Handbook of Universal Literature, From the Best and Latest Authorities

by Anne C. Lynch Botta

"Don Quixote," of all the works of all modern times, bears most deeply the impression of the national character it represents, and it has in return enjoyed a degree of national favor never granted to any other. The object of Cervantes in writing it was, as he himself declares, "to render abhorred of men the false and absurd stories contained in books of chivalry." The fanaticism for these romances was so great in Spain during the sixteenth century, and they were deemed so noxious, that the burning of all copies extant in the country was earnestly asked for by the Cortes. To destroy a passion that had struck its roots so deeply in the character of all classes of men, to break up the only reading which, at that time, was fashionable and popular, was a bold undertaking, yet one in which Cervantes succeeded. No book of chivalry was written after the appearance of "Don Quixote;" and from that time to the present they have been constantly disappearing, until they are now among the rarest of literary curiosities,—a solitary instance of the power of genius to destroy, by a well-timed blow, an entire department of literature.

In accomplishing this object, Cervantes represents "Don Quixote" as a country gentleman of La Mancha, full of Castilian honor and enthusiasm, but so completely crazed by reading the most famous books of chivalry, that he not only believes them to be true, but feels himself called upon to become the impossible knight-errant they describe, and actually goes forth into the world, like them, to defend the oppressed and avenge the injured. To complete his chivalrous equipment, which he had begun by fitting up for himself a suit of armor strange to his century, he took an esquire out of his neighborhood, a middle-aged peasant, ignorant, credulous, and good-natured, but shrewd enough occasionally to see the folly of their position. The two sally forth from their native village in search of adventures, of which the excited imagination of the knight— turning windmills into giants, solitary turrets into castles, and galley slaves into oppressed gentlemen—finds abundance wherever he goes, while the esquire translates them all into the plain prose of truth, with a simplicity strikingly contrasted with the lofty dignity and the magnificent illusions of the knight. After a series of ridiculous discomfitures, the two are at last brought home like madmen to their native village.

Ten years later, Cervantes published the second part of Don Quixote, which is even better than the first. It shows more vigor and freedom, the invention and the style of thought are richer, and the finish more exact. Both Don Quixote and Sancho are brought before us like such living realities, that at this moment the figures of the crazed, gaunt, and dignified knight, and of his round, selfish, and most amusing esquire, dwell bodied forth in the imagination of more, among all conditions of men throughout Christendom, than any other of the creations of human talent. In this work Cervantes has shown himself of kindred to all times and all lands, to the humblest as well as to the highest degrees of cultivation, and he has received in return, beyond all other writers, a tribute of sympathy and admiration from the universal spirit of humanity.

This romance, which Cervantes threw so carelessly from him, and which he regarded only as a bold effort to break up the absurd taste for the fancies of chivalry, has been established by an uninterrupted and an unquestioned success ever since, as the oldest classical specimen of romantic fiction, and as one of the most remarkable monuments of modern genius. But Cervantes is entitled to a higher glory: it should be borne in mind that this delightful romance was not the result of a youthful exuberance of feeling, and a happy external condition; with all its unquenchable and irresistible humor, its bright views, and its cheerful trust in goodness and virtue, it was written in his old age, at the conclusion of a life which had been marked at nearly every step with struggle, disappointment, and calamity; it was begun in prison, and finished when he felt the hand of death pressing cold and heavy upon his heart. If this be remembered as we read, we may feel what admiration and reverence are due, not only to the living power of Don Quixote, but to the character and genius of Cervantes; if it be forgotten or underrated, we shall fail in regard to both.

The first form of romantic fiction which succeeded the romances of chivalry was that of prose pastorals, which was introduced into Spain by Montemayor, a Portuguese, who lived, probably, between 1520 and 1561. To divert his mind from the sorrow of an unrequited attachment, he composed a romance entitled "Diana," which, with numerous faults, possesses a high degree of merit. It was succeeded by many similar tales.

The next form of Spanish prose fiction, and the one which has enjoyed a more permanent regard, is that known as tales in the gusto picaresco, or style of the rogues. As a class, they constitute a singular exhibition of character, and are as separate and national as anything in modern literature. The first fiction of this class was the "Lazarillo de Tormes" of Mendoza, already spoken of, published in 1554,—a bold, unfinished sketch of the life of a rogue from the very lowest condition of society. Forty-five years afterwards this was followed by the "Guzman de Alfarache" of Aleman, the most ample portraiture of its class to be found in Spanish literature. It is chiefly curious and interesting because it shows us, in the costume of the times, the life of an ingenious Machiavelian rogue, who is never at a loss for an expedient, and who speaks of himself always as an honest man. The work was received with great favor, and translated into all the languages of Europe.

But the work which most plainly shows the condition of social life which produced this class of tales, is the "Life of Estevanillo Gonzalez," first printed in 1646. It is the autobiography of a buffoon who was long in the service of Piccolomini, the great general of the Thirty Years' War. The brilliant success of these works at home and abroad subsequently produced the Gil Blas of Le Sage, an imitation more brilliant than any of the originals that it followed.

The serious and historical fictions produced in Spain were limited in number, and with few exceptions deserved little favor. Short stories or tales were more successful than any other form of prose-fiction during the latter part of the sixteenth, and the whole of the seventeenth century. They belonged to the spirit of their own times and to the state of society in which they appeared. Taken together, the number of fictions in Spanish literature is enormous; but what is more remarkable than their multitude, is the fact that they were produced when the rest of Europe, with a partial exception in favor of Italy, was not yet awakened to corresponding efforts of the imagination. The creative spirit, however, soon ceased, and a spirit of French imitation took its place.

6. HISTORICAL NARRATIVE POEMS.—Epic poetry, from its dignity and pretensions, is almost uniformly placed at the head of the different divisions of a nation's literature. But in Spain little has been achieved in this department that is worthy of memory. The old half-epic poem of the Cid—the first attempt at narration in the languages of modern Europe that deserves the name—is one of the most remarkable outbreaks of poetical and national enthusiasm on record. The few similar attempts that followed during the next three centuries, while they serve to mark the progress of Spanish culture, show little of the power manifested in the Cid.

In the reign of Charles V., the poets of the time evidently imagined that to them was assigned the task of celebrating the achievements in the Old World and in the New, which had raised their country to the first place among the powers of Europe. There were written, therefore, during this and the succeeding reigns, an extraordinary number of epic and narrative poems on subjects connected with ancient and modern Spanish glory, but they all belong to patriotism rather than to poetry; the best of these come with equal pretension into the province of history. There is but one long poem of this class which obtained much regard when it appeared, and which has been remembered ever since, the "Araucana." The author of this work, Ercilla (1533-1595), was a page of Philip the Second, and accompanied him to England on the occasion of his marriage with Mary. News having arrived that the Araucans, a tribe of Indians in Chili, had revolted against the Spanish authority, Ercilla joined the adventurous expedition that was sent out to subdue them. In the midst of his exploits he conceived the plan of writing a narrative of the war in the form of an epic poem. After the tumult of a battle, or the fatigues of a march, he devoted the hours of the night to his literary labors, wielding the pen and sword by turns, and often obliged to write on pieces of skin or scraps of paper so small as to contain only a few lines. In this poem the descriptive powers of Ercilla are remarkable, and his characters, especially those of the American chiefs, are drawn with force and distinctness. The whole poem is pervaded by that deep sense of loyalty, always a chief ingredient in Spanish honor and heroism, and which, in Ercilla, seems never to have been chilled by the ingratitude of the master to whom he devoted his life, and to whose glory he consecrated this poem.