The story is meagre, and inartificial to a singular degree. But we follow an example set us, of giving some slight detail of it, for the sake of introducing a coincidence of a singular nature.[78] Anfrisio and Belisarda are lovers; Anfrisio is of so high descent that he believes Jupiter to be his grandfather; but Belisarda is designed by her parents to be the bride of the rich, ignorant, and unworthy Salicio. Anfrisio is forced to remove to a distant part of the country; but by a fortunate circumstance, thither also Belisarda is brought by her father, and the lovers meet and enjoy each other's society till scandal begins to busy herself with them, and, at the request of his mistress, Anfrisio sets out for Italy, so to baffle the evil thoughts of the malicious. He loses his way during his wanderings, and comes to a cavern, wherein resides Dardanio, a magician, who promises to grant him any wish he may express, however impossible. Anfrisio, with a moderation astonishing to our more grasping minds, asks only to see the object on whom he has placed his affections. He beholds her in conversation with a rival, whom, in pure pity, she presents with a black ribbon; which sight transports Anfrisio with jealousy, and he meditates revenging her perfidy by putting her to death; but Dardanio carries him off in a whirlwind. Soon after he returns home, and to annoy Belisarda, pretends to be in love with the shepherdess Anarda; while she in revenge openly favours Olimpio. They are both very miserable; and still more so when driven to desperation, Belisarda marries Salicio. Soon after, an explanation ensues between her and Anfrisio, but it is too late. Anfrisio's sole resource is to forget; and by means of the sage Polinesia, through a visit to the Liberal Arts, and an acquaintance with the lady Grammar and the young ladies Logic, Rhetoric, Arithmetic, and Geometry, and others not less agreeable—Perspective, Music, Astrology, and Poetry—he arrives at the temple of Disengaño, or Dis-illusion; where things are seen as they are, the passions cease to influence, the imagination to deceive, and the lovelorn shepherd becomes a rational man.
The composition of this story has given rise to a singular conjecture. When Montemayor wrote "Diana," and Gil Polo continued it, and Cervantes composed "the robe in which the lovely Galatea appeared to the eyes of men," it is known that they embodied their own passions and sorrows in the pastoral personages they brought on the scene; but Lope is not the hero of his tale. Anfrisio is supposed to represent the duke of Alva himself—the tyrant, the destroyer—who, it would seem, requested his young protegé to immortalise his early loves in the manner other poets had done their own. A good deal of testimony is brought in support of this hypothesis.[79] In the commendatory verses prefixed to the "Arcadia" there is a sonnet from Anfrisio to Lope de Vega, which addresses him by the name of Belardo, under which he personified himself in the pastoral; and which shows by its context that it was written by a man of consequence, and a protector of the poet. "Belardo," he says, "it has proved fortunate for my loves, that you came to my estate and became one of my shepherds; for now neither time nor oblivion will cover them. You have dwelt upon my sorrows, yet not to the full; since they are greater than you have described, though the cause wherefore I suffered lessened them. Tagus and my renowned Tormes listen to you. They call the shepherd of Anfrisio, Apollo. If I am Anfrisio, you are my Apollo!" The painter Francisco Pacheco, in the eulogy that accompanies his portrait of Lope, speaking of the "Arcadia," says that the poet "had succeeded in what he designed, which was to record a real history to the pleasure of the parties."
Montalvan hints at the same thing, when he says that Lope wrote this work at the command of the duke, and calls it a "mysterious enigma of elevated subjects, concealed in the disguise of humble shepherds." And Lope himself says, "The 'Arcadia' is a true story;" and again, in the prologue to the work itself, he insists several times on the fact that he describes the sorrows of another, not his own. He assumes the name of Belardo for himself, but introduces himself only as a Spanish shepherd, poor and pursued by adversity. At the conclusion he comes forward as Belardo, addressing his pipe, and taking leave of the tale on which he was occupied. In this he talks of leaving the banks of the Manzanares (the river of Madrid), and seeking a new master and a new life. "What is better," he says, "when one has lost a blessing, than to fly from the spot where one enjoyed it, so not to see it in the possession of another? My fortunes are dubious; but what evil can befall him who has once known happiness? I lost that which was mine, more from not being worthy of it, than from not knowing its value; but I console myself with the expectation of fresh disasters."[80]
As the "Arcadia" was written in early life, but not published till 1598, it is impossible to say to what particular period of his career or to what misfortunes the above alludes.
It were a subject for a painter to portray the old grey-headed duke—the persecutor of heroes, the slayer of the innocent, but retaining throughout a satisfied conscience, and the dignity of virtue—pouring his love-tale in the young Lope's ear, or listening with delight while Lope read to him the tale of his early love, clothed in the fantastic costume of a pastoral and the ideal imagery of poetry.
Lord Holland has given a specimen of the poetry of the "Arcadia" in his life; but we refer to his pages, and will only conclude by mentioning that, despite the conceits, the false taste, and exaggeration, there is much genius, much real poetry, simplicity, and truth—lines full of sweetness and grace, and a lucidness of expression, which reminds the reader of Metastasio, who was indeed a lover of Spanish verse, and who has never been surpassed in the crystal clearness of his expressions, and the chiseled perfection (so to express ourselves) with which he represents his ideas.
The "Arcadia," though written thus early, was not published, as has been mentioned, till 1598; and it is conjectured that the death of its hero, the duke of Alva, was the cause of the delay. But it may be added, that Lope wrote a great deal but published nothing before that period, when, his plays having made him popular, he printed most of his early works.
He left the service of the duke of Alva, when he married a lady of rank, donna Isabel de Urbino, daughter of don Diego de Urbino, king-at-arms. The marriage took place to the satisfaction of the friends of both parties; and the lady is praised as beautiful and discreet. He did not however, long enjoy his domestic happiness. "It happened," says Montalvan, "that there was a sort of half-and-half hidalgo[81] (for there is a twilight in the origin of nobility as well as in the break of day) of small fortune, but of great skill in contriving to dress and eat as well as the rest of the world, without other employment than frequenting society, when with little trouble to himself he lived cheaply by flattering those present and back-biting the absent. Lope heard that on one occasion he had entertained a company at his expense. He passed over the impertinence, not from fear, but contempt; but seeing that the man persisted in his attacks, he grew tired; so without quarrelling with him by sword or word—the first being impious, the second foolish—he depicted him in a song so pleasantly, that every body laughed." The would-be wit grew angry—none being more easily offended than those who take licence to offend—and he challenged Lope. They met; and the cavalier was dangerously wounded. This was the immediate cause that obliged Lope to quit Madrid; though Montalvan mentions other scrapes which he had got into in his youth, and which his enemies took this occasion to bring against him. He left wife and home with a heavy heart, and took up his residence in Valencia, where he was treated with distinction and kindness.
He remained at Valencia for some years, and doubtless wrote a great deal, though at that time he published nothing. He formed a friendship there with Vicente Mariner, himself a voluminous poet, whose compositions remain inedited in the king of Spain's libraries. Among these are many to the honour and memory of Lope, and in fierce attack of his enemies—so fierce that they deserve the name of abuse, and show that the Spanish cavalier could descend, as so many literary men have before, to calling names, as argument.[82]
After a few years, Lope returned to Madrid; and such was his joy in revisiting the scenes of his youth, and being reunited to his wife, that even his health was affected by it. He did not, however, long enjoy this newfound happiness: his wife died shortly after his return. The death of this lady was celebrated in an eclogue, written conjointly by Lope and Medina Medinilla. The strophes, composed by Lope, are full of the tenderest grief and impatient despair, but there is not a word relative to their separation; he exclaims at Death for having divided them, and implores her to take him to where she is—to where they might live for ever secure together.