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1859.]

A National Theatre deals with Real Life.

the life and ideas which it portrays are a poetic invention, either based on traditions of things long past, or altogether arbitrary and phantasmal; the furniture of a conventional Utopia, in short, got up for stage uses only, with no more of local truth than that travesty of classic fable which forms the mythology of Italian opera. Its stories and its ethics are alike romantic and false.* You cannot conceive a mode of society admitting of the events or subsisting on the principles exhibited in Spanish Comedy. Even were this true, it would still be indispensable to study the notions that animate the imaginary scene, if it be worth while to approach it at all. The system, whatever its origin, is as consistent and positive as any reality could be; and is so interwoven with every fibre of this body of poetry, that there is no fair alternative between tracing out its several threads, and discarding the whole as a tissue of absurdities. The modern ideas that we bring to a first reading of these plays, so far from sufficing to the true conception of their merits, will often lead us directly to misconceive them: so that we must set the glass to a new focus, suited to the original point of vision, if we care to see what the poet really meant, or wish to partake of such pleasure as his work was intended to give. This indeed is the golden rule of profit in all works of art, of what kind soever : and it would apply to the present case, even were the image set up on the stage as mere a phantom as sceptical critics believe it to have been.

The belief, however, is unfounded. The slightest glance, indeed, at the history of this Drama, might of itself convince candid and intelligent minds that it must be erroneous. No truly national theatre -no institution, I will say, whatever, whether for use or for pastime, created and kept alive, not by the whimsies of a few, but by the cordial suffrage of all-ever was or ever will be made up of moonshine. That Spanish Comedy was popular to its core-that it was, be

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yond all that have ever flourished, a child and fondling of the universal national will-has never, I believe, been denied. And to suppose a thing thus begotten and fostered a mere painted doll, a toy of romantic invention, like nothing actually extant; or even to imagine it at best a caricature of life, in which some features of the time are distorted, some of an older time revived, others belonging to no time or place at all, added, thus making a mixed monstrosity like that of Horace's lecture to the Pisos ;this, I say, on any fair reference, à priori, to the law of the case, will be found a presumption than which perhaps none more extravagant has ever been advanced.

On that law I must not dilate; but this at least it will be proper to say. The first absolute rule for a popular stage is this:-whatever it shows must accord with the present consciousness of the spectators; in other words, it must speak to their minds, as well as to their ears, in a known language. Not that the exhibition is bound to be a literal transcript of what is done and felt every day by every one. On the contrary, its virtue lies in the art with which familiar elements are recomposed and filled up, so as to appear in new and heightened forms, with a perfection unseen in common life, but developed on a common principle: thereby fulfilling what Bacon defines as the office of poetry in general, accommodating the shows of things to the desires of the mind.' All, I say, is rounded, coloured, and expanded; but so that all harmonizes with the ruling tone of opinion and belief. Incidents, characters, and passions are permitted or required to go beyond the range of ordinary experience-never to run counter to it. They cannot be such as every one has seen, but are such as every one may conceive. And this conception, when any large public is in question-not to say an obstinate self-occupied Spanish public of the seventeenth century-can only be drawn from the general feeling and observation of all.

This, with respect at least to some of its prominent features, seems to be Ticknor's opinion. See Hist. of Spanish Literature, ii. 364-5.

VOL. LX. No. CCCLVII.

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Thus, while every true drama gives, not the very acts and words of a people, but an image of what they think possible and praiseworthy, presented in action and speech

the quintessence, so to speak, rather than the raw material of their existence-this image, ideally raised above the plain level of fact, can only be sustained on a basis of essential truth recognised by the audience. The deeds and qualities extolled are such as they are prone to admire. They will hear nothing reproached but what they regard with aversion: the morals enforced or implied they have learned to respect, if they do not always practise. In the choice and treatment of incidents more latitude is allowed. But even this license is controlled by the general conceptions of the public; and where the scene is domestic and of their own time, the bounds of probability cannot be safely transgressed.

Such, in brief, is the law of the case, wherever the drama exists as a living form of poetry.* A theatre, the exhibitions of which are merely fantastic or artificial, may for a while be the amusement of a class, but will never be the lasting delight of an entire people: incredulus odit.

An objection may be raised on this point which must not pass unanswered. The rule, like all that concern men, not mathematics, is given as an expression of what is true in the main, minor qualifications notwithstanding. Of such, two only in the present case seem to require notice.

i. The delight in impossible fictions, found among the ignorant at all times, and not unfelt during the prime of the Spanish drama.

2. The growth, on every stage that flourishes long, of conventions

*

purely theatrical, which gradually encroach on, and may at last entirely supersede, the types of actual life.

As to the first, the contradiction is more apparent than real. In seasons apt for the birth of scenic art, the people are neither learned nor sceptical. Imagination is in advance of judgment; and fancy, when excited, can hardly take wing without finding itself at once in a region of wonder, that encompasses the limited world of present knowledge. Beyond that narrow sphere there is nothing to define the bounds of the possible and impossible; no limit, practically, to belief, because no comparison with what is known: of the unknown men have not yet learned to doubt. Yet even here, so far as their positive notions can reach, no violation of nature will please. It is in events and phenomena which they are unable to test, that the marvellous is displayed; the motives and manners on which it acts are always human and familiar. In the wildest forms of popular fable you find the personages liking and disliking, wishing and wondering, just as they would in the common ways of life: however far their fancies may fly, their feelings are still at home. False motives and sentiments find no favour out of the nursery. The liberties taken with matter of fact, who can arraign, when no limit to probability has yet been discovered? But of men's desires and emotions, every man can judge; and in these, accordingly, fable always clings to

nature.

Herein lies a distinction, the meaning of which has escaped our censors of the popular love of fable. That imagination is credulous in the dawn of positive knowledge, need not be denied; but this, if

Although this law acts most promptly on the stage, there is no class of poetry exempt from its operation. Amadises and Astræas flourish so long only as fine letters belong exclusively to idle nobles and courtiers. As soon as other classes begin to take part in the enjoyment, literature becomes less artificial, and Fancy, divorced from Nature, loses credit. As the circle expands, the more earnest tendency, aided by the process itself that opens the field to a wider public, constantly gains ground, and at last so far predominates that imagination, if not suppressed, is constrained to serve as the handmaid of reality. The transition, always gradual, may be a work of centuries; its more rapid or tardy consummation, however, will be found mainly to depend on the rate of advance from partial to general culture; and this movement, wherever it occurs, may be seen producing the same effect, according to the stage of progress, in the literature of all nations.

1859.]

Life-likeness of the Spanish Stage.

justly weighed, is no proof that at any season there is in men, how ever rude, a natural relish for what they feel to be incredible. The very contrary may fairly be maintained on the grounds here indicated.

As to the second head, there can be no doubt of the proneness of long stage habit to beget a merely histrionic system, which, as it tends to grow more and more artificial, so will nature ever further recede into the background. Nor can it be denied that this tendency is a radically false one; the first symptom of which is decline, and its prevalence dissolution. It is in this way, indeed, that the fate which seems to allow but a limited space to any class of art, plainly declares itself on the stage. The

admitted vice of the propensity, therefore, implies no contradiction to what has been said of the living drama. For it is no condition of life; but a disease, that weakens, and, in the absence of other causes of decay, would of itself destroy it. By the time that audiences have become content with a mimic world of actors, with empty stage traditions existing on the boards only, dramatic art has already given place to a mode of composition essentially mechanical; and from thenceforth the theatre-whether it grow mean or splendid, whether old master-works be wholly cast away, or partially survive among other unrealities, after they have become obsoletecan no longer be truly described as popular or national.

On general principles, then, it might be concluded that what is set forth on a stage such as

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we know the Spanish was, must have had a real prototype in the Spain of its day; and if so, the more singular its features, the more closely would they deserve to be studied; and this, where the manners of a nation are in question, might be urged on behalf of purposes graver than those of just criticism or genial enjoyment. But the conclusion does not rest on hypothesis alone. Although, as already remarked, there is no other picture of this curious social phasis so lively as that which the drama gives, while many expressive, and most of the minor traits, are now to be found in its sketches onlystill, on essential points, we have other authentic records, sufficient to attest its substantial life-likeness.

The evidence has been collected by modern industry from various quarters. It lies scattered at large over many obscure tracts of Spanish literature; much of it imbedded in masses of foreign matter: and where found in a simpler form, the details are rarely so complete as could be desired. Of such materials it would be impossible to give even a cursory description. I must content myself with naming some of the more accessible authorities in a note:* adding, without fear of contradiction on inquiry, that there is now bona fide proof, extant and producible, showing that, due allowance made for the scenic mode, this drama, in all that determines its special character, truly reflected the image of its time-tinged, of course, by the medium through which it passed, as are all poetic representations.

* In the fourth volume of Hartzenbusch's excellent edition of Calderon (Bib. de Autores Españoles), see the Appendix, which contains many illustrative extracts from contemporary sources. Cabrera's Relaciones de la Corte, Madrid, 1857, I have already cited. His notices of manners are many and valuable, the more so because of the cursory manner in which he sets them down. The Avisos de Pellicer, a kind of contemporary newsletter of the period, have been printed by Valladares in the Semanario Erudito, of Madrid. Some illustrations will be found in Aarsen v. Somerdyk's Voyage d'Espagne, Cologne, 1666; more in the three volumes with the same title by Me D'Aulnoy, who visited Spain at a later period (4th edit., La Haye, 1705). Her testimony is of importance because so late; since if such traits as she describes were still prominent at a time when the old manners were far gone in decay, it may be conceived what they must have been while in full life. I say nothing of the novelists, who paint the same manners, because their stories were addressed to a more limited public than the dramatists', and they are a weaker authority. I will only observe that where all, in whatever department, conspire in descriptions of a certain class, it requires more than ordinary courage to maintain the paradox that all are in a conspiracy to deceive.

This, on due evidence, we find in Spanish comedy; and not a mere Utopia, as some have imagined. It is strange enough, no doubt, to modern notions, often directly opposed to them. Nor can any one familiarize himself at once with a scheme of life involving various propositions which would now be considered monstrous. Above all, it is hard for persons of a certain cast of mind to admit that a code so foreign to their habits of thinking can ever have really been in force. I can only repeat that if so, the only rational course would be to keep altogether aloof from a thing which it can serve no good purpose to approach. To criticise on such an assumption-not to speak of enjoying is an untoward attempt, the result of which must be a failure. Persons of liberal cultivation may be invited to take a less peremptory attitude. The testimonies to which I have alluded will authorize them in so doing; and by proceeding in a reasonable course of observation they will best arrive at an understanding of this strange region.

Here the points in which it differs from others are chiefly to be regarded; for here the difficulty lies. In dwelling upon these, moreover, the outlines, for the sake of clearness, must be drawn in stronger relief, it may be, than appears in any single example; the object being to give the total effect of many several instances. These conditions the reader will bear in mind, as well as the purpose for which, on this occasion, the light is thrown on a part only of the structure of Spanish comedy. It would be most unfair to take the dissection of certain organs as a demonstration of the whole body. The mould of the skeleton and the lines of the muscles determine the character of the living form; but between a display of these and the body itself,-alive, with all its warm flesh and blood, with colour, breath, and motion,-how infinite is the distance!

The root of all that is in question may, I think, be traced down to a ground of intensely self-conscious individualism, which seems to underlie all that is peculiar in Spanish character. In earlier times it pre

sents itself without disguise, in the form of personal independence and fiery self-assertion; and from its action on the general ideas of worth and duty diffused throughout Europe by the development, on the feudal basis, of the institution of chivalry, may be deduced the qualities involved in the Castilian type of honour-overweening self-assertion, punctilious resentment of offence, jealous maintenance of privilege in title and office; the importance attached to purity of blood, and the high sense of the obligations annexed to the claims of nobility. On this ground the mighty influences, political, social, and moral, let loose by the turn in Peninsular affairs that began in the days of Ferdinand and Isabella, have, at the period which concerns us, now been working for more than a century; and a strange work they have made! What was once rude, simple, and vigorous, has become in some respects fancifully refined, in others altered or weakened, in all vastly complicated. It is a combination in which relics of the ferocity of warlike ages, and of the wild ways of personal independence, are mingled with the courtesies and caprices of a time of luxury and ostentation, and forced into unnatural shapes by the high pressure of despotism in State and Church.

In no respect has the new order of things gone farther than in regard to the throne. It would be impossible to raise the idea of Royalty above the place it holds in the drama. The older notion of kingship was high enough. As the summit and supreme type of nobility, the sovereign was looked up to with a feeling of devotion, mingled with pride, by his Cavaliers, to whom nobility was all in all; although this feeling by no means implied submission in cases where the privilege of the vassal was crossed by the power of the Crown. Nordoes it appear that the theory of allegiance was then understood to imply more than an obligation which was to a certain extent reciprocal. Even so understood, the obedience of the nobles, down to the middle of the fifteenth century and later, was by no means a constant virtue. The

1859.]

Relation between Subjects and the King.

'loyalty' which some writers ascribe to them will hardly be found in the records of history. On the contrary, it may be asserted that personal claims and interests take the foremost place throughout this period. There were not wanting, even, pretensions in the first class (ricos hombres) to rank, in the essentials of nobility, on a par with the Sovereign; conceding a superiority in virtue of his office only. The form in which the peers of Aragon asserted this equality on the coronation of their kings, is well known; and the spirit, if not the letter, seems to have been the same among those old Asturian families who traced their pedigree from the days of Pelayo. Between the tenth and fifteenth centuries the great Crown vassals, often openly at war with the throne, always appear as if standing on their guard against it and as the lesser gentry were for the most part attached to one or other of the high nobles, their loyalty was apt to be intercepted, if not absorbed, by their immediate chiefs. Nor is this impression effaced by individual acts of devotion, which occur rather as exceptions than as examples; such, for instance, as the memorable deed of Guzman the Good. It may be questioned, even in that case, whether the hero did not regard his personal honour, as pledged to maintain a post he had undertaken to guard, rather than any general obli. gation to serve the King at such a terrible cost.t On the whole, I apprehend that the Spanish gentleman of those days thought far more of what was due to himself, than of what he owed to the monarch.

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It

Very different is the idea of the relation between subject and king in the period now before us. must have been rapidly developed by the destruction of the national liberties by the Crown, seconded by the teaching of the Church,whose sudden increase of power, in alliance with the throne, dates. from the same epoch. This and other influences, which it would lead us too far to trace out, have at last established a theory of royal absolutism, the most naked and thoroughgoing, perhaps, that modern times have heard of. Divine right in the office, unlimited despotism in the authority, and something beyond human sanctity in the person of the king,‡ are now asserted

with more than the emphasis of Imperial law,- -as an article of religious faith no less than of political obligation. And it is noticeable that this servile creed has come to be regarded as the glory, not the disgrace, of a chivalrous nation. The cavalier of the seventeenth century is as proud of his irresponsible monarch as of his infallible church.

There is nothing the king may not do; no law restrains his will, or rather his will is the sole law. The property and life, nay, the honour, dearer than both, of every subject, is at his mercy. It is not pretended that he can do no wrong; but no wrong he may do can or ought to be resented. The sense of disgrace or injury, so delicate and vindictive in all other cases, is mute in the presence of a royal offender. The loyal Spaniard takes in hard earnest what a French poet § of his day merely invents for some tyrant whom he wishes to make odious:

'Nos, que valemos tanto como vos, os hacemos nuestro Rey y Señor, con tal que nos. guardays nuestros fueros y libertades, y sino, No.' The authenticity of this has been disputed, as resting solely on the citation of the formula by Antonio Perez. (Relaciones, &c., Ginevra, 1676, i. 143); but were this so, I see no reason to doubt his accuracy, considering the time and circumstances of his public appeal to the alleged practice.

The version of this tragical story by the dramatists (Guevara, Mas pesa el Rey que la sangre, and De la Hoz, El Abraham Castellano) of course make the loyalty of the sacrifice the prominent object; but this merely shows that the notion of a subject's duty was such as is described in the text at the period in which those plays were written.

So the high priest concludes (in the play by Aznar Velez, El sol obediente al hombre):

Que al fin son Dioses
los monarcas en la tierra.

§ Scudéry. L'amour tyrannique. (1638.)

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