all his faithful servants, in order to defend himself by their assistance against the invasions of bad taste. The skiff is fancifully described as composed of verses from the keel to the maintop, without a word of prose between. The bulwarks were a medley of glosses; the crew was formed of romances, and therefore ready for any wild and daring exploit; the poop of carefully-composed sonnets; the gunnels of two bold tercets, giving free scope to the oar; the gangway of long and mournful elegies, not likely to be sung except in tears; the mast, raising its head to heaven, was a long dreary ode, tarred over with prolix canciones; the parrel, which creaked to the wind, was composed of gay and easy redondillas; the ropes and tackle, by which the whole was rigged, were seguidillas twined with sportive fancies; while the thwarts were of heavy stanzas. Love-songs supplied the ship with flying pennants; the keel was made both sharp and steady with blank verse and grave sestinas; the sails were woven of gentle thoughts of love, and filled with soft zephyrs; the syrens floated round, impelling the vessel in its course; and the crested waves were like flocks of sheep on the greensward. The whole business of the crew was to compose amorous sonnets, or sing selected ones in praise of their mistresses. While on board this fanciful bark, Mercury presents Cervantes with a long catalogue of Spanish poets, and begs to know his opinion as to the propriety of admitting or rejecting each individual. Thus is afforded an opportunity of briefly characterising most of the contemporary poets; and this list, owing to the doubtful nature of its half ironical praises, has proved a stumbling-block to commentators. The poets are described as arrivingʻin numbers— countless as the drops of rain; they crowd on board, and struggle for possession; such a tumult ensues that the sirens raise a tempest, to save the vessel from sinking beneath their pressure. The vagaries of imagination become more wild as the story advances, and the satirical is abundantly mingled with the marvellous. Cervantes in the end has an opportunity of pleading his own cause before Apollo, and he points out the merits of his various works with a degree of self-complacency which has been severely censured. The only apology for it is, that the poet, aged, sick, and indigent, denied all recompense by the country of which he had been the brightest ornament, was supported only by the proud consciousness of superior talent, and was not unnaturally led to appropriate to himself the praise which he felt he justly merited. The twelve beautiful stories published by Cervantes under the title of Moral Tales,' are little known in this country, and we regret that we have not space to introduce them more fully to the acquaintance of the English reader. Some of them are mere anecdotes, some are romances in miniature; some are serious, some comic; but all are written in a pleasing style, and contain genuine and well-selected representations of nature in various situations of real life. They were the first of their kind in the Spanish language. The romance of 'Persiles and Sigismunda,' which Cervantes completed shortly before his death, may be regarded as an interesting appendix to his other works. It is a romantic description of travels, rich in fearful adventures both by sea and land, and is understood to have been written in imitation of Heliodorus. DRAMATIC WORKS OF CERVANTES. If the dramatic compositions of Cervantes were all extant, they would form the largest, but so far as we can judge, not the best portion of his works. It is not impossible that those which have been lost may yet be recovered; for the tragedy of ‘Numantia,' and the comedy of 'Life in Algiers,' were discovered in manuscript towards the end of the eighteenth century, after a concealment of above two hundred years. These are the only remains of this writer's early dramatic efforts, and they are unquestionably superior to the eight comedies and interludes which he wrote towards the close of his life, and which proved justly unsuccessful. With all his good taste and critical acumen, Cervantes seems not to have understood the limits of his own talent, and he himself ranks some of his dramas among his best productions, appearing to regard them with complacency just in proportion to the neglect they experienced from the public. Doubtless he was entitled to consider himself possessed of dramatic genius; but the bent of that genius was not naturally in accordance with the spirit of his age, and by endeavouring to accommodate itself, it became perverted and obscured. We have already adverted to the fact, that the Spanish theatre was ruled by popular feeling rather than by literary taste; and that while in Italy men of the highest talent, encouraged by the munificence of their princes, endeavoured to revive the dramatic spirit of the ancients, the plays in Spain were in many instances composed by those who acted them, and who had no object in view but to supply an hour's amusement for the multitude, and to reap the immediate pecuniary advantage. The more educated dramatists indeed understood and recognised the superior rules of the ancient drama, but they neglected them in deference to the popular taste; hence one of them exclaims "I am to write a play; so let me place Nor dare within my study show their face: They like a fool, and they must have their way.' Cervantes concluded it would be impossible to stem the current, and in sacrificing his independence to meet the vulgar demand for intrigue, adventure, surprise, and buffoonery, both his invention and his language assumed the level of a poet of inferior talent. It would even appear that he was so thoroughly Spanish as to be pleased with the popular style, and believed himself capable of imitating it successfully. The tragedy of 'Numantia' is a noble production, notwithstanding many imperfections. Like' Don Quixote,' it is unrivalled in the class of literature to which it belongs; and it proves that, under happier circumstances, Cervantes might have been the Eschylus of Spain. The subject is the destruction of an ancient city, whose inhabitants, after bravely resisting the Romans, preferred a self-inflicted destruction to surrender, and voluntarily perished beneath the ruins of their homes. The ancient Roman history from which the story is selected, furnished but few positive facts for the author's guidance, and therefore the whole story may be said to be the writer's own invention. His object evidently was to compose a piece full of tragic situations and marvellous occurrences; and he wrote without regard to any rules but those which he prescribed for himself. The play is divided into four acts, or 'jornadas,' as they were called, and no chorus is introduced. The dialogue is carried on sometimes in redondillas and sometimes in tercets, but for the most part in the octave stanzas of the heroic Italian verse. In the commencement, Scipio appears with his followers in the Roman camp before Numantia, and in a speech which would have been improved by abridgment, he reproves the effeminacy which has been creeping in among them, and displacing their ancient valour and discipline 'Now by your lofty features, noble friends, But by your hands so white, and your smooth faces, You were of Britain or of Belgium born. That once was prostrate and beneath your feet. To universal empire, and eclipse The glory of her conquests here in Spain?' The general, then, prescribes various measures of reform among the troops: he orders the removal of the women from the camp, as well as everything else that can introduce luxury and effeminacy, expressing his confidence, that as soon as discipline is reestablished it will be an easy matter to overcome the few Spaniards who now keep the walls of Numantia. The soldiers are reinspired with courage, and Caius Marius, in the name of the rest, gives a promise to the general that they will cheerfully submit to the most rigorous discipline. Two ambassadors from Numantia now enter, and propose an accommodation. They declare that the revolt of the city was entirely owing to the cupidity and injustice of the generals who had commanded in Spain, and that the arrival of Scipio, in whose virtue they have the most perfect confidence, induces them to seek peace as earnestly as they have hitherto maintained war. Scipio, however, declines their overtures, and dismisses the ambassadors, exhorting them to prepare for their own defence. He then announces his determination not to expose his army to another engagement, but to reduce the place by famine, and he gives orders to surround Numantia with a deep fosse. In the second scene, the circumvallation has been accomplished, and the citizens are struggling, not directly with the Roman enemy, whom they cannot reach, but with hunger, which is making dreadful ravages among them. Spain now appears as an allegorical character, under the figure of a woman crowned with towers. She summons the river Douro, on which the city of Numantia stands, and the old river-god comes forward, attended by the deities of three tributary streams. She desires him to swell his waters, so as to prevent the Romans from erecting towers and machines on the banks; but he replies, that every effort has already been made in vain; that the city cannot be saved; and the only consolation in the view of its impending fate is a prediction of the future glories of Spain, and of the reverses to which the Roman people will one day be subjected. This idea of augmenting the tragic pathos by the introduction of allegorical characters, is certainly both bold and original, but it is generally admitted to be a failure in the present instance. In the second act the Numantian senate is assembled to deliberate on the desperate state of affairs. Corabino suggests that they should propose to the Romans to decide their differences by single combat; and that if this be declined, they should hazard the experiment of a sally. It is at the same time resolved to offer sacrifices for the propitiation of the gods, and to consult auguries to ascertain their pleasure. The second scene of this act is a dispute between Morandro and Leoncio, a fellow-soldier, who accuses him of forgetting the perils of his country in his attachment to Lira, his mistress, with whom he was on the eve of marriage, when the public misfortunes compelled them to postpone their nuptials— 'Never did love teach lover cowardice. Have I e'er been a truant from my post This dialogue, which is maintained in light redondillas, is interrupted by the arrival of a victim for sacrifice, attended by the priests of Jupiter and a concourse of people. But the torches will not light, the smoke curls towards the west, and all the invocations of the devotees are answered by peals of thunder.* In the midst of fruitless efforts to accomplish the ceremony, an evil spirit appears, carries off the victim, and extinguishes the fire. A magician now undertakes to ascertain the will of the gods by enchantment. He approaches the tomb of a young man who had recently died of hunger, and invokes his shade from the infernal regions. The grave opens, and the dead rises, but not a word is uttered. New enchantments are put in requisition, and the corpse is compelled to speak 'Forbear, Marquino, thy severity: It is enough, alas! more than enough, *The author's directions for imitating these portents are worthy of notice:-'A noise must be made,' says he, 'by rolling to and fro a barrelful of stones, and fireworks must be let off.' |