Part 1 (2/2)

The spirit of adventure ran high among the Castilians, while the whole nation was at the same time in course of mental as well as moral development. We are obliged to acknowledge that Spain in many ways was far behind Italy, though hardly as some would have it, at the distance of half a century. We must remember that, in 1530, there were only two hundred printing-presses in the whole of Europe, and that when the first one was set up in London, the Westminster abbot exclaimed, ”Brethren, this is a tremendous engine! We must control it, or it will conquer us.”

The first press in Spain was set up in Valencia, in 1474, and Clemencin says that more printing-presses in the infancy of the art were probably at work in Spain than there are at the present day.

A change seemed to have crept gradually over the whole national character of Spain after the brilliant and prosperous reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, commencing with the severity of the Inquisition and continuing under the tyranny of Philip II., predisposing the army to savage deeds, till even the women and children were infected and the literature of the period slightly tinged.

Cervantes is too often merged into Don Quixote as if he had no separate existence. He accomplished more for the improvement of Spanish literature with his well-timed satire than all the laws or sermons could effect. His remarkable mind seems to have escaped the influence of the times, unless we make an exception of his drama ”Numancia,” which, while it excites the imagination, fills us with horror at its details, and fails to touch our hearts, but is full of historical truths. Schlegel, however, reviews it with enthusiasm. He calls his ”Life in Algiers” a comedy, but undoubtedly it is a true picture of his own captivity. We are touched and filled with gloom at its perusal, and only remember it as a tragedy. These two dramas were lost sight of till the end of the eighteenth century, and they are superior to later dramatic efforts. He was proud of his original conception of a tragedy composed of ideal and allegorical characters which he permitted to have part in the ”Life in Algiers,” as well as in ”Numancia.” Of the thirty plays spoken of as given to the stage but few now remain; but others may yet be found. The Spaniards say the faults of a great writer are not left in the ink-stand. Spain, in Cervantes' day, had pa.s.sed the chivalric age, though many relics of it still remained in its legends, songs, and proverbs. Cervantes becomes his own critic in his ”Supplement to a Journey to Parna.s.sus,” and speaking of his dramas, says: ”I should declare them worthy the favor they have received were they not my own.”

Unfortunately, his comedy of ”La Confusa” is among the lost ones. He alludes to it as a good one among the best.

We have known Cervantes as a student, a soldier, a captive, and an author, and now we have to imagine our maimed and bronzed soldier-poet, after his many fortunes of war, in the new character of a lover. In thought we trace his n.o.ble features, his intelligent look and expressive eye, combined with his dignified bearing and thoughtful manner, and in so tracing we find it congenial to imagine him as being well dressed and enveloped in the ample Spanish cloak thrown gracefully over his breast and left shoulder, concealing the poor mutilated arm, and at the same time making it all the more difficult to believe that the right one had ever wielded a ”Toledo blade” or sworn that very strongest vow of loyalty, ”A fe de Rodrigo.”[1]

We find him much interested in the quaint old-fas.h.i.+oned town of Esquivias, making many friends therein, and sometimes gossiping with the host of the _fonda_, so famed for the generous wines of Esquivias that it needed no ”bush;” and while enjoying his cigarito and taking an occasional morsel from the dish of _quisado_ before him, he is learning from the same gossiping host many items of interest about the very ill.u.s.trious families of Esquivias,--for it was famed for its chivalrous prowess and its ”claims of long descent.” He had commenced his ”Galatea,” and in it he was painting living portraits, and with great delicacy he was, as the shepherd Elicio, portraying his pa.s.sion for Catalina, the daughter of Fernando de Salazar Voxmediano and Catalina de Palacios, both of ill.u.s.trious families. Her father was dead, and she had been educated by her uncle, Francisco de Salazar, who left her a legacy in his will.

The fair Catalina, like other Spanish senoritas, was under the espionage of a strict duena, and his opportunities of seeing her were very limited. Sometimes we fancy him awaiting the pa.s.sing of the hour of the siesta and knocking at the grating of the heavy door of the house of the Salazars, and in reply to the porter's question of _Quien es_?

answering, in his melodious tones, _Gente de paz_ (literally, ”a friend”),--a precaution which still continues in Spain. Meanwhile, his romance of ”Galatea” and of his own life are both growing. The occasion inspires him. He is still in Esquivias, wandering through the olive groves and by the river side, sometimes resting, and drinking in the fragrance from an orange-tree while his untold wealth of brain was seeking for its exit. Sometimes he had Catalina for a companion, the duena lingering slightly behind. Sometimes he saw her at the church like a fair saint, kneeling; but oftener he wandered alone with his now happy thoughts, scarce knowing that the night was closing about him, or scarce heeding the watchman who cried, ”All hail, Mary, mother of Jesus! half past twelve o'clock and a cloudy morning!” and thus, to this day, are the Spaniards warned of the hour and the weather. His ”Galatea” remains unfinished. He had not meant that all this song should be for the public ear. The end was for his love alone!

On the 12th of December, 1584, he was married to Catalina. Not many years ago, the marriage contract was found in the public registry of Esquivias. It contains an inventory of the marriage-dowry promised by the bride's mother, of ”lands, furniture, utensils, and live-stock.”

Then follows the details, ”several vineyards, amounting to twelve acres, beds, chairs, brooms, brushes, poultry, and sundry sacks of flour.” It is spoken of as a very respectable dowry at a time when sacks of wheat were worth eight reals. Then follows, in the same doc.u.ment, his own settlement upon his wife, which is stated to be one hundred ducats. By the custom of the time that was one-tenth of his whole property, or to quote again, which ”must have amounted to a thousand ducats, which at present would be equivalent to about four hundred and fifty pounds sterling.” Gladly would we find some pleasant items of happy home life, though, for the next four years, he lived quietly at Esquivias, and cared for the vineyards like any landholder, till, perhaps, he tired and went on to Seville, where he took up some mercantile business, though never entirely giving up the pen; but from 1598 till 1605, there are no real traces of him, when it would appear that he had removed to Valladolid.

There is little doubt but that he suffered both in purse and feeling from want of appreciation; but the Spanish proverb says, ”An author's work who looks to money is the coat of a tailor who works late on the vespers of Easter Sunday.” He had too n.o.ble a mind to harbor so mean a sentiment as jealousy, and was far in advance of his age. His countrymen, with characteristic indolence, were ready to cry, _manana, manana_ (to-morrow, to-morrow), and so it was left for later generations to honor his memory, for his power of invention and purity of imagination can never be rivalled. While acting as clerk in Seville to Antonio de Guevara, the Commissary-General to the Indian and American dependencies, he must have been sadly disappointed, particularly as, during that time, he had been unjustly thrown into prison on the plea of not accounting for trust-money with satisfaction. Mr. Ticknor gives the following interesting account: ”During his residence at Seville, Cervantes made an ineffectual application to the king for an appointment in America, setting forth by the exact doc.u.ments a general account of his adventures, services, and sufferings while a soldier in the Levant, and of the miseries of his life while a slave in Algiers; but no other than a formal answer seems to have been returned to his application, and the whole affair leaves us to infer the severity of that distress which could induce him to seek relief in exile to a colony of which he has elsewhere spoken as the great resort for rogues.” The appointment he desired was either corregidor (or mayor) of the city of Paz or the auditors.h.i.+p of New Grenada, the governors.h.i.+p of the province of Socunusco or that of the galleys of Carthagena. His removal to Valladolid seems to have been by command of the revenue authorities, where he still collected taxes for public and private persons. While collecting for the prior of the order of St. John, he was again ill-treated and thrown into prison.

Not till he was fifty-eight years old did he give to the world his master-piece, and thus immortalizes La Mancha, in return for his inhospitable and cruel treatment. ”Don Quixote” was licensed at Valladolid in 1604, and printed at Madrid in 1605. Its success was so great that, during his lifetime, thirty thousand volumes were printed, which in that day was little short of marvellous. Four editions were published the first year, two at Madrid, one at Valencia, and one at Lisbon. Byron says: ”Cervantes laugh'd Spain's chivalry away!” So popular was it, that a spurious second part, under the fict.i.tious authors.h.i.+p of Avellanada was published. Cervantes was furious, and called him a blockhead; but Germond de Lavigue, the distinguished Spanish scholar, rashly a.s.serts that but for this Avellanada, he would never have finished ”Don Quixote.” Even before it was printed, jealousy evidently existed in the hearts of rival writers, for in one of Lope's letters he refers to it, and spitefully hints that no poet could be found to write commendatory verses on it.

He recognized the fact of universal selfishness when he makes Sancho Panza refuse to learn the Don's love-letter and say, ”Write it, your wors.h.i.+p, for it's sheer nonsense to trust anything to my memory.”

Spain is so full of rich material for romance that from it his mature mind seemed to inaugurate a new age in Spanish literature. After the gloomy intolerance of Philip II., the advent of Philip III. added much to the literary freedom of Spain, which still belonged to the ”Age of Chivalry,” and to this day the true Spaniard nourishes the lofty and romantic qualities which, combined with a tone of sentiment and gravity and n.o.bility of conversation, embellishes the legitimate grandee.

Sismondi de Sismondi says the style of ”Don Quixote” is inimitable.

Montesquieu says: ”It is written to prove all others useless.” To some it is an allegory, to some a tragedy, to some a parable, and to others a satire. As a satirist we think him unrivalled, and this spirit found a choice opportunity for vent when the troops of Don Carlos I. marched upon Rome, taking Pope Clement VII. prisoner, while at the same time the king was having prayers said in the churches of Madrid for the deliverance of the Pope, on the plea that ”he was obliged to make war against the _temporal_ sovereign of Rome, but not upon the spiritual head of the Church!” No wonder the king, after proving himself so good a Catholic, should end his days in a monastery, or that he should mortify himself by lying in a coffin, wrapped in a shroud, while funeral services were performed over him. What, again, could have appealed more to his sense of the ridiculous than the contest between the priests and the authorities over the funeral obsequies of Philip II., so intolerant a tyrant that he caused every Spaniard to breathe more freely as he ceased so to do. He used his people as

”Broken tools, that tyrants cast away By myriads, when they dare to pave their way With human hearts.”

We can easily believe in the greater freedom during the reign of Philip III. ”Viva el Rey.”

The Count de Lemos was his near friend and protector when he brought out the second part of ”Don Quixote,” and ridiculed his rival imitator. He was a pioneer of so elevated a character as to preclude the possibility of followers. Every one is familiar with it as a story, and the mishaps of the gentle, n.o.ble-minded, kind-hearted old Don, as well as the delusions, simplicity, and selfishness of the devoted squire, will never lose their power to amuse. It may be extravagant, but it is not a burlesque. The strong character painting, the ideas, situations, and language, clothed in such simplicity that at times it becomes almost solemn, give it a grandeur that no other book, considered as a romance, possesses. The old anecdote of the king observing a student walking by the river side and bursting into involuntary fits of laughter over a book, exclaiming, ”The man is either mad or reading 'Don Quixote,'” is well preserved. One peculiar feature of the book is that, even now, for some places, it would be a useful guide, many of the habits and customs of Spain three hundred years ago being still the same. What a volume of wit and wisdom is contained in the proverbs and aphorisms. One might quote from it indefinitely had he not told us that ”without discretion there is no wit.” His own motive in writing it we find in the last paragraph of the book, namely, ”My sole object has been to expose to the contempt they deserved the extravagant and silly tricks of chivalry, which this my true and genuine 'Don Quixote' has nearly accomplished, their worldly credit being now actually tottering, and will doubtless soon sink, never to rise again.”

Now, all languages have it. There are eight translations into English alone; but it is always impossible for the translator to render its true spirit or to give it full justice. With all its vivacity and drollery, its delicate satire and keen ridicule, it has a mournful tinge of melancholy running through, and here and there peeping out, only to have been gathered from such experience as his. He wrote with neither bitterness nor a diseased imagination, always realizing what is due to himself and with a full appreciation of and desire for fame. Many scenes of real suffering appear under a dramatic guise, and here and there creep out bits of personal history. His nature was chivalrous in the highest degree. His sorrows were greater than his joys. Born for the library, he prefers the camp, and abandons literature to fight the Turks. Does he not make the Don say, ”Let none presume to tell me the pen is preferable to the sword.” Again he says: ”Allowing that the end of war is peace, and that in this it exceeds the end of learning, let us weigh the bodily labors the scholar undergoes against those the warrior suffers, and then see which are the greatest.” Then he enumerates: ”First, poverty; and having said he endures poverty, methinks nothing more need be urged to express his misery, for he that is poor enjoys no happiness, but labors under this poverty in all its guises, at one time in hunger, at another in cold, another in nakedness, and sometimes in all of them together.” Later on he makes him say: ”It gives me some concern to think that powder and lead may suddenly cut short my career of glory.”

The world can only be grateful that ”his career of glory” did not end in the military advancement he had the right to expect. Had he been a general, his Rozinante might still have been wandering without a name, and Sancho Panza have died a common laborer. Again he says: ”Would to G.o.d I could find a place to serve as a private tomb for this wearisome burden of life which I bear so much against my inclination.” Surviving almost unheard-of grievances only to emerge from them with greater power; depicting in his works true outlines of his own adventures, sometimes by a proverb, often by a romance, he never loses one jot of his pride, giving golden advice to Sancho when a governor, and finis.h.i.+ng with the expression, ”So may'st thou escape the PITY of the world.” In May, 1605, he was called upon as a witness in a case of a man who was mortally wounded and dragged at night into his apartment, which almost accidentally gives us his household, consisting of his wife; his natural daughter Isabel, twenty years of age, unmarried; his sister, a widow, above fifty years; her unmarried daughter, aged twenty-eight; his half-sister, a religieuse; and a maid-servant. His ”Espanola Inglesa”

appeared in 1611. His moral tales, the pioneers in Spanish literature, are a combination without special plan of serious and comic, romance and anecdote, evidently giving, under the guise of fiction, poetically colored bits of his own experience in Italy and Africa. In his story of ”La Gitanilla” (the gipsy girl) may be found the argument of Weber's opera of ”Preciosa.” ”Parna.s.sus” was written two years before his death, after which he wrote eight comedies and a sequel to his twelve moral tales. In his story of ”Rinconete Cortadilla” he evidently derives the names from _rincon_ (a corner) and _cortar_ (to cut). His last work was ”Persiles and Sigismunda,” the preface of which is a near presentiment of his closing labors. He says: ”Farewell, gayety; farewell, humor; farewell, my pleasant friends. I must now die, and I desire nothing more than to soon see you again happy in another world.” His industry was wonderful. We can but have a grateful feeling towards the Count de Lemos for adding to his physical comfort for the last few years, and feel a regret that the Count, who had lingered in Naples, could not have arrived in time to see him once more when he so ardently desired it. In a dedication to the Count of his final romance, written only four days before his death, he very touchingly says: ”I could have wished not to have been obliged to make so close a personal application of the old verses commencing 'With the foot already in the stirrup,' for with very little alteration I may truly say that with my foot in the stirrup, feeling this moment the pains of dissolution, I address this letter to you. Yesterday I received extreme unction. To-day I have resumed my pen.

Time is short, my pains increase, my hopes diminish, yet I do wish my life might be prolonged till I could see you again in Spain.” His wish was not to be gratified; the Count, unaware of the near danger of his friend, only returned to find himself overwhelmed with grief at his loss.

After sixty-nine years of varied fortunes and many struggles, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra breathed his last, unsoothed by the hands he had loved, for even this privilege seems to have been denied to him. At the near end of his life he had joined the kindly third order of the Franciscan friars, and the brethren cared for him at the last. His remarkable clearness of intellect never failed him, and on April 23, 1616, the very day that Shakspeare died at Stratford, Cervantes died at Madrid. Unlike the great English contemporary, whose undisturbed bones have lain quietly under peril of his malediction, the bones of the great Spanish poet were irrevocably lost when the old Convent of the Trinity, in the Calle del Humilladero, was destroyed. Ungrateful Spain! the spot had never been marked with a common tombstone.

The old house[2] in the Calle de Francos, where he died, was so dilapidated that, in 1835, it was destroyed. It was rebuilt, and a marble bust of Cervantes was placed over the entrance by the sculptor, Antonio Sola.

The ”Madrid Epoca,” under the heading of ”The Prison of Cervantes,”

calls attention to the alarming state of decay of the house in Argamasilla del Alba, in the cellar of which, as an extemporized dungeon, tradition a.s.serts that Cervantes was imprisoned, and where he penned at least a portion of his work. It was in this cellar that, a few years since, the Madrid publis.h.i.+ng house of Rivadeneyra erected a press and printed their edition _de luxe_ of ”Don Quijote.” The house was, some years since, purchased by the late Infante Don Sebastian, with a view to a complete and careful restoration; but political changes and his death prevented a realization of his project. The ”Epoca” now calls public attention to the state of decay of the house, with a view to an immediate restoration.

<script>