The former are not infrequently of an insufferable length and insipidity; the scene is nearly always confined to Santiago, and the author devotes half his pages to minute descriptions of the heroine’s costumes, while the rest of the space is taken up with endless discussions about amor. For instance, in the highly reputed “Martin Rivas” of the late Alberto Blest Gana, one of the most polished and admired Chilean novelists, it is impossible to discover why Edelmira, Leonor, Adelaide, or Matilde should “love” or dislike Martin, Agustin, Rafael, Emilio, or Clemente; not only is all the conversation of the young people based upon the question of whether someone does or does not cherish a heart-affair, but all the fathers, mothers, uncles and brothers are represented as perpetually running about suggesting that their sons, daughters, sisters, etc., should enter into matrimony. The high principles of the virtuous Martin do not prevent him from suborning a soldier and police official in order to escape from jail, but his worst crime in the eyes of the reader is likely to be his interminable letters of loquacious sentimentality, which unfortunately set as well as followed a fashion. “Los Transplantados,” displaying the Chilean who elects to live out of Chile, is generally placed second in popularity. This novel and “Martin Rivas” were imitated in a trickling stream of politico-social-amatory novels, of which perhaps the best-known late successor is Luis Orrego Luco’s “Al Traves de la Tempestad,” in two thick volumes whose pages, devoted as they are to unctuous accounts of the heroine’s feathers and embroidered dresses, are relieved by occasional strokes of interesting political portraiture of thirty years ago.
By far the most interesting and vivid fiction of today is that of the realistic school, dealing with the Chilean workman, bandit, etc. The methods of Blasco Ibañez inspire much of this output, and it frequently happens that in order to achieve an appearance of strength the author descends to a sordid brutality that is apt to defeat its own ends. We don’t believe it. This murdering, lying, callous drunkard is not a typical Chileno, says anyone who knows Chileans, and we begin to suspect the novelist of cultivating misery in the first place because he thinks it makes his work strong and secondly because he really has not studied the Chilean working-class very thoroughly, and trusts that his readers are equally unaware. An example of this class is “El Roto,” by Joaquin Edwards, published in the middle of 1920. “El Roto” followed the work of several other writers dealing with the life of the campesinos (countryfolk), miners, huasos (cowboys), etc., of Chile. Baldomero Lillo is perhaps the most lucid, restrained and sympathetic of the members of this school, and his “Sub-Terra” is a stronger collection of short stories than those of “Sub-Sole.” Lillo is the avowed friend of the poor and simple; his miners and beggars are invariably wronged, and the bailiff or foreman the wicked aggressor. His most successful tales are pitched in a minor key, a tragedy the inevitable conclusion; but his delicacy of expression, admirable sincerity and brevity, and the plain fact that he knows the life of which he writes, single him out from the brutal-realistic stream. Lillo worked in the coalmines of Lota in his youth, was afterwards an employé in a store in Lebu, and did not begin to write until years afterwards he came to Santiago and joined the band of young Chilean writers that included his distinguished brother, the poet Samuel Lillo. Don Baldomero is not a fertile producer, but his work is of steady quality. Another portrayer of virtuous campesinos is Federico Gana, whose “Días de Campo” is a pleasant, smoothly written series of scenes. In quite another manner are the stories of Mariano Latorre, whose most striking volumes are “Cuentos del Maule” and “Cuna de Cóndores.” Latorre’s background in the latter tales is the Chilean cordillera, a region plainly well known to him; he has a gift for incisive description, and if his characters are frequently insensible, melancholy and animal, they are at least rarely sentimental. Don Pedro Cruz, a well-known Chilean critic, has criticised Latorre for playing to the gallery with his sententious insistence upon the characteristics of the Chilean race as displayed by his rather morbid peasantry, and, speaking in general of the school to which Latorre belongs, declares: “We are tired of the idiocies of Peiro, the brutalities of Goyo, the sensuality of Florinda, the cunning of Ermelinda, although all this is presented to us with a mixture of dawns, sunsets, trees, brooks and fragrant breezes,” and roundly charges the authors with lack of imagination and inadequate study of their own environment; the gross peasantry shown in these stories is not, he says, genuinely Chilean, as it pretends to be: “Character consists in a mode of thinking and feeling, and these writers seek the national character in precisely those individuals who think and feel the least.”
Among the minor writers of fiction are Augusto Thompson, Fernando Santiván, Diego Dublé Urrutia, Egidio Poblete, Rafael Maluenda and Francisco Zapata Lillo, most of them writers of short stories and delicate sketches rather than of profound studies. A tendency towards decision of style and condensation of expression has undoubtedly made itself felt during the last decade, and the scores of facile pens in Chile promise the development of the national novel.
Amongst the most interesting recent work is the output of a group of Chilean women writers. The charming “Tierra Virgen” of Señora Echeverria y Larrain (“Iris”) describing the southern lakes and woods of Chile, is a cameo of literature, while the work of two younger writers, Laura Jorquera (“Aura”) and Elvira Santa Cruz (“Roxane”) is sincere and of remarkable promise. The former writer’s “Tierras Rojas,” a tale of life in the high copper plains of Antofagasta, is a genuine picture and her “En Busca de un Ideal” a pleasant love story. Elvira Santa Cruz has, I think, done nothing better than her “Flor Silvestre,” with its presentation of life in the Chilean countryside.
Drama has received a number of Chilean contributions, although it is but rarely that the visitor to Chile has the opportunity of seeing a Chilean play. Acevedo Hernandez, Videla y Raveau, Armando Monk, and Rafael Maluenda have all written plays of merit. But while playhouses are chiefly filled with foreign companies acting foreign plays, the Chilean author has little to stimulate his talent.
Like every other Latin-American country, Chile claims a large number of delightful versifiers. A sense of melody and love of sweet words is part of the Latin inheritance, and development of sentiment is encouraged by the fine climate, physical beauty and spring of life found in such happy regions as Chile. The musical quality of the Spanish tongue lends itself to the expression of emotion, and no shame is felt in fervid outbursts; environment and vehicle combine to encourage the poet of South America.
There has been for half a century a considerable group of young poets in Chile, many of whom turn in later life to politics, journalism or another profession; the residuum of mature poets is small. But this is not because Chile is an unkindly host to the poet: on the contrary, she is a genial foster mother. The world does not forget that the greatest of Latin-American writers of noble verse, Rubén Darío, although a Nicaraguan-born, found here his first literary encouragement, and that the electrifying “Azul” was published in 1888 in Santiago. Darío was at the time a weigher in the Custom house at Valparaiso, and Armando Donoso says, in his Anthology of Contemporary Chilean Poets, that he was no doubt a very poor weigher. At least, however, he was immediately recognised as a great poet, and it was Chilean appreciation that set his feet upon the triumphal path that he trod until his death. As kindly was Chilean nurture of the genius of another exile, the Venezuelan poet Andres Bello.
Following Darío’s shining wake, a cluster of Chilean verse-makers began to publish in the early 90’s: the beginning of the new century showed a growing list as the work of young Chileans. Included in these early volumes is the “Ritmos” of Pedro Antonio González; “Versos y Poemas,” by Gustave Valledor Sánchez; “Esmaltines,” Francisco Contreras; “Campo Lirico,” Antonio Borquez Solar; “Brumas,” Miguel Recuant; “Del Mar á la Montana,” Diego Dublé Urrutia; and “Matices,” by Manuel Magallanes Moure, who has since greatly added to his early laurels. Recently a selection of his poems, “Floreligio,” was published by J. Garcia Monje in Costa Rica, that stronghold of Latin-American literature. Magallanes Moure is an excellent painter as well as a poet of the front rank in Chile.
Striking a less contemplative and minor note than Moure, the distinguished Pro-Rector of Santiago University, Samuel Lillo, is one of the most admired poets. His “Canciones de Arauco” has a good deal in common with the verse of Brazilian “Indianism,” and the “Canto Lirico,” “Chile Heroico,” “La Escolta de la Bandera” and the poem to Vasco Nuñez de Balboa, strike a patriotic note. No poems, perhaps, are more widely known in Chile than those of the singer Carlos Pezoa Veliz, dead in his promising youth; and other well-loved verse is that of Victor Domingo Silva.
Again in the realm of poesy the Chilean woman has a high place. The brilliant lady who hides her identity under the pseudonym of Gabriela Mistral is not only a poet but an authority upon literature: a few years ago she was awarded the Nobel prize for literature in partnership with the Spanish dramatist Echegaray.