Chapter X: Introduction (2)

Thus did a Spanish poet, alike feared and admired, govern Italy for the space of six years. During this stormy period of his life, Mendoza composed verses, visited the Italian universities, purchased Greek manuscripts, and collected a large library. Since the days of Petrarch no friend of literature had shewn so much zeal for the acquisition of Greek manuscripts. He spared no pains nor expense to procure them even from Greece, and sent special messengers for that purpose to the convent of Mount Athos. He availed himself of a service he had rendered to the Ottoman sultan, to obtain supplies of corn for the empty granaries of Venice, and of manuscripts for his own library. Many a Greek work came first to the press from his valuable collection. Whoever wished to promote the study of ancient literature, found in him a friend and protector; and to him the learned bookseller, Paulus Manutius, dedicated his edition of the philosophic writings of Cicero, to the study of which Mendoza was particularly attached, and for the correct publication of which he even made critical observations on the manuscripts.

Literature and politics, it appears, did not afford sufficient occupation for this extraordinary man. He chose also to engage in affairs of gallantry; and, according to the manners of the age, gave to such pursuits, at least in verse, the character of romantic passion. His looks, however, were not calculated to recommend him to the fair sex; for his biographers state that he was far from handsome, and that the glance of his fiery eye was more repulsive than inviting. But Mendoza was active, accomplished, and in the possession of power; and the favour which these advantages obtained for him with some Roman ladies, was numbered among the offences with which his enemies loudly reproached him. The repeated charges brought against him made at last an impression on the emperor; and that monarch, who had begun to contemplate the resignation of his crown, and who was now desirous of establishing tranquillity in his states, thought fit, in the year 1554, to recall this too rigid governor to Spain.

The latter part of the history of Mendoza’s life is not uniformly related by his biographers. According to some he retired to the country, devoted himself to poetry and philosophy, and appeared very seldom at the court of Philip II. Others assert that, though he no longer retained his former influence, he continued a member of the council of state under Philip II. and was present with that monarch at the great battle of St. Quintin, fought in the year 1557. This much is certain, that he was soon after engaged in an adventure at the court, which, for a man of his age and knowledge of the world, was of a very singular nature. An altercation arose in the palace between him and a courtier, who, according to Mendoza’s own declaration, was his rival in the affections of a lady. This man, whose name is not mentioned, in a fit of violent exasperation, drew a dagger; upon which Mendoza seized him, and threw him from a balcony into the street. What afterwards became of his antagonist is not recorded; but the transaction was the subject of serious observation, and the grave Philip regarded it as a high offence against the dignity of his person and his court. He was, however, content to inflict a moderate punishment, and merely condemned Mendoza to a short imprisonment. The old statesman occupied the period of his imprisonment in the ancient Spanish style, namely, in composing lamentations on the unkindness of his mistress:[171] and these romantic effusions do not appear to have been considered by his contemporaries as absurd and ridiculous at his time of life. But the sorrows expressed in his amatory ditties did not drive the venerable lover to despair; for when he was soon after set at liberty, though still exiled from court, he observed with the eye of a politician the insurrection of the Moriscoes, or converted Arabs of Granada; and when the insurrection broke out into a formal war, he noted down all the remarkable events, and afterwards detailed them in an historical work, which has obtained for him the name of the Spanish Sallust. He profited of this opportunity to collect a great number of Arabic manuscripts. Observations on the works of Aristotle, a translation of the Mechanics of that philosopher, and some political treatises, were, it appears, the last of his literary labours. He was thus actively and usefully employed until his death, which happened when he was upwards of seventy, at Valladolid, in the year 1575. He bequeathed his collection of books and manuscripts to the king, and it still forms one of the most valuable portions of the library of the Escurial.[172]

A detailed account of the life of this distinguished man, cannot be regarded as a biographical excrescence in a history of Spanish Literature; for in no other poet’s life and works is the real Castilian spirit of the age of Charles V. so clearly displayed as in those of Diego de Mendoza. The universality of his literary talent will be best understood, when it is known with what energy, precision, and facility he accommodated himself to, and controuled the circumstances in which he happened to be placed in all the practical relations of life. That trait too in the portrait of his mind, which is most worthy of observation, namely, the constancy with which, instead of abandoning one species of mental activity for another, he continued throughout the different periods of his life, from youth to extreme old age, always to unite in his person the poet, the man of letters, and the statesman, gives reason to expect that his works, however differing in kind, will be found to possess a certain common character.

Diego de Mendoza did more for the poetic literature of his country than his countrymen seem to have acknowledged. Spanish writers, it is true, place him next in rank to Boscan and Garcilaso de la Vega, among the poets who introduced the Italian style into Castilian poetry. But they cannot pardon the harshness of his versification in those poems in which he adopted the metrical forms of Italy. Rendered fastidious by the rhythmical harmony which a Castilian ear can never dispense with, the Spaniards have held in very trifling estimation the epistles of Mendoza; though those compositions, in a striking manner, extended the boundaries of Castilian poetry. As an epistolary poet, he might justly be styled the Spanish Horace, if his tercets flowed as smoothly as the hexameters of the latin poet. Making allowance, however, for the want of that pure harmony and that didactic delicacy in which Horace is inimitable, Mendoza’s epistles may rank among the best productions of the kind in modern literature. With the exception of Boscan and Garcilaso de la Vega, no Spanish poet had evinced any traces of that horatian spirit with which this author was endowed. In the collection of Mendoza’s poems, these epistles are merely called _cartas_ (letters.) Some of them are of a romantic cast, and overloaded with tedious love complaints. But the rest, like Horace’s epistles, are didactic, full of agreeable but sound philosophy, precise and yet unconstrained in expression, and rescued from the monotonous effect of moral instruction, by a happy interchange of precepts, images, and characters. A masculine understanding, which clearly penetrates all social relations, and a noble spirit, which estimates the blessings of life according to their real value, diffuse over these epistles a charm at once serene and attractive. Some of the most beautiful, for example, that addressed to Boscan, which is best known, and which on account of the answer is printed among Boscan’s poems, were composed in Italy during the more early part of the author’s life. But in estimating the poetical works of Mendoza, chronological arrangement is of little importance, for as a poet he preserved equality from the commencement to the close of his career. His epistle to Boscan is in part an imitation of that of Horace to Numicius.[173] The latter half, however, belongs exclusively to Mendoza. In this portion of the epistle he presents to his friend the outline of the charming picture of domestic happiness, to which Boscan himself, in the answer already mentioned, has given a higher finish; and the taste which can overlook the beauty of this picture on account of want of smoothness in the versification, must be depraved by the affectation of refinement.[174] Another epistle, addressed to Don Luis de Zuñiga, contains an ingenious and striking comparison of the character of two heterogeneous and equally foolish classes of men. The one wholly attached to the vulgar pleasures of the moment, and stupidly indifferent to the affairs of the world;[175] while the other, on the contrary, is cheated by restless cares and anxieties out of the enjoyment of the present.[176] In these epistles, Mendoza unfolded the result of his experience, as the Infante Juan Manuel did a century and a half earlier, in his Count Lucanor, though in a totally different manner. Mendoza’s style is that of an accomplished man of the world, formed in the school of the latin poets.

Mendoza’s sonnets possess neither the grace nor the harmony essential to that species of composition. They owe their existence to the amatory spirit of the age rather than to the poetic inspiration of the author. Though he composed in the Italian manner with less facility than Boscan and Garcilaso, he felt more correctly than they or any other of his countrymen, the difference between the Spanish and Italian languages, with respect to their capabilities for versification. The Spanish admits of none of those pleasing elisions, which, particularly when terminating vowels are omitted, render the mechanism of Italian versification so easy, and enable the poet to augment or diminish the number of syllables according to his pleasure; and this difference in the two languages renders the composition of a Spanish sonnet a difficult task. Still more does the Spanish language seem hostile to the soft termination of a succession of feminine rhymes, for the Spanish poet, who adopts this rule of the Italian sonnet, is compelled to banish from his rhymes, all infinitives of verbs, together with a whole host of sonorous substantives and adjectives.[177] Mendoza, therefore, availed himself of the use of masculine rhymes in his sonnets; but this metrical license was strongly censured by all partizans of the Italian style. Nevertheless had he given to his sonnets more of the tenderness of Petrarch, it is probable that they would have found imitators. Some of them, indeed, may be considered as successful productions, and throughout all the language is correct and noble.[178]

Mendoza’s canciones have nearly the same character as his sonnets, except that they more obviously mark the influence of the horatian ode on the lyric fancy of the author. The versification, which is sonorous, though deficient in harmony, is occasionally united with a degree of obscurity from which the other productions of Mendoza are totally exempt.[179] The least successful of his poems in the Italian style is a mythological tale in octave verse, founded on the history of Adonis, but along with which the author has interwoven the history of Atalanta. The story is, however, related in a very pleasing manner.

The Spaniards give the preference, not to this first class of the poetic works of Mendoza, but to the second, which consists of lyric poems in the old national style, the origin of which it is, however, easy to perceive must be referred to a more highly cultivated age. The similarity between these poems and others of the same sort in the _Romancero general_, clearly proves that many of the poets of the age of Charles V. had tacitly agreed to improve the old national poetry, without, like the impetuous Castillejo, (of whom further mention will soon be made) waging open war against the reformers of the school of Boscan. Many of Mendoza’s lyric pieces are inserted in the _Romancero general_ without the author’s name. In these compositions the syllabic measure seems to have been the chief object of improvement. But this improvement, however successful, was at the same time necessarily limited; and the beautiful forms of the Italian canzone possessed too striking a superiority over the most cultivated forms of rhyme in the old redondillas, to yield to the latter in any collision. All Mendoza’s lyric compositions are in stanzas of four lines; and the pieces of this description now obtained, by way of distinction, the name of redondillas, which seems originally to have been applied to all trochaic verses in lines of four feet.[180] But songs in stanzas of five lines, though in other respects similar to those just mentioned, are called in Mendoza’s collection _quintas_ or _quintillas_. The trochaic stanza in four lines of three feet,[181] of which the _Romancero general_ also contains several specimens, was found to be most suitable to _endechas_, or funeral songs, in the old national style, and to compositions of that class Mendoza applied it. He wrote many romantic epistles in the redondilla stanza of four lines; and did not neglect the other old lyric forms, such as the _Villancicos_, &c. The improvement of style, which is an essential feature of all these poems, was limited by Mendoza to accuracy of expression, and to softening the quaintness of the old subtilties: to these, however, he himself sometimes resorted; and he seems to have been of opinion, that the character of this kind of poetry rendered their occasional introduction indispensable. In compositions of a tender and melancholy character,[182] he is less successful than in those of a comic cast.[183]

Considering Mendoza’s wit and knowledge of mankind, it may naturally be presumed that his satyrical poems, which however exist only in manuscript, mark a great advancement in this species of poetry in Spain. These poems are mentioned by all Mendoza’s biographers; one is called _La Pulga_ (the Flea,) another _La Caña_ (the Reed), and a third bears the comical title of _Elogio de la Zanahoria_ (Eulogy on the Parsnip.) None, however, have yet passed the ordeal of the inquisition. Their titles seem to indicate a kind of coarse humour in the style of the burlesque satyres of the Italians.

Some of Mendoza’s prose compositions have, however, obtained greater celebrity than his poems; and they unquestionably form an epoch in the history of Spanish prose. The comic romance of _Lazarillo de Tormes_, which Mendoza wrote while he was a student at Salamanca, is either the very first production of its kind, or at least the first that obtained any thing like literary consideration. Soon after its publication it was translated into Italian, and subsequently into French, and by the means of this French translation it has been read throughout all Europe. Relations of interesting tricks of roguery, probably formed at a more early period a favourite amusement with the Spaniards; for that adroit feats of cunning and deception have had for them a charm of a peculiar kind, the whole history of their comic literature sufficiently proves. Mendoza, therefore, gave to his humorous fancy a direction conformable to the spirit of his country, when he chose, as the subject of his work, the Adventures of a Beggar Lad, who makes a kind of fortune by dint of cheating and roguery; and the comic interest of the production was enhanced by its contrast with the pompous romances of chivalry. In the perusal of such a tale, the Spanish reader willingly descended from the romantic ideal world to the sphere of common life. The skill with which Mendoza has sketched the vices of avarice and selfishness in the persons into whose service Lazarillo enters, is no less remarkable than the bold regard for truth which led him to include priests in the number of his odious characters. The inquisition of course could not expect that the Spaniards should regard the ecclesiastic profession as a security against every vice; and Lazarillo de Tormes sufficiently proves that in Mendoza’s time the priesthood was not guaranteed against public satire in Spain. Under the reign of Philip II. however, satires of this kind became subject to a certain degree of restraint; and since that period Mendoza’s romance has only been suffered to escape because its free circulation was once permitted by the inquisition. No critic has hitherto called in question the truth and accuracy of the pictures of vulgar life in Lazarillo de Tormes; but an author named de Luna, who styles himself an interpreter of the Castilian language, published a new edition of the romance with the view of correcting the diction. De Luna likewise added a second part to the story, for Mendoza in his maturer years never felt inclined to finish the comic work which he had commenced in his youth.[184]

A very different spirit animates the historical work in which Mendoza traces the history of the rebellion of Granada.[185] Mendoza formed his style, as a historian, principally on that of Sallust, and only occasionally imitated Tacitus for the sake of variety. Were it not that he sometimes oversteps the bounds of true elegance and falls into an overstudied and artificial manner, this work might be ranked, without reserve, among the best historical models; and notwithstanding the affectation with which it is here and there disfigured,[186] it is, unquestionably, after the works of Machiavell and Guicciardini, the first production of modern literature that deserves to be compared with the classic histories of antiquity.

However carefully Mendoza polished the rhetorical form of his history, still the importance of the materials and a true philosophic spirit are every where prominent throughout his representation of facts. Being himself a native of Granada, his power of rightly viewing the events, and the impression he received from them, must have been much the same as if he had been an eye witness of all that passed. Besides, he derived his information from the most authentic sources; for at the period in question he was residing on his estate in the vicinity of the theatre of the war. His nephew, the Marquis de Mondejar, was for some time commander in chief of the army against the rebels; and Mendoza himself had long been so intimately connected with the government at Madrid, that no individual in Spain had better opportunities of obtaining that knowledge of the secret as well as of the ostensible springs of transactions which is necessary for a just historical representation of events. The atrocious measures adopted by Phillip II. to suppress the insurrection in Granada, were, however, no less opposed to the sound political views of Mendoza, than the fanatic cruelty and glaring injustice by which the unhappy Moriscos had been driven into rebellion appear, however good a catholic he may have been, to have revolted his feelings. But neither his opinion nor his compassion could be openly avowed. He therefore availed himself of all the subtle windings of the historical art, to render his representation of events easily intelligible to those who thought as he did, and at the same time to secure himself against any literal interpretation which spiritual or temporal despotism might have employed to his disadvantage. Wherever undeniable facts, which the government according to its own maxims could not venture to conceal, clearly expose the folly and inhumanity by which the Moors were reduced to despair, Mendoza apparently refrains from pronouncing any judgment, while the poignant manner in which he relates the facts, is in itself a sufficient condemnation.[187]

When the fault rests rather with the agents of the government than with the government itself, he seems to attack only the former. In order that the just cause of the Moriscos might be, for once, powerfully vindicated, he puts, after the manner of the ancients, a speech into the mouth of one of the chiefs of the conspirators.[188] This is the only speech in the work which seems sufficient to shew that at least it was not inserted from a spirit of servile imitation; but he occasionally ventures, contrary to the practice of modern languages, to approximate his narrative style to that of the writers of antiquity; as for example, where he employs a succession of verbs in the infinitive mood.[189] The Spaniards, however, seem to have regarded the grammatical freedom used by Mendoza as perfectly conformable to the genius of their language. During the gloomy and suspicious government of Philip II. this excellent work was only to be read in manuscript. It was first published at Madrid, in the year 1610, five-and-thirty years after the death of the author, and was reprinted at Lisbon in 1617; but both editions were purposely mutilated.[190] The text was at last given complete in the edition of the work, which appeared in 1776.

SAA DE MIRANDA.

The fame of the great reform of the Castilian poetry having penetrated into Portugal, a similar reform took place in the poetry of that nation. At this time the Castilian language was held in such high consideration in Portugal, that even Portuguese poets, without undervaluing their national tongue, thought themselves bound occasionally to write verses in Castilian, to entitle them to be regarded as perfect masters of the poetic art. In the first half of the sixteenth century, two of the most celebrated of these Portuguese poets laboured with such success to extend the dominion of Castilian pastoral poetry, that the thread of the history of Spanish literature would be broken, were a notice of the poetic merits of these two celebrated men confined solely to the history of the literature of Portugal. One of them, Francisco de Saa de Miranda, who was born in 1494, and died in 1558, belongs, however, in so eminent a degree, to his own nation, and the circumstances of his life are so closely connected with the history of Portuguese poetry, that it would be an injustice to Portuguese literature to rank him exclusively among the poets of Spain. Besides, most of his poetic works, with the exception of his pastoral poems, are written in the Portuguese language.[191] The other Portuguese poet, who claims attention in the history of Spanish poetry, is Jorge de Montemayor. He, through his residence in Spain, became wholly a Spaniard:--the work to which he chiefly owes his celebrity is written in Spanish; and he had so decided an influence on Spanish literature, that this would be the proper place for introducing an account of his short life and of his poetry, did not Saa de Miranda’s Castilian pastorals, which are of older date, demand a previous notice.[192]

The bucolic effusions of Saa de Miranda exhibit in their general tone more traits of resemblance to Theocritus, than are to be found in the writings of Garcilaso de la Vega. Garcilaso’s pastoral style, with all its simplicity, was not sufficiently rural for Saa de Miranda. Like Theocritus his feelings seem to have dictated to him pure rural ideas; and he transferred this characteristic of his Portuguese eclogues to those which he wrote in Spanish, which are the most numerous. Nevertheless, even in his rural poems he did not wish to renounce the attributes of the loftier style of poetry. He was, however, heedless of all critical distinction of the different kinds of poetry, and would, without scruple, commence a poem, in the metre of an Italian canzone, as an ode, proceed with it in epic metaphors,[193] and conclude it in the simplest idyllic style. With equal indifference he chose sometimes octave verse, sometimes tercets for his pastoral poems, which thus alternately assume a lyric and a dramatic tone. This capricious mixture of poetic genera and styles deteriorates in no slight degree the quality of Saa de Miranda’s poetry. The elevated tone of the ode forms a singular contrast when introduced in the same composition along with the easy familiar style, which, in the opinion of Saa de Miranda, the pure pastoral character of his poetry required. But no modern poet has succeeded so well in the union of simplicity and grace; and in this respect the eclogues of Saa de Miranda are unequalled. When he describes the gambols of the nymphs, with whom his fancy animates his native woodland scenes;[194]--when he sketches impetuous storms of passion, softened by the charm of his colouring, yet kept true to nature;[195]--when he introduces nymphs discoursing;[196]--or, when he abandons himself to a tone of elegiac melancholy;[197]--one knows not whether most to admire, the delicate truth and penetrating depth of his ideas, or the artless precision and facility of his expression. In such cases he often abandons the natural style of Theocritus for a more lofty or ideal manner. When, in some of his other eclogues, his shepherds converse on their occupations or superstitions,[198] he likewise departs from the prosaic nature of real pastoral life, such as he had the opportunity of observing in his native country, and gradually elevates it to romantic ideality. It happened, however, that he occasionally found the prosaic truth of his pictures sufficiently interesting, and then to be truly natural he avoided all embellishment.[199]

Some of Saa de Miranda’s popular songs, called _Cantigas_, a term which in Portuguese corresponds with _Villancicos_ in Spanish, are inimitable for grace and simplicity.[200]

MONTEMAYOR.

The poet who is celebrated in Spanish literature by the name of Jorge de Montemayor, was born in the year 1520, at Montemor, a little town of Portugal, not far from Coimbra. He took for his name that of his native city, spelt and pronounced in the Spanish way, probably because his own family name was not deemed sufficiently sonorous; and thus the latter has been entirely lost. The talent of this young Portuguese developed itself without the aid of a previous literary cultivation. At an early period of life he served in the Portuguese army, and, as there is reason to believe, in the rank of a common soldier. His taste for music, and the reputation he had acquired as a singer, induced him to visit Spain, where the Infant Don Philip, afterwards Philip II. had formed a company of court musicians, who were to accompany him on his travels through Italy, Germany, and the Netherlands. Jorge de Montemayor, being admitted as a vocal member of this travelling musical company, gained an opportunity of seeing the world, and at the same time making himself master of the Castilian language, which became to him a second mother tongue. He was, however, attached to Spain by a still closer link, namely, his love for a beautiful Castilian lady, whom he occasionally introduces in his poems under the name of Marfida. This Marfida became the deity of his poetry; and when, on his return to Spain, he found her wedded to another, he endeavoured to divert his sorrow by poetic effusions, in which he represented the faithless beauty as a romantic shepherdess; and, uniting these with several of his other compositions, he formed the whole into a romance. This romance, which he entitled _Diana_, was received by the Spanish public with a degree of favour never before extended to any Spanish book, Amadis de Gaul excepted; and it speedily found no fewer imitators than Amadis itself. The Queen of Portugal was desirous that the celebrated author of Diana should return to his native country. She recalled him, and he obeyed the honourable mandate. No further particulars of his history are known. He died by some violent means, either in 1561 or 1562. He was upwards of forty at the period of his death, which, according to some accounts, took place in Portugal, and according to others in Italy.[201]

The Diana of Montemayor is one of the few romantic works which belong entirely to the soul of the inventor, which are embued throughout with individual interest, and which on that very account exercise the more influence over unsophisticated minds, because the author possessed sufficient poetic genius successfully to convey the joys and sorrows of his own heart under the forms of a general interest. But this romance can never be to any other cultivated people what it was to the Spaniards of the sixteenth century. Still less can it be regarded as a classical fragment, even though judged according to the lenient rules by which every fragment is estimated; unless, indeed, after the manner of some modern critics, new rules of art be deduced from defective examples, for the sake of admiring as incomparable the grossest absurdities, under the title of romantic complexity. But with all its faults, this unfinished pastoral romance (for it was not brought to a conclusion by Montemayor) possesses a poetic merit, which entitles it to the esteem of all ages.

The design of the work, so far as Montemayor’s ideas render his intention obvious, sometimes charms by its graceful simplicity, and at others becomes grotesque, through an illegitimate romantic combination of heterogeneous species of composition. The shepherd Sireno, who represents the poet himself, on his return to his native country, visits the scene of the innocent joys which the inconstant shepherdess Diana once shared along with him. Overwhelmed with grief, he draws out first a lock of hair belonging to his mistress; and then one of her letters, which he reads. While he is thus communing with himself, he is joined by another romantic adorer of the beautiful Diana. This shepherd, whose love had always been unrequited, now joins his lamentations to those of the once happy Sireno, and each vies with the other in claiming to himself the heaviest load of misery. They are joined by a shepherdess, named Selvagia, who has been no less unfortunate in love than themselves. She relates her history very circumstantially, and thus terminates the first book. In the second, the conversation of these lovers is continued, until three nymphs appear, one of whom relates Sireno’s history in a song of some length. Up to the conclusion of this song, the pastoral simplicity of the story is preserved uninterrupted by any incident approximating to the terrible; but suddenly a party of savage robbers completely armed appears. The nymphs are about to fly, but are detained by the robbers. A battle then ensues between the robbers and the shepherds, the latter attacking the former with stones. The robbers are on the point of overcoming their rustic antagonists, when a heroine, habited as a huntress, rushes from a wood, and bending her bow, pierces the robbers with her arrows, and liberates the nymphs. The fair huntress then joins the party of nymphs and shepherds, and in her turn also relates her history. This narrative, together with the conversations and songs to which it gives rise, concludes the second book. In the third book the story assumes the character of a fairy tale. The nymphs lead their protectress, together with the rest of the party, through a thick forest to the castle of the wise Felicia, who is represented as a kind of priestess to the goddess Diana. The description of the wonders and magnificence of the castle occupies a great portion of the third book. The wise Felicia conducts the party to a superb hall of state, where they behold a numerous collection of majestic statues, representing Roman emperors, Castilian knights, and Castilian ladies. Even a place is found for the statue of a Moorish knight, of whose conflicts with the Christians a long history is related in this sanctuary of the goddess Diana. By means of enchantment Felicia cures Sireno of the torments of love. At length, in the sixth book, the poet releases his shepherds and shepherdesses from Felicia’s palace, and the reader for the first time becomes acquainted with the shepherdess Diana. She attaches the blame of her infidelity to her parents, by whom, during the absence of Sireno, she was forced to give her hand to another. In the following scenes, to the conclusion of the seventh book, where Montemayor’s labour terminates, the history of the principal characters makes no further progress. Some of the other lovers in the romance are, however, united according to their wishes.

This composition, in which it is easy to recognize the uncultivated genius of a poet, who, to give vent to the emotions of his soul, deemed it necessary to wander through the whole region of romance, can only be regarded by the unprejudiced critic as a fantastical frame-work, serving to display pictures of the feelings and a philosophy of the heart, which constitute the prominent features of the whole poem. To paint romantic fidelity under the most fascinating and various forms, and at the same time to exhibit in a poetic point of view the theory of that fidelity, which even in a poem could only be verified by facts, was the idea which guided Montemayor’s inventive fancy, and the execution of which bears the full impression of his genius. The versified portion of the romance is the soul of the whole composition. A series of lyric poems, partly in the Italian and partly in the old Castilian style, are introduced; but these compositions are strikingly distinguished from the eclogues of Saa de Miranda by an epigrammatic poignancy, which frequently degenerates into antiquated subtlety.[202] But this epigrammatic turn usually imparts a more pointed precision to the lyrical expression, and a degree of consistency to the whole composition, which in no way injures its pastoral simplicity;[203] and when judged according to the characteristic form of the popular songs, called _Villancicos_, it by no means presents, to Spaniards in particular, the idea of too much refinement or incongruity with rustic nature.[204] In order to judge candidly of the pastoral truth of these compositions, it is necessary to have the Spanish romantic ideas of nature present to the mind. Montemayor is inexhaustible in new turns and images for the expression of tenderness. In depth of feeling he vies with Saa de Miranda; and, though his poetry is occasionally deficient in rhythmical polish, it in general presents so exquisite a union of the grace of language, with a happy concordance of ideas, that the reader must soon become warmed by the spirit of the poet, even though he should begin to peruse the work with indifference.[205]

Montemayor’s style of romantic prose has been a model for all writers of pastoral romances in the Spanish language. How far he himself imitated the prose of Sanazzar, cannot easily be ascertained, as it is not known whether or not Sanazzar’s Arcadia[206] was the prototype of his Diana. Though it is certain that Montemayor carefully endeavoured to give precision and dignity of expression, and to impart harmony to every line of his composition, his language nevertheless appears neither laboured nor affected. His taste seems to have been in only a few instances seduced by the influence of that ostentatious solemnity, which distinguished the common chivalrous romances, written in imitation of Amadis de Gaul. In general he remained faithful to the dignified simplicity, which the author of the Amadis appears to have regarded as the genuine characteristic of the lofty style of romantic prose. To this style his protracted but rhythmically pleasing sentences may justly be said to belong.[207] It is but seldom that a low expression escapes him.[208] His descriptions are never deficient in vividness and force.[209] It is only in the didactic passages in which he propounds his philosophy of love, that his language becomes tinged with the scholastic formality, which at the period in which he wrote, was considered indispensable when any scholastic ideas were to be expressed; for though Montemayor had not received that kind of education, which in his age was considered learned, he had picked up some notions of the scholastic philosophy, which, when they interested him, he was fond of introducing into the romance of his heart.[210]

The other works of Montemayor, which are not so celebrated as his Diana, are to be found in a collection of his poems, which, according to the old custom, is entitled a _Cancionero_.[211]

HERRERA.

Fernando de Herrera, a poet very different in character from Montemayor, must next be included among the authors who chiefly contributed to reform Castilian poetry, during the first half of the sixteenth century. Of the history of his life but little is known. He was a native of Seville, and was born, according to the conjectures of his Spanish biographers, about the commencement of the sixteenth century. Thus he flourished at the same time as Diego de Mendoza, and afforded another instance of the light of poetical improvement being directed from the south of Spain. It appears that he did not enter into the ecclesiastical state, to which he finally devoted himself, until he attained a mature age; but he must have received a literary education, as he possessed no ordinary knowledge of the ancient and modern languages, geography, mathematics, and scholastic philosophy. According to a portrait which has been preserved of him, he appears to have been a handsome man; and some of the editors of his works alledge that the lady whom he has celebrated in his verses under various names, was not merely an ideal object of the poet’s tenderness. The admirers of his poetry have applied to him, after the Italian manner, the surname of the _divine_; and this epithet, rendered so equivocal by its application to Pietro Aretino, was never bestowed on any other Spanish poet. These few particulars are all that are known relative to the life of Fernando de Herrera. He died at an advanced age, probably soon after the year 1578.[212]

Why Herrera should have obtained the title of divine, in preference to all the other poets of his nation, would appear almost incomprehensible, were it not known that two opposite parties vied with each other in exalting him; and, to avoid the appearance of yielding on either side, considered themselves reciprocally bound to pronounce compositions sublime which neither could regard as natural. Herrera was, notwithstanding, a poet of powerful talent, and one who evinced undaunted resolution in pursuing the new path which he had struck out for himself. The novel style, however, which he wished to introduce into Spanish poetry, was not the result of a spontaneous essay, flowing from immediate inspiration, but was theoretically constructed on artificial principles. Thus, amidst traits of real beauty, his poetry every where presents marks of affectation. The great fault of his language is too much singularity; and his expression, where it ought to be elevated, is merely far-fetched.

Herrera fancied he had discovered that the diction of the Spanish poets, even in their best works, was too common, too nearly allied to the language of prose, and consequently very far removed from the classical dignity which distinguishes the Greek and Roman poetry. This opinion induced him to form for himself a new style. He classed words according to his fancy, into elegant and inelegant, and was careful to employ in his verse only those to which he attributed the former character. He connected words, under significations which they do not bear in common language; and in contradistinction to the spirit of prose, he regarded certain repetitions, for example, the conjunction _and_ as very appropriate to poetry. He also introduced into his verse, a free arrangement of words, after the model of the latin construction. Finally, he thought he could enrich the language of poetry by new words, which he formed by analogy from existing Castilian words, or adopted immediately from the latin.[213] This peculiarity of style was regarded as the perfection of poetry, by the party who idolized Fernando de Herrera.[214]

Those, however, who have no inclination to confound pompous with poetic language, or diction with the essence of poetry, must still allow to Herrera the possession of poetic ideas and precision of manner, as well as a true dignity of expression, and an elegant harmony of versification. His language is not always affected, and his thoughts and descriptions, though frequently overstrained, are never trivial.[215] Notwithstanding all the faults of his style, he must be accounted the first classical ode writer in modern literature, for the attempts of the Italian poet Chiabrera to emulate Pindar, are of more recent date; and here it is worthy of remark, that the Spanish odes of Herrera and the Italian odes of Chiabrera resemble each other in a mixture of the style of the Pindaric ode, with the style of the canzone. Through the medium of that lyric form only, was the spirit of Pindar felt by these imitators; and both were the more easily deceived, as the genius of the Spanish and Italian languages has a relation to the metrical structure of the canzone, somewhat similar to that which the genius of the Greek language bears to Pindaric verse. But the rapid and bold succession of thoughts and images, which animates the odes of Pindar, could not be imitated by poets, who, even in their boldest flights of fancy were bound down by the laws of the Italian canzone, to the luxurious harmony of its protracted verbose periods. Thus Herrera’s odes, like those of Chiabrera, bear only a remote resemblance to their prototypes. Odes, however, they must be termed, though Herrera himself has classed them, under the general title of _canciones_, along with imitations of the Italian style, purely romantic, but versified according to similar rules. In his celebrated odes on the battle of Lepanto, in which the Spaniards under Don John of Austria, the natural son of Charles V. obtained a brilliant victory over the Turks, the magnificence of the rhythm would be sufficiently attractive, though the ideas conveyed in the torrent of sonorous syllables possessed less poetic beauty than really belong to them.[216] Occasionally, however, Herrera’s ideas degenerate into fantastical hyperboles; for instance, when boasting of his hero, he says, that Don John of Austria, that glorious conqueror of the infidels and the elements, combines within himself “whatever of heavenly power animates terrestrial bodies;” and that therefore “the fixed earth, the extended waters, the circumambent air, and the ever glowing flames depend on him, so that through the secret control which he exercises over earth, water, air, and fire, all these elements are his works.”[217] But passages of real beauty occur in Herrera’s odes, which afford a sufficient compensation for this sort of bombast.[218] Among the odes for which Herrera has chosen a softer theme, the prize of superiority has been justly awarded to the Ode to Sleep. It is one of those compositions which may be said to be single in their kind. The graceful choice of language, the picturesque effect, the delicate keeping in the composition, and the finish given to all the details in strict conformity with the true spirit of the theme, impart to this ode or cancion a lyric beauty which must render it in all ages an object of admiration, not only to the lover, but to the critic of poetry.[219]

The other poems of Herrera, though extremely numerous, require only a slight notice.[220] His best sonnets, which are among the happiest imitations of Petrarch in the Spanish language, are characterized by the recurrence of some of the author’s favourite images, as for example, the comparison of his mistress to light, or the evening star,[221] &c. He is frequently very successful in the management of these similes; but at other times he falls into strange absurdities, such as making the “curling waves of gold of his sweet light float in the wind.”[222] But extravagant tropes of this kind could not be very offensive to Spanish taste, which had been accustomed to indulge the orientalisms of the old national style, and they were indeed not only tolerated but esteemed. It might have been expected that a writer possessing so much critical judgment as Herrera, would, as an imitator of Petrarch, have endeavoured to naturalize in his native tongue, the simplicity of the Italian poet; but he was too much a Spaniard to be pleased with such simplicity. His elegies, and other lyric compositions in the Italian syllabic measure, have all the same character.

Herrera endeavoured, by other means than poetical composition, to give to the national taste of the Spaniards a direction conformable to his own principles. He wrote a “Critical Commentary on the Poems of Garcilaso de la Vega.”[223] This commentary has served as a model for many similar works, which have been the means of circulating various kinds of useful knowledge without having contributed in any remarkable degree to the advancement of taste. Herrera, as a theorist, failed to establish any fixed point or station from which he might have taken a clear and consistent view of the whole region of poetry. His criticism everlastingly turns on detached ideas and words; and whenever opportunities for displaying his learning occur, he digresses into all the regions of philosophy and literature. Of the indistinctness of his notions, relative to the different species of poetry, some idea may be formed from his definition of the elegy. He says--“an elegy should be simple, soft, tender, amiable, terse, clear, and if it may be so called, noble; affecting to the feelings, and moving them in every way; neither very inflated nor very humble, nor obscured by affected phrases or far-fetched fables.”[224]

LUIS DE LEON.

Luis Ponce de Leon, the next lyric poet to be noticed, pursued a course very different from that of Herrera, whose contemporary he was. He is usually called, by abbreviation, merely Luis de Leon, and did not obtain the surname of divine, to which, however, he might have laid claim with infinitely more justice than Herrera, if his pious humility would have permitted him to entertain the idea of maintaining any competition for earthly honours.[225]

This poet, who for classical purity of style and moral dignity of ideas, had never been surpassed in Spanish literature, was, like Herrera and Mendoza, a native of the south of Spain. He was born at Granada, in the year 1527, where the family of the Ponces de Leon, which was connected with the most distinguished of the Spanish nobility, flourished. At an early period of life, Luis de Leon felt a poetic inspiration, and cherished a love of retirement, which rendered him indifferent to outward show, and all the pleasures of the great world. He found only in poetry and in the contemplation of a superior existence that food for which his soul longed. His tranquil and gentle mind exhibited none of the gloomy features of monkish fanaticism, but was devoted to moral and religious meditation. As soon as he had finished his scholastic studies, he entered, of his own free choice, into the ecclesiastical state. He was sixteen years of age when he made his profession in the order of St. Augustine at Salamanca. Theology now became his proper occupation. In Spain, especially at that period, a man of the character of Luis de Leon, even if he possessed a mind capable of divesting itself of prejudice, could scarcely be expected to doubt the dogmas of the catholic faith; but his poetic imagination, which was not to be satisfied with their dry and scholastic interpretation, irresistibly impelled him to adorn them. Luis transferred the mild enthusiasm of his pious feelings into the theological studies, to which his vocation devoted him. On religious subjects he was a learned and diligent author; but his heart found, at least during the first years of his monastic life, only in poetry, the faithful interpreter of his love for that pure truth, to the attainment of which all his arduous efforts were directed. Though invested in his thirty-third year with the dignity of doctor of theology, he maintained, even within the cloister, his intimacy with the classic writers of antiquity. The Hebrew poetry also worked powerfully on his imagination; and on one occasion he nearly fell a martyr to an attempt to translate and comment on the Song of Solomon. He was very far from wishing to give a too liberal interpretation of the amatory language of the original. He explained the sacred poem in perfect accordance with the sense attributed to it by the church. But the inquisition had, at that time, strictly prohibited the translation of any part of the bible into the vulgar tongue. Luis de Leon, therefore, ventured to communicate his version in confidence to one friend only; but that friend was not faithful to his trust, and the translation found its way into the hands of several individuals. It was soon denounced to the inquisition, and the author was immediately thrown into prison by that terrible tribunal. He himself mentions, in one of his letters, that for the space of five years he was deprived of all communication with mankind, and was not even permitted to see the light of day.[226] Conscious of his innocence, he enjoyed during his captivity, according to his own testimony, a tranquillity and satisfaction of mind which he never afterwards so fully experienced, when restored to freedom, and the society of his friends.[227] At length justice was done to him, he returned in triumph to his monastery, and was reinstated in his ecclesiastical dignities. From that period, he appears to have been wholly devoted to the duties of his order and the study of theology. He died in 1591, in the sixty-fourth year of his age, being at that time general and provincial vicar of Salamanca.

The poems of this amiable enthusiast are, according to his own testimony,[228] for the most part the productions of his youth; but no other Spanish poet has succeeded in expressing the intense feelings of the heart under the control of so sound a judgment. It is only by reference to the pious tranquillity of a cultivated mind wrapt up in self communion, that the extraordinary correctness of this author’s style can be explained, for Luis de Leon is, without exception, the most correct of all the Spanish poets, though he constantly regarded the metrical clothing of his ideas as a very secondary object. To use his own language, he wrote poetry rather in fulfilment of his destiny, than purposely and by dint of study. At an early age he became intimately acquainted with the odes of Horace, and the elegance and purity of style which distinguish those compositions made a deep impression on his imagination. Classical simplicity and dignity were the models constantly present to his creative fancy. He, however, appropriated to himself the character of Horace’s poetry, too naturally ever to incur the danger of servile imitation. He discarded the prolix style of the canzone, and imitated the brevity of the strophes of Horace, in romantic syllabic measures and rhymes. More just feeling for the imitation of the ancients was never evinced by any modern poet. His odes have, however, a character totally different from those of Horace, though the sententious air which marks the style of both authors, imparts to them a deceptive resemblance. The religious austerity of Luis de Leon’s life was not to be reconciled with the epicurism of the latin poet; but, notwithstanding this very different disposition of the mind, it is not surprising that they should have adopted the same form of poetic expression, for each possessed a fine imagination, subordinate to the control of a sound understanding. Which of the two is the superior poet, in the most extended sense of the word, it would be difficult to determine, as each formed his style by free imitation, and neither overstepped the boundaries of a certain sphere of practical observation. Horace’s odes exhibit a superior style of art, and from the relationship between the thoughts and images, possess a degree of attraction which is wanting in those of Luis de Leon; but on the other hand, the latter are the more rich in that natural kind of poetry, which may be regarded as the overflowing of a pure soul, elevated to the loftiest regions of moral and religious idealism.[229]

Luis de Leon himself published a collection of his poetic works, divided into three books. The first, contains his original poems--the second, translations from some of the ancient classics--and the third, metrical versions of several of the psalms, and some parts of the book of Job.