Chapter XI (6)

Embarked on board this fanciful galley. Mercury shows him a long catalogue of poets, asking his advice as to their admission. Cervantes takes this occasion to characterise several of his contemporary poets, in a manner that in his day might have been keenly satirical or warmly laudatory: there is no doubt that there is a good deal of irony in his praise, but a portion also is sincere. The whole is obscure and uninteresting to us. In the midst of the examination, a crowd of poets rush into the skiff, in numbers that threaten its safety; and the syrens are obliged to raise a storm to scatter them. After this, he beholds a cloud obscure the day, and from this cloud falls down a shower of poets, and, among them, Lope de Vega, "a renowned poet, whom none excels, or even equals, in prose or verse." The voyage now proceeds prosperously; the vessel glides along impelled by oars formed of verses druccioli, (such as have a dactyl at the end of each line), and the sails, which are stretched to the height of the mast, were

Woven of many a gentle thought, Upon a woof that love had wrought, Fill'd by the soft and amorous wind Which breathed upon us from behind-- Eager to waft us swift along; While the fair queens of ocean-song-- The syrens three, around us float, And so impel the dancing boat; And crested waves are spread around, Snowy flocks on a verdant ground; And the crew are at work reciting, Or sweet love-laden sonnets writing, Or singing soft the sweetest lays All in their gentle ladies' praise.

They, at last, arrive at Parnassus; and then follows a description of the gardens of the Hesperides: arrived before Apollo, he invites them to sit down; on this, all the seats around are speedily occupied, and Cervantes remains standing. He then gives an account to Apollo of his writings, in which he praises himself modestly enough, and, after alluding to his poverty, sums up all, by saying, "that he is contented with little, though he desires much, and that his chief annoyance is to find himself standing there, when all others sit." Apollo answers him complimentarily, and bids him double up his cloak, and sit on that; but poor Cervantes has no cloak. "Well," replies Apollo, "even thus I am glad to see you; virtue is a mantle with which penury can hide and cover its nakedness, and thus avoid envy." "I bowed my head to this advice, and remained standing; for it is wealth or favour alone that can fabricate a seat." Poetry herself now appears, and her description is the most poetic passage Cervantes ever wrote. The arts and sciences hovered round her, and, in serving her, were themselves served; since thus all nations held them in higher veneration. All things he represents as bringing tribute to Poetry:--the rivers, their currents; the ocean, its changeful tides, and secret depths; herbs present their virtues to her; trees, their fruits and flowers; and stones the power they hold within; holy love presents her with its chaste delights; soft peace her happy rest; fierce war, her achievements. The wise and beautiful lady knew all, disposed of all, and filled all things with admiration and pleasure. There is real poetry in this description, melody in the verse, and truth and beauty in the imagery. But we get weary; for page succeeds to page, and the poem never ends. A second storm ensues. Neptune endeavours to submerge and destroy the poetasters; but Venus prevents them from sinking, by turning them into empty gourds and leathern bottles, which swim about in a thousand different manners. A battle, at last, ensues between the real and would-be poets; while Cervantes, full of annoyance, hurries away, seeking out his old and dusky dwelling, and throws himself wearied upon his bed.

There is a whimsical postscript to the "Voyage to Parnassus," written in prose, and very amusing. It recounts the visit of a would-be poet, who brings Cervantes a letter from Apollo. The god reproaches him for having gone away from Parnassus without having taken leave of him and his daughters, and says the only excuse he can admit is his hurry to visit his Mecænas, the great count of Lemos at Naples: another token that Cervantes was disappointed in not receiving an invitation.

The last of Cervantes's works, the one he was occupied upon up to the hour cf his death, was "Persiles and Sigismunda,"--a romance, full of wild adventures, of love and war, of danger, escape, and indeed every variety of accident of "flood and field." It shows the true bent of the author's mind, who delighted to revel, like his own Don Quixote, in the very excesses of the imagination; and showing thus, how in his advanced age, he had forgotten none of his youthful tastes. He wrote it in imitation of Heliodorus: it is amusing in parts, and in parts interesting; but now that the taste for this heterogeneous, though imaginative, species of writing has passed away it will scarcely find readers sufficiently persevering, and sufficiently fond of the fabulous and strange, to dwell upon its enchainment of impossible adventures.

[Footnote 55: Viardôt]

[Footnote 56: This circumstance is mentioned by M. Viardôt only; and was unknown to every other biographer.]

[Footnote 57: Viardôt.]

[Footnote 58: Viardôt.]

[Footnote 59: Bouterwek says, erroneously, that Los Rios has interwoven Cervantes's novel of the "Captive" into his biography, as being authentic, and relating to himself. This is a mistake: Los Rios conceives, indeed, that the mention made by the captive of "a soldier, by name Saavedra," alludes to Cervantes himself, who adopted that surname, as of course he does; but the history he gives of his captivity is drawn from other sources, such as are used, with some additions, for the present narrative.]

[Footnote 60: Topographia y Historia general de Argel, repartido en cinco tratados, do se veran casos estranos, muertas espantoas, y tormentas exquisitas, que conviene se entiendan en la christianidad: con mucha doctrina y elegancia curiosa. Por el Maestro Fray Diego de Haedo, Abad de Funestra. Fol. Valladolid, 1612.]

[Footnote 61: Viardôt.]

[Footnote 62: For the sake of the curious we append a translation of the registry of Cervantes's liberation, as found by Los Rios in the archives of the order of mercy, and quoted by him in his "Proofs of the Life." These documents consist of two registers; one of the receipt of money for his redemption given by the friars Juan Gil, procurer-general for the order of the most Holy Trinity and Antonio de la Vella, minister of the monastery of the said order in the city of Baeza; and the second testified the payment of the money in Algiers. The first runs thus:--

"In the said city of Madrid, on the 31st of July, of the year 1579, in the presence of me, the notary, and the underwritten witnesses, the said fathers, friar Juan Gil and friar Antonio de la Vella, received 300 ducats, at eleven rials each ducat, being 230 ducats, from the hand of donna Leonora de Cortinas, widow, formerly wife of Rodrigo de Cervantes, and fifty ducats from donna Andrea de Cervantes, inhabitants of Alcalà, now in this court (_this expression is always used to signify Madrid_), to contribute to the ransom of Miguel de Cervantes, an inhabitant of the said city, son and brother of the above named, who is captive at Algiers in the power of Ali Mami, captain of the vessels of the fleet of the king of Algiers, who is thirty-three years of age, has lost his left hand; and from them they received two obligations and receipts, and received the said sum before me, the notary, being witnesses, Juan de Quadros and Juan de la Peña Corredor, and Juan Fernandez, residing in this court: in faith of which the said witnesses, friars, and I, the said notary, sign our names."

The second register is as follows:--

"In the city of Algiers, on the 19th of September, 1580, in presence of me, the said notary, the rev. father friar Juan Gil, the above named redeemer, ransomed Miguel de Cervantes, a native of Alcalà de Henares, aged thirty-three, son of Rodrigo de Cervantes and of donna Leonora de Cortinas, and an inhabitant of Madrid; of a middle size, much beard, maimed of the left arm and hand, taken captive in the galley el Sol, bound from Naples to Spain, where he had been a long time in the service of H. M. He was taken 26th September, 1575, being in the power of Hassan Pacha, king: his ransom cost 500 crowns of gold in Spanish gold; because, if not, he was to be sent to Constantinople; and, therefore, on account of this necessity, and that this Christian should not be lost in a Moorish country, 220 crowns were raised among the traders and the remaining 250 collected from the charities of the redemption. Three hundred ducats were given in aid; and they were assisted by the charity of Francisco de Caramanchel, of whom is the patron the very illustrious Señor Domingo de Cardenas Zapata, of the council of H. M., with fifty doubloons, and by the general charity of the order they were assisted by fifty more; and the remainder of the sum, the said order engaged to repay, being money belonging to other captives, who gave pledges in Spain for their ransom; and, net being at present in Algiers, they are not ransomed; and the said order are under obligation to return the money to the parties, the captives not being ransomed; and besides were given nine doubloons to the officers of the galley of the said king Hassan Pacha, who asked it as their fees: in faith of which sign their names, &c."]

[Footnote 63: It is usually said, and Viardôt repeats it, that Cervantes was driven from his theatrical labours by the success of Lope de Vega. This is not the fact. Lope sailed with the Invincible Armada, and it was not until his return that he began his dramatic career. The fact seems simply to have been that Cervantes, feeling the animation of genius within him, yet not having discovered its proper expression, was, to a certain degree, successful as a dramatist, though he could not originate a style which should give new life to the modern drama: thus his gains were moderate, and he found himself unable to support those dependant on him. The place of commissary offered itself to rescue him from this state of poverty. Afterwards, when Lope began his career, Cervantes found indeed, that, he filled the public eye, and had hit its taste; and that his dramas, with their jéjune plots and uninterwoven incidents, however, adorned by poetry and the majesty of passion, were thrown aside and forgotten.]

[Footnote 64: This monument excited attention in the capital--Lope de Vega in his comedy of "La Esclava de su Galan," "The slave of her Lover" makes a lady living in great retirement in this country, say, "I visited Seville but twice: once to see the king, whom heaven guard! and a second time to see the wondrous edifice of the monument; so that I was only to be tempted out by the grandest objects which heaven or earth contains."]

[Footnote 65: "AL TUMULO DEL REY EN SEVILLA.

'Voto á Dios que me espanta esta grandeza, y que diera un doblon por describilla, porque ¿ á quien no suspende y maravilla esta maquina insigne, esta braveza? Por Jesu Christo vivo, cada pieza vale mas que un millon, que es mancilla que esto no duré un siglo.--O gran Sevilla; Roma triunfante en animo y riqueza. Apostare que el anima del muerto, por gozar esto sitio, hoy ha dexado el Cielo de que goza eternamente!' Esto oyo un valenton, y dixo: 'Es cierto lo que dice voace, seor soldado, y quien dixere lo contrario miente.' Y luego en continente caló el chapeo, requirio la espada, miro al soslayo, fuese, y no hubo nada."]

[Footnote 66: Los Rios--Pruebas de la Vida.]

[Footnote 67: "When I was at Valladolid, a letter was brought to my house which cost a rial. It contained a bad, silly discourteous sonnet, without wit or point, speaking ill of 'Don Quixote,'--so that I grudged the rial infinitely."--_Postcript to the "Voyage to Parnassus._"]

[Footnote 68: Torres Marquez, master of the pages to the archbishop of Toledo, was a friend of Cervantes, and took every occasion to proclaim his genius and worth. It was through him, probably, that the archbishop bestowed a pension on him.]

[Footnote 69: The Argensolas were men much esteemed in their day, and are so often mentioned by Cervantes and Lope de Vega, that they must not be passed over in silence. But as there is nothing very original in their writings, we shall take the liberty of dismissing them in a note. The elder, Lupercio, the historiographer for Aragon, secretary to the empress Maria of Austria, and secretary of state to the count of Lemos when viceroy of Naples, died in that city in 1613, at the age of forty-eight. He founded an academy at Naples, and was a studious and laborious man. He burned a considerable portion of his poems just before his death, as not worthy to survive him. Bartolomé was an ecclesiastic. He followed his brother to Naples. On his death he quitted Italy. He continued the "Annals of Aragon," and wrote a history of the conquest of the Molucca islands; a work written with judgment and elegance. His secular poetry is so similar to his brother's that they cannot be distinguished one from the other. Following the same school, adopting the same tastes, and neither of them original, it is not surprising that their productions bore a close resemblance. The best works, however, of Bartolomé are his sacred Canzoni. He died at Saragossa, in the year 1531, at the age of sixty-five.]

[Footnote 70: Coleridge's summary of the character and life of Cervantes, though not correct in letter, is admirable in spirit: "A Castilian of refined manners; a gentleman true to religion, and true to honour. A scholar and a soldier; he fought under the banners of don John of Austria, at Lopanto, and lost his arm, and was captured. Endured slavery, not only with fortitude, but with mirth; and, by the superiority of nature, mastered and overawed his barbarian owner. Finally ransomed, he resumed his native destiny--the awful task of achieving fame; and for that reason died poor, and a prisoner, while nobles and kings, over their goblets of gold, gave relish to their pleasures by the charms of his divine genius. He was the inventor of novels for the Spaniards; and in his "Persiles and Sigismunda" the English may find the germ of their "Robinson Crusoe."

"The world was a drama to him. His own thoughts, in spite of poverty and sickness, perpetuated for him the feelings of youth. He painted only what he knew, and had looked into; but he knew, and had looked into much indeed; and his imagination was ever at hand to adapt and modify the world of his experience. Of delicious love he fabled, yet with stainless virtue."]

[Footnote 71: Quarterly Review, vol. XXV.]

[Footnote 72: There is an excellent translation of ten from among them; we may also mention that there is an admirable old English translation of Don Quixote, by Shelton.]

[Footnote 73: "De la quilla á la gavia, ó estraña cosa! toda de versos era fabricada, sin que se entremiese alguna prosa. Las ballesteras eran de ensalada de glosas, todas hechas á la boda, de la que se llamó Malmaridada: era la chusma de romances toda gente atrevida, empero necesaria pues á todas acciones se acomoda. La popa de materia extraordinaria, bastarda, y de legitimos sonetos, de labor peregrina en todo y varia. Eran dos valentisimos tercetos los espaldares de la izquierda y diestra, para dar boga larga muy perfetos. Hecha ser la cruxia se me muestra de una luenga y tristisima elegia, que no en cantar, sino en llorar es diestra. Por esta entiendo yo que se diria lo que suele, decirse á un desdichado, quando lo pasa mal, pasó cruxia. El árbol hasta el cielo levantado de una dura cancion prolixa estaba de canto de seis dedos embreado. El y la entena que por el cruxaba de duros estrambotes--la madera de que eran hechos claro se mostraba. La racamenta, que es siempre parlera, Toda la componian de redondillas, Con que ella se mostraba mas ligera, las xarcias parecian seguidillas, de disparates mil y mas compuestas Que suelen en el alma hacer cosquillas. las rumbadas, fortisimas y honestas estancias, eran tablas ponderosas, que llevan un poema y otro á cuestas. Era cosa de ver las bulliciosas vanderillas que a ayre tremolaban, De varias rimas algo licenciosas. Los grumetes, que aqui y alli cruxaban de encadenados versos parecian, puesto que como libres trabajaban, todas las obras muertas componian O versos sueltos, ó sextinas graves que la galera mas gallarda hacian."]

LOPE DE VEGA

1562-1635.

There is a vulgar English proverb of such a one being born with a silver spoon in his mouth. We are reminded of it when we compare the several careers of Cervantes and Lope de Vega. If we judged without inquiry, we should imagine no man more likely to obtain popularity through his works, than the author of "Don Quixote." His disposition was cheerful and unrepining; to the last hour of his life he displayed lightness of heart, even to the censure of a dull envious rival (Figueroa), who remarks, that such was his weakness, that he wrote prefaces and dedications even on his death bed,--prefaces, as we have shown, full of animation and wit. Yet he lived in penury, died obscurely, and went to his grave unhonoured, except by his friends; while all Madrid flocked to do honour to the funeral of Lope; and two volumes of eulogiums and epitaphs form but a select portion of all that was written to commemorate his death. It is true that posterity has been more just: great pains have been taken to give forth correct editions of Cervantes's works, and to ascertain the events of his life; while the twenty-one volumes of Lope's "Obras Sueltas" are full of errors, and his plays are only to be obtained in single pamphlets, badly printed, both to sight and sense.

It is curious to read the epithets of praise heaped on this favourite of his age, during his life and immediately on his death. His friend and disciple Montalvan adopts a phraseology very similar to that in use with the emperor of China, when he is styled "Brother of the sun" and "Uncle of the stars." He with all the pomp of Spanish hyperbole, names him "the portent of the world; the glory of the land; the light of his country; the oracle of language; the centre of fame; the object of envy; the darling of fortune; the phoenix of ages: prince of poetry; Orpheus of sciences; Apollo of the muses; Horace of poets; Virgil of epics; Homer of heroics; Pindar of lyrics; the Sophocles of tragedy; and the Terence of comedy. Single among the excellent, and excellent among the great: great in every way and in every manner." Such was the usual style of speaking of Lope,--his common appellation being the phoenix of Spain. And now, while editions of "Don Quixote" are multiplied, and each hour adds to the fame of Cervantes, we inquire concerning Lope, principally for the sake of discovering the cause of the excessive admiration with which he was regarded in his own time. The life written by Montalvan, the biography compiled with such care and elegance by Lord Holland, and various researches given to light in several numbers of the "Quarterly Review," (written we believe, by Mr. Southey), are (in addition to the works of Lope himself) our principal guides in tracing the following pages.

Lope de Vega Carpio was born at Madrid[74], in the house of Geronimo de Soto, near the gate of Guadalaxara, on the 26th of November, 1562, on the day of St. Lope, bishop of Verona, and was baptized on the 6th of December following, in the parish church of San Miguel de les Octeos. His parents were in the same situation as these of Cervantes--hidalgos, but poor. We have an account of Felix de Vega, father of the poet, which shows him to have been a good and pious man, and a careful father. He was very attentive to his religious duties, and had rooms in the Hospital de la Corte, whither his children accompanied him, and they performed several menial offices, and washed the feet of the poor--comforting and helping the convalescent with clothes and money. The good example thus implanted imparted a charitable and pious turn to Lope's life,--and still more to that of his elder sister, Isabel de Carpio, who was singularly pious, and died in 1601.[75] Felix de Vega was also a poet, as his son informs us in the "Laurel de Apolo," in some verses of respectful and graceful allusion[76]; so that he added the inheritance of a poetical temperament to his pious instructions.

The boy early displayed great tokens of talent. What we are told of him does not exceed the accounts given of other young prodigies, and we are willing to believe the relations handed down of this wonderful child, who, whatever his other merits were, showed himself to the end of his life the prince of words, having written more than any other man ever did, and we may believe, therefore, that he acquired the art of using them earlier than others. At two years old he was remarkable for the vivacity of his eyes, and the drollness of his ways, showing even thus early, tokens of his after career; he was eager even then to learn; and knew his letters before he could speak, repeating his lessons by signs before he could utter the words. At five years old he read Spanish and Latin--and such was his passion for verses, that before he could use a pen he bribed his elder schoolfellows with a portion of his breakfast, to write to his dictation, and then exchanged his effusions with others for prints and hymns. Thus truly he lisped in numbers; as he says of himself in the epistle before referred to, "I could scarcely speak when I used a pen to give wings to my verses and is another proof, (if proof were wanting that the sun shines at noon day) of innate talent. At twelve he was master of rhetoric and grammar, and of Latin composition, both in prose and verse. To the latter accomplishment we must put the limit, that probably he was as learned as his masters; and that was not much, for the Latin verses he published in later life are excelled by any clever Etonian of the fourth form. In addition to these classical attainments, he had learned to dance, and fence, and sing.

He was left early an orphan, and his vivacious disposition led him into various scrapes and adventures. The most important among these was an elopement from school when fourteen years of age, impelled by a desire of seeing the world. He concerted with a friend of his, Fernando Muñoz, who was filled with a similar desire: they both provided as well as they could for the necessities of the journey, and went on foot as far as Segovia, where they bought a mule for 15 ducats; with this they proceeded to Lavañeza, and Astorga--where meeting, we may guess, with several of those various discomforts we find detailed in "Lazarillo de los Tormes," and other _picaresco_ works, as inevitable in Spanish inns, they became disgusted, and made up their minds to return. When they had got back as far as Segovia, their purses were emptied of small money, and they had recourse to a silversmith, the one to sell a chain and the other to change a doubloon. The silversmith's suspicions were awakened and he sent for a judge, and the judge, a miracle in Spain, was a just judge, as Montalvan says, "he must have had a touch of conscience about him"--for he neither robbed nor threw them into prison; but questioning them and finding them agree in their story, and that their fault was that of youth, not of vice, he sent them back to Madrid, with an alguazil, who restored them, doubloons, chain and all, into the hands of their relations, "which," says Montalvan, "he did at small cost. Such then was the honesty of the ministers of justice, who now-a-days would have thought they had not gained enough had they not made an eight-days' lawsuit about it."

The youth soon after became an inmate in the house of the grand inquisitor, don Geronimo Manrique, bishop of Avila; it would appear that he was there as a _protegé_, and that the bishop thought his talents deserving protection and encouragement. His own expression is, "Don Geronimo Manrique educated me." He delighted the prelate with various eclogues that he wrote, and a comedy called the "Pastoral of Jacinto,"--from which Montalvan dates the change Lope de Vega operated in the Spanish theatre. This comedy is not extant, therefore it is impossible to pass a judgment upon it; but the name of pastoral rather seems to limit it to an imitation of the plays then in vogue; indeed his eulogist only mentions this difference, that he had reduced the number of acts to three. Montalvan goes on to speak as if he, at this time, brought out successful plays, but this arises rather from the confusion of his expressions, than mistake: he wrote them, it is true, for he tells us so himself; but there is no trace of any being played. Meanwhile, feeling that his knowledge was slight, and his education unfinished, with the assistance of the bishop, he entered the university of Alcala, where he remained four years, until he graduated, and was distinguished among his companions in the examinations.

On leaving the university of Alcala, he entered the service of the duke of Alva[77], who became attached to him, and made him not only his secretary but his favourite. A doubt is raised as to which duke this is; whether it be the oppressor of the Low Countries, or his successor: chronology seems to determine that it was the former. It has already been mentioned in this work, that the duke of Alva,--whose name in the Netherlands, and with us, is stamped with all the infamy that remorseless cruelty, blind bigotry, and faithlessness bestows--was regarded in Spain as the hero of the age. Lope introduces the mention of a statue in the "Arcadia," and says, "This last, whose grey head is adorned by the ever verdant leaves of the ungrateful Daphne, merited by so many victories, is the immortal soldier, don Fernando de Toledo, duke of Alva, so justly worthy of that fame, which you behold lifting herself to heaven from the plumes of the helmet, with the trump of gold, through which for ever she will proclaim his exploits, and spread his name from the Spanish Tagus to the African Mutazend; from the Neapolitan Sabeto to the French Garonne. He is a Pompilius in religion; a Radamanthus in severity; Belisarius in guerdon; Anaxagoras in constancy; Periander in wedlock; Pomponius in veracity; Alexander Severus in justice; Regulus in fidelity; Cato in modesty; and finally a Timotheus in the felicity which attended all his wars."

At the request of the duke of Alva he wrote his "Arcadia." It has been mentioned how the imitations of Sannazaro's pastoral had become the fashion in Spain. The "Diana" of Montemayor, its continuation by Gil Polo, and the "Galatea" of Cervantes, were all read with enthusiasm. What the charm of this composition is, we can scarcely guess; yet we feel it ourselves when we read the "'Arcadia" of sir Philip Sidney. The sort of purely sentimental life of the shepherds and shepherdesses, with their flocks, pipes, and faithful dogs, appears to shut out the baser portion of existence, and to enable us to live only for the affections,--a state of being, however impracticable, always alluring; and when to this is added the delightful climate of Spain, which invested pastoral life with all the loveliness and amenity of nature, we are the less surprised at the prevalence of the taste. Lope was very young when he entered the lists, and wrote his "Arcadia." There is exaggeration in its style, and in its sentiments; yet no one can open it without becoming aware of the talent of the author. The poetry with which it is interspersed possesses the peculiar merit of Lope--perspicuity, and an easy artless flow in its ideas; as for instance, the cancion imitated from the ancients, beginning,

"O libertad preciosa No comparada al oro."

The story is meagre, and inartificial to a singular degree. But we follow an example set us, of giving some slight detail of it, for the sake of introducing a coincidence of a singular nature.[78] Anfrisio and Belisarda are lovers; Anfrisio is of so high descent that he believes Jupiter to be his grandfather; but Belisarda is designed by her parents to be the bride of the rich, ignorant, and unworthy Salicio. Anfrisio is forced to remove to a distant part of the country; but by a fortunate circumstance, thither also Belisarda is brought by her father, and the lovers meet and enjoy each other's society till scandal begins to busy herself with them, and, at the request of his mistress, Anfrisio sets out for Italy, so to baffle the evil thoughts of the malicious. He loses his way during his wanderings, and comes to a cavern, wherein resides Dardanio, a magician, who promises to grant him any wish he may express, however impossible. Anfrisio, with a moderation astonishing to our more grasping minds, asks only to see the object on whom he has placed his affections. He beholds her in conversation with a rival, whom, in pure pity, she presents with a black ribbon; which sight transports Anfrisio with jealousy, and he meditates revenging her perfidy by putting her to death; but Dardanio carries him off in a whirlwind. Soon after he returns home, and to annoy Belisarda, pretends to be in love with the shepherdess Anarda; while she in revenge openly favours Olimpio. They are both very miserable; and still more so when driven to desperation, Belisarda marries Salicio. Soon after, an explanation ensues between her and Anfrisio, but it is too late. Anfrisio's sole resource is to forget; and by means of the sage Polinesia, through a visit to the Liberal Arts, and an acquaintance with the lady Grammar and the young ladies Logic, Rhetoric, Arithmetic, and Geometry, and others not less agreeable--Perspective, Music, Astrology, and Poetry--he arrives at the temple of Disengaño, or Dis-illusion; where things are seen as they are, the passions cease to influence, the imagination to deceive, and the lovelorn shepherd becomes a rational man.

The composition of this story has given rise to a singular conjecture. When Montemayor wrote "Diana," and Gil Polo continued it, and Cervantes composed "the robe in which the lovely Galatea appeared to the eyes of men," it is known that they embodied their own passions and sorrows in the pastoral personages they brought on the scene; but Lope is not the hero of his tale. Anfrisio is supposed to represent the duke of Alva himself--the tyrant, the destroyer--who, it would seem, requested his young _protegé_ to immortalise his early loves in the manner other poets had done their own. A good deal of testimony is brought in support of this hypothesis.[79] In the commendatory verses prefixed to the "Arcadia" there is a sonnet from Anfrisio to Lope de Vega, which addresses him by the name of Belardo, under which he personified himself in the pastoral; and which shows by its context that it was written by a man of consequence, and a protector of the poet. "Belardo," he says, "it has proved fortunate for my loves, that you came to my estate and became one of my shepherds; for now neither time nor oblivion will cover them. You have dwelt upon my sorrows, yet not to the full; since they are greater than you have described, though the cause wherefore I suffered lessened them. Tagus and my renowned Tormes listen to you. They call the shepherd of Anfrisio, Apollo. If I am Anfrisio, you are my Apollo!" The painter Francisco Pacheco, in the eulogy that accompanies his portrait of Lope, speaking of the "Arcadia," says that the poet "had succeeded in what he designed, which was to record a real history to the pleasure of the parties."

Montalvan hints at the same thing, when he says that Lope wrote this work at the command of the duke, and calls it a "mysterious enigma of elevated subjects, concealed in the disguise of humble shepherds." And Lope himself says, "The 'Arcadia' is a true story;" and again, in the prologue to the work itself, he insists several times on the fact that he describes the sorrows of another, not his own. He assumes the name of Belardo for himself, but introduces himself only as a Spanish shepherd, poor and pursued by adversity. At the conclusion he comes forward as Belardo, addressing his pipe, and taking leave of the tale on which he was occupied. In this he talks of leaving the banks of the Manzanares (the river of Madrid), and seeking a new master and a new life. "What is better," he says, "when one has lost a blessing, than to fly from the spot where one enjoyed it, so not to see it in the possession of another? My fortunes are dubious; but what evil can befall him who has once known happiness? I lost that which was mine, more from not being worthy of it, than from not knowing its value; but I console myself with the expectation of fresh disasters."[80]

As the "Arcadia" was written in early life, but not published till 1598, it is impossible to say to what particular period of his career or to what misfortunes the above alludes.

It were a subject for a painter to portray the old grey-headed duke--the persecutor of heroes, the slayer of the innocent, but retaining throughout a satisfied conscience, and the dignity of virtue--pouring his love-tale in the young Lope's ear, or listening with delight while Lope read to him the tale of his early love, clothed in the fantastic costume of a pastoral and the ideal imagery of poetry.

Lord Holland has given a specimen of the poetry of the "Arcadia" in his life; but we refer to his pages, and will only conclude by mentioning that, despite the conceits, the false taste, and exaggeration, there is much genius, much real poetry, simplicity, and truth—lines full of sweetness and grace, and a lucidness of expression, which reminds the reader of Metastasio, who was indeed a lover of Spanish verse, and who has never been surpassed in the crystal clearness of his expressions, and the chiseled perfection (so to express ourselves) with which he represents his ideas.

The "Arcadia," though written thus early, was not published, as has been mentioned, till 1598; and it is conjectured that the death of its hero, the duke of Alva, was the cause of the delay. But it may be added, that Lope wrote a great deal but published nothing before that period, when, his plays having made him popular, he printed most of his early works.

He left the service of the duke of Alva, when he married a lady of rank, donna Isabel de Urbino, daughter of don Diego de Urbino, king-at-arms. The marriage took place to the satisfaction of the friends of both parties; and the lady is praised as beautiful and discreet. He did not however, long enjoy his domestic happiness. "It happened," says Montalvan, "that there was a sort of half-and-half hidalgo[81] (for there is a twilight in the origin of nobility as well as in the break of day) of small fortune, but of great skill in contriving to dress and eat as well as the rest of the world, without other employment than frequenting society, when with little trouble to himself he lived cheaply by flattering those present and back-biting the absent. Lope heard that on one occasion he had entertained a company at his expense. He passed over the impertinence, not from fear, but contempt; but seeing that the man persisted in his attacks, he grew tired; so without quarrelling with him by sword or word--the first being impious, the second foolish--he depicted him in a song so pleasantly, that every body laughed." The would-be wit grew angry--none being more easily offended than those who take licence to offend--and he challenged Lope. They met; and the cavalier was dangerously wounded. This was the immediate cause that obliged Lope to quit Madrid; though Montalvan mentions other scrapes which he had got into in his youth, and which his enemies took this occasion to bring against him. He left wife and home with a heavy heart, and took up his residence in Valencia, where he was treated with distinction and kindness.

He remained at Valencia for some years, and doubtless wrote a great deal, though at that time he published nothing. He formed a friendship there with Vicente Mariner, himself a voluminous poet, whose compositions remain inedited in the king of Spain's libraries. Among these are many to the honour and memory of Lope, and in fierce attack of his enemies--so fierce that they deserve the name of abuse, and show that the Spanish cavalier could descend, as so many literary men have before, to calling names, as argument.[82]

After a few years, Lope returned to Madrid; and such was his joy in revisiting the scenes of his youth, and being reunited to his wife, that even his health was affected by it. He did not, however, long enjoy this newfound happiness: his wife died shortly after his return. The death of this lady was celebrated in an eclogue, written conjointly by Lope and Medina Medinilla. The strophes, composed by Lope, are full of the tenderest grief and impatient despair, but there is not a word relative to their separation; he exclaims at Death for having divided them, and implores her to take him to where she is--to where they might live for ever secure together.

[Sidenote: 1588. Ætat. 26.]

Almost immediately after he became a soldier, and joined the Invincible Armada.

The causes of this apparent freak are differently represented. Montalvan attributes it chiefly to his grief on losing his wife. In the eclogue to Claudio, which Lope writes with the avowed intention of recording the events of his early life, but in which he mentions no adventures anterior to this period, he speaks of being banished from Filis, and that he sought relief from his tender sorrows by changing climate and element; and Mars coming to his aid, he marched to Lisbon with the Castilian troops, with a musket on his shoulder, and tore up for cartridges the verses he had written in his mistress's praise. In several of his sonnets also he gives the same reason for his military career.[83]

It is the fashion of the present day to ransack every hidden corner of a man's life, and to bring to light all the errors and follies which he himself would have wished to consign to oblivion. A writer offers a fairer mark than any other for these inquiries, as we can always fancy at least that we trace something of the man himself in his works, and so form a tissue of some sort from these patchwork materials; Lope felt this, and in one of his epistles, laments that by publishing his verses, he has perpetuated the memory of his follies. "My love-verses," he says, "were the tender error of my youth; would I could cover them in oblivion! Those poets do well who write in enigmas, since they are not injured by the hidden." We do not know that we should have enlarged on this portion of his life, but for some conjectures given in the article before quoted in the eighteenth volume of the "Quarterly Review." The author of that article, in mentioning Lope's second marriage, says, "Lope speaks of this marriage as a happy one; yet among the sonnets there are two which may excite a suspicion that his heart was placed on another object. The inference from the first of these poems is, that he did not love the woman whom he married; and from the second that he had formed a miserable attachment to the wife of another man. This last inference will be much strengthened if there be any reason for supposing that he shadowed out his own character in the 'Dorotea;' one of the most singular, and, unless such a supposition be admitted, the most unaccountable of all his works."

Taking it for granted that these sonnets and the 'Dorotea' refer to himself, we think there is every proof to show that they allude to his early life, his first marriage, and all those subsequent disasters, to fly from which he embarked on board the Armada. Certainly great obscurity hangs over the period of his first marriage, and the causes of his long exile at Valencia. His antagonist in the duel was a man of no consequence, and merely wounded; so, although that duel might have occasioned him to fly, it would not have forced so protracted an absence. He does not allude to any of these circumstances in his eclogue to Claudio. In his epistle to doctor Gregorio de Angulo he seems to imply that being married, he loved another woman, or that he was not happy in his first marriage.[84] Montalvan, in speaking of his flight to Valencia, mentions, in addition to the duel, youthful scrapes, which his enemies took that opportunity of bringing against him.[85] In a funeral eulogium, written on Lope by don Joseph Pellicer, there are these expressions:--"The excellent qualities of Lope excited the animosity of several powerful enemies, who forced him several times to become a wanderer. His pen was his faithful companion in his disasters and exile, and secured him shelter and welcome in distant provinces."[86]

Putting all these circumstances and hints together, it is plain that Lope suffered a good deal of adversity at this time. His illustrious patron, the duke of Alva, died soon after his marriage. When the duel and other circumstances caused him to fly, he had no powerful friend to assist him, but was driven to absent himself even for years. During so long a separation from home, and being only about four-and-twenty at this period, it is not impossible nor strange that he should have formed an unfortunate attachment.

The sonnets Mr. Southey mentions, and which he translates, are the following:--

"Seven long and tedious years did Jacob serve, And short had been the term if it had found Its end desired. To Leah he was bound, And must by service of seven more deserve His Rachael.--Thus will strangers lightly swerve From their pledged word. Yet Time might well repay Hope's growing debt, and Patience might be crowned, And the slow season of expectance passed, True Love with ample recompense at last, Requite the sorrows of this hard delay. Alas for me--to whose unhappy doom, No such blest end appears! Ill fate is his, Who hopes for Rachael in the world to come, And chained to Leah drags his life in this."[87]

"When snows before the genial breath of spring Dissolve--and our great Mother reassumes Her robe of green; the meadow breathes perfumes, Loud sings the thrush, the birds are on the wing, The fresh grass grows, the young lambs feed at will. But not to thee, my heart, doth nature bring The joy that this sweet season should instil: Thou broodest alway on thy cherished ill. Absence is no sore grief--it is a glass, Wherein true love from falsehood may be known; Well may the pain be borne which hath an end; But woe to him whose ill-placed hopes attend Another's life, and who till that shall pass In hopeless expectation wastes his own."[88]

These sonnets are two among many, all addressed to a lady whom he calls Lucinda. Generally speaking, they treat only of her cruelty and his sufferings: there is no date given to certify at what period they were written; but they were published in 1604, during the life of his second wife--with whom there is every proof that he lived in harmony, and he would never have pained her by publishing his desire for her death. This circumstance renders it conclusive that they referred to the passions of his youth.

The "Dorotea" is indeed a singular performance, and we have read it with some care to discover what it contains that gives the idea that he shadowed forth himself. And we will give some account of the work, which diffuse and tedious, will hardly attract the reader, but which at least presents a vivid picture of Spanish manners, and if relating to Lope himself, must be regarded with increased interest. We must premise that though this work was one of the last that he published, and that he mentions it as the favourite his of old age[89], yet that it was written at Valencia in his youth.[90]

"Dorotea" is not a play; it is a story told in dialogue, a sort of composition which has lately been named "Dramatic Scenes." It is in prose, with a few poems interspersed. It is, as usual, very diffuse, and even incoherent and obscure in parts, and contains the story of the intrigues of a young man, whom it has been conjectured Lope intended for himself.

Don Fernando, the hero of the piece, says of himself that his parents dying, and leaving him in poverty, he went to the Indies to try his fortune, but not prospering he returned to Madrid, where he was hospitably received by a rich relation. This lady had in her house a daughter and a niece; with the niece, named Marfisa, Fernando fell, in some sort, in love. Unfortunately she was obliged to marry a gentleman of some rank and merit, but aged. The lovers parted with tears; but the marriage was of short duration, the husband dying soon after. Meanwhile Fernando, on the very day of Marfisa's wedding, was introduced to Dorothea. He was then, he tells us, two-and-twenty, Dorothea fifteen, and beautiful beyond description. They seemed formed for each other, and though they now met for the first time, yet they felt as if they had known one another for years.

Dorothea was already married, but her husband was far away in India. She was courted by a foreign prince, whom she coquetted with, giving him large hopes, and slight favours. This powerful rival Fernando at length gets rid of: but he suffers from another evil, the evil of poverty; and the thoughts engendered by want of money fill him with melancholy. Dorothea observes his sadness, and he confesses its cause; she promises at once to give up all feasts and amusements, and sends to his house her jewels and plate in two coffers. He disposes of these, and even so draws on his mistress's resources, that she is obliged to deny herself fitting dress, and to betake herself to unaccustomed labour for her maintenance.

This lasted for five years; and the piece begins at this period, when an officious neighbour, Gerarda (who is set on by don Belia, a creole, who is another and a rich admirer of Dorothea) attacks Theodora, the mother of Dorothea, on the scandal the neighbours promulgate with regard to her daughter's life. Theodora is alarmed, and commands Dorothea to see Fernando no more. She, in despair, hurries (accompanied by her maid) to his house, to impart the sad intelligence. Fernando takes it very coolly, and dismisses her in a manner to make her believe that he no longer loves. But when she is gone, he falls into a transport of despair; and partly piqued at her daring to think of obeying her mother, and partly too miserable to stay longer in a town where he may no longer behold her, he resolves to quit Madrid, and go to Seville. Being in want of means, he applies to his old friend Marfisa; and trumping up a story of having killed a man, and being obliged to fly (which, he says, is true, since he himself was dead, and at the same time obliged to absent himself), Marfisa gives him "the gold she possessed, and the pearls of her tears;" and thus enriched, Fernando departs for Seville.

Dorothea remains: she talks of her lover, and her hard fate, with her maid Celia. Among other things, Celia says, "The scandal that arose was greatly occasioned by Fernando writing verses in his lady's praise." Dorothea replies, "What greater riches can a woman possess, than to have herself immortalised? Her beauty fades, but the verses written in her honour are eternal witnesses of it. The Diana of Montemayor was a lady of Valencia; and the river Ezla and herself are immortalised by his pen. And the same has happened to the Philida of Montalvo, the Galatea of Cervantes, the Camila of Garcilaso, the Violante of Camoens, the Silvia of Bernaldes, the Philis of Figueroa, and the Leonora of Corte-real." But though Dorothea loves Fernando, and is grateful for his verses, she proves false, and admits to her favour his rich rival, don Belia.

Meanwhile Fernando, unable to endure his absence from her, returns. They meet by accident, and Dorothea feels all her affection revive. She exclaims on the cruelty of her mother, and the misery of her fate, and then intimates her falsehood. "All were against me," she says; "my mother with ill usage, Gerarda with flattery, you by leaving me, and a cavalier by persuading me." However, notwithstanding this, they are for a time in some sort reconciled. But Fernando becomes cold and uneasy; assured that Dorothea loves him, he grows indifferent; certain of her falsehood, he is annoyed: he fancies that his honour is injured in the eyes of the world by his toleration, and he resolves to break with her. He sees in Marfisa the love of his early years. "We had been brought up together," he says; "but although it is true that she was the object of my first attachment in the early season of my youth, her unlucky marriage, and the beauty of Dorothea, caused me to forget her charms as much as if I had never seen them. She returned home after the untimely death of her husband; and she regarded me with eyes of favour, but I vainly tried to admire her: yet I resolved to cultivate my attachment for her without giving up Dorothea. She (Dorothea) perceived a change, but attributed it to my honour being offended by the pretensions of don Belia; and in this she was right, since for that cause I had resolved to hate her. She indeed would have been willing to love me alone, but that was impossible--her fortunes forbade it."

Meanwhile an unlucky encounter with his rival, to whom he is forced to give way, rouses him to revenge against Dorothea; and fate puts the occasion in his hands. By mistake he sends her a letter from Marfisa to himself; a violent quarrel ensues; and they part to meet no more. A friend of Fernando prophesies to him the sequel of these disasters; he tells him that he will be persecuted by Dorothea and her mother, and thrown into prison, but afterwards liberated and banished; before this he will have become attached to a young lady, whom he will marry to the discontent of the relations on both sides. She will accompany him in his banishment with great constancy and love, but will die. He will then return to Madrid, Dorothea being then a widow, and will wish to marry him, but his honour has more influence over him than her riches, and he will refuse her. He will afterwards be very unfortunate in love, but by help of prayer will extricate himself, and enter another state of life. Marfisa will again marry a literary man, who will leave the kingdom with an honourable employment, but she will soon again be a widow, and then marrying a Spanish soldier, she will be very unhappy, and at last be assassinated by her husband in a fit of jealousy. Fernando is astonished at these prophecies, and announces his intention of joining the Invincible Armada. Dorothea, on her side, is teaching herself no longer to love him; she breaks his portrait, and burns his letters. But while she is looking forward to happiness with don Belia, he is killed in a duel. She rushes out in despair, and Gerarda falls into a well, and is drowned. "And thus ends Dorothea," says the author, "the rest being only the misfortunes of Fernando; the poet could not fail in the truth, for the story is true. Look at the example, for which end it is written."