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LETTER XV

Sketch of the life and character of the famous poet Lope de Vega.

Madrid, August 15th, 1778.

Though I perfectly agree with you in opinion relating to our immortal Shakespeare, yet I cannot refrain from doing that justice to his contemporary Lope de Vega which his most extraordinary talents deserve; I shall therefore attempt to give you the character of this great poet, which is no easy task when his amazing abilities are considered; however, I shall venture to proceed as this will be the last letter I shall write to you from hence.

Lope Felix de Vega Carpio, born the 25th November 1562, was the son of Felix Vega de Carpio, a gentleman of Madrid, who had the reputation of being a very good poet, a turn which he observed with rapture in his child from its infancy, and which the fond parent cherished with the greatest delight. At five years of age young Lope could read Spanish and Latin fluently, and even make verses which he exchanged with his school-fellows for pictures and other trifles. His father, charmed with this surprizing dawn of genius, spared no pains to cultivate a darling plant that seemed to encourage the most flattering expectations. At the age of twelve, Lope was master of the Latin tongue and the art of rhetoric; could dance and fence with ease and dexterity, and sing with a tolerable taste. —Endowed with these accomplishments, he became an orphan at his first entrance into the world with every pressure of distress, and was taken into the service of the bishop of Avila, in whose praise he wrote several pastorals, and made his first dramatic essay, with a comedy entitled La Pastoral de Jacinto. He soon after quitted his patron, went to the university of Alcala, where he studied philosophy, and took a degree, then returned to Madrid and became secretary to the Duke of Alva, who entrusted him with his most weighty concerns. Encouraged by his new Mecenas, he again tuned his lyre, and sung his praise in a poem entitled Arcadia. About this time he married Dona Isabela de Urbina, a lady of fashion, on account of whose gallantries he soon after fought a duel, and having grievously wounded his antagonist, fled to Valencia, where he lived some years; after which he returned again to Madrid, where losing his wife, he felt himself animated with a military ardour, and repaired to Cadiz to embark on board the great armada, fitting out by Philip the 2d, against Queen Elizabeth. In this fleet he sailed for Lisbon in company with his brother, a lieutenant in the Spanish navy, who lost his life in that expedition. Our poet had his share of the misfortunes of that disappointed fleet, and appeared at Madrid without a single friend, became secretary to the marquise of Malpica, and afterwards to the count of Lemos. Though his first marriage was so unsuccessful, he was in hopes of being more fortunate in that state with Dona Juana de Guardia, a lady of rank whom he soon after lost. Inconsolable at these repeated afflictions, he entered into the ecclesiastic state, was ordained a priest and appointed head chaplain to a congregation of priests at Madrid, though he still courted the muses, making this the chief relaxation that softened his sorrows. He was now in the zenith of his poetic glory, and his reputation became so universal, that pope Urban the eighth sent him the degree of doctor in divinity, and the cross of the order of Malta, added to a lucrative post in the apostolic exchequer, which Lope held to his death, which happened in his seventy-third year, to the great regret of the court, and every learned man in the kingdom. The duke of Sesa, who was his patron and executor, caused him to be interred at his own expence with such pomp and magnificence as had never been seen before for a private person; the duke invited all the grandees of the kingdom, who attended in person, in token of their concern at the loss of so distinguished a character. The funeral obsequies lasted three days, all the clergy of the king’s chapel assisted, three bishops officiated pontifically, and three of the most eloquent orators exerted themselves in praise of the deceased, adding new laurels to the fame of Lope de Vega, with whom, when living, many princes gloried in being acquainted. Pope Urban wrote him a letter in answer to a dedication of his poem in favour of Mary queen of Scots, entitled Corona tragica de Maria Stuardo. Cardinal Barbarini held a very intimate correspondence with him, as did many other cardinals and noblemen, who courted his friendship. When he walked in the streets, he was gazed upon and followed as a prodigy, he was, moreover, loaded with presents, and by the rapid sale of his numerous works soon amassed a considerable fortune, and acquired a capital of 150.000 ducats, besides his annual income of fifteen hundred ducats, arising out of his benefices and employments; so great was the fertility of his genius, the amazing readiness of his wit and rapidity of thought, added to his animated expression, that perhaps there never was a poet in the world, either antient or modern, that could be compared to him. —His lyric compositions and fugitive pieces, with his prose essays, form a collection of fifty volumes, besides his dramatic works, which make twenty-six volumes more; exclusive of four hundred scriptural dramatic pieces, called in Spain Autos Sacramentales, all which were successively brought on the stage; and what is still more extraordinary, speaking of his printed works, in one of his pastorals to Claudio he says they form the least part of what still remained in his closet. It appears from his own authority, that he used constantly to write five sheets a day, which multiplied by the days of his life, would make 133,225 meets; then reckoning the number of verses corresponding to each meet, it will appear that exclusive of prose he wrote 21,316,000 verses, an unheard of exertion and facility of versification! Our author possessing an inexhaustible fund, which like the fire of Vesuvius, continually afforded new matter, and blazed out incessantly. So extraordinary was the rapidity of his genius, he would often finish a play in twenty-four hours, and some comedies in less than five hours, with as much correctness and elegance in his verse, as the most laboured pieces of other writers of his time. Such was the contemporary of Sir Philip Sidney, Shakespeare, and Spencer; in his Laurel de Apolo he has celebrated all the good poets of his time, but none were more universally praised from all parts than himself; his surprising faculties were such, that in his dramatic pieces he broke through all rules of art, yet such was his success, that he was constantly the favourite of the public, and drew perpetual bursts of applause. — It was not his fault if his successors had not his talents to conceal their defects, and only imitated his imperfections, rendering the Spanish drama insupportable when deprived of the beauties of Lope: this was foreseen by Cervantes, who reproaches our poet with destroying the rules of the drama, as laid down by the antients, in order to court popular applause; to obtain which he lost sight of every idea of nature, or good taste, adding, that the probability of fable dwindled in his hands, and was wasted away by the enchanting magic of verse; all unity of time and place was annihilated; his heroes came out of their cradles, and wandered from east or west as lovers or combatants, put on the cowl of monks, died in cloisters, and worked miracles on the stage. The scene is transported from Italy to Flanders, and as easily shifted from Valencia to Mexico. Footmen discourse like courtiers, princes like bullies, and ladies like chambermaids. The actors appear in legions, often seventy at a time, and close with numerous processions, which is still kept up with us, as well as opening graves, and burying the dead, performing the most awful rites of mortality by way of amusement, which for my part I must own makes my heart recoil at the dismal sight; nor can the most captivating language of Shakespeare overcome my feelings at this glaring indecorum.

So sensible was Lope of the wildness of his imagination, and how wantonly he sported with the confidence of the public, that speaking of himself, he acknowledges his fault in the following words:

Mas ninguno de todos llamar puedo
Mas bárbaro que yo, pues contra el arte
Me atrevo a dar preceptos, y me dexo
Llevar de la vulgar corriente, a donde
Me llaman ignorante, Italia y Francia. [5]

And again,

Y escrivo por el arte, que inventaron
Los que el vulgar aplauso pretendieron
Porque como los paga el vulgo, es justo
Hablarle en necio, para darle gusto.

That is, “that he was sensible of the reproaches Italy and France would make him for breaking through all rules to please the ignorant public, but since it was they, that paid for it, they had a right to be pleased in their own way.”

I have now given you both sides of the question, respecting this great man; were I to speak to you of his personal virtues, they are yet superior to his literary talents. His benevolence and charity towards the indigent and distressed was so great, that he always extended his hand to the needy, insomuch that notwithstanding his considerable fortune and income, not more than six thousand ducats were found at his death. —O illustrious bard, if an Englishman is not capable of doing justice to thy poetical numbers, and the harmony of thy verse, accept at least of this tribute to the goodness of thy heart.

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