TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

The book cover was modified by the Transcriber and added to the public domain.

The Table of Contents was added by the Transcriber.

The spelling of Spanish names and places mentioned in the text has been adjusted to the rules set by the Academia Real Española. The spelling of quotations in ancient Spanish presented in the text haves been kept as they were written in the oriignal work.

A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and non-hyphenated variants. For the words with both variants present the one more used has been kept.

Punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected.

THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
MIGUEL DE CERVANTES
IN TWELVE VOLUMES
VOL. II.

Agent for London.
R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON,
4 Adam Street,
Adelphi, W.C.

THE·COMPLETE·WORKS·OF·MIGUEL
DE·CERVANTES·SAAVEDRA·VOL·II
GALATEA

EDITED·BY·JAS·FITZMAURICE-KELLY
TRANSLATED·BY·H·OELSNER·&·A·B·WELFORD
GOWANS·&·GRAY·GLASGOW·NOV·1^ST 1903

PUBLISHERS' NOTE

in explanation of the different types employed.

In order to prevent a difficulty that sometimes arises of distinguishing between the author and the editor, especially when author's and editor's notes to a text both occur, the following plan has been adopted. The text of the author and its variants have been printed throughout in 'old style' type, while all notes &c. added by the editor have been set in 'condensed' type. It is hoped that this innovation will be found of no small service to the general reader as well as to the student.

INDEX

INTRODUCTION TO THE GALATEA.

Simple as the bibliography of the Galatea really is, a habit of conjecture has succeeded in complicating it. Though the earliest known edition of the book is unanimously admitted to have appeared at Alcalá de Henares in 1585, it is often alleged that the princeps was actually issued at Madrid during the previous year. This is a mistaken idea arising, probably, out of a slip made by Gregorio Mayáns y Siscar, the first Spaniard[1] who attempted to write a formal biography of Cervantes. In his thirteenth paragraph Mayáns[2] remarked by the way that the Galatea was published in 1584; but he laid no stress upon the date, and dismissed the matter in a single sentence. The error (if it were really an error, and not a mere misprint) was natural and pardonable enough in one who lived before bibliography had developed into an exact study. Unfortunately, it was reproduced by others. It is found, for instance, in a biographical essay on Cervantes which precedes the first edition of Don Quixote issued by the Royal Spanish Academy;[3] and the essayist, Vicente de los Ríos, adds the detail that the Galatea came out at Madrid. It was unlucky that this statement should be put forward where it is. The Academy's responsibility for the texts issued in its name is chiefly financial: for the rest, it habitually appoints the most competent representatives available, and it naturally gives each delegate a free hand. But foreigners, unacquainted with the procedure, have imagined that Ríos must be taken as expressing the deliberate and unanimous opinion of the entire Academy. This is a complete misapprehension. On the face of it, it is absurd to suppose that any corporation, as a whole, is irrevocably committed to every view expressed by individual members. Even were it otherwise, it would not affect the case. An error would be none the less an error if a learned society sanctioned it. But, as a matter of fact, like all those concerned in editing texts or in writing essays for the Academy, Ríos spoke for himself alone. He was followed by Pellicer[4] who, though he gives 1584 as the date of the princeps, is less categorical as to the place of publication. Some twenty-two years after Pellicer's time, Fernández de Navarrete[5] accepted his predecessors' view as regards the date, and to this acceptance, more than to anything else, the common mistake is due. Relying on Navarrete's unequalled authority, Ticknor[6] repeated the mis-statement which has since passed into general circulation. Further enquiry has destroyed the theory that the Galatea first appeared at Madrid in 1584. However, as most English writers[7] on this question have given currency to the old, erroneous notion, it becomes necessary to set forth the circumstances of the case. But, before entering upon details, it should be observed (1) that no copy of the supposititious 1584 edition has ever been seen by any one; (2) that there is not even an indirect proof of its existence; and (3) that, so far as the evidence goes, no edition of the Galatea was published at Madrid before 1736: that is to say, until more than a century after Cervantes's death.

We do not know precisely when the Galatea was written. M. Dumaine,[8] indeed, declares positively that the poems in the volume—he must surely mean some of them, not all—were addressed to a lady during the author's stay in Italy. If this were so, these verses would date (at latest) from September, 1575, when Cervantes left Italy for the last time. Sr. D. José María Asensio y Toledo[9] holds that the Galatea was begun in Portugal soon after the writer's return from Algiers in 1580. Of these views one may conceivably be true; one must necessarily be false; and it is more than possible that both are wrong. As no data are forthcoming to support either opinion, we may profitably set aside these speculations and proceed to examine the particulars disclosed in the preliminaries of the Galatea. The Aprobación was signed by Lucas Gracián[10] Dantisco at Madrid on February 1, 1584, and, as some time must have passed between the submission of the manuscript to the censor and the issue of his license, it seems certain that the text of the Galatea was finished before the end of 1583. In its present form, the dedication, as will be seen presently, cannot have been written till about the end of the following summer. Meanwhile, on February 22, 1584, the Privilegio was granted at Madrid in the King's name by Antonio de Erasso. It was not till a year later—the very end of February 1585—that the Fe de erratas was passed at Alcalá de Henares by the Licenciado Vares de Castro, official corrector to the University of that city. The Tasa, which bears the name of Miguel Ondarza Zabala, was despatched at Madrid on March 13, 1585.

To those who have had no occasion to study such matters as these, the space of time which elapsed between the concession of the Privilegio and the despatch of the Tasa might seem considerable; and it is not surprising that this circumstance should be the basis of erroneous deductions on their part. Apparently for no other reason than the length of this interval, it has been concluded that, between February 22, 1584, and March 13, 1585, there was printed at Madrid an edition of the Galatea, every copy of which has—ex hypothesi—vanished. This assumption is gratuitous.

It is true that the first editions of certain very popular Spanish books—such as the Celestina,[11] Amadís de Gaula,[12] Lazarillo de Tormes,[13] Guzmán de Alfarache,[14] and Don Quixote[15]—tend to become exceedingly rare and are, perhaps, occasionally thumbed out of existence altogether. But the Galatea, like all pastoral novels, appealed to a comparatively restricted class of readers, and was in no danger of wide popularity. No doubt the princeps of the Galatea is exceptionally rare,[16]—rarer than the princeps of Don Quixote; but rarity, taken by itself, is no proof that a work was popular, and, in the present instance, the rarity may be due to the fact that the Galatea was issued in a more or less limited edition. This is what we should expect in the case of a first book published in a provincial town by an author who had still to make his reputation; but, in the absence of direct testimony, the question cannot be decided. What can be proved by any one at all acquainted with Spanish bibliography is that there was no unexampled delay in publishing the Galatea. Similar instances abound; but, for our present purpose, it will suffice to mention two which are—or should be—familiar to all who are specially interested in Cervantes and in his writings. As we have just seen, the Tasa of the Galatea is dated thirteen months after the Aprobación. An exact parallel to this is afforded by Cervantes's own Novelas exemplares: Fray Juan Bautista signed the Aprobación on July 9, 1612, and Hernando de Vallejo signed the Tasa on August 12, 1613.[17] Here the interval is precisely thirteen months. A still more striking instance of dilatoriness is revealed in the preliminaries to another work which has been consulted—or, at least, quoted as though it were familiar to them—by almost all writers on Cervantes from 1761 onwards: namely, Diego de Haedo's Topographia e Historia general de Argel, published at Valladolid in 1612. Haedo obtained the Aprobación on October 6, 1604, but the licence was not given till February 8, 1610. In this instance, then, the legal formalities were spread out over five years and, at the final stage, there was a further pause of three years; in all, a delay of eight years.[18] There is no ground for assuming that the official procedure in these matters was more expeditions in 1585 than it was a quarter of a century later and, consequently, in the case of the Galatea, the interval of time between the issue of the Aprobación and the despatch of the Tasa cannot be regarded as calling for any far-fetched explanation.

The author's Letter Dedicatory to Ascanio Colonna, Abbot of St. Sophia, is undated, but it contains a passage which incidentally throws light on the bibliography of the Galatea. Speaking of his military service under Ascanio Colonna's father, Cervantes mentions his late chief—aquel sol de la milicia que ayer nos quitó el cielo delante de los ojos—in terms which imply that Marco Antonio Colonna's death was a comparatively recent event. Now, we know from the official death-certificate[19] that the Viceroy of Sicily, when on his way to visit Philip II., died at Medinaceli on August 1, 1584—exactly six months after the Aprobación for the Galatea had been obtained. Allowing for the rate at which news travelled in the sixteenth century, it seems improbable that Cervantes can have written his dedication much before the end of August 1584. It is conceivable, no doubt, that he wrote two different dedications—one for the alleged Madrid edition of 1584, and another for the Alcalá edition of 1585. It is equally conceivable that though the Alcalá edition of the Galatea, in common with every subsequent work by Cervantes, has a dedication, the supposititious Madrid edition was (for some reason unknown) published without one. Manifestly, one of these alternatives must be adopted by believers in the imaginary princeps. But, curiously enough, the point does not appear to have occurred to them; for, up to the present time, no such hypothesis has been advanced. Assuming, as we may fairly assume, that only one dedication was written, the complete manuscript of the Galatea cannot well have reached the compositors till September or October 1584. It is possible that some part of the text was set up before this date, but of this we have no proof. If the 375 leaves—750 pages—of which the book consists were struck off late in January or early in February 1585, so as to allow of the text being revised by the official corrector at Alcalá de Henares, and thence forwarded to Madrid by the beginning of March, it must be admitted that the achievement did credit to the country printer, Juan de Gracián, whose name figures on the title-page. Further, as Salvá[20] shrewdly remarks, the appearance of the Colonna escutcheon on this same title-page affords a presumption that the Alcalá edition of 1585 is the princeps: for it is unreasonable to suppose that a struggling provincial publisher of the sixteenth century would go to the expense of furnishing a simple reprint with a complimentary woodcut.

Each of the foregoing circumstances, considered separately, tells against the current idea that the Galatea was published at Madrid in 1584, and it might have been hoped that an intelligent consideration of their cumulative effect would ensure the right conclusion: that the story is a myth. But, so Donoso Cortés[21] maintained, man has an almost invincible propensity to error, and the discussion on so plain a matter as the bibliography of the Galatea lends colour to this view. The amount of confusion introduced into the debate is extraordinary. It is occasionally difficult to gather what a partisan of the alleged 1584 edition holds; his pages blaze with contradictions: his theory is half-heartedly advanced, hastily abandoned, and confidently re-stated in a bewildering fashion.[22] Again, what was originally put forward as a pious opinion is transfigured into a dogma. Just as there are some who, when writing on the bibliography of Don Quixote, insist that the 1608 edition of that book "must have been revised by the author,"[23] so there are some who, when writing on the bibliography of the Galatea, insist with equal positiveness that there "must have been an edition of 1584."[24] This emphasis is out of place in both cases; but it is interesting and instructive to note that these two opinions are practically inseparable from each other. The coincidence can scarcely be accidental, and it may prove advantageous: for, obviously, the refutation of the one thesis must tend to discredit the other. If a writer be convicted of error in a very simple matter which can be tested in a moment, it would clearly be imprudent to accept his unsupported statement concerning a far more complex matter to which no direct test can be applied. And, as it happens, we are now enabled to measure the accuracy of the assertion that the princeps of the Galatea was published at Madrid in 1584.

Those who take it upon themselves to lay down that there "must have been" an edition of that place and date are bound to establish the fact. They are not entitled to defy every rule of evidence, and to call on the other side to prove a negative. The burden of proof lies wholly with them. But, by a rare and happy accident, it is possible to prove a negative in the present case. In view of recent researches, the theory that the princeps of the Galatea was issued at Madrid in 1584 is absolutely untenable. All doubts or hesitations on this head are ended by the opportune discovery, due to that excellent scholar and fortunate investigator, Dr. Pérez Pastor, of the original contract between Cervantes and the Alcalá publisher, Blas de Robles. By this contract Blas de Robles binds himself to pay 1336 reales (£29. 13s. 9d. English) for the author's entire rights.[25] This legal instrument is decisive, for it would be ridiculous—not to say impertinent—to suppose that Cervantes sold his interest twice over to two different publishers in two different cities. There can, therefore, be no further controversy as to when and where the Galatea appeared. It is now placed beyond dispute that Cervantes had not found a publisher before June 1584, and that the book was issued at Alcalá de Henares in 1585—probably not before the month of April. The first intention was to entitle the volume Los seys libros de Galatea but (perhaps with a view to emphasizing the promise of a sequel) it was actually published as the Primera Parte de la Galatea, dividida en seys libros.[26] On June 14, 1584, Cervantes received 1116 reales in advance, and, by a deed of the same date, Blas de Robles undertook to pay the balance of 250 reales at the end of September:[27] the very period when, as already conjectured, the printing was begun.[28]

Cervantes was in his thirty-third year when he was ransomed at Algiers on September 19, 1580, and, when he reached Portugal in 1581, he may have intended to enlist once more. It has, in fact, been generally thought that he shared in at least one of the expeditions against the Azores under the famous Marqués de Santa Cruz in 1581-83. This belief is based on the Información presented by Cervantes at Madrid on June 6, 1590;[29] but in this petition to the King the claims of Rodrigo de Cervantes and Miguel de Cervantes are set forth in so confusing a fashion that it is difficult to distinguish the services of the elder brother from those of the junior. It is certain that Rodrigo served at the Azores in 1583, and we learn from Mosquera de Figueroa that he was promoted from the ranks for his distinguished gallantry in the action before Porto das Moas.[30] But it is by no means clear that Miguel de Cervantes took any part in either campaign. Such evidence as we have tells rather against the current supposition. It is ascertained that Cervantes was at Tomar on May 21, 1581, and that he was at Cartagena towards the end of June 1581, while we have documentary evidence to prove that he pawned five pieces of yellow and red taffeta to Napoléon Lomelin at Madrid in the autumn of 1583.[31] If these dates are correct (as they seem to be), it is scarcely possible that Cervantes can have sailed with Santa Cruz for the Azores.[32] The likelihood is that he had to be content with some civil employment and, if so, it was natural enough that he should turn to literature with a view to increasing his small income. A modest, clear-sighted man, he probably did not imagine that he was about to write masterpieces, or to make a fortune by his pen. He perhaps hoped to keep the wolf from the door, or, at the most, to find a rich patron, as his friend Gálvez de Montalvo had done.[33] If these were his ideas, and if, as seems likely, he thought of marrying at about this time, it is not surprising that he should write what he believed would sell. So far as we can judge, he would much rather have wielded a sword than a goose-quill, and he was far too great a humorist to vapour about "art" or an "irresistible vocation." His juvenile verses had found favour with Juan López de Hoyos, and perhaps Rufino de Chamberí had appreciated the two sonnets written in Algiers; but the spirited tercets to Mateo Vázquez had failed of their effect, and Cervantes was shrewd enough to know that versifying was not lucrative. Eighty years before it was uttered, he realized the truth of the divine Gombauld's dying exclamation: On paie si mal des vers immortels! Fortunately, he had many strings to his bow. Like Lope de Vega, he was prepared to attempt anything and everything: prose or verse, the drama, picaresque tales, novels of adventure, and the rest. But, to begin with, he divided his efforts between the theatre and fiction.

In the latter province the path of a beginner was clearly marked out. Too obscure, as yet, to venture upon a line of his own, and anxious, if possible, to conciliate the general body of readers, Cervantes was practically compelled to choose between the chivalresque romance and the pastoral. Not knowing that he was born to kill the former kind, he decided in favour of the latter—and for obvious reasons. The Knight-errantries of Amadís and his comrades had been in vogue from the fourteenth—perhaps even from the thirteenth[34]—century onwards. Amadís de Gaula was printed at least as early as 1508,[35] and had begotten a numerous tribe; but, when Cervantes was feeling his way in the ninth decade of the sixteenth century, popular enthusiasm for these tales of chivalry was cooling. The pastoral novel was the latest literary fashion. It would, possibly, be too much to say that the Spanish pastoral novel was a mere offshoot of the chivalresque romances; yet it is undeniable that the pastoral element is found in chivalresque stories of comparatively early date. For example, in the ninth book of Amadís, entitled Amadís de Grecia (1530) the shepherd Darinel and the shepherdess Sylvia are among the characters; in the first two parts of Don Florisel de Niquea (1532) the hero masquerades as a shepherd and pays his court to the shepherdess Sylvia; in the fourth part of Don Florisel de Niquea (1551) the eclogues of Archileo and Laris are early instances of what was destined to become a tedious convention.[36] These, however, are simple foreshadowings of an independent school of fiction which was in full vigour while Cervantes was still a boy.

The Spanish chivalresque novel is thought by many sound judges to derive directly from Portugal,[37] which may, in its turn, have received the material of its knightly tales—and perhaps something more than the raw material—from Celtic France.[38] The conclusion is disputed,[39] but whatever opinion may prevail as regards the source of the books of chivalry, it seems fairly certain that the pastoral novel was introduced into Spain by a Portuguese writer whose inspiration came to him from Italy. In a general sense, Virgil is the father of the pastoral in all Latin lands: the more immediate source of the Italian pastoral is believed to be Boccaccio's Ameto, the model of Tasso and Guarini as also of Bembo and Sannasaro. Jacopo Sannazaro,[40] a Neapolitan courtier of Spanish descent, is the connecting link between the literatures of Italy and the Peninsula during the first part of the sixteenth century. His vogue in the latter was enhanced through the instrumentality of the renowned poet Garcilaso de la Vega,[41] the "starry paladin" of Spain. No small part of Garcilaso's work is a poetic recasting of Sannazaro's themes,[42] and we can scarcely doubt that Sannazaro's Arcadia suggested the first genuine Spanish pastoral to the Portuguese, Jorge de Montemôr, so called from his birthplace. The point has been contested, for Montemôr's Siete libros de la Diana are often said to have been published in 1542,[43] and the first Spanish translation of Sannazaro's Arcadia (by Diego López de Ayala) does not appear to have been issued till 1547.[44] It may, however, be taken as established that Montemôr's Diana was not really printed much earlier than 1558-9,[45] when it at once became the fashion.[46] The argument sets forth that in the city of León, by the banks of the Ezla, dwelt the beautiful shepherdess Diana, beloved of the shepherds Sireno and Silvano; the shepherdess favours Sireno, who is suddenly called away to foreign countries, whence he returns a year later to find a change of times and hearts, Diana being wedded to the shepherd Delio: "and here beginneth the first book, and in the remainder you shall find very diverse histories of events which in sooth befell, howbeit travestied under a pastoral style." Montemôr's diverse histories, which owe something to Bernardim Ribeiro's Saudades or Hystoria de Menina e moça[47] (a novel that begins as a chivalresque romance and ends as a pastoral tale), took Western Europe by storm. They may have been in Spenser's mind when he wrote The Shepherd's Calendar: they were unquestionably utilized by Sir Philip Sidney in The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia, and it has been alleged with more or less plausibility that—possibly through Bartholomew Yong's version of Montemôr, which was finished in 1583, though not published till fifteen years later—the episode of Felismena has been transferred from the Diana to the Two Gentlemen of Verona.

The Diana ends with the promise of a Second Part in which the shepherd Danteo and the shepherdess Duarda shall figure, but this Second Part was not forthcoming as Montemôr was killed in Piedmont on February 26, 1561.[48] His design was very badly executed in 1564 by his friend Alonso Pérez, a Salamancan physician, who had the assurance to boast that there was scarcely a scrap of original prose or verse in his volume, the whole (as he vaunts) being stolen and imitated from Latins and Italians. "Nor," adds this astonishing doctor, "do I deem that I am in any sort to blame therefor, since they did as much by the Greeks."[49] Another, and a far better, continuation of Montemôr's Diana was issued at Valencia in this same year of 1664 by Gaspar Gil Polo—a sequel which, after proving almost as successful as Montemôr's original, was destined to be plagiarized in the most shameless fashion by Hierónimo de Texeda.[50]

That Cervantes was well acquainted with these early Spanish pastorals is proved by the discussion on the little books—contrasting with the hundred and more stately folios of the chivalresque romances—in Don Quixote's library. The niece of the Ingenious Gentleman thought that these slimmer volumes should "be burned as well as the others; for it would be no wonder if, after being cured of his chivalry disorder, my uncle, by reading these, took a fancy to turn shepherd and range the woods and fields singing and piping." The Priest agrees in principle, but in practice he is more mercifully disposed:—"To begin, then, with the Diana of Montemayor. I am of opinion it should not be burned, but that it should be cleared of all that about the sage Felicia and the magic water,[51] and of almost all the longer pieces of verse: let it keep, and welcome, its prose and the honour of being the first of books of the kind." And when questioned concerning the above-named sequels, the judicious Priest declares:—"As for that of the Salamancan, let it go to swell the number of the condemned in the yard, and let Gil Polo's be preserved as if it came from Apollo himself." With this jest on Gil Polo's name, the Priest passes over the next in order of the pastoral novels, Jerónimo de Arbolanche's Las Habidas (1566)[52]—a very rare work which, though not on Don Quixote's shelves, was more or less vaguely known to Cervantes[53]—to pronounce judgment on Los diez Libros de Fortuna d'Amor, an amazingly foolish book published in 1573 by a Sardinian soldier named Antonio de lo Frasso. Cervantes was just the man to praise (if possible) the work of an old comrade-in-arms, and, in fact, he contrived (through the Priest) to express his opinion of lo Frasso's book in terms which proved misleading:—"By the orders I have received, since Apollo has been Apollo, and the Muses have been Muses, and poets have been poets, so droll and absurd a book as this has never been written, and in its way it is the best and the most singular of all of this species that have as yet appeared, and he who has not read it may be sure he has never read what is delightful. Give it here, gossip, for I make more account of having found it than if they had given me a cassock of Florence stuff." It might seem difficult to interpret this as praise, and impossible to misunderstand the Priest's delight at meeting with what had already become a bibliographical rarity; but, some hundred and thirty years later, the last words of the passage were taken seriously and led to a reprint of lo Frasso's book by Pedro de Pineda, one of the correctors of Tonson's Don Quixote, who had manifestly overlooked the ridicule of the Sardinian in the Viaje del Parnaso.[54]

These pastorals, together with the chivalresque romances, had probably been the entertainment of Cervantes's youth. It was probably another and much later essay of the same kind which induced him to try his luck in the pastoral vein: the Pastor de Fílida, published at Madrid in 1582 by his friend Luis Gálvez de Montalvo, who is said (on doubtful authority, as we shall see presently) to have introduced Cervantes in his text as the shepherd Tirsi—de clarísimo ingenio. Whether this be so, or not, Cervantes, in his usual kindly, indulgent way, places his friend's work on Don Quixote's shelves, and treats it with gracious deference:—"No Pastor that, but a highly polished courtier; let it be preserved as a precious jewel." The book has but trifling interest for us nowadays; yet we may be sure that Cervantes's admiration was whole-hearted, and the fact that the volume passed through several editions[55] vindicates him from any suspicion of excessive partiality. It was his fine habit to praise generously. Neither his temperament nor his training was critical, and he attached even more than its due importance to the verdict of the public. He frankly rejoiced in Gálvez de Montalvo's success, and it is not unreasonable to conjecture that this success helped to hasten the appearance of the Galatea.

It may seem strange that Cervantes, whose transcriptions from life are eminently distinguished for truth and force, should have been induced to experiment in the province of artificial, languid pastoralism. But if, as Taine would have it, climate makes the race, the race makes the individual, and at this period the races of Western Europe had gone (so to say) pastorally mad.[56] The pastoral novel is not to our modern taste; but, as there is no more stability in literature than in politics, its day may come again.[57] In Cervantes's time there was no escaping from the prose idyll. Prodigious tales from the Indies had stimulated the popular appetite for wonders, and the demand was supplied to satiety in the later chivalresque romances. Feliciano de Silva and his fellows could think of nothing better than the systematic exaggeration of the most marvellous episodes in Amadís de Gaula. The adventures became more perilous, the knights more fantastically brave, the ladies (if possible) lovelier, the wizards craftier, the giants huger, the monsters more terrific, and so forth. In this vein nothing more was to be done: the formula was exhausted. The rival and more cultured school, founded by Sannazaro, endeavoured to lead men's minds from these noisy banalities to the placid contemplation of nature, or rather of idealized antiquity, by substituting for the din of arms, the stir of cities, and the furrowing of strange oceans by the prows of vulgar traders, the still, primeval

"Summers of the snakeless meadow, unlaborious earth, and oarless sea."

Unluckily no departure from Sannazaro's original pattern was thought legitimate. Sir Philip Sidney rejects every attempt at innovation with the crushing remark that "neyther Theocritus in Greek, Virgill in Latine, nor Sanazar in Italian did affect it."[58] Hence the unbroken monotony of the pastoral convention. Nothing is easier than to mock at this new Arcadia where beauteous shepherdesses vanish discreetly behind glades and brakes, where golden-mouthed shepherds exchange confidences of unrequited passion, arguing the high metaphysical doctrine of Platonic love, or chanting most melancholy madrigals at intervals which the seasoned reader can calculate to a nicety beforehand. There never was, and never could be, such an atmosphere of deliberate dilettantism in such a world as ours. Taken as a whole these late Renascence pastorals weary us, as Sidney's Arcadia wearied Hazlitt, with their everlasting "alliteration, antithesis and metaphysical conceit," their "continual, uncalled-for interruptions, analysing, dissecting, disjointing, murdering everything, and reading a pragmatical, self-sufficient lecture over the dead body of nature." Briefly, while these pastoral writers of the sixteenth century persuaded themselves and their readers that they were returning to communion with hills and forests, to us it seems as though they offered little beyond unassimilated reminiscences of conventional classicism.

It would be idle to deny that the Galatea has many defects of the school to which it belongs, but it must always have a singular interest as being the first serious literary experiment made by a writer of consummate genius. Cervantes had the model, the sacred model, perpetually before his eyes, and he copied it (if not with conviction) with a grim determination which speaks for itself. He, too,—the ingenio lego—must be interpolating his learning, and referring to Virgil, Ovid, Propertius and the rest of them, with an air of intimate familiarity. Twenty years afterwards, when he had outgrown these little affectations, and was penning the amusing passage in which he banters Lope's childish pedantry,[59] the brilliant humorist must surely have smiled as he remembered his own performances in the same kind. He does honour to the grand tradition of prolixity by putting wiredrawn conceits into the mouths of shepherds who are much more like love-sick Abelards than like Comatas or Lacon, and, when his own stock of scholastic subtleties is ended, he has no scruple in allotting to Lenio and Tirsi[60] a short summary of the arguments which had been used long before by Filone and Sofía in his favourite book, León Hebreo's Dialoghi di Amore.[61] Had he taken far more material than he actually took, he would have been well within his rights, according to the prevailing ideas of literary morality. Whatever illiterate admirers may say, it is certain that Cervantes followed the fashion in borrowing freely from his predecessors. No careful reader of the Galatea can doubt that its author either had Sannazaro's Arcadia on his table, or that he knew it almost by heart.[62] His appreciation for the Arcadia was unbounded, and in the Viaje del Parnaso[63] the sight of Posilipo causes him to link together the names of Virgil and Sannazaro:—

Vímonos en un punto en el paraje,

Do la nutriz de Eneas piadoso

Hizo el forzoso y último pasaje.

Vimos desde allí á poco el más famoso

Monte que encierra en sí nuestro hemisfero,

Más gallardo á la vista y más hermoso.

Las cenizas de Títiro y Sincero

Están en él, y puede ser por esto

Nombrado entre los montes por primero.

In the Galatea, enthusiasm takes the form of conscientious imitation. It cannot be mere coincidence that Ergasto's song— Alma beata et bella—is echoed by Elicio as O alma venturosa; that such a ritornello as Ricominciate, o Muse, il vostro pianto reappears as Pastores, entonad el triste canto; that Ponete fin, o Muse, al vostro pianto is rendered as Pastores, cesad ya del triste canto. The sixth book of the Galatea is an undisguised adaptation of Sannazaro's work. In view of these resemblances, and many others indicated by Professor Scherillo,[64] the large indebtedness of Cervantes to Sannazaro cannot be denied.

Nor are León Hebreo and Sannazaro Cervantes's sole creditors. The Canto de Calíope, which commemorates the merits of a hundred poets and poetasters, was probably suggested by the Canto de Turia in the third book of Gil Polo's Diana enamorada, or by the list of rhymers in Boscán's Octava Rima, or even by a similar catalogue interpolated in the thirty-eighth canto of Luis Zapata's unreadable epic, Carlos famoso.[65] It may be pleaded for Cervantes that he admired Boscán, Gil Polo, and Zapata, and that his imitation of them is natural enough. Sea muy enhorabuena. The same explanation cannot apply to the uncanny resemblance, which Professor Rennert[66] has pointed out, between the address to Nisida in the third book of the Galatea and the letter to Cardenia in the second book of Alonso Pérez' worthless sequel to Montemôr's Diana. Had Cervantes remembered this small loan when writing the sixth chapter of Don Quixote, gratitude would probably have led him to pass a more lenient sentence on the impudent Salamancan doctor.

It was in strict accordance with the pastoral tradition that the author should introduce himself and his friends into his story. In Virgil's Fifth Eclogue, Daphnis was said to stand for Julius Cæsar, Mopsus for Æmilius Macer of Verona, Menalcas for the poet himself. Sannazaro had, it was believed, revived the fashion in Italy.[67] Ribeiro presented himself to the public as Bimnardel, Montemôr asked for sympathy under the name of Sireno, and Sir Philip Sidney masqueraded as Pyrocles. In the Pastor de Fílida, it is understood that Mendino is Don Enrique de Mendoza y Aragón, that Pradileo is the Conde de Prades (Luis Ramón y Folch), that Silvano is the poet Gregorio Silvestre, that Tirsi is Francisco de Figueroa (or, as some rashly say,[68] Cervantes), and that Montalvo himself appears as Siralvo. The new recruit observed the precedents and, if we are to accept the authority of Navarrete,[69] the Tirsi, Damon, Meliso, Siralvo, Lauso, Larsileo, and Artidoro of the Galatea are pseudonyms for Francisco de Figueroa, Pedro Láinez, Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, Luis Gálvez de Montalvo, Luis Barahona de Soto, Alonso de Ercilla, and Andrés Rey de Artieda respectively.[70] Lastly, commentators and biographers are mostly agreed that the characters of Elicio and Galatea stand for Cervantes and for Doña Catalina de Palacios Salazar y Vozmediano[71] whom he married some ten months after the official Aprobación to his novel was signed. We know on Cervantes's own statement that many of his shepherds were shepherds in appearance only,[72] and Lope de Vega confirms the tradition;[73] but we shall do well to remember that, in attempting to identify the characters of a romance with personages in real life, conjecture plays a considerable part.[74] Some of the above identifications might easily be disputed, and, at the best, we can scarcely doubt that most of the likenesses given by Cervantes in the Galatea are composite portraits.

In any case, it is difficult to take a deep interest in Cervantes's seventy-one[75] shepherds and shepherdesses. Their sensibility is too exquisite for this world. Among the swains, Lisandro, Silenio, Mireno, Grisaldo, Erastro, Damon, Telesio, Lauso, and Lenio weep most copiously. Among the nymphs, Galatea, Lidia, Rosaura, Teolinda, Maurisa, Nisida and Blanca choke with tears. Teolinda, Leonarda and Rosaura swoon; Silerio, Timbrio, Darinto, Elicio and Lenio drop down in a dead faint. In mind and body these shepherds and shepherdesses are exceptionally endowed. They can remain awake for days. They can recite, without slurring a comma, a hundred or two hundred lines of a poem heard once, years ago; and the casuistry of their amorous dialectics would do credit to Sánchez or Escobar. All this is common form. A generation later, Honoré d'Urfé replied to the few who might accuse Astrée of talking above her station:—"Reponds-leur, ma Bergere, que pour peu qu'ils ayent connoissance de toy, ils sçauront que tu n'es pas, ny celles aussi qui te suiuent, de ces Bergeres necessiteuses qui pour gagner leur vie conduisent les troupeaux aux pasturages: mais que vous n'auez toutes pris cette condition que pour viure plus doucement & sans contrainte. Que si vos conceptions & vos paroles estoient veritablement telles que celles des Bergers ordinaires, ils auroient aussi peu de plaisir de vous escouter que vous auriez beaucoup de honte à les redire."[76] The plea was held to be good. The pastoral convention of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries thrust out all realism as an unclean thing. The pity is that Cervantes, in his effort to conform to the rule, was compelled to stifle what was best and rarest in his genius. Yet, amid these philosophizings and artificialities, a few gleams of his peculiar, parenthetical humour flash from him unawares: as when the refined Teolinda seeks to console Lidia—limpiándole los ojos con la manga de mi camisa:[77] or in the description of Crisalvo's fury—que le sacaba de juicio, aunque él tenía tan poco, que poco era menester para acabárselo: or in Arsindo's thoughtful remark that the shepherds might possibly be missed by the flocks from which they had been absent for the last ten days. Again, there is a foreshadowing of a famous passage in Don Quixote when the writer compares the shepherd's life with the courtier's. Once more, the story of Timbrio's adventures—which are anything but idyllic—is given with uncommon spirit. There are ingenuity and fancy in many of the poems, and there is interest as well as grace in the little autobiographical touches—the mention of Arnaute Mamí, the local patriotism that surges up in allusions to the river Henares on which stands the author's native town—el gran Compluto, as he says in his eloquent way.

Cervantes is admittedly a wonderful creator; but the pastoral of his time—a pastiche or mosaic of conventional figures—gave him no opportunity of displaying his powers as an inventor. He is also a very great prose-writer, ranging with an easy mastery from the loftiest rhetoric to the quick thrust-and-parry of humoristic colloquy. Still, as has often been remarked, his attention is apt to wander, and vigilant grammarians have detected (and chronicled) slips in his most brilliant chapters. In the matter of correctness, the Galatea compares favourably with Don Quixote, and its style has been warmly eulogized by the majority of critics. And, on the whole, the praise is deserved. The Galatea is (one fancies) the result of much deliberation—the preliminary essay of a writer no longer young indeed, but abounding in hope, in courage, and in knowledge of the best literary models which his country had produced. The First Part of Don Quixote was dashed off at odds and ends of time by a man acquainted with rebuffs, poverty, disastrous failure of every kind. Purists may point to five grammatical flaws in Don Quixote for one in the Galatea, and naturally the latter gains by this comparison. But, whatever the technical weaknesses of Don Quixote, that book has the supreme merit of allowing Cervantes to be himself. In the Galatea he is, so far as his means allow, Virgil, Longus, Boccaccio, Petrarch, León Hebreo, Sannazaro, Montemôr—even the unhappy Pérez—every one, in fact, but himself. Hence, in the very nature of things, the smoothly filed periods of this first romance cease to be characteristic of the writer, and have even led some to charge him with being a corrupter of the language, a culto before culteranismo was invented.[78]

The charm of Cervantes's style, at its best, lies in its spontaneity, strength, variety, swiftness, and noble simplicity: it is the unrestrained expression of his most original and seductive personality. In the Galatea, on the other hand, Cervantes is too often an echo, a timid copyist, reproducing the accepted clichés with an exasperating scrupulousness. Galatea is discreta, Silvia is discreta, Teolinda is discreta: Lisandro is discreto, Artidoro is discreto, Damon is discreto. The noun and its regulation epithet are never sundered from each other. And verde—the eternal adjective verde—haunts the distracted reader like an obsession: the verdes árboles, the verde suelo, the verde yerba, the verde prado, the verde carga, the verde llano, the verde parra, the verde laurel, the verdes ramos,—and even verdes ojos.[79] A hillock is espeso: a wood is espeso. One may choose between verdadero y honesto amor and perfeto y verdadero amor. Beauty is extremada: grace or wit is extremada: a good voice is extremada. And infinito sparkles on almost every second page. It is all, of course, extremely correct and in accord with a hundred thousand precedents. But, since the charm palls after incessant repetition, it would not be surprising if some should think that such undeviating fidelity to a model is not an unmixed good, that tame academic virtues may be bought too dear, and that a single chapter of that sadly incorrect book, Don Quixote, is worth a whole wilderness of impeccable pastorals.

Still we cannot feel so sure as we should wish to be that Cervantes was of this mind. He longed to be an Arcadian, though he had no true vocation for the business. And yet the sagacious criticism of Berganza in the Coloquio de los perros[80] shows that he saw the absurdity of shepherds and shepherdesses passing "their whole lives in singing and playing on the pipes, bagpipes, rebecks, and hautboys, and other outlandish instruments." The intelligent dog perceived that all such tales as the Diana "are dreams well written to amuse the idle, and not truth at all, for, had they been so, there would have been some trace among my shepherds of that most happy life and of those pleasant meadows, spacious woods, sacred mountains, lovely gardens, clear streams and crystal fountains, and of those lovers' wooings as virtuous as they were eloquent, and of that swoon of the shepherd's in this spot, of the shepherdess's in that, of the bagpipe of one shepherd sounding here, and the flageolet of the other sounding there." Cervantes knew well enough that shepherds in real life were not called Lauso or Jacinto, but Domingo or Pablo; and that they spent most of their leisure, not in chanting elegies, but in catching fleas and mending their clogs. He tells us so. And that he realised the faults of his own performance is evident from the verdict pronounced on "the Galatea of Miguel de Cervantes" by the Priest in Don Quixote:—"That Cervantes has been for many years a great friend of mine, and to my knowledge he has had more experience in reverses than in verses. His book has some good invention in it, it presents us with something but brings nothing to a conclusion: we must wait for the Second Part it promises: perhaps with amendment it may succeed in winning the full measure of indulgence that is now denied it; and in the meantime do you, Señor Gossip, keep it shut up in your own quarters."[81]

This reference, as Mr. Ormsby noted, "is Cervantes all over in its tone of playful stoicism with a certain quiet self-assertion." Cervantes had, indeed, a special tenderness for the Galatea as being his eldest-born—estas primicias de mi corto ingenio—and this is shown by his constant desire to finish it, his persistent renewal of the promise with which the First Part closes. The history of these promises is instructive. In 1585 Cervantes[82] publicly pledged himself to bring out a continuation, if the First Part of the Galatea were a success: it was to follow shortly (con brevedad). The work does not seem to have made a great hit; but Cervantes, the only man entitled to an opinion on this particular matter, was satisfied with its reception and, as the Priest's speech shows, in 1605 he held by his intention of publishing the promised sequel. But he dallied and tarried. Con brevedad is, as posterity knows, an expression which Cervantes interprets very liberally. Twenty-eight years after the publication of the Galatea, he used the phrase once more in the preface to the Novelas exemplares: the sequel to Don Quixote, he promises, shall be forthcoming shortly (con brevedad). This announcement caught Avellaneda's eye, and drove him into a grotesque frenzy of disappointment. It seems evident that he took the words—con brevedad—in their literal sense, imagining that Cervantes had nearly finished the Second Part of Don Quixote in 1613, and that its appearance was a question of a few months more or less. Accordingly, meanly determining to be first in the field, he hurried on with his spurious sequel, penned his abusive preface, and rushed into print. It is practically certain that this policy of sharp practice produced precisely the result which he least desired. Perhaps he hoped that Cervantes, discouraged at being thus forestalled, would abandon his own Second Part in disgust. There was never a more complete miscalculation. Stung to the quick by Avellaneda's insolence, Cervantes, in his turn, made what haste he could with the genuine continuation. Had Avellaneda but known how to wait, the chances are that Cervantes would have devoted his best energies to the composition of Las Semanas del Jardín (promised in the dedication of the Novelas exemplares), or of El Engaño á los ojos (promised in the preface to his volume of plays), or of El famoso Bernardo (promised in the dedication of Persiles y Sigismunda). Frittering away his diminishing strength on these various works, and enlarging the design of Don Quixote from time to time—perhaps introducing the Knight, the Squire, the Bachelor and the Priest as shepherds—Cervantes might only too easily have left his masterpiece unfinished, were it not for the unintentional stimulus given by Avellaneda's insults.

How far is this view of the probabilities confirmed, or refuted, by what occurred in the case of the Galatea? The Second Part of that novel, like the Second Part of Don Quixote, had been promised con brevedad. Ten years passed, and still the sequel to the pastoral did not appear. Ticknor[83] records the tradition that Cervantes "wrote the Galatea to win the favour of his lady," Doña Catalina de Palacios Salazar y Vozmediano, and cynically adds that the new Pygmalion's "success may have been the reason why he was less interested to finish it." The explanation suggested is not particularly creditable to Cervantes, nor is it credible in itself. Cervantes's intention, so often expressed, was excellent, and it is simple justice to remember that, for the best part of the dozen years which immediately followed the publication of the Galatea, he was earning his bread as a tax-collector or tithe-proctor. This left him little time for literature. Twenty years went by, and still the promised Galatea was not issued. One can well understand it. Cervantes had been discharged from the public service: he was close on sixty and seemed to have shot his bolt: his repute and fortune were at the lowest point. His own belief in the Galatea might be unbounded; but it was not very likely that he would succeed in persuading my businesslike bookseller to issue the Second Part of a pastoral novel which had (more or less) failed nearly a quarter of a century earlier. He struck out a line for himself and, in a happy hour for the world, he found a publisher for Don Quixote. It was the daring venture of a broken man with nothing to lose, and its immense success completely changed his position. Henceforward he was an author of established reputation, and publishers were ready enough to take his prose and pay for it. As the reference in Don Quixote shows, Cervantes had never, in his most hopeless moment, given up his idea of publishing his sequel to the Galatea. His original promise in 1585 was explicit, if conditional: and manifestly in 1605 he held that the condition had been fulfilled. In the latter year he was much less explicit as to his intention of publishing a continuation of Don Quixote, and, in the concluding quotation adapted from Orlando Furioso, he almost invited some other writer to finish the book. Probably no contemporary reader would have been surprised if the sequel to the Galatea had appeared before the sequel to Don Quixote.[84] Still it must be acknowledged that the instant triumph of Don Quixote altered the situation radically. In these circumstances, which he could not possibly have foreseen when he vaguely suggested that another hand might write the further adventures of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, Cervantes was perfectly justified in deciding to finish the later work before printing the earlier one. It would have been the most natural thing in the world for an ordinary man to make the most of his popularity and to bring out both sequels in rapid succession. But Cervantes was not an ordinary man, and few points in his history are more inexplicable than the fact that, after the amazing success of Don Quixote, he published practically nothing for the next eight years.

At last in 1613, the Novelas exemplares were issued. The author was silent as to the continuation of the Galatea, but he promised that the Second Part of Don Quixote should be forthcoming—con brevedad. We know what followed. The Viaje del Parnaso was published in the winter of 1614; and, though it contains a short Letter Dedicatory and Preface,[85] which might easily have been made the vehicle of a public announcement in Cervantes's customary manner, there is no allusion to the new Don Quixote or to the new Galatea. Next year, however, in the dedication[86] of his Ocho comedias y ocho entremeses nuevos, Cervantes informed the Conde de Lemos,—with whom the book was a special favourite[87]—that he was pushing on with the Galatea. He makes the same statement in the Prologue to the Second Part of Don Quixote,[88] and the assurance is repeated by him on his deathbed in the noble Letter Prefatory to Persiles y Sigismunda.[89] This latter is a solemn occasion, and Cervantes writes in a tone of impressive gravity which indicates that he weighed the full meaning of what he knew would be his last message. Ayer me dieron la Extremaunción, y hoy escribo esta: el tiempo es breve, las ansias crecen, las esperanzas menguan. And, in the Prologue, written somewhat earlier, the old man eloquent bids this merry life farewell, declares that his quips and jests are over, and appoints a final rendezvous with his comrades in the next world. At this supreme moment his indomitable spirit returns to his first love, and once more he promises—for the fifth time—the continuation of the Galatea.

In view of the dying man's words it is exceptionally difficult to believe that not a line of this sequel was actually written. It is equally difficult to believe that, if the Galatea existed in a fragmentary state, the widow, the daughter, the son-in-law, the patron, the publisher, the personal friends, the countless admirers of the most illustrious and most popular novelist in all the Spains, should have failed to print it. We cannot even venture to guess what the facts of the case really were. From Cervantes's repeated declarations it would seem probable that he left a considerable amount of literary manuscript almost ready for the Licenser. With the exception of Persiles y Sigismunda, every shred of every work that he mentions as being in preparation has vanished. It would be strange if this befell an author of secondary rank: it is incomprehensible when we consider Cervantes's unique position, recognized in and out of Spain. All we know is this: that, on Cervantes's lips, con brevedad might mean—in fact, did mean—more than thirty years, and that the sequel to the Galatea, though promised on five separate occasions, never appeared. Providence would seem to have decreed against the completion of many Spanish pastorals. Montemôr's Diana, the sequels to it by Pérez and Gil Polo, all remained unfinished: the Galatea is unfinished, too. It is possible, but unlikely, that the world has been defrauded of a masterpiece. Yet, unsuited as was the pastoral genre to the exercise of Cervantes's individual genius, we should eagerly desire to study his treatment of the old theme in the maturity of his genius and with the consciousness that his splendid reputation was at stake. He might perhaps have given us an anticipation in prose of Lope de Vega's play, La Arcadia,[90] a brilliant, poetic parody after Cervantes's own heart. Fate has ruled against us, and

The unfinished window in Aladdin's tower

Unfinished must remain.[91]

The pastorals lived on for many years in Spain[92] and out of it; but Don Quixote, the Novelas exemplares, Guzmán de Alfarache, and the growing crowd of picaresque realistic tales had so completely supplanted them in popular favour that Cervantes himself could scarcely have worked the miracle of restoring their former vogue among his countrymen.

Sr. D. Ramón León Máinez,[93] whose honourable enthusiasm for all that relates to Cervantes forbids his admitting that there are spots on his sun, considers the Galatea to be the best of pastorals, and other whole-hearted admirers (such as August and Friedrich von Schlegel)[94] have said as much. This, however, is not the general verdict of those who have read the Galatea from beginning to end, and really such readers are not many. Prescott[95] cautiously observes that it is "a beautiful specimen of an insipid class." Hazlitt, who may be taken as the honest representative of a numerous constituency, confesses that he does not know the book, and offers an ingenious apology for his remissness. Cervantes, he declares, claims the highest honour which can belong to any author—"that of being the inventor of a new style of writing." But, after this ingratiating prelude, he continues:—"I have never read his Galatea, nor his Loves of Persiles and Sigismunda, though I have often meant to do it, and I hope to do so yet. Perhaps there is a reason lurking at the bottom of this dilatoriness. I am quite sure that the reading of these works could not make me think higher of the author of Don Quixote, and it might, for a moment or two, make me think less." And no doubt it might: just as the reading of Hours of Idleness, of Zastrozzi, and of Clotilde de Lusignan ou le beau Juif might, for a moment or two, make us think less of the authors of Don Juan, of Epipsychidion, and of Eugénie Grandet.

The Galatea survives as the first timorous experiment of a daring genius. It had no great vogue in Spain, and it is a mistake to say that "seven editions were called for in the author's lifetime."[96] At least, bibliographers know that, if they were called for, they certainly did not appear. As a matter of fact the book was only twice reprinted while Cervantes was alive, and, as neither of these editions was published in Spain, it is possible that he was unaware of their existence. In 1590 the Galatea was reproduced at Lisbon, expurgated of all heathenish allusions by Frey Bertholameu Ferreyra, acting for the Portuguese Inquisition; and this incomplete Portuguese reprint helped to make the pastoral known outside the Peninsula. It so happened that César Oudin, a teacher of Spanish at Paris—where he had already (1608) reprinted the Curioso impertinente,[97]—travelled through Spain and Portugal during 1610, and in the course of his journey he unsuccessfully endeavoured to obtain a copy of the Alcalá Galatea. He had to be content with a copy of the mutilated Lisbon edition, and this he reprinted in 1611 at Paris,[98] probably with an eye to using it as a text-book for his French pupils who were passing through an acute crisis of the pastoral fever. M. Jourdain had not yet put his embarrassing question to his music and dancing masters:—"Pourquoi toujours des bergers?" At all events, there is some evidence to prove that the Galatea was popular in fashionable Parisian circles while Cervantes still lived. In his Aprobación to the Second Part of Don Quixote, the Licenciado Francisco Márquez Torres records that when, on February 25, 1615, he visited the French embassy, he was beset by members of the Envoy's suite[99] who, taking fire at the mention of Cervantes's name, belauded the First Part of Don Quixote, the Novelas exemplares, and the Galatea—which one of them knew almost by heart.[100] It is unlikely that the author himself knew much of the Galatea by heart; but at about this period Honoré d'Urfé[101] had restored the vogue of pastoralism in France, and Márquez Torres's ecstatic Frenchman (if he really existed) only shewed the tendency to exaggeration characteristic of recent converts. He was, very possibly, among the last of the elect in Madrid. One edition—some say two editions—of the Galatea appeared posthumously in 1617: two more editions (provincial, like their immediate predecessor or predecessors) were issued in 1618. Then the dust of a hundred years settled down on all copies of the forgotten book. Three reprints during the eighteenth century, ten reprints during the nineteenth century, satisfied the public demand.[102]

The sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries did not produce a single translation of the Galatea.[103] But in 1783 appeared a French adaptation of this pastoral by the once famous Chevalier Jean-Pierre Claris de Florian,[104] who compressed the six books of the original into three, added a fourth book of his own in which he married Elicio to Galatea, and so contrived a happy ending. "Il florianise tant soit peu toutes choses," says Sainte-Beuve[105] drily. In this delicate, perfumed, powder-and-patch arrangement by the idyllic woman-beater[106] and Captain of Dragoons, Cervantes's novel became astonishingly popular. Edition after edition was struck off from the French presses, and the work was read all over Europe in translations: three in German, two in Italian, three in English, two in Portuguese, one in Greek. Odder still, in this form, the book made its way home again and, just as certain Spaniards who had forgotten Guillén de Castro enjoyed Juan Bautista Diamante's translation (1658) of Corneille's Cid, so three editions go to prove that, a century and a half later, certain other Spaniards who had forgotten Cervantes enjoyed Casiano Pellicer's translation (1797) of Florian's Galatée.[107] And there was more to follow next year. Cándido María Trigueros[108] showed himself worthy of his Christian name by bettering Florian's example: he laid violent hands on Cervantes, suppressed here, amplified there, purged the book of its verses, and supplied a still happier ending—on a monumental scale—by incontinently marrying ten lucky shepherds to ten lovely shepherdesses. One cannot help wondering what Cervantes would have thought of this astounding performance. It was too much for the Spanish public, and Trigueros turned to do better work in adapting old plays to the modern stage. The taste for Arcadianism died away at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Artificial pastorals have, indeed, not yet recovered from a polite but deadly note published in the preface to Obermann: "Le genre pastoral, le genre descriptif out beaucoup d'expressions rebattues, dont les moins tolérables, à mon avis, sont les figures employées quelques millions de fois et qui, dès la première, affaiblissent l'objet qu'elles prétendaient agrandir." Such expressions, continues the writer, are l'émail des prés, l'azur des cieux, le cristal des eaux, les lis et les roses de son teint, les gages de son amour, l'innocence du hameau, des torrens s'échapperènt de ses yeux—"et tant d'autres que je ne veux pas condamner exclusivement, mais que j'aime mieux ne pas rencontrer." Sénancour was perhaps thinking more particularly of Florian at the moment, but his criticism applies also to Cervantes's first book.

It was not till 1830 that the first genuine translation of the Galatea appeared, and this German version was followed by two others in the same language. These stood alone till 1867[109] when it occurred to a droll, strange man named Gordon Willoughby James Gyll (or James Willoughby Gordon Gill),[110] to publish an English rendering of Cervantes's pastoral in which, as he thought, "the rural characters are nicely defined; modesty and grace with simplicity prevailing." Gyll, who wrongly imagined that he was the first to translate the Galatea, seems to have been specially attracted by Cervantes's verses,—a compliment which the author would have enjoyed all the more on learning from his admirer that these "compositions are cast in lyrics and iambics, without being quite of a dithyrambic character, furnishing relief to the prose, and evincing the skill and tendency of the bard in all effusions relative to love, the master-passion of our existence, without which all would be arid and disappointing to the eagle spirit of the child of song." After this opening you know what to expect. And you get it—three hundred and forty-nine pages of it! Gyll never writes of parts, but of "portions"; rather than leave a place, he will "evacuate" it; nothing will induce him to return if he can "revert"; he prefers "scintillations" to gleams, "perturbators" to disturbers, "cogitation" to thought, and "exculpations" to excuses. Gyll's English, as may be judged from the specimens just quoted, is almost as eccentric as the English of Mohindronauth Mookerjee in his Memoir of the late Honourable Justice Onoocool Chunder Mookerjee, and it is much less amusing. His effrontery is beyond description. He knew nothing of Cervantes whom he actually believed to be a contemporary of Floridablanca in the eighteenth century.[111] He almost implies that he has read Cervantes's lost Filena, though he admits that it "is now rarely found." His ignorance of Spanish is illimitable. How he can have presumed to translate from it passes all understanding. He misinterprets the easiest phrases, and he follows the simple plan of translating each word by the first rough equivalent that he finds given in some poor dictionary. It would be waste of time to criticize the inflated prose and detestable verse which combine to make Gyll's rendering the worst in the world. Two specimens will suffice to show what Gyll can do when he gives his mind to it. At the very opening of the First Book, he reveals his powers:—"But the perspicacity of Galatea detected in the motions of his countenance what Elicio contained in his soul, and she evinced such condescension that the words of the enamoured shepherd congealed in his mouth, though it appeared to him that he had done an injury to her, even to treat of what might not have the semblance of rectitude." This is Gyll as a master of prose. Gyll, the lyric poet, is even richer in artistic surprises. Take, for instance, the closing stanzas of Lauso's song at the beginning of the Fifth Book:—

In this extraordinary agony,
The feelings entertained go but for dumb
Seeing that love defies,
And I am cast in the midst of the fierce fire.
Cold water I abhor
Were it not for my eyes,
Which fire augments and spoils
In this amorous forge.
I wish not or seek water,
Or from annoyance supplicate relief.

Begin would all my good,
My ills would finish all,
If fate should so ordain,
That my sincere trust in life,
Silenca[112] would assure,
Sighs assure it.
My eyes do thoroughly me inform
Me weeping in this truth.
Pen, tongue, will
In this inflexible reason me confirm.

These examples speak for themselves.[113] Cervantes was not indeed a very great poet; but his verses are often graceful and melodious, and it would have afflicted him sorely to see his lines travestied in this miserable fashion. It is inexplicable that such absolute nonsense should be published. But it is a singular testimony to the public interest in all concerning Cervantes that, in default of anything better, this discreditable version should have been read, and even reprinted.

For the present edition a new translation has been prepared. It proceeds on the one sound principle of translating from the original as faithfully as possible, without either omission or addition. The task of rendering the Galatea into English is less trying, and therefore less tempting, than the task of rendering Don Quixote or the Novelas exemplares; but the Galatea offers numerous difficulties, and it will be found that these have been very satisfactorily overcome by Dr. Oelsner and Mr. A. Baker Welford. They have the distinction of producing the first really adequate translation of the Galatea in any language.

JAS. FITZMAURICE-KELLY.

February, 1903.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The article on Cervantes in Nicolás Antonio's Bibliotheca Hispana (Roma, 1672), vol. ii., p. 105, is bibliographical rather than biographical. In Antonio's time practically nothing was known concerning the details of Cervantes's life. It is curious that the first writer to attempt a biography of Cervantes was a foreigner—possibly Peter Motteux, whose English translation dates from 1700: a biographical sketch, entitled An Account of the Author, was included in the third volume (London, 1703). The following sentences, which I quote from the first volume of the third edition (London, 1712), are not without interest:—

"For the other Passages of his Life, we are only given to understand that he was for some time Secretary to the Duke of Alva" (p. ii). "Some are of the Opinion, that upon our Author's being neglectfully treated by the Duke of Lerma, first Minister to K. Philip the Third, a strange imperious, haughty Man, and one who had no Value for Men of Learning; he in Revenge, made this Satyr which, as they pretend, is chiefly aim'd at that Minister" (pp. iii.-iv.). The biographer then refers to Avellaneda's spurious sequel, and continues:—"Our Author was extremely concern'd at this Proceeding, and the more too, because this Writer was not content to invade his Design, and rob him, as 'tis said, of some of his Copy, but miserably abuses poor Cervantes in his Preface" (p. iv.).

These idle rumours as to Cervantes's relations with Lerma are taken from René Rapin's Réflexions sur la poétique d'Aristote, et sur les ouvrages des Poetes anciens & modernes (Paris, 1674, p. 229) and from Louis Moréri's Grand Dictionaire historique ou le mélange curieux de l'histoire sacrée et profane (Paris, 1687, third edition, vol. i., p. 795); but it is odd to find them reaching England before they reached Spain. Mayáns and Pedro Murillo Velarde do not reproduce them till 1737 and 1752 respectively: the first in his Vida de Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (Briga-Real), and the second in his Geographica historica (Madrid), vol x., lib. x., p. 28.

[2] See the Vida de Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra in Tonson's reprint of Don Quixote (Londres, 1738), vol. i., p. 6. This edition is generally described as Lord Carteret's edition; but, though Carteret certainly commissioned Mayáns to write the biography of Cervantes, and though he may have patronized Tonson's venture, it does not seem so sure that he paid for printing the text (which, as regards the First Part, is merely a mechanical reproduction of the 1607 Brussels edition). The usual version of the story is that Carteret, on looking over the library of Queen Caroline, wife of George II., missed Don Quixote from the shelves, and ordered the sumptuous Tonson edition with a view to making the Queen a present of the most delightful book in the world. It may be so. Carteret appears to have been interested in Spanish literature, and we know that Harry Bridges's translation (Bristol, 1728) of some of the Novelas exemplares was brought out "under the Protection of His Excellency." But, with regard to Carteret's defraying the entire cost of Tonson's reprint of Don Quixote, there are some circumstances which cause one to hesitate before accepting the report as true. So far as can be gathered, the first mention of Carteret in this connexion is found in Juan Antonio Mayáns's preface to the sixth edition (Valencia, 1792) of Luis Gálvez de Montalvo's Pastor de Fílida:—

"Carolina, Reina de Inglaterra, muger de Jorge segundo, avia juntado, para su entretenimiento, una coleccion de libros de Inventiva, i la llamava La Bibliotheca del sabio Merlin, i aviendosela enseñado a Juan Baron Carteret, le dijo este sabio apreciador de los Escritores Españoles, que faltava en ella la Ficcion más agradable, que se avia escrito en el Mundo, que era la Vida de D. Quijote de la Mancha, i que él queria tener el mérito de colocarla" (p. xxv.).

This statement, it will be seen, was made more than fifty years after the event to which it refers. Nevertheless it may be true. Juan Antonio Mayáns may have had the story from Gregorio Mayáns. He was most unlikely to invent it, and the fact that he gives 1737 as the date of Gregorio's biography inclines one to believe in his general accuracy: all other writers give 1738 as the date, but it has recently been found that a tirage à part was struck off at Briga-Real (i.e. Madrid) a year before the Vida was printed in London. It must, however, be remembered that Gregorio Mayáns never met Carteret, and was never in England. Knowing that Carteret paid him for his share in the work, he might easily have imagined that Carteret also paid Tonson, and may have been understood to state this inference as a positive fact. In any case, the memory of an elderly man is not always trustworthy in such matters as these. Moreover, as Gregorio Mayáns died in 1781, we must allow for the possibility of error on the part of Juan Antonio, when repeating a tale that he had heard at least eleven years before.

Some external evidence, such as it is, tells against the common belief, Leopoldo Rius in his Bibliografía crítica de las obras de Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (Madrid, 1895-1899) notes (vol. ii. p. 300) a German work entitled Angenehmes Passetems (Frankfurt and Leipzig, 1734): in the preface to this publication it is stated as a piece of news that the Spanish Ambassador in London, the Conde de Montijo, has ordered a copy of Don Quixote to be handsomely bound for Queen Caroline. We do not know if Montijo gave her the book, but it seems certain that Don Quixote was in her library. A copy of the Antwerp edition of 1719, bearing her name and the royal crown, passed into the possession of my friend, the late Mr. Henry Spencer Ashbee: see his pamphlet, Some Books about Cervantes (London, 1900), pp. 29-30. Possibly the interview with Carteret took place before 1734, or before Queen Caroline possessed the Antwerp edition. But it is worth noting that the Queen died on November 20, 1737, and that Tonson's edition appeared next spring. If Carteret were so deeply engaged in the undertaking as we are assured, and if his chief motive were (as reported) to pay a courtly compliment to Queen Caroline, it is strange that he should not have caused the edition to be dedicated to the Queen's memory, and it is still stranger that the preliminaries should not contain the least allusion to her. As it happens, the Dedication, dated March 26, 1738, is addressed to the Condesa de Montijo, wife of the ex-Ambassador above-named. It would be a small but useful service if one of Cervantes's many English admirers should establish what share Carteret actually had in an enterprise for which, hitherto, he has received the whole credit.

[3] See El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quixote de la Mancha.... Nueva edición corregida por la Real Academia Española (Madrid, 1780), vol. i., p. xii.

[4] See Juan Antonio Pellicer's edition of Don Quixote (Madrid, 1797-1798), vol. i. pp. lxxv.-lxxvi.: "Restituido pues Cervantes á España en la primavera del año de 1581 fixó su residencia en Madrid.... Hizo también lugar para escribir y publicar el año de 1584 La Galatea."

It appears that all the assertions here made by Pellicer are mistaken. (1) Cervantes did not return to Spain in the spring of 1581, but late in 1580; (2) he did not reside permanently in Madrid during 1581, for we find him at Tomar on May 21 of that year; (3) if we are to understand that the Galatea was composed in 1684, this is disproved by the fact that the manuscript was passed by the censor on February 1, 1584, and must naturally have been in his possession for some time previously; (4) it will be shewn that the Galatea was not published in 1584, but in 1585. Pellicer is not to be blamed for not knowing the real facts. The pity is that he should give his guesses as though they were certainties. Yet, in a sense, events have justified his boldness; for no man's guesses have been more widely accepted.

[5] See Martín Fernández de Navarrete's Vida de Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (Madrid, 1819), pp. 65-68. Navarrete, however, points out that the Galatea cannot have appeared early in 1584, as his predecessors had alleged: "No se publicó hasta los últimos meses de aquel año." I do not understand him to say that the book was published at Madrid.

[6] See George Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature (Sixth American Edition, Boston, 1888), vol. ii., p. 117.

[7] Amongst others, John Gibson Lockhart in his Introduction to a reprint of Peter Motteux's version of Don Quixote (Edinburgh, 1822), vol. i., p. 25; Thomas Roscoe, The Life and Writings of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (London, 1839), p. 38; Mrs. Oliphant in her Cervantes (Edinburgh and London, 1880), p. 76; and Alexander James Duffield in his Don Quixote: his critics and commentators (London, 1881), p. 79. In his Later Renaissance (London, 1898), p. 149, Mr. David Hannay gives the date as 1580. On the other hand, John Ormsby stated the facts with his habitual accuracy in the Introduction to the first edition of his translation of Don Quixote (London, 1885), vol. i., p. 29.

[8] See C.-B. Dumaine's Essai sur la vie et les œuvres de Cervantes d'après un travail inédit de D. Luis Carreras (Paris, 1897), p. 47: "Les vers de la Galatée remontent au temps de son séjour en Italie. Ces poésies étaient addressées à une dame, à laquelle il témoignait de tendres sentiments."

[9] See Sr. D. José María Asensio y Toledo's Nuevos documentos para ilustrar la vida de Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, con algunas observaciones y articulos sobre la vida y obras del mismo autor y las pruebas de la autenticidad de su verdadero retrato (Seville, 1864), pp. 51-52. Sr. Asensio y Toledo, who repeats his view as to the date of composition in his Cervantes y sus obras (Barcelona, 1901), p. 195, relies mainly on an expression in the preface: "Huyendo destos dos inconvenientes no he publicado antes de ahora este libro." Taken by itself, this phrase certainly implies that the book had been completed some time before; but the passage is too rhetorically, and too vaguely, worded to admit of safe deductions being drawn from it. The idea that the Galatea was written in Portugal was thrown out long ago by Eustaquio Fernández de Navarrete: see his Bosquejo histórico sobre la novela española in Manuel Rivadeneyra, Biblioteca de autores españoles, (Madrid, 1854), vol. xxxiii., p. xxiv.

[10] Lucas Gracián Dantisco wrote an imitation of Della Casa's book under the title of Galateo español (Barcelona, 1594). His brother, Tomás, is mentioned by Cervantes in the Canto de Calíope.

[11] The earliest known edition of the Celestina is believed to be represented by an unique copy which was once in Heber's collection. The colophon of this volume is dated Burgos 1499; but there is some doubt concerning the date inasmuch as the last page has been recently inserted and may not be a faithful reproduction of the original printer's mark. It is, however, tolerably certain that this edition came from the press of Fadrique de Basilea (Friedrich Biel): for whom, see Conrad Haebler's Typographie Ibérique du quinzième siècle (La Haye and Leipzig, 1901), pp. 30-32. It is also fairly certain that this Heber copy, whatever its exact date may be, is earlier than the Seville edition of 1501, reprinted (1900) by M. Raymond Foulché-Delbosc in his Bibliotheca Hispanica. Finally, the probability is that the edition which survives in the Heber volume was preceded by another edition of which no trace remains: see M. Foulché-Delbosc's remarkable Observations sur la Célestine in the Revue hispanique (Paris, 1900), vol. vii., pp. 28-80.

[12] The earliest known edition of Amadís de Gaula (Zaragoza, 1508) is believed to exist in an unique copy in the British Museum, press-marked as C. 57. g. 6. But there is reason to think that there was a previous edition which has disappeared.

[13] There are three distinct editions of Lazarillo de Tormes all dated 1554. They were published respectively at Alcalá de Henares, Burgos, and Antwerp, and—so M. Foulché-Delbosc inclines to believe—in the order here given: see his Remarques sur Lazarille de Tormes in the Revue hispanique (Paris, 1900). vol. vii., pp. 81-97. M. Foulché-Delbosc argues with great ingenuity that these three editions of 1554 derive from another edition (printed before February 26, 1554) of which no copy has as yet been found.

[14] Sr. D. Francisco Rodríguez Marín mentions that a copy of the princeps of the Primera Parte de Guzmán de Alfarache (Madrid, 1599) existed in the library of the Marqués de Jerez de Caballeros, recently acquired by Mr. Archer M. Huntington: see Rodríguez Marín's El Loaysa de "El Celoso Extremeño" (Sevilla, 1901), p. 283, n. 102. Another copy of this rare edition is in the British Museum Library.

[15] Rius (op. cit., vol. i., p. 4) mentions eight copies of the princeps of Don Quixote (Madrid, 1605), and it is certain that there are other copies in existence.

[16] In Miguel de Cervantes, his life & works (London, 1895), p. 267, Mr. Henry Edward Watts, says of the Alcalá Galatea (1585) that "only one copy is known—in the possession of the Marqués de Salamanca." This is a mistake. Rius, who does not refer to the volume alleged to be in the Marqués de Salamanca's possession, specifies (op. cit., vol. i., pp. 100-101) five other copies. He could not be expected to know that there was yet another copy in England. English students of Cervantes were, however, aware of the fact fifteen years before the publication of Mr. Watts's work: see A Catalogue of the printed books, manuscripts, autograph letters, and engravings, collected by Henry Huth. With collations and bibliographical descriptions (London, 1880), vol. i., p. 282.

[17] See the Introduction to vol. vii. of the present edition (Glasgow, 1902), p. viii.

[18] It may be interesting to note the exact dates attached to the official instruments in Haedo's book. The Licencia of the General of the Benedictines was signed by his deputy, Fray Gregorio de Lazcano, at Valladolid on October 6, 1604; the Aprobación was signed by Antonio de Herrera at Madrid on October 18, 1608; the Privilegio was signed by Jorge de Tovar at Madrid on February 18, 1610; the Fe de erratas was signed by Dr. Agustín de Vergara at Valladolid on June 3, 1612; the Tasa was signed by Miguel Ondarza Zabala at Madrid on October 19, 1612. As we have already seen, the last-named signed the Tasa of the Galatea some twenty-six years previously.

[19] See Fernández de Navarrete, op. cit., pp. 392-393: "Petri ad vincula 1º día de agosto de 1584 murió el Ilmo. Sr. Marco Antonio Colona, virey de Sicilia, en casa del Ilmo. Sr. duque de Medinaceli, que fué miércoles en la noche, á las once horas de la noche: rescibió todos los sacramentos: no hizo testamento: enterróse en depósito, que se hizo ante Hernando de Durango, secretario del consejo del Ilmo. Sr. duque, en la capilla mayor de esta colegial á la parte del evangelio, debajo de la reja de las reliquias; hiciéronse tres oficios con el cabildo de esta colegial, y en todos tres oficios celebraron por el ánima de S. E. todos los prebendados, y seis días consecutivos, que fué cada prebendado nueve misas: no se hizo otra cosa,—El canónigo Guzmán."

[20] See the Catálogo de la biblioteca de Salvá, escrito por D. Pedro Salvá y Mallen, y enriquecido con la descripcion de otras muchas obras, de sus ediciones, etc. (Valencia, 1872), vol. ii., p. 124, no. 1740.

[21] See the Obras de Don Juan Donoso Cortés, ordenadas y precedidas de una noticia biográfica por Don Gavino Tejado (Madrid, 1854), vol. iv., pp. 59-60: "Entre la verdad y la razón humana, después de la prevaricación del hombre, ha puesto Dios una repugnancia inmortal y una repulsión invencible ... entre la razón humana y lo absurdo hay una afinidad secreta, un parentesco estrechísimo."

[22] Of these perplexing statements it will suffice to note a few which occur in Miguel de Cervantes, his life & works by Henry Edward Watts (London, 1895):

(a) "A new epoch in the life of Cervantes opens in 1584. In that year he printed his first book...." (p. 76).

(b) "A few days before the publication of Galatea, Cervantes was married at Esquivias.... The 12th of December, 1584, was the date of the ceremony." (p. 90).

(c) "Cervantes married his wife in December, 1584, and for reasons which will be manifest to those who have read the story of his life I think we may presume that his first book was printed before that date." (p. 257).

(d) "The Galatea, Cervantes' first book ... was approved for publication on the 1st of February, 1584, but, for some reason not explained, it was not published till the beginning of the year following." (p. 87).

(e) "Salvá maintains it (i.e. the Alcalá edition of 1585) to be the editio princeps, but I agree with Asensio and the older critics in believing that there must have been an edition of 1584." (p. 257).

(f) "Navarrete and Ticknor, following all the older authorities, make the place of publication Madrid and the date 1584. But Salvá has proved in his Bibliography that the Galatea was first published at Alcalá, the author's birthplace, at the beginning of 1585." (p. 87 n. 3).

These sentences do not appear to convey a strictly consistent view: (b) contradicts (c), (c) contradicts (d), (d) contradicts (e), and (e) contradicts (f).

As to (b) and (d), the expressions "a few days" and "the beginning of the new year" should evidently be interpreted in a non-natural sense. The Tasa, as we have seen, was not signed at Madrid till March 13, 1585; the next step was to return the printed sheets to the publisher at Alcalá de Henares; the publisher had then to forward the Tasa to the printer, and finally the whole edition had to be bound. In these circumstances, the date of publication cannot easily be placed earlier than April, 1585. Accordingly, the expression (b)—"a few days"—must be taken to mean about ninety or a hundred days: and "the beginning of the year," mentioned under (d), must be advanced from January to April.

Concerning (e), it is true that Sr. Asensio y Toledo was at one time inclined to believe in the existence of a 1584 edition of the Galatea: see Salvá, op. cit., vol ii, p. 124. But Sr. Asensio y Toledo admitted that Salvá's argument had shaken him: "sus observaciones de V. me han hecho parar un poco." This was over thirty years ago. Meanwhile, Sr. Asensio y Toledo has revised his opinion, as may be seen in his latest publication, Cervantes y sus obras (Barcelona. 1902). "En el año 1585 salió á luz La Galatea" (p. 268).... "El libro se imprimió en Alcalá, por Juan Gracián, y es de la más extremada rareza" (pp. 382-383). He now accepts Salvá's view without reserve.

As to (f), I have searched Navarrete's five hundred and eighty pages and Ticknor's one thousand six hundred and ninety-seven pages, but have been unable to find that either of them gives Madrid as the place of publication. An exact reference to authorities is always advisable.

[23] See the Life of Miguel de Cervantes by Henry Edward Watts (London, 1891), p. 117.

[24] See Miguel de Cervantes, his life & works by Henry Edward Watts (London, 1895), p. 257.

[25] See Documentos Cervantinos hasta ahora inéditos recogidos y anotados por el Presbítero D. Cristóbal Pérez Pastor Doctor en Ciencias. Publicados á expensas del Excmo. Señor D. Manuel Pérez de Guzmán y Boza, Marqués de Jerez de los Caballeros (Madrid, 1902), vol. ii., pp. 87-89: "Madrid, 14 Junio 1584. En la villa de Madrid a catorce días del mes de Junio de mil e quinientos e ochenta e quatro años por ante mi el escribano público e testigos deyuso escriptos, paresció presente Miguel de Çerbantes, residente en esta corte, e otorgó que zede, vende, renuncia e traspassa en Blas de Robles, mercader de libros, residente en esta corte, un libro de prosa y verso en que se contienen los seis libros de Galatea, que él ha compuesto en nuestra lengua castellana, y le entrega el previllegio original que de Su Magestad tiene firmado de su real mano y refrendado de Antonio de Heraso, su secretario, fecho en esta villa en veinte e dos días del mes de Hebrero deste presente año de ochenta e quatro para que en virtud de él el dicho Blas de Robles, por el tiempo en él contenido, haga imprimir e vender e venda el dicho libro y hacer sobre ello lo (sic) y lo a ello anejo, dezesorio y dependiente, todo lo que el dicho Miguel de Çerbantes haria a hazer podria siendo presente, y para que cumplidos los dichos dies años del dicho previllegio pueda pedir e pida una o más prorrogaciones y usar y use de ellas y del privillegio que de nuevo se le concediere, esto por prescio de mill e trescientos e treynta e seys reales que por ello le da e paga de contado de que se dió y otorgó por bien contento y entregado a toda su voluntad, y en razón de la paga y entrega dellos, que de presente no paresce, renunció la excepcion de la non numerata pecunia y las dos leyes y excepcion del derecho que hablan e son en razón de la prueba del entregamiento como en ellas y en cada una de ellas se contiene, que no le valan, e se obligó que le será cierto e sano el dicho previllegio e las demas prorrogaciones que se le dieren e concedieren en virtud de él e de este poder e cesion e no le será pedido ni alegado engaño, aunque sea enormísimo, en más o en menos de la mitad del justo precio, porque desde agora, caso que pudiera haber el dicho engaño, que no le hay, se lo suelta, remite y perdona, y si alguna cosa intentare a pedir no sea oido en juicio ni fuera de él, y se obligó que el dicho previllegio será cierto e sano e seguro y no se le porná en ello agora ni en tiempo alguno por ninguna manera pleito ni litigio alguno, e si le fuere puesto incoará por ello causa y la seguirá, fenescerá y acabará a su propia costa o mision e cumplimiento de su interese, por manera que pacificamente el dicho Blas de Robles quede con el dicho previllegio e prorrogaciones libremente so pena de le pagar todas las costas e daños que sobre ello se le recrescieren, e para el cumplimiento de ello obligó su persona e bienes, habidos e por haber, e dió poder cumplido a todas e qualesquier justicias e juezes de Su Magestad Real de qualesquier partes que sean al fuero e jurisdicion de las quales y de cada una de ellas se sometió, e renunció su propio fuero, jurisdicion e domicilio y la ley Si convenerit de jurisdictione omnium judicum para que por todo rigor de derecho e via executiva le compelan e apremien a lo ansi cumplir e pagar con costas como si sentencia definitiva fuese dada contra él e por él consentida e pasada en cosa juzgada, e renunció las leyes de su favor e la ley e derecho en que dice que general renunciacion fecha de leyes non vala, e ansi lo otorgó e firmó de su nombre siendo testigos Francisco Martínez e Juan Aguado e Andrea de Obregón, vecinos de le dicha villa, al qual dicho otorgante doy fee conozco.—Miguel de Cerbantes.—Pasó ante mi Francisco Martínez, escribano.—Derechos xxxiiij^o."

[26] Sr. Asensio y Toledo (op. cit., p. 194) inclines to think that Cervantes, when engaged on the first rough draft of his novel, intended to call it Silena.

[27] Documentos, vol. ii., pp. 90-92. "Madrid, 14 Junio 1584. Sepan quantos esta carta de obligacion vieren como yo Blas de Robles, mercader de libros, vecino de esta villa de Madrid, digo: que por quanto hoy día de la fecha de esta carta y por ante el escribano yuso escripto, Miguel de Çervantes, residente en esta corte de Su Magestad, me ha vendido un libro intitulado los seys libros de Galatea, que el dicho Çervantes ha compuesto en nuestra lengua castellana, por prescio de mill e trescientos e treynta e seys reales y en la escriptura que de ello me otorgó se dió por contento y pagado de todos los dichos maravedís e confesó haberlos rescebido de mi realmente y con efecto, y porque en realidad de verdad, no obstante lo contenido en la dicha escriptura, yo le resto debiendo ducientos e cinquenta reales y por la dicha razón me obligo de se los dar e pagar a él o a quien su poder hubiere para en fin del mes de Setiembre primero que verná deste presente año de ochenta e quatro, llanamente en reales de contado, sin pleito ni litigio alguno, so pena del doblo e costas, para lo qual obligo mi persona e bienes habidos e por haber e por esta carta doy poder cumplido a todas e qualesquier justicias e juezes de Su Magestad real de qualesquier partes que sean, al fuero e jurisdicion de las quales e de cada una de ellas me someto, e renuncio mi propio fuero, jurisdicion e domicilio y la ley Si convenerit de jurisdictione omnium judicum para que por todo rigor de derecho e via executiva me compelan e apremien a lo ansi cumplir e pagar con costas como si sentencia difinitiva fuese dada contra mi e por mi consentida e pasada en cosa juzgada, e renuncio todas e qualesquier leyes que en mi favor sean y la ley e derecho en que dice que general renunciacion fecha de leyes non vala, en firmeza de lo qual otorgué esta carta de obligacion en la manera que dicha es ante el presente escribano e testigos deyuso escriptos. Que fué fecha e otorgada en la villa de Madrid a catorze días del mes de Junio de mill e quinientos e ochenta e quatro años, siendo testigos Andrés de Obregón e Juan Aguado e Baltasar Pérez, vecinos de esta villa, y el otorgante, que doy fee conozco, lo firmó de su nombre en el registro.—Blas de Robles.—Pasó ante mi Francisco Martínez, escribano.—Sin derechos."

[28] It may be as well to say that my conjecture (p. xiii) was made, and that the draft of this Introduction was written, before the publication of Dr. Pérez Pastor's second volume.

[29] See Navarrete, op. cit., pp. 312-313: "Señor.—Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra dice, que ha servido á V. M. muchos años en las jornadas de mar y tierra que se han ofrecido de veinte y dos años á esta parte, particularmente en la batalla naval, donde le dieron muchas heridas, de las cuales perdió una mano de un arcabuzazo, y el año siguiente fué á Navarino, y después á la de Túnez y á la Goleta, y viniendo á esta corte con cartas del Sr. D. Joan y del duque de Sesa para que V. M. le hiciese merced, fué captivo en la galera del Sol, él y un hermano suyo, que también ha servido á V. M. en las mismas jornadas, y fueron llevados á Argel, donde gastaron el patrimonio que tenian en rescatarse, y toda la hacienda de sus padres y los dotes de dos hermanas doncellas que tenía, las cuales quedaron pobres por rescatar á sus hermanos, y después de libertados fueron á servir á V. M. en el reino de Portugal y á las Terceras con el marques de Santa Cruz, y agora al presente están sirviendo y sirven á V. M., el uno dellos en Flandes de alferez, y el Miguel de Cervantes fué el que trajo las cartas y avisos del alcaide de Mostagan, y fué á Oran por orden de V. M., y después ha asistido sirviendo en Sevilla en negocios de la armada por orden de Antonio de Guevara, como consta por las informaciones que tiene, y en todo este tiempo no se le ha hecho merced ninguna."

[30] See Cristóbal Mosquera de Figueroa's Comentario en breve compendio de disciplina militar, en que se escriue la jornada de las islas de los Açores (Madrid, 1596), f. 58.

Dr. Pérez Pastor sums up the case concisely in the Prólogo to his Documentos Cervantinos (Madrid, 1897), vol. i., pp. xi.-xii.; "Casi todos los biógrafos de Cervantes han sostenido que éste asistió á la jornada de la Tercera, fundándose en que así lo indica en el pedimento de la Información del año 1590; pero si tenemos en cuenta que en dicho documento van englobados los servicios de Miguel y Rodrigo de Cervantes, y por ende que es fácil atribuir al uno los hechos del otro hermano, que Miguel estaba en Tomar por Mayo de 1581, en Cartagena á fines de Junio de este año, ocupado en cosas del servicio de S. M., y en Madrid por el otoño de 1583, que el Marqués de Santa Cruz, después de haber reducido la Tercera y otras islas, entró en Cádiz el 15 de Septiembre del dicho año, se hace casi imposible que Miguel de Cervantes pudiera asistir á dicha jornada."

[31] Ibid., p. 89. "Madrid, 10 Septiembre, 1585. En la villa de Madrid, a diez días del mes de septiembre de mill y quinientos y ochenta y cinco años, en presencia de mi el presente y testigos de yuso escriptos parescieron presentes Rodrigo de Zervantes y doña Magdalena de Zervantes, hermanos, residentes en esta corte, e dixeron que por quanto habrá dos años, poco más o menos tiempo, Miguel de Zerbantes, su hermano, por orden de la dicha doña Magdalena empeñó al señor Napoleon Lomelin cinco paños de tafetan amarillos y colorados para aderezo de una sala, que tienen setenta y quatro varas y tres quartas, por treinta ducados, y que hasta agora han estado en el empeño, y la dicha doña Magdalena hizo pedimento ante el señor alcalde Pedro Bravo de Sotomayor en que pidió se le entregasen pagado el dicho empeño, y después de haber puesto y fecho el dicho pedimento se han concordado en esta manera.... Testigos que fueron presentes a lo que dicho es, Juan Vázquez del Pulgar y Juste de Oliva, sastre, los quales juraron a Dios en forma debida de derecho conocer a los dichos otorgantes y que se llaman e nombran como de suso dize sin cautela, y Marcos Diaz del Valle, estantes en Madrid, y los dichos otorgantes lo firmaron de sus nombres.—Rodrigo de Cerbantes.—Doña Magdalena de Cerbantes—Pasó ante mi Baltasar de Ugena. Derechos real e medio."

[32] Curiously enough, there is some dispute as to whether Cervantes's great rival, Lope de Vega, did or did not take part in an expedition to the Azores. Lope's assertion in his Epístola to Luis de Haro is explicit enough. If any doubt on the subject has arisen, this is mainly due to Lope's vanity in under-stating his age.

[33] See the Letter Dedicatory in Gálvez de Montalvo's Pastor de Fílida addressed to Don Enrique de Mendoza y Aragón. Gálvez de Montalvo rejoices in his good fortune without any false shame: "Entre los venturosos, que a U. S. conocen, i tratan, he sido yo uno, i estimo que de los más, porque deseando servir a U. S. se cumplio mi deseo, i assi degè mi casa, i otras mui señaladas, dò fué rogado que viviesse, i vine a èsta, donde holgaré de morir, i donde mi mayor trabajo es estar ocioso, contento, i honrado como criado de U. S."

[34] See the suggestive observations of that admirable scholar, Madame Carolina Michaëlis de Vasconcellos in Gustav Gröber's Grundriss der romanischen Philologie (Strassburg, 1897), II Band, 2 Abteilung, p. 216, n. 2. "Schon an den Namen Amadís knupft sich so manche Frage. Ist er eine willkurliche, auf der Halbinsel entstandene Abänderung aus dem frz. Amadas (engl. Amadace) latinisirt zu Amadasius? d. h. eine wohlklingendere Analogiebildung zu dem portug. Namen Dinís? also Amad-ysius? Man vergleiche einerseits: Belis Fiis Leonis Luis Belianis Belleris; Assiz Aviz; Moniz Maris etc., und andererseits das alte Adj. amadioso, heute (a)mavioso. Oder gab es eine frz. Form in -is, wie die bereits 1292 vorkommende ital. (Amadigi) wahrscheinlich machen würde, falls sie erwiesen echt wäre (s. Rom. xvii., 185)?..."

[35] See a very interesting note in Il Cortegiano del Conte Baldesar Castiglione annotato e illustrato da Vittorio Cian (Firenze, 1894), p. 327. Commenting on Castiglione's allusion to Amadís—"pero bisogneria mandargli all'Isola Ferma" (lib. iii., cap. liv.)—Professor Cian notes the rapid diffusion of Amadís de Gaula in Italy: "Ma i' Amadís era conosciuto assai prima frai noi, ed è notevole a questo proposito una lettera scritta in Roma da P. Bembo, il 4 febbraio 1512, al Ramusio, nella quale parlando del Valerio (Valier), loro amico, e amico del nostro C. e dell' Ariosto e dei Gonzaga di Mantova, il poeta veneziano ci porge questa notizia: 'Ben si pare che il Valerio sia sepolto in quel suo Amadagi....' (pubbl. da me nel cit. Decennio delta vita del Bembo, p. 206)."

[36] See vol. xl. of Manuel Rivadeneyra Biblioteca de autores españoles entitled Libros de caballerías con un discurso preliminar y un catalógo razonado por Don Pascual de Gayangos (Madrid, 1857), pp. xxxi. et seqq.

[37] The Portuguese case is well stated by Theophilo Braga in his Historia das novelas portuguezas de cavalleria (Porto, 1873), in his Questões de litteratura e arte portugueza (Lisboa, 1881), and in his Curso de historia de litteratura portugueza (Lisboa, 1885). It is most forcibly summarized by Madame Michaëlis de Vasconcellos (op. cit., pp. 216-226) who cites, as partisans of the Portuguese claim, Warton, Bouterwek, Southey, Sismondi, Clemencín, Ticknor, Wolf, Lemcke, and Puymaigre. To these names might be added those of the two eminent masters, M. Gaston Paris and Sr. D. Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo.

[38] See La Littérature française au moyen âge XI^e-XIV^e siècle par Gaston Paris, Membre de l'Institut. Deuxième édition revue, corrigée, augmentée et accompagnée d'un tableau chronologique. (Paris, 1890). Referring to the romans bretons, M. Gaston Paris writes (p. 104): "Le Perceforest français au XIV^e siècle, l'Amadís portugais puis espagnol aux XV^e et XVI^e siècles sont des imitations de ces grands romans en prose."

[39] Chiefly by Gayangos in the Discurso preliminar to Rivadeneyra, vol. xl.; by José Amador de los Ríos in his Historia crítica de la literatura española (1861-65), vol. v., pp. 78-97; by Eugène Baret in De l'Amadis de Gaule (second edition, Paris, 1871); by Ludwig Braunfels in his Kritischer Versuch über den Roman Amadis von Gallien (Leipzig, 1876); and by Professor Gottfried Baist in the above-mentioned section of the Grundriss der romanischen Philologie, pp. 440-442.

[40] See the Arcadia di Jacobo Sannazaro secondo i manoscritti e le prime stampe con note ed introduzione di Michele Scherillo (Torino, 1888).

[41] Ibid., pp. cclxi.-cccxliv.

[42] Compare, for example, Garcilaso's lines:—

Tengo vna parte aqui de tus cabellos,

Elissa, embueltos en vn blanco paño;

Que nunca de mi seno se me apartan.

Descojolos, y de vn dolor tamaño

Enternecer me siento, que sobre 'llos

Nunca mis ojos de llorar se hartan,

Sin que de allí se partan:

Con sospiros calientes,

Mas que la llama ardientes:

Los enxugo del llanto, y de consuno

Casi los passo y cuento vno a vno,

Iuntandolos con vn cordon los ato,

Tras esto el importuno

Dolor, me dexa descansar vn rato.

with the lines sung by Meliseo at the end of Sannazaro's twelfth egloga:—

I tuoi capelli, o Phylli, in una cistula

Serbati tegno, et spesso, quand' io volgoli,

Il cor mi passa una pungente aristula.

Spesso gli lego et spesso oimè disciolgoli,

Et lascio sopra lor quest' occhi piovere;

Poi con sospir gli asciugo e inseme accolgoli.

Basse son queste rime, exili et povere;

Ma se'l pianger in Cielo ha qualche merito,

Dovrebbe tanta fe' Morte commovere.

Io piango, o Phylli, il tuo spietato interito,

E'l mondo del mio mal tutto rinverdesi.

Deh pensa, prego, al bel viver preterito,

Se nel passar di Lethe amor non perdesi.

An exhaustive study on Garcilaso's debts to Italy is given by Professor Francesco Flamini—Imitazioni italiane in Garcilaso de la Vega—in La Biblioteca delle scuole italiane (Milano, June 1899).

[43] See George Ticknor's History of Spanish Literature (Sixth edition, Boston, 1888), vol. iii., p. 94. Ticknor, however, failed to notice that the date in his copy was a forgery: see Mr. J. L. Whitney's Catalogue (Boston, 1879), p. 234, and compare Salvá y Mallen, op. cit., vol. ii., p. 168.

[44] Scherillo, op. cit., p. ccxlvii.

[45] The proof of this has been supplied independently by the late John Ormsby (see vol. iii. of the present edition (Glasgow, 1901), p. 51, n. i.); by Professor Hugo Albert Rennert (see The Spanish Pastoral Romances (Baltimore, 1892), p. 9); and by myself (see the Revue hispanique (Paris, 1895), vol. ii., pp. 304-311). All three appear to have been anticipated in the excellent monograph entitled Jorge de Montemayor, sein Leben und sein Schäferroman die "Siete Libros de la Diana" nebst einer Übersicht der Ausgaben dieser Dichtung und bibliographischen Anmerkungen herausgegeben von Georg Schönherr (Halle, 1886), p. 83.

The decisive point is that Ticknor's copy, the oldest known edition, must be at least as late as 1554, for Montemôr here refers to the Infanta Juana as a widow: see (lib. iv.) the fifth stanza of the Canto de Orfeo. Her husband, Dom João, died on January 2, 1554. A duplicate of the Ticknor volume is in the British Museum library.

[46] See the preface to Fray Bartholomé Ponce's Primera Parte de la Clara Diana á lo divino, repartida en siete libros (Zaragoza, 1582): "El año mil quinientos cincuenta y nueue, estando yo en la corte del Rey don Philipe segundo deste nombre ... vi y ley la Diana de Jorge de Mõtemayor, la qual era tan accepta quanto yo jamas otro libro en Romance aya visto: entonces tuue entrañable desseo de conocer a su autor, lo qual se me cumplio tan a mi gusto, que dentro de diez días se offrecio tener nos combidados a los dos, vn canallero muy Illustre, aficionado en todo estremo al verso y poesia."

[47] For Ribeiro, see Madame Michaëlis de Vasconcellos, op. cit., pp. 291-295. Ribeiro's work seems to have been printed posthumously, the earliest known edition being issued at Ferrara in 1554. But, as Madame Michaëlis de Vasconcellos observes (p. 295, n. 8): "Dass lange vor dem ital. Drucke Ribeiro's wie Falcao's Werke grossen Ruf hatten, steht ausser Zweifel. Sie müssen in Handschriften oder Flugblättern unter den Lesenden Kurs gehabt haben." It is, perhaps, not superfluous to mention that Ribeiro's Menina e moça, like Virgil's Formosum Corydon ardebat Alexim, takes its title from the opening words.

[48] See Schönherr, op. cit., p. 26. "Was das genauere Datum des Todes Montemayor's betrifft, so wird hierfür im Vorwort der Diana ed. 1622 der 26. Februar des Jahres 1561 angegeben, und zwar war es des Dichters Freund Alonso Pérez, der es der Nachwelt überlieferte, wiewohl es sich in dessen erster, 1564 erschienener Ausgabe der Segunda Parte de la Diana noch nicht findet. Die Richtigkeit seiner Angabe lässt sich einigermassen prufen, nicht mit Hülfe der Elegie des Dorantes, die Salvá's Vermutung (No. 1909) entgegen der Ausgabe vom Jahre 1561 noch nicht angehängt ist, wol aber in Hinblick auf des oben stehende Sonett Pagan's, welches bereits in dessen 1562 erschienener Floresta de varia poesía enthalten ist, so dass man hiernach keine Ursache hat, der Datierung des Pérez zu misstrauen."

The sonnet mentioned by Schönherr, and reprinted by Salvá y Mallen, occurs on f of Diego Ramírez Pagán's Floresta de varia poesía (1562):

Nuestro Monte mayor, do fué nascido?

En la ciudad del hijo de Laerte.

Y que parte en la humana instable suerte?

Cortesano, discreto, y entendido.

Su trato como fué, y de que ha biuido?

Siruiendo, y no acerto, ni ay quien acierte.

Quien tan presto le dió tan cruda muerte?

Imbidia, y Marte, y Venus lo ha mouido.

Sus huessos donde están? En Piamonte.

Porque? Por no los dar a patria ingrata.

Que le deue su patria? Inmortal nombre.

De que? Larga vena, dulce, y grata.

Y en pago que le dan? Talar el monte.

Y haura quien le cultiue? No ay tal hõbre.

The British Museum Library contains a copy of Ramírez Pagán's Floresta: a book esteemed by Gallardo, Gayangos, and Salvá (op. cit., vol. i., p. 153, no. 339) as "uno de los más raros que existen en la literatura poética española."

[49] See the prologue to Pérez' continuation (A 5 of the Antwerp edition, 1580) " ... casi en toda esta obra no ay narracion, ni platica, no solo en verso, más aun en prosa, que à pedaços de la flor de Latinos y Italianos hurtado, y imitado no sea; y no pienso por ello ser digno de reprehension, pues lo mesmo de los Griegos hizieron."

[50] The whole history, bibliographical and literary, of the pastoral movement in Spain may be studied in the searching and learned monograph of Professor Hugo Albert Rennert, The Spanish Pastoral Romances (Baltimore, 1892). A minute examination of Texeda's plagiary, which escaped detection by Ticknor, will be found on pp. 39-42 of Professor Rennert's work.

[51] The reference is, no doubt, to the passage in the fifth book of Montemôr's Diana: "Y tomando el vaso que tenía en la mano izquierda le puso en la suya á Sireno, y mando que lo bebiese, y Sireno lo hizo luego; y Selvagia y Silvano bebieron ambos el otro, y en este punto cayeron todos tres en el suelo adormidos, de que no poco se espantó Felismena y la hermosa Belisa que allí estaba...." Cp. Sannazaro's Arcadia (Prosa nona, Scherillo's edition, p. 171): "Al quale subgiunse una lodula, dicendo, in una terra di Grecia (dela quale yo ora non so il nome) essere il fonte di Cupidine, del quale chiunche beve, depone subitamente ognie suo amore."

The expedient of the magic water, to which Cervantes refers once more in the Coloquio de los Perros (see vol. viii. of the present edition (Glasgow, 1902), p. 163), seems to be as old as most things in literature. Scherillo, in his valuable commentary to the Arcadia cites a parallel from Pliny, Naturalis Historia, lib. xxxi., cap. 16: "Cyzici fons Cupidinis vocatur, ex quo potantes amorem deponere Mucianus credit."

[52] It is just possible, however, that Cervantes may have omitted the Habidas deliberately; for though Ticknor (op. cit., vol. iii., p. 99, n. 18), on the authority of Gayangos, quotes the book as "among the earliest imitations of the Diana," so excellent a scholar as Professor Rennert (op. cit., p. 111) inclines to think "that it is rather a 'Novela Caballeresca.'"

[53] This seems to follow from the references in the Viaje del Parnaso:

El fiero general de la atrevida

Gente, que trae un cuervo en su estandarte,

Es ARBOLANCHES, muso por la vida (cap. vii., ter. 81).

And

En esto, del tamaño de un breviario

Volando un libro por el aire vino.

De prosa y verso que arrojó el contrario.

De verso y prosa el puro desatino

Nos dió á entender que de ARBOLANCHES eran

Las Avidas pesadas de contino (cap. vii., ter. 60-61).

These sallies have brought down on Cervantes the displeasure of implacable bibliographers. Salvá y Mallen (op. cit., vol. ii., pp. 19-20, no. 1518) drily observes that, as the book is almost wholly in verse, it does not at all correspond to Cervantes's description of it, and he gives us to understand (what most readers have realised for themselves) that, in criticism of his contemporaries, Cervantes—like the rest of the world—is prone to err.

See also Cervantes vascófilo ó sea Cervantes vindicado de su supuesto antivizcainismo por Julián Apráiz y Sáenz del Burgo, Natural de Vitoria y vizcaino, alavés y guipuzcoano por todos sus abolengos. Nueva edición considerablemente aumentada (Vitoria, 1895), pp. 270-274. In a note (p. 274) to his letter addressed (April 23, 1884), to Sr. D. José Colá y Goiti, Dr. Apráiz—who courageously sets himself to prove that Cervantes, so far from disliking the Basques as has been generally supposed, had in fact the highest opinion of them—points out that Los nueve libros de las Habidas take no more space than a 16mo. volume. "Y una vez leída la obra del poeta navarro insisto, tanto en que no hay más prosa que brevísimos renglones del argumento de la obra, como acerca del mérito que le reconocen Rosell, Gayangos y Vedia, y Gallardo, mucho más habida cuenta de la temprana edad de 20 años que tenía el poeta al escribir su poema, según el mismo dice al dirigirse á la señora (i.e. Doña Adriana de Egues y de Biamonte), á quien lo dedica. Parece que había muerto 3 años antes de la publicación de su poema."

If Arbolanche (or Arbolanches) really died in 1563, it is almost impossible that Cervantes can have had—as has been insinuated—any personal grudge against him. Perhaps he had read the Habidas when he was a lad, was bored, and in his old age exaggerated his impression, without remembering very clearly the contents of the book. Or, it may be, as Dr. Apráiz suggests (op. cit., pp. 273-274), that Cervantes mistook Arbolanche (or Arbolanches) for the author of some dull pastoral whose name escaped him. If this be so, it is exceedingly regrettable that he should twice have made the same blunder: for the consequence has been that the name of Arbolanche (or Arbolanches), a poet of distinct merit, has become—among those who have not read him and who follow Cervantes blindly—a synonym for a ridiculous prose writer. Cp. the lines in the celebrated Sátira contra los malos escritores de su tiempo by Jorge Pitillas (i.e. José Gerardo de Hervás y Cobo de la Torre):—

De Arbolanches descubre el genio tonto,

Nombra á Pedrosa novelero infando

Y en criticar á entrambos está pronto.

[54] See cap. iii., ter. 81-89.

Miren si puede en la galera hallarse

Algún poeta desdichado acaso,

Que á las fieras gargantas puede darse.—

Buscáronle, y hallaron á LOFRASO,

Poeta militar, sardo, que estaba

Desmayado á un rincón marchito y laso:

Que á sus diez libros de Fortuna andaba

Añadiendo otros diez, y el tiempo escoge,

Que más desocupado se mostraba.

Gritó la chusma toda: Al mar se arroje,

Vaya LOFRASO al mar sin resistencia.

—Por Dios, dijo Mercurio, que me enoje.

¿Cómo? ¿y no será cargo de conciencia,

Y grande, echar al mar tanta poesía,

Puesto que aquí nos hunda su inclemencia?

Viva Lofraso, en tanto que dé al día

Apolo luz, y en tanto que los hombres

Tengan discreta alegre fantasía.

Tocante á tí, o Lofraso, los renombres,

Y epítetos de agudo y de sincero,

Y gusto que mi cómitre te nombres.—

Esto dijo Mercurio al caballero,

El cual en la crujía en pie se puso

Con un rebenque despiadado y fiero.

Creo que de sus versos le compuso,

Y no sé cómo fué, que en un momento

Ó ya el cielo, ó Lofraso lo dispuso,

Salimos del estrecho á salvamento,

Sin arrojar al mar poeta alguno:

Tanto del sardo fué el merecimiento.

[55] Salvá y Mallen (op. cit., vol. ii., p. 143, no. 1817) states that the Pastor de Fílida was reprinted at Lisbon in 1589. at Madrid in 1590, at Barcelona in 1613, and at Valencia in 1792: and there may be other editions.

[56] Sannazaro's Arcadia was translated into French by Jean Martin in 1644; see Heinrich Koerting, Geschichte des französischen Romans im XVII Jahrhundert (Oppeln und Leipzig, 1891), vol. i., p. 64. Montemôr's Diana was translated into French by N. Colin in 1579. Nicolas de Montreux, who used the anagram of Olenix du Mont-Sacré, published the first volume of Les Bergeries de Juliette in the same year as the Galatea (1585).

[57] Cp. an interesting passage in the Avant-propos to George Sand's François le Champi (Paris, 1868), pp. 15-16:

—"Oui, oui, le monde naïf! dit-il, le monde inconnu, fermé à notre art moderne, et que nulle étude ne te fera exprimer à toi-même, paysan de nature, si tu veux l'introduire dans le domaine de l'art civilisé, dans le commerce intellectuel de la vie factice.

—Hélas! répondis-je, je me suis beaucoup préoccupé de cela. J'ai vu et j'ai senti par moi-même, avec tous les êtres civilisés, que la vie primitive était le rêve, l'idéal de tous les hommes et de tous les temps. Depuis les bergers de Longus jusqu'à ceux de Trianon, la vie pastorale est un Éden parfumé où les âmes tourmentées et lassées du tumulte du monde ont essayé de se réfugier. L'art, ce grand flatteur, ce chercheur complaisant de consolations pour les gens trop heureux, a traversé une suite ininterrompue de bergeries. Et sous ce titre: Histoire des bergeries, j'ai souvent désiré de faire un livre d'érudition et de critique où j'aurais passé en revue tous ces différents rêves champêtres dont les hautes classes se sont nourries avec passion.

J'aurais suivi dans leurs modifications toujours en rapport inverse de la dépravation des mœurs, et se faisant pures et sentimentales d'autant plus que la société était corrompue et impudente. Ce serait un traité d'art complet, car la musique, la peinture, l'architecture, la littérature dans toutes ses formes: théâtre, poëme, roman, églogue, chanson; les modes, les jardins, les costumes même, tout a subi l'engouement du rêve pastoral. Tous ces types de l'âge d'or, ces bergères qui sont des nymphes et puis des marquises, ces bergères de l'Astrée qui passent par le Lignon de Florian, qui portent de poudre et du satin sous Louis XV., et auxquels Sedaine commence, à la fin de la monarchie, à donner des sabots, sont tous plus ou moins faux, et aujourd'hui ils nous paraissent niais et ridicules. Nous en avons fini avec eux, nous n'en voyons plus guère que sous forme de fantômes à l'opéra, et pourtant ils ont régné sur les cours et ont fait les délices des rois qui leur empruntaient la houlette et la panetière."

[58] See his Apologie for Poetrie (Arber's reprint, London, 1869), p. 63.

[59] See vol. iii. of the present edition (Glasgow, 1901), p. 8.

[60] See the discussion in book iv. of the Galatea.

[61] These borrowings have been pointed out by Sr. D. Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo in his Historia de las ideas estéticas en España (Madrid, 1883-1891), tom. ii., vol i., p. 108-109: " ... el sentido de esta controversia es enteramente platónico, y derivado de León Hebreo, hasta en las palabras, de tal suerte, que podríamos suprimirlas, á no ser por la reverencia debida á todas las que salieron de la pluma de Cervantes, puesto que nada original se descubre en ellas, y aun la forma no es por cierto tan opulenta y pródiga de luz, como la de El Cortesano."

Sr. D. Adolfo y San Martín, in his Castilian translation of my History of Spanish Literature (Madrid, 1901) which he has enriched with many valuable notes, observes (p. 325) that Cervantes, when writing the preface to the First Part of Don Quixote in 1604, evidently did not know there were in existence at least three Spanish renderings of the Dialoghi—one of them, published at Madrid in 1590, being by the famous Inca, Garcilaso de la Vega.

For León Hebreo (or Judas Abarbanel) see Solomon Munk, Mélanges de philosophie juive et arabe (Paris, 1857), pp. 522-528 and Dr. B. Zimmels, Leo Hebraeus, ein jüdischer Philosoph der Renaissance; sein Leben, seine Werke und seine Lehren (Breslau, 1886).

[62] Yet the obvious resemblances between the Arcadia and the Galatea have been unaccountably overlooked by Francesco Torraca in a monograph entitled Gl'imitatori stranieri di Jacopo Sannazaro (Seconda edizione accresciuta, Roma, 1882). "Non mi sembra, però, che la Galatea e l' Arcadia di Lope contengano imitazioni dello scrittore napoletano." (p. 23).

[63] See cap. iii., ter. 49-51.

[64] See Scherillo, op. cit., pp. ccliii.-cclx. for an interesting and striking enumeration (which might, as the commentator says, be extended) of Cervantes's debts to Sannazaro. It is quaint and significant to find that while Sannazaro in his Prosa duodecima alludes apologetically, but with excellent reason, to il mio picciolo Sebetho, Cervantes in his sixth book, with no reason of any sort, introduces las frescuras del apacible Sebeto.

[65] Cervantes, as appears from a somewhat confused allusion early in the seventh chapter of the First Book of Don Quixote, seems to have been one of the few (besides the author) who enjoyed Carlos famoso. Zapata himself complained with a comic ruefulness that his forty thousand lines were not widely appreciated, and that he was out of pocket in consequence: "Yo pensé también que en haber hecho la historia del Emperador Carlos V., nuestro señor, en verso, y dirigídola á su pio y poderosísimo hijo, con tantas y tan verdaderas loas de ellos y nuestros españoles, que había hecho algo. Costóme cuatrocientos mil maravedís la ímpresión, y de ella no saqué sino saña y alongamiento de mi voluntad." Zapata, however, consoles himself with thinking that he is in good company and closes with a pious, confident moral: "De Homero se dice que en su vida no se hizo de él caso, et sua riderunt tempora Meonidem. Del autor del famoso libro poético de Amadís no se sabe haste hoy el nombre, honra de la nacion y lengua española, que en ninguna lengua hay tal poesía ni tan loable.... De manera que podemos decir todos el sic vos non vobis de Virgilio, por lo cual todos de paso y como accesorio deben no poner su felicidad acá, donde no hay ninguna, sino atender á aquello que Dios les ha prometido; que si plantaren la viña de las buenas obras, gozarán perpétuamente del fruto de ella y otro no se la vendimiará." See Zapata's Miscelánea in the Memorial histórico español (Madrid, 1859), vol. xi., pp. 304-305. It is interesting to note that Zapata hazards no guess as to the authorship of Amadís de Gaula.

[66] Op. cit., pp. 60-61, n. 76.

[67] Sannazaro's latest and best editor, Signor Scherillo, is properly sceptical (op. cit., pp. clxxvi.-ccviii.) as to many current identifications of the personages in the Arcadia. It seems certain that Barcinio is Chariteo of Barcelona, and that Summontio is Pietro Summonto, the Neapolitan publisher of the book. It is probable that Meliseo is Giovanni Pontani, and that Massilia is the author's mother. It is possible that Sincero is Sannazaro. But, as Signor Scherillo drily observes, it is not easy to follow those who think that Sannazaro was Ergasto, Elpino, Clonico, Ophelia, and Eugenio—not "three gentlemen at once," but five. Other writers hold that Ophelia is Chariteo; that Pontano is Ergasto, Opico and Montano; that Eleuco is the Great Captain; and that Arcadia stands for France. These and similar absurdities are treated as they deserve in Signor Scherillo's masterly introduction.

[68] The supposition that Tirsi, in the Pastor de Fílida, was intended to represent Cervantes is noted by Navarrete (op. cit., p. 278), and on the authority of that biographer has been frequently repeated. It is right to say that Navarrete simply mentions the identification in passing, and that he is careful to throw all responsibility for it on Juan Antonio Mayáns who was the first to suggest the idea in the introduction to his reprint of the Pastor de Fílida (Valencia, 1792), pp. xxxvii, lxxvii, and lxxx. The theory has been disproved by Juan Antonio Pellicer (op. cit., p. cxxxiii.)

There can be no reasonable doubt that the Tirsi of the Pastor de Fílida is Francisco de Figueroa. It is absolutely certain that the Tirsi of the Galatea is Figueroa: for, in the Second Book, Cervantes places it beyond question by ascribing to Tirsi two sonnets and a canción by Figueroa. Cp. Poesías de Francisco de Figueroa, llamado el Divino (Madrid, 1804).

(a)

¡Ay de quan ricas esperanzas vengo

Al deseo más pobre y encogido,

Que jamas encerró pecho herido

De llaga tan mortal, como yo tengo!

Ya de mi fe, ya de mi amor tan luengo,

Que Fili sabe bien quan firme ha sido,

Ya del fiero dolor con que he vivido,

Y en quien la vida á mi pesar sostengo;

Otro más dulce galardon no quiero,

Sino que Fili un poco alce los ojos

A ver lo que mi rostro le figura:

Que si le mira, y su color primero

No muda, y aun quizá moja sus ojos,

Bien serán más que piedra helada y dura. (p. 17)

(b)

La amarillez y la flaqueza mia,

El comer poco y el dormir perdido,

La falta quasi entera del sentido

El débil paso, y la voz ronca y fría;

La vista incierta, y el más largo día

En suspiros y quejas repartido,

Alguno pensará que haya nacido

De la pasada trabajosa vía:

Y sabe bien amor, que otro tormento