He
was about fifty years of age, with a sharp and intelligent counte-
nance, expressive of determination and obstinacy.
was about fifty years of age, with a sharp and intelligent counte-
nance, expressive of determination and obstinacy.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v26 - Tur to Wat
ha!
Stoyan,' they cried to him:
(To-morrow morn they'll hang you up
Before the palace of the king, -
You'll dangle for the queen to see,
And all the princes and princesses. '
But Stoyan softly said to Rouja: -
Dear Rouja, you the pope's stepdaughter,
It's not my life I care about,
It's not for the bright world I mourn,-
A brave man never weeps or mourns:
But yet, I beg you, Rouja dear,
Oh! let them put a clean shirt on me,
And let them brush and deck my hair;
That's all I ask for, Rouja dear.
For when a man's led out to die,
His shirt should spotless be, and white,
His hair should be arrayed and trim. )”
Ognianoff listened with secret excitement to the close of the
song.
“This Stoyan,” he thought, is the very type of the legend-
ary Bulgarian haïdoud, with his calm courage in facing death.
Not a word of sorrow, of despair, or even of hope. He only
wants to die looking his best. Ah! if this heroical fatalism has
only passed into the Bulgarian of to-day, I shall be quite easy in
mind as to the end of our struggle. That's the struggle I seek
for that's the strength I want: to know how to die — that's half
the battle. ”
Just then the kavala, or shepherd's reed-pipes, struck up.
Their sound, at first low and melancholy, swelled gradually and
rose higher and higher; the eyes of the pipers flashed, their faces
flushed with excitement, the clear notes rang out and filled the
night with their weird mountain melody. They summoned up
the spirit of the Balkan peaks and gorges, they recalled the dark-
ness of the mountain glades, the rustling of the leaves at noon
while the sheep are resting, the scent of the corn-flower, the
echoes of the rocks, and the cool, sweet air of the valleys. The
reed-pipe is the harp of the Bulgarian mountains and plains.
All were now listening enchanted as they drank in the famil-
iar and friendly sounds of the poetic music. Tsanko and his
wife, standing with clasped hands by the fire, listened as if
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IVAN VAZOFF
entranced. But the most affected of all was Ognianoff, who could
scarcely keep from applauding.
The brisk conversation and merry laughter soon broke out
again. But Ognianoff began to listen to what was being said, for
he heard his name mentioned. Petr Ovcharoff, Raïchin, Spir-
donoff, Ivan Ostenoff, and a few others were talking of the com-
ing insurrection.
“I'm ready for the fun now; I'm only waiting for my revolver
from Philippopolis. I've sent the money, 170 piastres. That's
the price of three rams,” said Petr Ovcharoff, the president of the
local committee.
“Yes, but we don't know when the flag's to be raised. Some
say we shall blood our knives at the Annunciation, others at St.
Gregory's Day, and Uncle Bojil says not till the end of May,”
said Spirdonoff, a handsome, well-built lad.
“It'll be somewhere about the coming of the cuckoo, when
the woods are getting green; but I'm ready now,—they've only
to give the word. ”
“Well, well: our Stara Planina has sheltered many a brave
fellow before now; it'll shelter us too,” said Ivan Ostenoff.
"Petr, didn't you say the teacher [Ognianoff] had killed two
of them? There's a plucky one for you. "
« When's he going to pay us a visit ? I want to kiss the hand
that polished them off,” asked Raïchin.
“He's got a start of us, has the teacher, but we must try and
catch him up. I know something of the game myself,” answered
Ivan Ostenoff.
Ivan Ostenoff was a bold youth, and a good shot as well.
Popular rumor ascribed the death of Deli Ahmed last year to
him; and the Turks had long tried to get hold of him, but so far
ineffectually.
At supper Ognianoff's health was drunk.
“God grant that we may soon see him here safe and sound.
Take an example from him, boys,” said Tsanko, as he swallowed
his wine.
"I'll bet any one whatever he likes,” said Tsanko's wife im-
patiently, “that teacher'll be here the first thing to-morrow, like
a hawk. ”
“What are you talking of, Boulka Tsankovitsa ? Why, I'm off
to K— to-morrow,” said Raïchin regretfully. "If he comes you
must keep him for Christmas, and we'll enjoy ourselves together. ”
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IVAN VAZOFF
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»
What's all that noise outside ? ” cried Tsanko, leaving his
wine.
In truth, men's and women's voices were heard making an
uproar outside. Tsanko and his wife ran out. The guests rose
to follow. Just then the mistress of the house rushed in, in great
excitement, and cried:-
“Well, that business is finished. God prosper it. ”
What? What ? »
“Kill-the-Bear's carried off Staïka! »
Every one started with surprise at the news.
“Carried her off, he has, the lad, on his shoulder, as you would
a lamb on St. Gregory's Day; now they're at his house. ”
Her hearers began to laugh.
“Well, what of it? That's why he went away so early with
his cousin Goran. ”
“He laid in wait for her by the door,"continued Boulka
Tsankovitsa, "and carried her off. I'm
sorry
for them both.
Who'd have thought it of Kill-the-Bear ? »
“Well, well, they're a pretty pair,” said some one.
“She's just like a fat little Servian pig, and he's a Hungarian
bull," laughed another.
«God bless 'em both; we'll drink cherry brandy with them
to-morrow," said Tsanko.
« Yes, and I shall claim my perquisite,” said his wife. “I
must have my embroidered sleeves, because the match was ar-
ranged at my house. "
Soon after, all the guests left in high glee.
Tsanko hastened to Ognianoff in the dark closet.
« Well, Boïcho, how did you like our party ? ”
“Oh, it was wonderful, delightful, Tsanko. ”
« Did you take down the words of the songs ? ”
« How could I? There's no light to write by. ”
In came Tsanko's wife with a candle in her hand.
“There's some one knocking at the door,” said she.
«That'll be some one from Staïka, most likely. Perhaps she
wants our Donka to go to her: you must send her. ”
But Donka came in and said that there were two zaptiés out-
side, brought by old Dečko, the village mayor.
“ The Devil take them - zaptiés, old Deïko, and all! Where
am I to put the swine? They've not come after you," he said to
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IVAN VAZOFF
>
(
Ognianoff reassuringly, but you'd better hide. Wife, just show
the teacher where to go. ”
And Tsanko went out. Soon he brought in the two zaptiés,
muffled up in their cloaks and drenched with snow. They were
furious.
«What do you mean by keeping us an hour at the door, you
cuckold ? ” cried the first, a one-eyed zaptié, as he shook the snow
from his cloak.
« You left us freezing outside while you were making up your
mind to open,” grumbled the other, a short, stout man.
Tsanko muttered some excuse.
“What are you muttering about ? Go and kill a chicken for
us, and get some eggs fried in butter at once! »
Tsanko tried to say something. The one-eyed zaptié burst
out:
“None of your talk, ghiaour: go and tell your wife to get
supper ready at once. Do you suppose we're going to finish
up your d-d tart-crumbs and nutshells for you ? ” he said with
a contemptuous look at the remains of the little feast, not yet
cleared up
Tsanko moved helplessly toward the door to carry out his
orders. The short one called after him:-
Stop a minute: what have you done with the girls ? "
« They went home long ago: it's late,” answered Tsanko,
trembling all over.
“Just you go and fetch them back to have supper with us and
pour out our raki. What do you mean by sending them home ? »
Tsanko gazed at him in terror.
"Where's your daughter ? ”
She's gone to bed, Aga. ”
"Make her get up to wait on us,” said the one-eyed zaptié,
taking off his boots to dry them at the fire, while the water
dripped from them, and a cloud of steam rose.
The mayor just then came in and stood humbly by the door.
"You infernal pig! you've led us round twenty houses, knock-
ing at door after door, like beggars; — where have you hidden
(
(
)
your »
And he called the girls by a foul epithet.
The Bulgarians remained silent. They were used to this.
Centuries of slavery had taught them the proverb, so degrading
## p. 15281 (#225) ##########################################
IVAN VAZOFF
15281
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for humanity: « The sword does not strike the bowed head. ”
Tsanko only prayed Heaven that they might not molest his
daughter.
“Look here,” asked the one-eyed zaptié: "are you preparing
for a rebellion ? ”
Tsanko boldly denied the charge.
“Well, what's this doing here, then ? ” asked the short one,
taking up Petr Ovcharoff's long knife, which had been forgotten
on the floor.
"Oh! you're not preparing for a rebellion, aren't you ? " asked
the first, with a diabolical smile.
“No, Aga, we're peaceful subjects of his Majesty,” answered
Tsanko, trying to keep calm: “the knife must have been left
behind by one of the guests. ”
~ Whose is it ? »
“I don't know. ”
The zaptiés began examining the blade, which was engraved
with letters inlaid with gold, surrounded by a fancy pattern.
“What do these letters mean? ” they asked Tsanko.
He looked at the knife: on one side there was a wreath of
flowers engraved, towards the blunt edge, containing the words
"Liberty or Death"; the other side bore the owner's name.
"It's only an ornament,” said Tsanko.
The one-eyed zaptié struck him in the face with his muddy
boot.
“Ghiaour! Do you suppose I'm blind because I've got only
one eye ? »
Tsanko's reply had aroused their suspicions.
"Mayor, just come here. "
The mayor came in with a cake of bread on a brass platter,
which he was bringing to be baked in Tsanko's oven. He trem-
bled when he saw the naked dagger in the zaptié's hand.
“Read this! »
The mayor looked at it, and drew himself up in dismay.
I can't make it out properly, Aga! ”
The short one took his Circassian whip. The lash hissed in
the air and curled twice round the mayor's neck. A stream of
blood flowed from his cheek.
“You're all a set of traitors.
The mayor wiped away the blood silently.
XXVI–956
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## p. 15282 (#226) ##########################################
15282
IVAN VAZOFF
»
“Read it out, or I'll stick the knife into your throat! ” cried
the zaptié. The bewildered mayor saw there was no help for it:
he must bow before them.
Petr Ovcharoff," he read with assumed hesitation.
"Do you know him ? »
«He belongs to our village. ”
“Is that the fellow they call Petr the shepherd ? ” asked the
one-eyed one, who evidently knew a little Bulgarian.
“Yes, Aga,” said the mayor, handing him the knife, with a
silent prayer of thanksgiving to the Holy Trinity that the terri-
ble words on the other side had been passed over. But he went
too fast.
Now see what it says on the other side,” said the zaptié.
The mayor bent in abject terror over the other side. He hes-
itated for some time. But when he saw that the short zaptié was
getting his whip ready again, he cried: -
"It says "Liberty or Death,' Aga. ”
The one-eyed zaptié started. «What! liberty, eh? ” he said,
smiling ominously.
“Who is it who makes these knives ? Where's Petr the shep-
herd ? »
“Where should he be, Aga? At home, of course. ”
Go and fetch him. ”
The mayor moved off.
« Wait: I'll come with you, you fool! ”
And the short zaptié took up his cloak and went out with him.
« That's right, Youssouf Aga: this shepherd seems a thorough
brigand,” said the other.
Meanwhile Tsanko passed into the kitchen, where his wife was
preparing the supper, cursing the Turks as she did so: “May
God destroy them may he cut them off root and branch
- may
the pestilence fall on them and rot their bones— may they die of
poison. To think that I should be cooking meat and butter for
them just before Christmas! What brought the accursed heathen
here, to terrify and destroy us ? »
“Donka, dear,” said Tsanko to his daughter, who stood, pale
and terrified, at the door, you'd better slip out by the back
way, and go and sleep at your uncle's. ”
"And what does Deïko mean by bringing them here again?
It was only last week he brought us two," murmured his wife.
»
## p. 15283 (#227) ##########################################
IVAN VAZOFF
15283
>
»
What's he to do, poor fellow ? ” said Tsanko. “He took
them everywhere. They wanted to come here — they'd heard the
songs. As it is he's had five or six cuts of the whip. ”
Tsanko went back to the one-eyed zaptié.
"Chorbaji, where have you been to ? Just bring a little salad
and some raki. ”
« The shepherd's not there,” cried the short zaptié at that
moment, as he returned with the mayor.
“Well, we must find the rascally Komita, if we have to
turn the whole village upside down,” said the one-eyed man,
drinking.
"What do you say to giving the old boy another taste of the
stick ? ” asked the short one in a low voice, adding something in
a whisper. His comrade winked with his only eye in assent.
"Mayor, go and fetch the father here: we want to ask him
something — and fill this at the same time,” said Youssouf Aga,
handing him the empty raki bottle.
“It's too late for that, Aga: the shop's shut. ”
The only reply was a blow in the face from the one-eyed
zaptié. He was naturally a little more humane than the other;
but drink, or the desire for it, maddened him in a moment.
A quarter of an hour afterwards old Stoïko appeared.
He
was about fifty years of age, with a sharp and intelligent counte-
nance, expressive of determination and obstinacy.
« Stożko, tell me where your son is, — you know where you've
hidden him,- or it will be the worse for you. ”
As the one-eyed zaptié said this, he poured out and gulped
down a glass of raki. His eye flashed as he did so. Then he
handed the glass to his comrade.
“I don't know where he is, Aga,” replied the old man.
“You do, ghiaour; you know quite well,” cried the zaptié,
enraged.
The old man again repeated his denial.
“You know, and you'll tell us, or we'll pull out your eye-
teeth for you; and if you won't say then, I'll tie you behind my
horse, and you'll come with us to-morrow,” roared the infuriated
zaptié.
«You can do what you like to me — I've only got one life,”
answered the old man firmly.
“Go over there and think it over a little; then we'll talk to
you again,” the one-eyed zaptié said with pretended gentleness.
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»
Their object was to extract a bribe from old Stoïko, to be sug-
gested to him by the mayor. It was brigandage of the worst
description, but they wished to give it the appearance of a volun-
tary gift: it was the system usually followed in such cases.
But old Stoïko did not move.
They looked at each other, astonished at his firmness, and cast
ferocious glances at the old man.
"Did you hear what I said, you old fool ? ” cried the one-eyed
zaptié.
"I've nothing to think about — let me go home,” he answered
hoarsely.
The zaptiés could not contain themselves.
Mayor, throw the old fool down,” cried the one-eyed ruffian,
seizing his kourbash or Circassian whip.
The mayor and Tsanko begged for mercy for the old man.
The only reply was a kick which felled Stoïko to the ground.
Then blows followed fast on his body. Old Stoïko groaned
heavily for some time, then became silent: he had fainted; his
forehead was drenched with a cold sweat,- he was worn out by
his day's work.
They undressed him to bring him to his senses.
When he comes to himself, let me know; — I'll make him
speak. ”
“For God's sake, Hajji Aga, I entreat you, have pity on the
poor old man! He can't stand any more pain,- he'll die,” said
Tsanko entreatingly.
"Long live the Sultan, you rebel! ” cried the short zaptié
in a passion. “You deserve to be hanged yourself for harboring
rebels in your house; you're very likely hiding the shepherd here
somewhere. Let's search the house! ”
Tsanko's face fell involuntarily. Although frenzied with drink,
the one-eyed zaptié saw his confusion. He turned at once to
the short one: -
“Youssouf Aga, there's something wrong here — let's search
the ghiaour's house. ”
And he arose.
"At your service,” said Tsanko hoarsely, showing the way
with a lantern.
He led them all over the house, leaving the closet to the
last. Finally he lighted them there too. In the blackened ceiling
there was a trap-door which led to the rafters, and so outside
on to the roof. When it was closed it could not be noticed.
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15285
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Tsanko knew that Ognianoff had climbed up through it to the
rafters and replaced the cover. So he led the Turks in with the
utmost confidence.
His first glance was towards the ceiling. What was his sur-
prise to find the trap-door open!
Tsanko remained petrified where he stood. The Turks
searched the closet.
“Where does that opening lead to ? ”
“To the rafters, muttered Tsanko. His legs trembled under
him, and he had to cling to the wall for support.
The short zaptié noticed his terror.
"Just give a light here while I get up, will you ? ” he said;
I
but a sudden thought crossed his mind, and he called to his
comrade: -
“Hassan Aga, you're taller than I am: get on the mayor's
back. ”
Hassan Aga knew no fear when he had got his skinful; drink
made a hero of him. He at once climbed up over the mayor's
shoulders.
“Now then, bring the light, confound you! ”
Tsanko, white as a sheet, handed him the light mechanically.
The zaptié first held the lantern in front of him, then put
his head within the opening. From the motion of his body one
could see he was searching with the light on every side.
At last he reappeared, jumped down, and said:-
“Who is it you've been hiding there? ”
Tsanko looked blankly at him. He did not know what
answer to give. He had suffered so much that evening that he
had almost lost his senses; his thoughts became confused. The
question was repeated: he stammered out some meaningless re-
ply.
“The rebel will give a proper answer at Klissoura. There's
a better prison there; he can stop here for the night. ”
And the zaptiés locked him up in the dark and chilly closet.
Tsanko was so overwhelmed with terror and confusion that it
was some minutes before he could collect his thoughts. He
clasped his head with both hands, as if to retain his presence of
mind. He was lacking in determination, and suffering had at
once crushed him. He sobbed and groaned in despair.
There was a knock at the door, and Deïko's voice was heard:-
“What are you going to do now, Tsanko ? »
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15286
IVAN VAZOFF
“I don't know, Deïko. Tell me what's best. »
“ Come, you know the Turks' weakness. You must give them
something; it's the only way to get out of it: else they'll drag
you from one court-house to another till you're utterly ruined.
Poor old Stoïko could have spared himself this with a trifle.
Give, Tsanko! give 'em your white silver to keep off black sor-
row. ”
His wife came too, weeping bitterly:-
“Let's give them what we can! Never mind, Tsanko: it's
the only way to get out of the murderers' hands. They've killed
poor old Stoïko. Dear, dear! to think I should live to see it. ”
« But what are we to give, wife ? You know we haven't
any money. ”
"Let's give the necklace! ”
Donka's necklace, with the coins ? »
“Yes, yes! it's all we have,- it's the only way to get rid of
them. Why, they're asking for Donka now - the cursed brutes ! »
“Do what God thinks best, wife. I'm all in a muddle,” mut-
tered Tsanko from his prison.
His wife and Deïko went away.
Soon after, a light shone through the chinks in the boards of
the closet, and the door was unlocked.
"Come out, Tsanko: you're free,” said Dečko.
« The Agas
were good fellows after all. They've given you back the knife
as well; so there's no cause for fear. You've got off cheap. "
And bending to his ear, he whispered low:-
"It can't last much longer: either they'll finish us off, or we
must them. This life can't go on like this. ”
« What!
(
»
## p. 15286 (#231) ##########################################
## p. 15286 (#232) ##########################################
高。
LOPE DE VEGA.
## p. 15286 (#233) ##########################################
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## p. 15287 (#235) ##########################################
15287
LOPE DE VEGA
(1562-1635)
BY MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN
He comedies of Lope de Vega — of which three hundred still
exist, but difficult to obtain are worth serious study by
06
the sociologists, and the modern maker of plays who may
need to revive a jaded imagination. The material used in these
dramas is enormous; it is rich, suggestive, often rare and poetical.
Sismondi (Literature of the South of Europe') says of Lope:
«In order to have written 2,200 theatrical pieces, he must every eight days,
from the beginning to the end of his life, have given to the public a new
play of about three thousand verses; and in these eight days he must not
only have found the time necessary for invention and writing, but also for
making the historical researches into customs and manners on which the play
is founded, - to consult Tacitus, for example, in order to compose his Nero”:
while the fruits of his spare time were twenty-one volumes in quarto of
poetry, among which are five epic poems. )
He was called the Phænix of Poets; and Calderon justly named
him “the prodigy of nature” (el monstruo de naturalelza). The fecund-
ity of Alexandre Dumas père is in our time a matter of wonder, in
spite of the fact that he had co-laborers; the ease with which Lope
de Vega turned out comedies, tragi-comedies, tragedies, moralities,
autos sacramentales, interludes, and even epics, beats the very record
of the author of Monte Cristo. Lope was pressed into continuous
action by the hungry theatrical managers, and a continual flood of
gold poured into his caskets; but like Dumas the elder, he was gen-
erous and extravagant. It is easy to understand the non-morality of
Dumas, who seems to have been a creature of emotion and imagi-
nation; and one feels that the reader who could take Aramis or
D'Artagnan so seriously as to copy their moral laxity, must not
only be as unstable as water, but already corrupt. In the case of
Lope we find, especially in the cloak and sword” dramas, an amaz-
ing disregard for the crime of murder, and the constant assumption
that «love excuses all things. ” And yet he was intensely religious
and moral in those dramatic legends of the saints, and in those
sacred spectacles called “autos,” which were usually performed in
honor of the Blessed Sacrament on the Feast of Corpus Christi.
There is in his 'Lives and Legends of the Saints,' and in his (Autos,'
the same strange mixture of mythological and Christian personages,
)
## p. 15288 (#236) ##########################################
15288
LOPE DE VEGA
(
which, even under the magic touch of his friend Calderon, shocks
us; but his essential Christianity would satisfy even the most exact-
ing. Frederick Bouterwek (History of Spanish Literature'), from
whom Sismondi has borrowed largely, tells us that Lope, though
wildly romantic in his spirit, was a realist in his method; he pre-
sented “the morals and manners of his time”: and when one has read
the memoirs of De Retz, — Dumas's “coadjutor,”. - one may explain
the modern king of romancers in the same way. But Lope de Vega,
who was in holy orders when he did most of his dramatic work,
must have either felt that he might exhibit anything on the stage in
which God permitted the Devil to have a hand, or he looked upon
his productions as without the teaching quality. The dramas (the
term comedy” is more elastic in Spanish than in English) — of man-
ners, of the cloak and sword — are not constantly licentious as those
of the Restoration period are; but Shakespeare is an ascetic and the
sternest of moralists in comparison with Lope as a depicter of the
life of the sixteenth century, with whom love always gets the better
of duty. According to the law of society, a man might kill his wife
for infidelity, but his intrigues with any wandering damsel might
be regarded leniently, even with amusement. And the virtues of the
erratic gentlewomen in many of the plays pass for perfect virtue,
unless by some mischance their declension is publicly exposed. , The
king, in one of the heroic comedies, (The Certain for the Doubtful,'
resolves to kill his brother because he believes that Don Henry has
possessed Doña Juana. He coolly says:-
(
«« This night will I assassinate Don Henry,
And he being dead, I will espouse thee. Then
Thou never canst compare his love with mine.
'Tis true that while he lives I can't espouse thee,
Seeing that my dishonor lives in him
Who hath usurped this place reserved for me. ”
This peculiar and delicate sense of honor, which demands a broth-
er's murder to keep it stainless, may well make modern men marvel.
Still it is not more absurd than the Continental sense of honor, which
asks a duel for a misstep, requiring blood for an injured corn!
In analyzing some of the dramas, one is rather more surprised
that the Church showered honors on Lope than that the Spanish
clerics — as George Ticknor clearly points out - objected strenuously
in the beginning to the secularization of the drama, which com-
menced as a conveyance for religious instruction. It had been in
fact a theological object lesson, which in the “autos” it still continued
to be. In the third part of the sixteenth century, the division of
the Spanish drama into Divine and human” was first made. The
human” comedies were either comedias heroyeas) or comedias
(
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a
de capa y Espodas”; the Divine” comedies either « Vidas de San-
tos or "Autos Sacramentales. ” There were prologues called “loas,"
and «intermeses,” — which were, when dance and song were intro-
duced, called “saynetes. ” “Coplas” were short strophes sung during
the saraband, or other dance.
Lope de Vega's invention was inexhaustible, and he is seldom
uninteresting. He pushes one breathless from complication to com-
plication; he has in perfection the art of conversation; he rushes
from episode to episode with the agility of Dumas. He is not above
cutting with one blow of his sword the Gordian knot he has tied;
and some of his climaxes are as sudden as the conversion of the
wicked brother and the marriage of Celia in As You Like It. '
In fact, there is much similarity between the methods of the Span-
ish and the English drama. And Lope made the methods of the
Spanish drama, though he did not invent them. He disregarded
unities and classic traditions; he mixed up grave with gay, the hor-
rible and the ludicrous, in a manner which afterwards horrified the
French critics, and drove them to outbursts as violent as that of Vol-
taire against Shakespeare. The arrangement of scenes is dependent
not, as in French, on the entrance of a new personage, but on
change of locality. The influence of Lope de Vega was far-reaching.
France felt it upon Corneille and Molière and groups of lesser drama-
tists; Italy, Germany, and England were saturated with it. It has
been said, perhaps with a little exaggeration, that Lope de Vega
made the stage of Europe romantic by his dramatized novels; thus
undoing the work of Cervantes, which was to moderate romanticism.
So quickly were the dramas of Lope composed, that in diction they
are often crude. Thrown together at white heat, they have the fire
still in them after a lapse of centuries. the thirty that Sismondi
read, ten or twelve are easily obtainable; and any of them will prove
that Lope had wonderful talent. A study of them will not give an
insight into dramatic laws, but it will greatly help the social psy-
chologist. Complete editions of Lope de Vega's works are very rare;
the original editions most rare. He has not had the good fortune of
Calderon in the way of English translators, but he deserves it. He
is full of poetry and patriotism: the hastiest of his pieces answers
to the description of the typical Russian noble of the time of Catha-
rine,—"all splendor without, all squalor within ;” but the lyrical splen-
dor is always there, though the poverty of thought is evident upon
close examination. Lope de Vega at his worst and best is Spain
of the sixteenth century,- grand, superb in the Latin sense, - poor,
glorious, coarse, faithful, and sublime. He invented an olla podrida
in which one finds dropped rubies that are priceless and the herbs
of the field, - all incongruities, - side by side! His metres alone are
worth careful analysis: they are of Spain Spanish.
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-
All critics agree in pronouncing valueless his epics: Jerusalem
Conquered”; The Beauty of Angelica'; 'The Tragic Crown' - Mary
Stuart the heroine; one on Circe and the “Dragontea,” in which
Queen Elizabeth's favorite pirate, Drake, is made Satanic. Satires,
sonnets, novels (among them The Stranger in his Own Country'),
and compositions of all kinds, appeared from his pen, making twenty-
five large volumes.
The most characteristic of Lope's comedies - this, however, must
be said with all possible reserves - are (The Widow of Valencia
and "The Peasant Girl of Xetalfi. These are well known because
Bouterwek has analyzed them. The heroic comedies, (The Discreet
Revenge' and 'The Battlements of Toro,' have been analyzed by both
Bouterwek and Sismondi, — to which George Ticknor in his History
of Spanish Literature) has added admirable comments.
To appreciate the amazing energy of Lope de Vega, one must
glance at his biography. He — born De Vega Carpio - appeared on
this world's stage at Madrid, in 1562. He was two years younger
than Shakespeare, and fifteen years younger than his rival dramatist
Cervantes. His parents were poor and noble, not unusual in Spain.
They began his education well, but they died early; and it was com-
pleted through the kindness of the Bishop of Avila. While secretary
to the Duke of Alva, he married.
(To-morrow morn they'll hang you up
Before the palace of the king, -
You'll dangle for the queen to see,
And all the princes and princesses. '
But Stoyan softly said to Rouja: -
Dear Rouja, you the pope's stepdaughter,
It's not my life I care about,
It's not for the bright world I mourn,-
A brave man never weeps or mourns:
But yet, I beg you, Rouja dear,
Oh! let them put a clean shirt on me,
And let them brush and deck my hair;
That's all I ask for, Rouja dear.
For when a man's led out to die,
His shirt should spotless be, and white,
His hair should be arrayed and trim. )”
Ognianoff listened with secret excitement to the close of the
song.
“This Stoyan,” he thought, is the very type of the legend-
ary Bulgarian haïdoud, with his calm courage in facing death.
Not a word of sorrow, of despair, or even of hope. He only
wants to die looking his best. Ah! if this heroical fatalism has
only passed into the Bulgarian of to-day, I shall be quite easy in
mind as to the end of our struggle. That's the struggle I seek
for that's the strength I want: to know how to die — that's half
the battle. ”
Just then the kavala, or shepherd's reed-pipes, struck up.
Their sound, at first low and melancholy, swelled gradually and
rose higher and higher; the eyes of the pipers flashed, their faces
flushed with excitement, the clear notes rang out and filled the
night with their weird mountain melody. They summoned up
the spirit of the Balkan peaks and gorges, they recalled the dark-
ness of the mountain glades, the rustling of the leaves at noon
while the sheep are resting, the scent of the corn-flower, the
echoes of the rocks, and the cool, sweet air of the valleys. The
reed-pipe is the harp of the Bulgarian mountains and plains.
All were now listening enchanted as they drank in the famil-
iar and friendly sounds of the poetic music. Tsanko and his
wife, standing with clasped hands by the fire, listened as if
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IVAN VAZOFF
entranced. But the most affected of all was Ognianoff, who could
scarcely keep from applauding.
The brisk conversation and merry laughter soon broke out
again. But Ognianoff began to listen to what was being said, for
he heard his name mentioned. Petr Ovcharoff, Raïchin, Spir-
donoff, Ivan Ostenoff, and a few others were talking of the com-
ing insurrection.
“I'm ready for the fun now; I'm only waiting for my revolver
from Philippopolis. I've sent the money, 170 piastres. That's
the price of three rams,” said Petr Ovcharoff, the president of the
local committee.
“Yes, but we don't know when the flag's to be raised. Some
say we shall blood our knives at the Annunciation, others at St.
Gregory's Day, and Uncle Bojil says not till the end of May,”
said Spirdonoff, a handsome, well-built lad.
“It'll be somewhere about the coming of the cuckoo, when
the woods are getting green; but I'm ready now,—they've only
to give the word. ”
“Well, well: our Stara Planina has sheltered many a brave
fellow before now; it'll shelter us too,” said Ivan Ostenoff.
"Petr, didn't you say the teacher [Ognianoff] had killed two
of them? There's a plucky one for you. "
« When's he going to pay us a visit ? I want to kiss the hand
that polished them off,” asked Raïchin.
“He's got a start of us, has the teacher, but we must try and
catch him up. I know something of the game myself,” answered
Ivan Ostenoff.
Ivan Ostenoff was a bold youth, and a good shot as well.
Popular rumor ascribed the death of Deli Ahmed last year to
him; and the Turks had long tried to get hold of him, but so far
ineffectually.
At supper Ognianoff's health was drunk.
“God grant that we may soon see him here safe and sound.
Take an example from him, boys,” said Tsanko, as he swallowed
his wine.
"I'll bet any one whatever he likes,” said Tsanko's wife im-
patiently, “that teacher'll be here the first thing to-morrow, like
a hawk. ”
“What are you talking of, Boulka Tsankovitsa ? Why, I'm off
to K— to-morrow,” said Raïchin regretfully. "If he comes you
must keep him for Christmas, and we'll enjoy ourselves together. ”
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What's all that noise outside ? ” cried Tsanko, leaving his
wine.
In truth, men's and women's voices were heard making an
uproar outside. Tsanko and his wife ran out. The guests rose
to follow. Just then the mistress of the house rushed in, in great
excitement, and cried:-
“Well, that business is finished. God prosper it. ”
What? What ? »
“Kill-the-Bear's carried off Staïka! »
Every one started with surprise at the news.
“Carried her off, he has, the lad, on his shoulder, as you would
a lamb on St. Gregory's Day; now they're at his house. ”
Her hearers began to laugh.
“Well, what of it? That's why he went away so early with
his cousin Goran. ”
“He laid in wait for her by the door,"continued Boulka
Tsankovitsa, "and carried her off. I'm
sorry
for them both.
Who'd have thought it of Kill-the-Bear ? »
“Well, well, they're a pretty pair,” said some one.
“She's just like a fat little Servian pig, and he's a Hungarian
bull," laughed another.
«God bless 'em both; we'll drink cherry brandy with them
to-morrow," said Tsanko.
« Yes, and I shall claim my perquisite,” said his wife. “I
must have my embroidered sleeves, because the match was ar-
ranged at my house. "
Soon after, all the guests left in high glee.
Tsanko hastened to Ognianoff in the dark closet.
« Well, Boïcho, how did you like our party ? ”
“Oh, it was wonderful, delightful, Tsanko. ”
« Did you take down the words of the songs ? ”
« How could I? There's no light to write by. ”
In came Tsanko's wife with a candle in her hand.
“There's some one knocking at the door,” said she.
«That'll be some one from Staïka, most likely. Perhaps she
wants our Donka to go to her: you must send her. ”
But Donka came in and said that there were two zaptiés out-
side, brought by old Dečko, the village mayor.
“ The Devil take them - zaptiés, old Deïko, and all! Where
am I to put the swine? They've not come after you," he said to
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IVAN VAZOFF
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Ognianoff reassuringly, but you'd better hide. Wife, just show
the teacher where to go. ”
And Tsanko went out. Soon he brought in the two zaptiés,
muffled up in their cloaks and drenched with snow. They were
furious.
«What do you mean by keeping us an hour at the door, you
cuckold ? ” cried the first, a one-eyed zaptié, as he shook the snow
from his cloak.
« You left us freezing outside while you were making up your
mind to open,” grumbled the other, a short, stout man.
Tsanko muttered some excuse.
“What are you muttering about ? Go and kill a chicken for
us, and get some eggs fried in butter at once! »
Tsanko tried to say something. The one-eyed zaptié burst
out:
“None of your talk, ghiaour: go and tell your wife to get
supper ready at once. Do you suppose we're going to finish
up your d-d tart-crumbs and nutshells for you ? ” he said with
a contemptuous look at the remains of the little feast, not yet
cleared up
Tsanko moved helplessly toward the door to carry out his
orders. The short one called after him:-
Stop a minute: what have you done with the girls ? "
« They went home long ago: it's late,” answered Tsanko,
trembling all over.
“Just you go and fetch them back to have supper with us and
pour out our raki. What do you mean by sending them home ? »
Tsanko gazed at him in terror.
"Where's your daughter ? ”
She's gone to bed, Aga. ”
"Make her get up to wait on us,” said the one-eyed zaptié,
taking off his boots to dry them at the fire, while the water
dripped from them, and a cloud of steam rose.
The mayor just then came in and stood humbly by the door.
"You infernal pig! you've led us round twenty houses, knock-
ing at door after door, like beggars; — where have you hidden
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your »
And he called the girls by a foul epithet.
The Bulgarians remained silent. They were used to this.
Centuries of slavery had taught them the proverb, so degrading
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for humanity: « The sword does not strike the bowed head. ”
Tsanko only prayed Heaven that they might not molest his
daughter.
“Look here,” asked the one-eyed zaptié: "are you preparing
for a rebellion ? ”
Tsanko boldly denied the charge.
“Well, what's this doing here, then ? ” asked the short one,
taking up Petr Ovcharoff's long knife, which had been forgotten
on the floor.
"Oh! you're not preparing for a rebellion, aren't you ? " asked
the first, with a diabolical smile.
“No, Aga, we're peaceful subjects of his Majesty,” answered
Tsanko, trying to keep calm: “the knife must have been left
behind by one of the guests. ”
~ Whose is it ? »
“I don't know. ”
The zaptiés began examining the blade, which was engraved
with letters inlaid with gold, surrounded by a fancy pattern.
“What do these letters mean? ” they asked Tsanko.
He looked at the knife: on one side there was a wreath of
flowers engraved, towards the blunt edge, containing the words
"Liberty or Death"; the other side bore the owner's name.
"It's only an ornament,” said Tsanko.
The one-eyed zaptié struck him in the face with his muddy
boot.
“Ghiaour! Do you suppose I'm blind because I've got only
one eye ? »
Tsanko's reply had aroused their suspicions.
"Mayor, just come here. "
The mayor came in with a cake of bread on a brass platter,
which he was bringing to be baked in Tsanko's oven. He trem-
bled when he saw the naked dagger in the zaptié's hand.
“Read this! »
The mayor looked at it, and drew himself up in dismay.
I can't make it out properly, Aga! ”
The short one took his Circassian whip. The lash hissed in
the air and curled twice round the mayor's neck. A stream of
blood flowed from his cheek.
“You're all a set of traitors.
The mayor wiped away the blood silently.
XXVI–956
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“Read it out, or I'll stick the knife into your throat! ” cried
the zaptié. The bewildered mayor saw there was no help for it:
he must bow before them.
Petr Ovcharoff," he read with assumed hesitation.
"Do you know him ? »
«He belongs to our village. ”
“Is that the fellow they call Petr the shepherd ? ” asked the
one-eyed one, who evidently knew a little Bulgarian.
“Yes, Aga,” said the mayor, handing him the knife, with a
silent prayer of thanksgiving to the Holy Trinity that the terri-
ble words on the other side had been passed over. But he went
too fast.
Now see what it says on the other side,” said the zaptié.
The mayor bent in abject terror over the other side. He hes-
itated for some time. But when he saw that the short zaptié was
getting his whip ready again, he cried: -
"It says "Liberty or Death,' Aga. ”
The one-eyed zaptié started. «What! liberty, eh? ” he said,
smiling ominously.
“Who is it who makes these knives ? Where's Petr the shep-
herd ? »
“Where should he be, Aga? At home, of course. ”
Go and fetch him. ”
The mayor moved off.
« Wait: I'll come with you, you fool! ”
And the short zaptié took up his cloak and went out with him.
« That's right, Youssouf Aga: this shepherd seems a thorough
brigand,” said the other.
Meanwhile Tsanko passed into the kitchen, where his wife was
preparing the supper, cursing the Turks as she did so: “May
God destroy them may he cut them off root and branch
- may
the pestilence fall on them and rot their bones— may they die of
poison. To think that I should be cooking meat and butter for
them just before Christmas! What brought the accursed heathen
here, to terrify and destroy us ? »
“Donka, dear,” said Tsanko to his daughter, who stood, pale
and terrified, at the door, you'd better slip out by the back
way, and go and sleep at your uncle's. ”
"And what does Deïko mean by bringing them here again?
It was only last week he brought us two," murmured his wife.
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What's he to do, poor fellow ? ” said Tsanko. “He took
them everywhere. They wanted to come here — they'd heard the
songs. As it is he's had five or six cuts of the whip. ”
Tsanko went back to the one-eyed zaptié.
"Chorbaji, where have you been to ? Just bring a little salad
and some raki. ”
« The shepherd's not there,” cried the short zaptié at that
moment, as he returned with the mayor.
“Well, we must find the rascally Komita, if we have to
turn the whole village upside down,” said the one-eyed man,
drinking.
"What do you say to giving the old boy another taste of the
stick ? ” asked the short one in a low voice, adding something in
a whisper. His comrade winked with his only eye in assent.
"Mayor, go and fetch the father here: we want to ask him
something — and fill this at the same time,” said Youssouf Aga,
handing him the empty raki bottle.
“It's too late for that, Aga: the shop's shut. ”
The only reply was a blow in the face from the one-eyed
zaptié. He was naturally a little more humane than the other;
but drink, or the desire for it, maddened him in a moment.
A quarter of an hour afterwards old Stoïko appeared.
He
was about fifty years of age, with a sharp and intelligent counte-
nance, expressive of determination and obstinacy.
« Stożko, tell me where your son is, — you know where you've
hidden him,- or it will be the worse for you. ”
As the one-eyed zaptié said this, he poured out and gulped
down a glass of raki. His eye flashed as he did so. Then he
handed the glass to his comrade.
“I don't know where he is, Aga,” replied the old man.
“You do, ghiaour; you know quite well,” cried the zaptié,
enraged.
The old man again repeated his denial.
“You know, and you'll tell us, or we'll pull out your eye-
teeth for you; and if you won't say then, I'll tie you behind my
horse, and you'll come with us to-morrow,” roared the infuriated
zaptié.
«You can do what you like to me — I've only got one life,”
answered the old man firmly.
“Go over there and think it over a little; then we'll talk to
you again,” the one-eyed zaptié said with pretended gentleness.
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»
Their object was to extract a bribe from old Stoïko, to be sug-
gested to him by the mayor. It was brigandage of the worst
description, but they wished to give it the appearance of a volun-
tary gift: it was the system usually followed in such cases.
But old Stoïko did not move.
They looked at each other, astonished at his firmness, and cast
ferocious glances at the old man.
"Did you hear what I said, you old fool ? ” cried the one-eyed
zaptié.
"I've nothing to think about — let me go home,” he answered
hoarsely.
The zaptiés could not contain themselves.
Mayor, throw the old fool down,” cried the one-eyed ruffian,
seizing his kourbash or Circassian whip.
The mayor and Tsanko begged for mercy for the old man.
The only reply was a kick which felled Stoïko to the ground.
Then blows followed fast on his body. Old Stoïko groaned
heavily for some time, then became silent: he had fainted; his
forehead was drenched with a cold sweat,- he was worn out by
his day's work.
They undressed him to bring him to his senses.
When he comes to himself, let me know; — I'll make him
speak. ”
“For God's sake, Hajji Aga, I entreat you, have pity on the
poor old man! He can't stand any more pain,- he'll die,” said
Tsanko entreatingly.
"Long live the Sultan, you rebel! ” cried the short zaptié
in a passion. “You deserve to be hanged yourself for harboring
rebels in your house; you're very likely hiding the shepherd here
somewhere. Let's search the house! ”
Tsanko's face fell involuntarily. Although frenzied with drink,
the one-eyed zaptié saw his confusion. He turned at once to
the short one: -
“Youssouf Aga, there's something wrong here — let's search
the ghiaour's house. ”
And he arose.
"At your service,” said Tsanko hoarsely, showing the way
with a lantern.
He led them all over the house, leaving the closet to the
last. Finally he lighted them there too. In the blackened ceiling
there was a trap-door which led to the rafters, and so outside
on to the roof. When it was closed it could not be noticed.
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Tsanko knew that Ognianoff had climbed up through it to the
rafters and replaced the cover. So he led the Turks in with the
utmost confidence.
His first glance was towards the ceiling. What was his sur-
prise to find the trap-door open!
Tsanko remained petrified where he stood. The Turks
searched the closet.
“Where does that opening lead to ? ”
“To the rafters, muttered Tsanko. His legs trembled under
him, and he had to cling to the wall for support.
The short zaptié noticed his terror.
"Just give a light here while I get up, will you ? ” he said;
I
but a sudden thought crossed his mind, and he called to his
comrade: -
“Hassan Aga, you're taller than I am: get on the mayor's
back. ”
Hassan Aga knew no fear when he had got his skinful; drink
made a hero of him. He at once climbed up over the mayor's
shoulders.
“Now then, bring the light, confound you! ”
Tsanko, white as a sheet, handed him the light mechanically.
The zaptié first held the lantern in front of him, then put
his head within the opening. From the motion of his body one
could see he was searching with the light on every side.
At last he reappeared, jumped down, and said:-
“Who is it you've been hiding there? ”
Tsanko looked blankly at him. He did not know what
answer to give. He had suffered so much that evening that he
had almost lost his senses; his thoughts became confused. The
question was repeated: he stammered out some meaningless re-
ply.
“The rebel will give a proper answer at Klissoura. There's
a better prison there; he can stop here for the night. ”
And the zaptiés locked him up in the dark and chilly closet.
Tsanko was so overwhelmed with terror and confusion that it
was some minutes before he could collect his thoughts. He
clasped his head with both hands, as if to retain his presence of
mind. He was lacking in determination, and suffering had at
once crushed him. He sobbed and groaned in despair.
There was a knock at the door, and Deïko's voice was heard:-
“What are you going to do now, Tsanko ? »
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IVAN VAZOFF
“I don't know, Deïko. Tell me what's best. »
“ Come, you know the Turks' weakness. You must give them
something; it's the only way to get out of it: else they'll drag
you from one court-house to another till you're utterly ruined.
Poor old Stoïko could have spared himself this with a trifle.
Give, Tsanko! give 'em your white silver to keep off black sor-
row. ”
His wife came too, weeping bitterly:-
“Let's give them what we can! Never mind, Tsanko: it's
the only way to get out of the murderers' hands. They've killed
poor old Stoïko. Dear, dear! to think I should live to see it. ”
« But what are we to give, wife ? You know we haven't
any money. ”
"Let's give the necklace! ”
Donka's necklace, with the coins ? »
“Yes, yes! it's all we have,- it's the only way to get rid of
them. Why, they're asking for Donka now - the cursed brutes ! »
“Do what God thinks best, wife. I'm all in a muddle,” mut-
tered Tsanko from his prison.
His wife and Deïko went away.
Soon after, a light shone through the chinks in the boards of
the closet, and the door was unlocked.
"Come out, Tsanko: you're free,” said Dečko.
« The Agas
were good fellows after all. They've given you back the knife
as well; so there's no cause for fear. You've got off cheap. "
And bending to his ear, he whispered low:-
"It can't last much longer: either they'll finish us off, or we
must them. This life can't go on like this. ”
« What!
(
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高。
LOPE DE VEGA.
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15287
LOPE DE VEGA
(1562-1635)
BY MAURICE FRANCIS EGAN
He comedies of Lope de Vega — of which three hundred still
exist, but difficult to obtain are worth serious study by
06
the sociologists, and the modern maker of plays who may
need to revive a jaded imagination. The material used in these
dramas is enormous; it is rich, suggestive, often rare and poetical.
Sismondi (Literature of the South of Europe') says of Lope:
«In order to have written 2,200 theatrical pieces, he must every eight days,
from the beginning to the end of his life, have given to the public a new
play of about three thousand verses; and in these eight days he must not
only have found the time necessary for invention and writing, but also for
making the historical researches into customs and manners on which the play
is founded, - to consult Tacitus, for example, in order to compose his Nero”:
while the fruits of his spare time were twenty-one volumes in quarto of
poetry, among which are five epic poems. )
He was called the Phænix of Poets; and Calderon justly named
him “the prodigy of nature” (el monstruo de naturalelza). The fecund-
ity of Alexandre Dumas père is in our time a matter of wonder, in
spite of the fact that he had co-laborers; the ease with which Lope
de Vega turned out comedies, tragi-comedies, tragedies, moralities,
autos sacramentales, interludes, and even epics, beats the very record
of the author of Monte Cristo. Lope was pressed into continuous
action by the hungry theatrical managers, and a continual flood of
gold poured into his caskets; but like Dumas the elder, he was gen-
erous and extravagant. It is easy to understand the non-morality of
Dumas, who seems to have been a creature of emotion and imagi-
nation; and one feels that the reader who could take Aramis or
D'Artagnan so seriously as to copy their moral laxity, must not
only be as unstable as water, but already corrupt. In the case of
Lope we find, especially in the cloak and sword” dramas, an amaz-
ing disregard for the crime of murder, and the constant assumption
that «love excuses all things. ” And yet he was intensely religious
and moral in those dramatic legends of the saints, and in those
sacred spectacles called “autos,” which were usually performed in
honor of the Blessed Sacrament on the Feast of Corpus Christi.
There is in his 'Lives and Legends of the Saints,' and in his (Autos,'
the same strange mixture of mythological and Christian personages,
)
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(
which, even under the magic touch of his friend Calderon, shocks
us; but his essential Christianity would satisfy even the most exact-
ing. Frederick Bouterwek (History of Spanish Literature'), from
whom Sismondi has borrowed largely, tells us that Lope, though
wildly romantic in his spirit, was a realist in his method; he pre-
sented “the morals and manners of his time”: and when one has read
the memoirs of De Retz, — Dumas's “coadjutor,”. - one may explain
the modern king of romancers in the same way. But Lope de Vega,
who was in holy orders when he did most of his dramatic work,
must have either felt that he might exhibit anything on the stage in
which God permitted the Devil to have a hand, or he looked upon
his productions as without the teaching quality. The dramas (the
term comedy” is more elastic in Spanish than in English) — of man-
ners, of the cloak and sword — are not constantly licentious as those
of the Restoration period are; but Shakespeare is an ascetic and the
sternest of moralists in comparison with Lope as a depicter of the
life of the sixteenth century, with whom love always gets the better
of duty. According to the law of society, a man might kill his wife
for infidelity, but his intrigues with any wandering damsel might
be regarded leniently, even with amusement. And the virtues of the
erratic gentlewomen in many of the plays pass for perfect virtue,
unless by some mischance their declension is publicly exposed. , The
king, in one of the heroic comedies, (The Certain for the Doubtful,'
resolves to kill his brother because he believes that Don Henry has
possessed Doña Juana. He coolly says:-
(
«« This night will I assassinate Don Henry,
And he being dead, I will espouse thee. Then
Thou never canst compare his love with mine.
'Tis true that while he lives I can't espouse thee,
Seeing that my dishonor lives in him
Who hath usurped this place reserved for me. ”
This peculiar and delicate sense of honor, which demands a broth-
er's murder to keep it stainless, may well make modern men marvel.
Still it is not more absurd than the Continental sense of honor, which
asks a duel for a misstep, requiring blood for an injured corn!
In analyzing some of the dramas, one is rather more surprised
that the Church showered honors on Lope than that the Spanish
clerics — as George Ticknor clearly points out - objected strenuously
in the beginning to the secularization of the drama, which com-
menced as a conveyance for religious instruction. It had been in
fact a theological object lesson, which in the “autos” it still continued
to be. In the third part of the sixteenth century, the division of
the Spanish drama into Divine and human” was first made. The
human” comedies were either comedias heroyeas) or comedias
(
## p. 15289 (#237) ##########################################
LOPE DE VEGA
15289
»
a
de capa y Espodas”; the Divine” comedies either « Vidas de San-
tos or "Autos Sacramentales. ” There were prologues called “loas,"
and «intermeses,” — which were, when dance and song were intro-
duced, called “saynetes. ” “Coplas” were short strophes sung during
the saraband, or other dance.
Lope de Vega's invention was inexhaustible, and he is seldom
uninteresting. He pushes one breathless from complication to com-
plication; he has in perfection the art of conversation; he rushes
from episode to episode with the agility of Dumas. He is not above
cutting with one blow of his sword the Gordian knot he has tied;
and some of his climaxes are as sudden as the conversion of the
wicked brother and the marriage of Celia in As You Like It. '
In fact, there is much similarity between the methods of the Span-
ish and the English drama. And Lope made the methods of the
Spanish drama, though he did not invent them. He disregarded
unities and classic traditions; he mixed up grave with gay, the hor-
rible and the ludicrous, in a manner which afterwards horrified the
French critics, and drove them to outbursts as violent as that of Vol-
taire against Shakespeare. The arrangement of scenes is dependent
not, as in French, on the entrance of a new personage, but on
change of locality. The influence of Lope de Vega was far-reaching.
France felt it upon Corneille and Molière and groups of lesser drama-
tists; Italy, Germany, and England were saturated with it. It has
been said, perhaps with a little exaggeration, that Lope de Vega
made the stage of Europe romantic by his dramatized novels; thus
undoing the work of Cervantes, which was to moderate romanticism.
So quickly were the dramas of Lope composed, that in diction they
are often crude. Thrown together at white heat, they have the fire
still in them after a lapse of centuries. the thirty that Sismondi
read, ten or twelve are easily obtainable; and any of them will prove
that Lope had wonderful talent. A study of them will not give an
insight into dramatic laws, but it will greatly help the social psy-
chologist. Complete editions of Lope de Vega's works are very rare;
the original editions most rare. He has not had the good fortune of
Calderon in the way of English translators, but he deserves it. He
is full of poetry and patriotism: the hastiest of his pieces answers
to the description of the typical Russian noble of the time of Catha-
rine,—"all splendor without, all squalor within ;” but the lyrical splen-
dor is always there, though the poverty of thought is evident upon
close examination. Lope de Vega at his worst and best is Spain
of the sixteenth century,- grand, superb in the Latin sense, - poor,
glorious, coarse, faithful, and sublime. He invented an olla podrida
in which one finds dropped rubies that are priceless and the herbs
of the field, - all incongruities, - side by side! His metres alone are
worth careful analysis: they are of Spain Spanish.
## p. 15290 (#238) ##########################################
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-
All critics agree in pronouncing valueless his epics: Jerusalem
Conquered”; The Beauty of Angelica'; 'The Tragic Crown' - Mary
Stuart the heroine; one on Circe and the “Dragontea,” in which
Queen Elizabeth's favorite pirate, Drake, is made Satanic. Satires,
sonnets, novels (among them The Stranger in his Own Country'),
and compositions of all kinds, appeared from his pen, making twenty-
five large volumes.
The most characteristic of Lope's comedies - this, however, must
be said with all possible reserves - are (The Widow of Valencia
and "The Peasant Girl of Xetalfi. These are well known because
Bouterwek has analyzed them. The heroic comedies, (The Discreet
Revenge' and 'The Battlements of Toro,' have been analyzed by both
Bouterwek and Sismondi, — to which George Ticknor in his History
of Spanish Literature) has added admirable comments.
To appreciate the amazing energy of Lope de Vega, one must
glance at his biography. He — born De Vega Carpio - appeared on
this world's stage at Madrid, in 1562. He was two years younger
than Shakespeare, and fifteen years younger than his rival dramatist
Cervantes. His parents were poor and noble, not unusual in Spain.
They began his education well, but they died early; and it was com-
pleted through the kindness of the Bishop of Avila. While secretary
to the Duke of Alva, he married.
