History of Spanish Literature, vol. 1 (of 3)

by George Ticknor

Nor should it be forgotten that Cervantes himself was not insensible to its merits. The first book that, as he tells us, was taken from the shelves of Don Quixote, when the curate, the barber, and the housekeeper began the expurgation of his library, was the Amadis de Gaula. “‘There is something mysterious about this matter,’ said the curate; ‘for, as I have heard, this was the first book of knight-errantry that was printed in Spain, and all the others have had their origin and source here, so that, as the arch-heretic of so mischievous a sect, I think he should, without a hearing, be condemned to the fire.’ ‘No, Sir,’ said the barber, ‘for I, too, have heard that it is the best of all the books of its kind that have been written, and therefore, for its singularity, it ought to be forgiven.’ ‘That is the truth,’ answered the curate, ‘and so let us spare it for the present’”;—a decision which, on the whole, has been confirmed by posterity, and precisely for the reason Cervantes has assigned.[377]

But before Montalvo published his translation of the Amadis, and perhaps before he had made it, he had written a continuation, which he announced in the Preface to the Amadis as its fifth book. It is an original work, about one third part as long as the Amadis, and contains the story of the son of that hero and Oriana, named Esplandian, whose birth and education had already been given in the story of his father’s adventures, and constitute one of its pleasantest episodes. But, as the curate says, when he comes to this romance in Don Quixote’s library, “the merits of the father must not be imputed to the son.” The story of Esplandian has neither freshness, spirit, nor dignity in it. It opens at the point where he is left in the original fiction, just armed as a knight, and is filled with his adventures as he wanders about the world, and with the supernumerary achievements of his father Amadis, who survives to the end of the whole, and sees his son made Emperor of Constantinople; he himself having long before become King of Great Britain by the death of Lisuarte.[378]

But, from the beginning, we find two mistakes committed, which run through the whole work. Amadis, represented as still alive, fills a large part of the canvas; while, at the same time, Esplandian is made to perform achievements intended to be more brilliant than his father’s, but which, in fact, are only more extravagant. From this sort of emulation, the work becomes a succession of absurd and frigid impossibilities. Many of the characters of the Amadis are preserved in it, like Lisuarte, who is rescued out of a mysterious imprisonment by Esplandian as his first adventure; Urganda, who, from a graceful fairy, becomes a savage enchantress; and “the great master Elisabad,” a man of learning and a priest, whom we first knew as the leech of Amadis, and who is now the pretended biographer of his son, writing, as he says, in Greek. But none of them, and none of the characters invented for the occasion, are managed with skill.

The scene of the whole work is laid chiefly in the East, amidst battles with Turks and Mohammedans; thus showing to what quarter the minds of men were turned when it was written, and what were the dangers apprehended to the peace of Europe, even in its westernmost borders, during the century after the fall of Constantinople. But all reference to real history or real geography was apparently thought inappropriate, as may be inferred from the circumstances, that a certain Calafria, queen of the island of California, is made a formidable enemy of Christendom through a large part of the story; and that Constantinople is said at one time to have been besieged by three millions of heathen. Nor is the style better than the story. The eloquence which is found in many passages of the Amadis is not found at all in Esplandian. On the contrary, large portions of it are written in a low and meagre style, and the rhymed arguments prefixed to many of the chapters are any thing but poetry, and quite inferior to the few passages of verse scattered through the Amadis.[379]

The oldest edition of the Esplandian now known to exist was printed in 1526, and five others appeared before the end of the century; so that it seems to have enjoyed its full share of popular favor. At any rate, the example it set was quickly followed. Its principal personages were made to figure again in a series of connected romances, each having a hero descended from Amadis, who passes through adventures more incredible than any of his predecessors, and then gives place, we know not why, to a son still more extravagant, and, if the phrase may be used, still more impossible, than his father. Thus, in the same year 1526, we have the sixth book of Amadis de Gaula, called “The History of Florisando,” his nephew, which is followed by the still more wonderful “Lisuarte of Greece, Son of Esplandian,” and the most wonderful “Amadis of Greece,” making respectively the seventh and eighth books. To these succeeded “Don Florisel de Niquea,” and “Anaxartes, Son of Lisuarte,” whose history, with that of the children of the last, fills three books; and finally we have the twelfth book, or “The Great Deeds in Arms of that Bold Knight, Don Silves de la Selva,” which was printed in 1549; thus giving proof how extraordinary was the success of the whole series, since its date allows hardly half a century for the production in Spanish of all these vast romances, most of which, during the same period, appeared in several, and some of them in many editions.

Nor did the effects of the passion thus awakened stop here. Other romances appeared, belonging to the same family, though not coming into the regular line of succession, such as a duplicate of the seventh book on Lisuarte, by the Canon Diaz, in 1526, and “Leandro the Fair,” in 1563, by Pedro de Luxan, which has sometimes been called the thirteenth; while in France, where they were all translated successively, as they appeared in Spain, and became instantly famous, the proper series of the Amadis romances was stretched out into twenty-four books; after all which, a certain Sieur Duverdier, grieved that many of them came to no regular catastrophe, collected the scattered and broken threads of their multitudinous stories and brought them all to an orderly sequence of conclusions, in seven large volumes, under the comprehensive and appropriate name of the “Roman des Romans.” And so ends the history of the Portuguese type of Amadis of Gaul, as it was originally presented to the world in the Spanish romances of chivalry; a fiction which, considering the passionate admiration it so long excited, and the influence it has, with little merit of its own, exercised on the poetry and romance of modern Europe ever since, is a phenomenon that has no parallel in literary history.[380]

The state of manners and opinion in Spain, however, which produced this extraordinary series of romances, could hardly fail to be fertile in other fictitious heroes, less brilliant, perhaps, in their fame than was Amadis, but with the same general qualities and attributes. And such, indeed, was the case. Many romances of chivalry appeared in Spain, soon after the success of this their great leader; and others followed a little later. The first of all of them in consequence, if not in date, is “Palmerin de Oliva”; a personage the more important, because he had a train of descendants that place him, beyond all doubt, next in dignity to Amadis.

The Palmerin has often, perhaps generally, been regarded as Portuguese in its origin, and as the work of a lady; though the proof of each of these allegations is somewhat imperfect. If, however, the facts be really as they have been stated, not the least curious circumstance in relation to them is, that, as in the case of the Amadis, the Portuguese original of the Palmerin is lost, and the first and only knowledge we have of its story is from the Spanish version. Even in this version, we can trace it up no higher than to the edition printed at Seville in 1525, which was certainly not the first.

But whenever it may have been first published, it was successful. Several editions were soon printed in Spanish, and translations followed in Italian and French. A continuation, too, appeared, called, in form, “The Second Book of Palmerin,” which treats of the achievements of his sons, Primaleon and Polendos, and of which we have an edition in Spanish, dated in 1524. The external appearances of the Palmerin, therefore, announce at once an imitation of the Amadis. The internal are no less decisive. Its hero, we are told, was grandson to a Greek emperor in Constantinople, but, being illegitimate, was exposed by his mother, immediately after his birth, on a mountain, where he was found, in an osier cradle among olive and palm trees, by a rich cultivator of bees, who carried him home and named him Palmerin de Oliva, from the place where he was discovered. He soon gives token of his high birth; and, making himself famous by numberless exploits, in Germany, England, and the East, against heathen and enchanters, he at last reaches Constantinople, where he is recognized by his mother, marries the daughter of the Emperor of Germany, who is the heroine of the story, and inherits the crown of Byzantium. The adventures of Primaleon and Polendos, which seem to be by the same unknown author, are in the same vein, and were succeeded by those of Platir, grandson of Palmerin, which were printed as early as 1533. All, taken together, therefore, leave no doubt that the Amadis was their model, however much they may have fallen short of its merits.[381]

The next in the series, “Palmerin of England,” son of Don Duarde, or Edward, King of England, and Flerida, a daughter of Palmerin de Oliva, is a more formidable rival to the Amadis than either of its predecessors. For a long time it was supposed to have been first written in Portuguese, and was generally attributed to Francisco Moraes, who certainly published it in that language at Evora, in 1567, and whose allegation that he had translated it from the French, though now known to be true, was supposed to be only a modest concealment of his own merits. But a copy of the Spanish original, printed at Toledo, in two parts, in 1547 and 1548, has been discovered, and at the end of its dedication are a few verses addressed by the author to the reader, announcing it, in an acrostic, to be the work of Luis Hurtado, known to have been, at that time, a poet in Toledo.[382]