand it tended to popularize poetry, to give it greater ease and sweetness, and to remove it from the bounds of imitation, to which former poets had restricted it, had an equal influence in making it incorrect and careless, the same facility of composition inviting to this looseness. Thus it is that the poets who flourished at the end of the sixteenth, and commencement of the succeeding century, more harmonious, more easy, more delightful, and above all, more original than their predecessors, will be found at the same time more negligent, and to exhibit less artifice and polish, less purity and correction in their style and diction.

At this period lived the three poets whose verses have possessed most amenity, richness, and facility. The first is Balbuena, born in La Mancha, educated in Mexico, and author of _El Siglo de Oro_ and of _Bernardo_. No one, since Garcilasso, has had such command over the language, versification, and rhyme; and no one, at the same time, is more slovenly and unequal. His poem, like that New World in which the author lived, is a country spacious and immense, as fruitful as uncultivated, where briers and thorns are mingled in confusion with flowers, treasures with scarcity, deserts and morasses with hills and forests more sublime and shady. If at times he surprises by the freedom of his verse, by the novelty and vividness of his expression, by his great talent for description, in which he knows no equal, and even occasionally by his boldness and profundity of thought, he yet more frequently offends by his unseasonable prodigality, and inconceivable carelessness. The greatest defect of the _Bernardo_, is its excessive length; it being morally impossible to give to a work of five thousand octaves the sustained and continued elegance necessary to give pleasure. The eclogues of the _Siglo de Oro_ have not the same defects of composition as the poem, and in the public estimation enjoy the nearest place to those of Garcilasso. They undoubtedly deserve it, considering the propriety of style, the ease of the verse, the suitableness and freshness of the images, and the simplicity of the invention. If his shepherds were not at times so rude, if he had had a more constant eye to elegance in diction, and beauty in the incidents; if, in short, he had thrown more variety into his versification, reduced almost entirely to tercetos,--there is no doubt but that good taste would have conceded to him in this branch of the art an absolute supremacy.

The second of these poets is Jauregui, celebrated for his translation of the Aminta, a florid poet, an elegant and harmonious versifier. He is the one who expressed his thoughts in verse with the most ease and elegance; but he had little nerve and spirit, and was, besides, poor of invention. His taste in early life was very pure, as his _Rimas_ show. But after having been one of the sharpest assailants of _Purism_, he ended in suffering himself to glide with the current, and in his translation of the Pharsalia, and in his _Orpheus_, he has abandoned himself to all the extravagances he had before burlesqued.

But the man who received from nature the most poetical endowments, and who most abused them, was, without doubt, Lope de Vega. The gift of writing his language with purity, elegance, and the deepest clearness; the gift of inventing, the gift of painting, the gift of versifying in whatever measure he desired; flexibility of fancy and talent to accommodate himself to all sorts of writing, and to all sorts of colouring; a richness that never knows impediment or dearth; a memory enriched by a vast range of reading; and an indefatigable application, which augmented the facility he inherited from nature: with these arms he presented himself in the arena, knowing in his bold ambition neither curb nor limit. From the madrigal to the ode, from the eclogue to the comedy, from the novel to the epic--he ran through all, he cultivated all, and has left in all signs of devastation and of talent.

He brought the theatre under his subjection, and fixed upon him universal attention,--the poets of his time were nothing compared to him. His name was the seal of approbation for all; the people followed him in the streets; strangers sought him out as an extraordinary object; monarchs arrested their attention to regard him. He had critics who raised the cry against his culpable carelessness, enviers who murmured at him, detractors who calumniated him,--a mournful example, in addition to the many other instances which prove that envy and calumny are born with merit and celebrity; for neither the amiable courtesy of the poet, nor the placidity of his genius, nor the pleasure with which he lent himself to commend others, could either disarm his slanderers or temper their malignity. But none of them could snatch away the sceptre from his hands, nor abrogate the consideration which so many and such celebrated works had acquired for him. His death was mourned as a public calamity; his funeral drew an universal attendance. A volume of Spanish poetry was composed upon his death, another of Italian; and, living and dying, he was always hearing praises, always gathering laurels; admired as a prodigy, and proclaimed "the Phoenix of Wits."

What, at the end of two centuries, remains of all that pomp, of all the loud applauses which then fatigued the echoes of fame? When we see that, of all the poetry and poems he composed, there are few, perhaps none, which can be read through without our being shocked at every step by their repugnance; when we see that his most studied and favourite work, the _Jerusalem_,[P] is a compound of absurdities, wherein the little excellence we meet with, makes the abuse of his talent but the more deplored; when we see that of so many hundreds of comedies, there is scarcely one that can be called good; and finally, that of the many thousands of verses which his inexhaustible vein produced, there are so few that remain engraved on the tablets of good taste,--can we do less than exclaim, where are now the foundations of that edifice of glory raised in homage of a single man by the age in which he lived, and which still surprises and excites the envy of those who contemplate it from afar?

It was not possible for works written with so much precipitation to have any other result, with his utter forgetfulness of all rules, and neglect of all great models; without plan, without preparation, without study, or attention to nature. The necessity of writing hastily for the theatre, when he had accustomed the public to almost daily novelties, unsettled, and, as it were, relaxed all the springs of his genius, carrying the same hurry and negligence into all his other writings.[Q] Hence it is that, with the exception of some short poems in which he improved the happy inspiration of the moment, there are, in all his others, unpardonable faults of invention, of composition, and of style. Fatal facility! which corrupted all his excellencies, which led him to obscure the clearness, the harmony, the elegance, the freedom, the affluence, and even the strength with which he was alike gifted; giving place to unappropriate figures, to historic or fabulous allusions pedantic and ill-timed; to frigid and prolix explanations of the very thing he had said before; to weakness in short, to shallowness, to an insufferable tone, into which the rich abundance and amiable purity of his diction and versification degenerated.

The age then, it will be said, was barbarous, that tolerated such errantries, and that gave so much applause to a writer so defective. It was not barbarous, but excessively compliant. There were many men of talent who deplored this abuse; but they could not resist the popular approbation which the nature of Lope's writings carried with it, and which in some degree his genius authorized. The general sweetness and fluency of his verse; the lucidness of his expression, intelligible almost always to the most illiterate; the fine and polished language of gallantry which he invented, and brought into use in his comedies; the decorum and ornament with which he invested the stage;[R] the vivid and delicate touches of sensibility which he from time to time presents; the eminent and brilliant parts which the women generally sustain in his works; in short, his absolute dominion in the theatre, where acclamations have most solemnity and force; are all circumstances which concur to excuse the public of that day, who were not unjust in admiring most the individual that gave them most delight.[S]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote J: "But when to lash loose vices you aspire, And seek to catch the true satiric fire, All others' leaves pass over, all neglect, But Juvenal's, the shrewd and circumspect; None to the high court-taste with such success Feels the town's pulse--ev'n Horace's is less."]

[Footnote K: "What of the swain Anchises shall I say, But ask Idalian Venus by the way Who is the gardener of those flowers of hers, Or Ida's pencil who her fancy stirs? Did not Ulysses farm the watery waste? How then could he Calypso's fruitage taste?"

What ridiculous nonsense! Will any one believe that these are by the same author, and found in the same piece as the following?--

"Come, then, fair mountaineer, hide not nor flee, Thou, by thy marriage with this stream, shalt be Queen of the sweetest waves that in their sweep Love to give lustre to the shady deep. 'Tis just that thou respond to love's light pain, With kind acknowledgment, not coy disdain."]

[Footnote L: One of his sapphics is written with so much delicacy and beauty that I cannot resist the temptation of translating it.

_To the Zephyr._

"Sweet neighbour of the green, leaf-shaking grove, Eternal guest of April, frolic child Of a sad sire, life-breath of mother Love, Favonius, zephyr mild!

If thou hast learned like me to love--away! Thou who hast borne the murmurs of my cry; Hence--no demur--and to my Flora say, Say that 'I die!'

'Flora once knew what bitter tears I shed; Flora once wept to see my sorrows flow; Flora once loved me, but I dread, I dread Her anger now.'

So may the Gods, so may the calm blue sky, For the fair time that thou, in gentle mirth, Sport'st in the air, with love benign deny Snows to the earth!

So never may the grey cloud's cumbrous sail, When from on high the rosy daybreak springs, Beat on thy shoulders, nor its evil hail Wound thy fine wings!"]

[Footnote M: "Spanish Anacreon! none your Highness meets, But says most courteously, that though your lines Move elegiacally sad, your sweets Have all the tasty syrup of new wines! They say that they should like to see each song With scrupulous exactness, for a freak, Translated well into Anacreon's tongue, Your honest eyes not having seen the Greek." GÓNGORA.

"Although he said that all would hide from shame, When the fine splendours of his genius came." LOPE.]

[Footnote N: The eclogue of Tirsi of Figueroa, and the translation of the Aminta by Jauregui, are the only exceptions to this general decision, and the only examples that can be quoted among the ancient Spanish poets, of blank verse well constructed.]

[Footnote O: The Asonante is a sort of imperfect rhyme peculiar to the Spaniards; it consists in the uniformity of the two last vowels, counting from the accent, as for example:

Tras una mariposa Qual zagalejo _símple_ Corriendo por el valle La senda á perder _víne_.

Their perfect rhymes are termed _Consonantes_.]

[Footnote P: Until the surety comes whom I oblige With my _Jerusalem_, which I indite, Prune, polish, and correct from morn till night. _Epistle to Gaspar de Barrionuevo._

What ideas of taste, correctness, elegance, and order, must the writer have had, who with such diligence and study, produced so wild a work!]

[Footnote Q: If my free neck had not been broke To strict necessity's hard yoke, I should have seen around my head Some honour due to merit shed, That would have given, as honour goes, Green lustre to its hoary snows. I ever have invoked the laugh Of the vile vulgar on behalf Of love-intrigues, meet or unmeet, Oft dashed off at a single heat; So--but far less impolitic, Great painters daub their canvass quick. LOPE; _Eclogue to Claudio_.]

[Footnote R: Achilles' pictured wrath to Greece, In gold-illumined palaces Decorum kept, vile flatterers shamed, The headstrong youth with love inflamed, The beauteous lady under ban Of some stern sire, the rich old man Shrewd and sententious as a Jew, To whom are these creations due?]

[Footnote S: After his death, Calderon, Moreto, and others, who in his lifetime were contented with the title of his pupils, eclipsed him in the scene, though his name was always respected as a writer. This respect was, however, daily diminishing under a more attentive observation of the principles of taste and of good models, till the representation in later days of some of his comedies with general applause served to re-establish his tottering reputation. In France, a very good translation of some of his poems, has within these few years been made by the Marquis d'Aguilar; and in England, a man respectable as well for rank and character as for learning, philosophy, and taste (Lord Holland), has published an excellent essay and criticism on his life and writings. A vicissitude sufficiently singular; and which at least proves, that although Lope may be a very faulty writer, he is yet very far from being an object of but little interest in the history of Spanish literature.]