The next objection is that the Ynca, after pardoning Ollantay, appointed him to be his successor and invested him with the fringe; which, it is contended, is historically false, and impossible in ancient Peru. But the Ynca merely invested Ollantay with the insignia of his rank as a great chief (the yellow fringe, not the crimson fringe peculiar to the sovereign), and appointed him to rule at Cuzco during the sovereign’s absence, a very different thing. Such appointments were of constant occurrence, and are recorded over and over again by Cieza de Leon.
Thus General Mitré fails to establish the existence of a single allusion to things of European origin in the drama of Ollantay.
Treating of the one comic character in the piece, the servant of Ollantay, and referring to his frequent use of puns and expressions with double meanings, the General contends that his wit is Andalusian, and that it is contrary to the genius of the Quichua language. In reality, the speeches of this servant, Piqui Chaqui, are so thoroughly native and of the soil, his allusions and double meanings are so hidden, that no Spaniard—no one but a native—could have written or even conceived them. In one of the Quichua plays, written by Spanish priests, in my possession, there is a “gracioso” named Quespillo, whose fun is broad and without a sign of double entendre. If Quespillo is a Spanish creation, Piqui-chaqui is as certainly of native conception. This is one strong proof that Ollantay, differing so completely in all respects from the Quichua religious dramas prepared by Spanish priests, is of pure native origin.
Next, General Mitré compares a simple speech of Urco-huaranca, the general of Ollantay, with an enumeration of forces in Homer; a reference to his services, made by Ollantay, to some speech in the Spanish drama of the Cid Campeador; and the election of Ollantay by his army, to an election by the Prætorian guard described by Tacitus. These allusions are too far-fetched and vague to need special replies; but they require wonderful erudition on the part of General Mitré’s imaginary Spanish author. Rumi-ñaui, in order to make Ollantay think that he had been ill-treated by the Ynca, mutilated his face. Zopyrus, in the story told by Herodotus, for a similar purpose, cut off his nose and ears, which Rumi-ñaui did not do. Nevertheless, General Mitré jumps at the conclusion that the idea must have been copied from Herodotus. It will be remembered that the story of the mutilation of Rumi-ñaui is preserved on an ancient piece of Ynca pottery.
General Mitré then quotes a speech of Ollantay, when he receives the Ynca’s pardon, from my book, a text which he had all along repudiated, in order to use the Dominican text as better suited to his purpose. His criticism on this speech is sound, but the lines I inserted were evidently interpolated by the person who arranged the drama for acting. I had, consequently, placed them in brackets as doubtful, and noted their omission by Von Tschudi and Barranca, a fact which the General does not mention. The passage is not authentic, and would be omitted in a properly revised version. It is in fact omitted by Zegarra. But this use, by General Mitré, first of one text and then of another, as it happens to suit his purpose, is not conducive to the proper object of criticism, namely, the discovery of truth. It shows also that his critical essay is premature, and that it should not have been attempted until all the versions had been critically examined and collated, and an authoritative text established.
The octo-syllabic metre in which the drama is written was also used by Spanish dramatists, and, consequently, according to General Mitré, the drama of Ollantay was written by a Spaniard. But it is also a native Peruvian metre. The ancient song given by Garcilasso de la Vega, though printed in lines of four syllables, is really octo-syllabic. These eight-syllable lines are composed with great facility in many languages, and are natural to the Quichua, most of the ancient songs in the collection of Dr. Justiniani being octo-syllabic. Consequently, though also used in Spanish literature, they do not therefore indicate a Spanish origin.
The greater part of General Mitré’s argument amounts to little more than this. There is a river in Macedon, and there is a river in Monmouth, therefore Macedon and Monmouth are the same place. It is a very old argument, but it has never been looked upon as conclusive. The General’s theory requires an unknown Spanish author living in the eighteenth century, and writing in the Quichua language, of portentous erudition, who borrowed his ideas from the Pentateuch, the Song of Solomon, Homer, Tacitus, Herodotus, Shakespeare, Lope de Vega, Mrs. Ratcliffe, and the ballads of the Cid; and who yet excluded the most distant allusion to Christianity or to anything Spanish. He could not have been a priest, for we possess Quichua plays composed by Spanish priests, and they are entirely and radically different from Ollantay, containing, as was inevitable, constant allusions to Christianity, and none to the classic authors of antiquity. Yet the imaginary author must have known Quichua perfectly, in its earliest and most archaic form, and have been versed in all the plays upon words and double meanings used by initiated natives. It may safely be affirmed that no such prodigy ever existed in the eighteenth century, and, consequently, the General’s theory falls to pieces like a house of cards.
At the same time, General Mitré has done good service to literature by the publication of this elaborate criticism. Every argument that the ingenuity of an accomplished scholar could bring forward against the authenticity of Ollantay has been adduced. Quichua students now know all that can possibly be said against the antiquity of the play, and they know that what is not based on incorrect readings, is far-fetched and fanciful. The former considerations which led them to the conclusion that most of the dialogues and songs dated from the time of the Yncas, remain in full force, unshaken by anything General Mitré has written. The new points he has raised, prove to be either based on corrupt readings, or to be of no validity in themselves.
It is gratifying to find that the rich and interesting language of the Yncas continues to be studied by ardent young Peruvian scholars. Among them is Dr. Martin Antonio Mujica, a native of Huancavelica, who is making Quichua a serious study, and has suggested some changes in the accepted orthography, based on sound principles.[52] There is much yet to learn in this important branch of investigation, and much useful work to be done. A really critical text of Ollantay is a desideratum. There are many ancient Quichua songs, possibly other dramas, in private libraries. These should be diligently sought out, edited, and printed, with translations. A dictionary should be undertaken, with references to all the words which occur in the writings of ancient authors. There is a wide field and a noble one, for young students in the land of the Yncas, which is well deserving of careful, diligent, and enthusiastic cultivation. Such discouraging criticisms as that of General Mitré should have no depressing effect. They should rather arouse the student to fresh efforts, both to secure the purity of his texts, and to illustrate their meaning by the acquisition of wider knowledge, and the cultivation of critical and accurate habits of thought.
Meanwhile, the conclusion that the drama of Ollantay is of Ynca origin, having withstood all the assaults of General Mitré’s criticism, remains more firmly established, and on securer ground than before. The unsuccessful attack is an additional source of strength.