mature reflection. The examination of the library of Don Quixote by the Curate, furnishes us with a little treatise on Spanish literature, full of refinement and correct judgment; but this is not the only occasion upon which the subject is introduced. The prologue, and many of the discourses of Don Quixote, or of the other characters who are introduced, abound in critical remarks, sometimes serious, sometimes playful, but always correct, novel, and interesting. It was, doubtless, in order to obtain pardon for the severity with which he had treated others, that he was by no means sparing upon himself. In the library of Don Quixote, the Curate asks the Barber : "What is the book placed side by side with the Cancionero of Maldonado?" "It is the Galatea of Miguel Cervantes," said the Barber. "This Cervantes has long been my friend,” rejoined the Curate, “and I know he has much more to do with misfortunes than with poetry. His book does, indeed, display a little power of invention; it aims at something, but it reaches nothing. We must wait for the second part which he promises (which Cervantes never published); who knows whether, when it is corrected, the author may not obtain the mercy which we are now compelled to refuse him?"

Cervantes, three years before his death, wrote another work more immediately devoted to criticism and literary satire: it was a poem in terza rima, in eight cantos, of about three hundred verses each, and entitled A Journey to Parnassus. Cervantes, tired of his state of poverty, and impatient to obtain the name of a poet, though he asserts that heaven has refused him the requisite talents, departs on foot from Madrid for Carthagena: "A white loaf and a few pieces of cheese, which I placed in my wallet, were all my provision for the journey; a weight not too heavy for a pedestrian traveller. Adieu, said I to my humble habitation; adieu Madrid! Adieu, meadows and fountains, from whence flow nectar and ambrosia! Adieu society, where, for one truly happy man, we find a thousand lost pretenders to happiness! Adieu, agreeable and deceitful residence! Adieu, theatres, honoured by wellpraised ignorance, where day after day a thousand absurdities. are repeated!" The poet on his arrival at Carthagena is reminded, by a view of the sea, of the glorious exploits of Don John of Austria, under whom he had served. While he is seeking for a vessel, he sees a light boat approach, propelled

both by sails and oars, to the sound of the most harmonious musical instruments. Mercury, with his winged feet, and his Caduceus in his hand, invites Cervantes in the most flattering manner to embark for Parnassus, whither Apollo has summoned all his faithful poets, to protect himself by their assistance against the invasion of bad taste. At the same time he exhibits to him the extraordinary construction of the vessel, into which he invites him to enter. From prow to poop it is

composed entirely of verses, the various styles of which are ingeniously represented by the different purposes to which they are applied. The spars are made of long and melancholy elegies; the mast, of a prolix song; and the other parts of the vessel are formed in a similar manner.

Mercury then presents to Cervantes a long catalogue of Spanish poets, and asks his advice as to the propriety of admitting or rejecting each individual. This question gives Cervantes an opportunity of characterising the contemporary poets in a few brief verses, which at the present day are exceedingly obscure. It is often very difficult to determine whether his praises are ironical or sincere. The poets now arrive by enchantment, and crowd into the vessel, but a violent tempest overtakes them. In the adventures which succeed, the marvellous is mingled with the satirical. names introduced are all of them of unknown personages, and the production is obscure, and to my apprehension fatiguing. A few passages, indeed, notwithstanding the frequent satirical allusions which are scattered through them, still display many poetical charms. The commencement of the third canto may be cited as an instance:

Smooth-gliding verses were its oars; by these
Impell'd, the royal galley, fast and light,
Won her clear course o'er unresisting seas.
The sails were spread to the extremest height
Of the tall masts. Of the most delicate thought,
Woven by Love himself, in colours bright,
The various tissue of those sails was wrought.
Soft winds upon the poop, with amorous force,
Breath'd sweetly all, as if they only sought
To waft that bark on her majestic course.

The Syrens sport around her, as she holds
Her rapid voyage through the waters hoarse,
Which, like some snowy garment's flowing folds,
Roll to and fro; and on the expanse of green
Bright azure tints the dazzled eye beholds.

The

Upon the deck the passengers are seen

In converse. These discuss the arts of verse,

Arduous and nice; those sing; and all between,
Others the dictates of the muse rehearse.*

Cervantes pleads his own cause before Apollo, and sets forth the merits of his different works with a degree of pride which has sometimes been censured. But who will not pardon the proud feeling of conscious superiority, which sustains genius when sinking beneath the pressure of misfortune? Who will insist upon humility in a man, who, whilst he formed the glory of his age, found himself, in old age and in sickness, exposed to absolute want? Was it not just that Cervantes, to whom his country had denied all recompense, should appropriate to himself that glory which he felt that he had so truly merited?

CHAPTER XXVIII.

ON THE DRAMAS OF CERVANTES.

THE Comic powers which Cervantes had manifested in his Don Quixote seemed eminently to qualify him for dramatic attempts. We have already seen that his first literary compositions were of this class; but, although he had considerable success in this career, he likewise experienced some mortifications. He did not at that time conceive that his dramatic talent was proportioned to the superiority which he afterwards manifested in other branches. Thus, when compared with Lope de Vega, whose fertility is so wonderful, his dramas are but few in number. This might, perhaps, have afforded a reason for commencing our notice of the Spanish Theatre by examining the works of Lope before those of Cervantes, had we not wished to present to the reader, from the mouth of Cervantes himself, a history of the early progress of the dramatic art in Spain. The extract is taken from the preface to his comedies:

"I must entreat your pardon, dear reader, if you should see me in this prologue a little overstep my accustomed

* Cervantes, Viage al Parnaso, 8vo. Madrid, 1784.

modesty. Some time since I happened to find myself in company with a few friends who were discoursing about comedies, and other matters relating thereto, and they treated this subject with so much subtilty and refinement, that they appeared to me almost to approach perfection. They spoke of the man who was the first in Spain to free the Drama from its swathing bands, and to clothe it in pomp and magnificence. As the oldest of the company, I remarked that I had frequently heard the great Lope de Rueda recite, a man equally celebrated as an actor and a scholar. He was born at Seville, and was by trade a gold-beater. As a pastoral poet he had great merit; and, in that species of composition, no one, either before or since his time, has surpassed him. Although I could not judge of the excellence of his poems, for I was then but a child, yet some of them still remain in my memory; and recalling these at a riper age, they appear to me to be worthy of their reputation. In the time of this celebrated Spaniard, all the apparatus of a dramatist and a manager was contained in a bag, and consisted of four white cloaks, bordered with gilt leather, for shepherds, four beards and wigs, and four crooks, more or less. The dramas were mere dialogues, or eclogues between two or three shepherds and a shepherdess; and these conversations were enlivened and prolonged by two or three interludes, in which negresses were introduced as confidantes, or go-betweens; and, occasionally, some clowns and Biscayans made their appearance. At this time there was no scenery; no combats between Moors and Christians, on horseback and on foot; no trapdoors, by which figures might appear to rise from the centre of the earth. The stage was merely composed of four square blocks of wood, upon which rested five or six planks, so as to elevate the actors a foot or two above the ground. No angels or spirits descended in clouds from heaven. The sole ornament of the theatre was an old curtain, supported at both ends by strings, which separated the dressing-room from the audience. At the back were placed the musicians, who sang without any guitar some ancient ballad. Lope de Rueda at last died, and on account of his celebrity and excellence was buried between the two choirs in the great church at Cordova, where he died, in the same place where that renowned madman Luis Lopez is interred. Naharro, a

native of Toledo, succeeded Lope de Rueda. He attained great celebrity, more especially in his representation of a meddling poltroon. Naharro added something to the scenic decorations, and changed the bag, in which the wardrobe was contained, for trunks and portmanteaus. He introduced the music upon the stage, which had been formerly placed in the background, and he took away the beards from the actors; for until his time no actor ever appeared without a false beard. He wished all his actors to appear undisguised, with the exception of those who represented old men, or changed their characters. He invented scenes, clouds, thunder, lightning, challenges, and combats; but nothing of this kind was carried to the perfection which at this day we behold, (and it is here that I must trespass upon my modesty,) until the time when the theatre of Madrid exhibited the Captives of Algiers, which is my own composition, Numantia, and the Naval Engagement. It was there that I made an attempt to reduce the comedies of five acts into three. I was the first to represent the phantoms of the imagination, and the hidden thoughts of the soul, by introducing figures of them upon the stage, with the universal applause of the spectators. I composed during this period from twenty to thirty dramas, all of which were represented without a single cucumber or orange, or any other missile usually aimed at bad comedians, being thrown at the actors. They proceeded through their parts without hisses, without confusion, and without clamour. I was at length occupied with other matters, and I laid down my pen and forsook the drama. In the mean time appeared that prodigy, Lope de Vega, who immediately assumed the dramatic crown. He reduced under his dominion all the farce-writers, and filled the world with excellent and wellcontrived comedies, of which he wrote so many, that they could not be comprised in ten thousand pages. What is no less surprising, he himself saw them all represented, or was credibly assured that they had been so. All his rivals together have not written a moiety of what he himself achieved alone. Notwithstanding this, as God grants not all things to every one, the labours of Doctor Ramon, who was the most laborious writer after the great Lope, have been much esteemed. The ingenious plots of the licentiate Miguel Sanchez, and the gravity of Doctor Mira de Mescua, have