No More Learning

"A
strange illness," says Correa, "and a strange manner of death was
that! Without any precise symptom, that which was diagnosed as
pneumonia turned to hepatitis, becoming in the judgment of others
pericarditis, and meanwhile the patient, with his brain as clear as
ever and his natural gentleness, went on submitting himself to every
experiment, accepting every medicine, and dying inch by inch. "[1]

[Footnote 1: Correa, _op. cit. _, p. xix. ]

Shortly before the end he turned to his friends who surrounded his
bed, and said to them, "Acordaos de mis ninos. "[1] He realized that he
had extended his arm for the last time in their behalf, and that now
that frail support had been withdrawn. "At last the fatal moment came,
and, pronouncing clearly with his trembling lips the words 'Todo
mortal! ', his pure and loving soul rose to its Creator. "[2] He died
December 22, 1870.

[Footnote 1: This fact was learned from a conversation with Don
Francisco de Laiglesia, who, with Correa, Ferran and others, was
present when the poet breathed his last. ]

[Footnote 2: Correa, _op. cit. _, p. xx. ]

Thanks to the initiative of Ramon Rodriguez Correa and to the aid of
other friends, most of the scattered tales, legends, and poems of
Becquer were gathered together and published by Fernando Fe, Madrid,
in three small volumes. In the Prologue of the first edition Correa
relates the life of his friend with sympathy and enthusiasm, and it is
from this source that we glean most of the facts that are to be known
regarding the poet's life. The appearance of these volumes caused a
marked effect, and their author was placed by popular edict in the
front rank of contemporary writers.

Becquer may be said to belong to the Romantic School, chief of whose
exponents in Spain were Zorilla and Espronceda. The choice of
mediaeval times as the scene of his stories, their style and
treatment, as well as the personal note and the freedom of his verse,
all stamp him as a Romanticist.

His legends, with one or two exceptions, are genuinely Spanish in
subject, though infused with a tender melancholy that recalls the
northern ballads rather than the writings of his native land. His love
for old ruins and monuments, his archaeological instinct, is evident
in every line. So, too, is his artistic nature, which finds a greater
field for its expression in his prose than in his verse. Add to this a
certain bent toward the mysterious and supernatural, and we have the
principal elements that enter into the composition of these legends,
whose quaint, weird beauty not only manifests the charm that naturally
attaches to popular or folk tales, but is due especially to the way in
which they are told by one who was at once an artist and a poet.

Zorilla has been said to be Becquer's most immediate precursor, in
that he possesses the same instinct for the mysterious. But, as Blanco
Garcia observes, "Becquer is less ardent than Zorilla, and preferred
the strange traditions in which some unknown supernatural power hovers
to those others, more probable, in which only human passions with
their caprices and outbursts are involved. "[1] Correa says of his
legends that they "can compete with the tales of Hoffmann and of
Grimm, and with the ballads of Ruckert and of Uhland," and that
"however fantastic they may be, however imaginary they may appear,
they always contain such a foundation of truth, a thought so real,
that in the midst of their extraordinary form and contexture a fact
appears spontaneously to have taken place or to be able to take place
without the slightest difficulty, if you but analyze the situation of
the personages, the time in which they live, or the circumstances that
surround them. "[2]

[Footnote 1: _La Literatura Espanola en el Siglo XIX_, Madrid, 1891,
vol. II, p. 275. ]

[Footnote 2: Correa, _op. cit. _, p. xxx. ]

The subtle charm of such legends as _Los Ojos Verdes_, _La Corza
Blanca_, _Maese Perez el Organista_, etc. , full of local color as they
are, and of an atmosphere of old Spain, is hard to describe, but none
the less real. One is caught by the music of the prose at the first
lines, enraptured by the weird charm of the story, and held in
breathless interest until the last words die away. If Becquer's phrase
is not always classic, it is, on the other hand, vigorous and
picturesque; and when one reflects upon the difficult conditions under
which his writings were produced, in the confusion of the
printing-office, or hurriedly in a miserable attic to procure food for
the immediate necessities of his little family, and when one likewise
recalls the fact that they were published in final book form only
after the author's death, and without retouching, the wonder grows
that they are written in a style so pleasing and so free from
harshness.

Becquer's prose is doubtless at its best in his letters entitled
_Desde mi Celda_, written, as has been said, from the monastery of
Veruela, in 1864. Read his description of his journey to the ancient
Aragonese town of Tarazona, picturesquely situated on the River
Queiles, of his mule trip over the glorious Moncayo, of the
peacefulness and quiet of the old fortified monastery of Veruela, and
you will surely feel inspired to follow him in his wanderings. Writing
of his life in the seclusion of Veruela, Becquer says: "Every
afternoon, as the sun is about to set, I sally forth upon the road
that runs in front of the monastery doors to wait for the postman, who
brings me the Madrid newspapers. In front of the archway that gives
entrance to the first inclosure of the abbey stretches a long avenue
of poplars so tall that when their branches are stirred by the evening
breeze their summits touch and form an immense arch of verdure. On
both sides of the road, leaping and tumbling with a pleasant murmur
among the twisted roots of the trees, run two rivulets of crystalline
transparent water, as cold as the blade of a sword and as gleaming as
its edge. The ground, over which float the shadows of the poplars,
mottled with restless spots of light, is covered at intervals with the
thickest and finest of grass, in which grow so many white daisies that
they look at first sight like that rain of petals with which the
fruit-trees carpet the ground on warm April days. On the banks of the
stream, amid the brambles and the reeds, grow wild violets, which,
though well-nigh hidden amongst their creeping leaves, proclaim
themselves afar by their penetrating perfume. And finally, also near
the water and forming as it were a second boundary, can be seen
between the poplar trunks a double row of stocky walnut-trees with
dark, round, compact tops. " About half way down the avenue stands a
marble cross, which, from its color, is known in the vicinity as the
Black Cross of Veruela. "Nothing is more somberly beautiful than this
spot. At one end of the road the view is closed by the monastery, with
its pointed arches, its peaked towers, and its imposing battlemented
walls; on the other, the ruins of a little hermitage rise, at the foot
of a hillock bestrewn with blooming thyme and rosemary. There, seated
at the foot of the cross, and holding in my hands a book that I
scarcely ever read and often leave forgotten on the steps of the
cross, I linger for one, two, and sometimes even four hours waiting
for the papers. " At last the post arrives, and the _Contemporaneo_ is
in his hands. "As I was present at its birth, and as since its birth I
have lived its feverish and impassioned life, _El Contemporaneo_ is
not for me a common newspaper like the rest, but its columns are
yourselves, my friends, my companions in hope or disappointment, in
failure or triumph, in joy or bitterness. The first impression that I
feel upon receiving it, then, is one of joy, like that experienced
upon opening a letter on whose envelope we recognize a dear familiar
handwriting, or when in a foreign land we grasp the hand of a
compatriot and hear our native tongue again. The peculiar odor of the
damp paper and the printer's ink, that characteristic odor which for a
moment obscures the perfume of the flowers that one breathes here on
every hand, seems to strike the olfactory memory, a strange and keen
memory that unquestionably exists, and it brings back to me a portion
of my former life,--that restlessness, that activity, that feverish
productiveness of journalism. I recall the constant pounding and
creaking of the presses that multiply by thousands the words that we
have just written, and that have come all palpitating from our pens. I
recall the strain of the last hours of publication, when night is
almost over and copy scarce. I recall, in short, those times when day
has surprised us correcting an article or writing a last notice when
we paid not the slightest attention to the poetic beauties of the
dawn. In Madrid, and for us in particular, the sun neither rises nor
sets: we put out or light the lights, and that is the only reason we
notice it. "

At last he opens the sheet. The news of the clubs or the Cortes
absorbs him until the failing light of the setting sun warns him that,
though he has read but the first columns, it is time to go. "The
shadows of the mountains fall rapidly, and spread over the plain. The
moon begins to appear in the east like a silver circle gleaming
through the sky, and the avenue of poplars is wrapped in the uncertain
dusk of twilight. . . . The monastery bell, the only one that still hangs
in its ruined Byzantine tower, begins to call to prayers, and one near
and one afar, some with sharp metallic notes, and some with solemn,
muffled tones, the other bells of the hillside towns reply. . . . It
seems like a harmony that falls from heaven and rises at the same time
from the earth, becomes confounded, and floats in space, intermingling
with the fading sounds of the dying day and the first sighs of the
newborn night.

"And now all is silenced,--Madrid, political interests, ardent
struggles, human miseries, passions, disappointments, desires, all is
hushed in that divine music. My soul is now as serene as deep and
silent water. A faith in something greater, in a future though unknown
destiny, beyond this life, a faith in eternity,--in short, an
all-absorbing larger aspiration, overwhelms that petty faith which we
might term personal, that faith in the morrow, that sort of goad that
spurs on irresolute minds, and that is so needful if one must struggle
and exist and accomplish something in this world. "[1]

[Footnote 1: _Obras_, _vol. _ II, pp. 222-229. ]

This graceful musing, full in the original of those rich harmonies
that only the Spanish language can express, will serve sufficiently to
give an impression of the series as a whole. The broad but fervent
faith expressed in the last lines indicates a deeply religious and
somewhat mystical nature. This characteristic of Becquer may be
noticed frequently in his writings and no one who reads his works
attentively can call him elitist, as have some of his calumniators.

Beautiful as Becquer's prose may be considered, however, the universal
opinion is that his claim to lasting fame rests on his verse. Mrs.
Humphrey Ward, in her interesting article entitled "A Spanish
Romanticist,"[1] says of him: "His literary importance indeed is only
now beginning to be understood. Of Gustavo Becquer we may almost say
that in a generation of rhymers he alone was a poet; and now that his
work is all that remains to us of his brilliant and lovable
personality, he only, it seems to us, among the crowd of modern
Spanish versifiers, has any claim to a European audience or any chance
of living to posterity. " This diatribe against the other poets of
contemporary Spain may seem to us unjust; but certain it is that
Becquer in the eyes of many surpasses either Nunez de Arce or
Campoamor, with whom he forms "a triumvirate that directs and
condenses all the manifestations of contemporary Spanish lyrics. "[2]

[Footnote 1: _Macmillan's Magazine_, February, 1883, p. 307. ]

[Footnote 2: Blanco Garcia, _op. cit. _, vol. II, p. 79. ]

Becquer has none of the characteristics of the Andalusian. His lyrical
genius is not only at odds with that of Southern Spain, but also with
his own inclination for the plastic arts, says Blanco Garcia. "How
could a Seville poet, a lover of pictorial and sculptural marvels, so
withdraw from the outer form as to embrace the pure idea, with that
melancholy subjectivism as common in the gloomy regions bathed by the
Spree as it is unknown on the banks of the Darro and Guadalquivir? "[1]
The answer to the problem must be found in his lineage.

[Footnote 1: _Ibid. _, p. 80. ]

In spite of the fascination early exercised by Julia Espin y Guillen
over the young poet, it may be doubted if she can fairly be said to
have been the muse of his _Rimas_. She doubtless inspired some of his
verse; but the poet seems to sing the praises or lament the cruelty of
various sweethearts. The late Don Juan Valera, who knew Gustavo well,
goes so far as to say: "I venture to suspect that none of these women
ever lived in the world which we all corporeally inhabit. When the
mind of the poet descended to this world, he had to struggle with so
much poverty, he saw himself engulfed and swallowed up by so many
trials, and he was obliged to busy himself with such prosaic matters
of mean and commonplace bread-winning, that he did not seek, nor would
he have found had he sought them, those elegant and semi-divine women
that made of him now a Romeo, now a Macias, now an Othello, and now a
Pen-arch. . . . To enjoy or suffer really from such loves and to become
ensnared therein with such rare women, Becquer lacked the time,
opportunity, health, and money. . . . His desire for love, like the arrow
of the Prince in one of the tales of the Arabian Nights, shot high
over all the actual _high-life_ and pierced the golden door of the
enchanted palaces and gardens of the Fairy Paribanu, who, enraptured
by him, took him for her spouse. "[1] In fact Becquer, speaking of the
unreality of the numerous offspring of his imagination, says in the
Introduction to his works, written in June, 1868: "It costs me labor
to determine what things I have dreamed and what things have happened
to me. My affections are divided between the phantasms of my
imagination and real personalities. My memory confuses the names and
dates, of women and days that have died or passed away with the days
and women that have never existed save in my mind. "[2]

[Footnote 1: _Florilegio de Poesias Castellanas del Siglo XIX_, con
introduccion y notas, por Juan Valera. Madrid, 1902, vol. I, pp.
186-188. ]

[Footnote 2: _Obras_, vol. I, p. L. ]

Whatever may be one's opinion of the personality of the muse or muses
of his verse, the love that Becquer celebrates is not the love of
oriental song, "nor yet the brutal deification of woman represented in
the songs of the Provencal Troubadours, nor even the love that
inspired Herrera and Garcilaso. It is the fantastic love of the
northern ballads, timid and reposeful, full of melancholy tenderness,
that occupies itself in weeping and in seeking out itself rather than
in pouring itself forth on external objects. "[1] In this matter of
lyrical subjectivism Becquer is unique, for it cannot be found in any
other of the Spanish poets except such mystic writers as San Juan de
la Cruz or Fray Luis de Leon.

[Footnote 1: Blanco Garcia, _op. cit. _, p. 83. ]

In one of Becquer's most beautiful writings in prose, in a _Prologo_
to a collection of _Cantares_ by Augusto Ferran y Fornies, our author
describes two kinds of poetry that present themselves to one's choice:
"There is a poetry which is magnificent and sonorous, the offspring of
meditation and art, which adorns itself with all the pomp of language,
moves along with a cadenced majesty, speaks to the imagination,
perfects its images, and leads it at will through unknown paths,
beguiling with its harmony and beauty. " "There is another poetry,
natural, rapid, terse, which springs from the soul as an electric
spark, which strikes our feelings with a word, and flees away. Bare of
artificiality, free within a free form, it awakens by the aid of one
kindred idea the thousand others that sleep in the bottomless ocean of
fancy. The first has an acknowledged value; it is the poetry of
everybody. The second lacks any absolute standard of measurement; it
takes the proportions of the imagination that it impresses; it may be
called the poetry of poets. "[1]

[Footnote 1: _Obras_, vol. III, pp. 112-113. ]

In this description of the short, terse, and striking compositions of
his friend Ferran, Becquer has written likewise the apology for his
own verse. His was a poetry of "rapid, elemental impressions. " He
strikes but one chord at a time on his lyre, but he leaves you
thrilled. This extreme simplicity and naturalness of expression may be
well illustrated by the refrain of the seventy-third poem:

_? Dios mio, que solos
Se quedan los muertos! _

His poetry has often been compared to that of Heine, whom he is said
to have imitated. Becquer did not in fact read German; but in _El
Museo Universal_, for which he was a collaborator, and in which he
published his _Rimas_, there appeared one of the first versions of the
_Intermezzo_,[1] and it is not unlikely that in imitation of the
_Intermezzo_ he was led to string his _Rimas_ like beads upon the
connecting thread of a common autobiographical theme. In the
seventy-six short poems that compose his _Rimas_, Becquer tells "a
swiftly-moving, passionate story of youth, love, treachery, despair,
and final submission. " "The introductory poems are meant to represent
a stage of absorption in the beauty and complexity of the natural
world, during which the poet, conscious of his own high,
incommunicable gift, by which he sees into the life of things, is
conscious of an aimless fever and restlessness which is forever
turning delight into weariness. "[2]

[Footnote 1: Blanco Garcia, op. cit. , p. 86. ]

[Footnote 2: Mrs. Ward, _loc. cit. _, p. 316. ]

Some of these poems are extremely beautiful, particularly the tenth.
They form a sort of prelude to the love-story itself, which begins in
our selections with the thirteenth. Not finding the realization of his
ideal in art, the poet turns to love. This passion reaches its
culminating point in the twenty-ninth selection, and with the
thirtieth misunderstanding, dissatisfaction, and sadness begin.
Despair assails him, interrupted with occasional notes of melancholy
resignation, such as are so exquisitely expressed in the fifty-third
poem, the best-known of all the poet's verse. With this poem the
love-story proper comes to a close, and "the melancholy, no doubt more
than half imaginary and poetical, of his love poems seems to broaden
out into a deeper sadness embracing life as a whole, and in which
disappointed passion is but one of the many elements. "[1] "And,
lastly, regret and passion are alike hushed in the presence of that
voiceless love which shines on the face of the dead and before the
eternal and tranquil slumber of the grave. "[2]

[Footnote 1: Mrs. Ward, _loc. cit. _, p. 319. ]

[Footnote 2: _Ibid. _, p. 316. ]

Whatever Becquer may have owed to Heine, in form or substance, he was
no servile imitator. In fact, with the exception of the thirtieth, no
one of his _Rimas_ seems to be inspired directly by Heine's
_Intermezzo_. The distinguishing note in Heine's verse is sarcasm,
while that of Becquer's is pathos. Heine is the greater poet, Becquer,
the profounder artist. As Blanco Garcia well points out,[1] the moral
inclinations of the two poets were distinct and different also.
Becquer's instinct for the supernatural freed him from Heine's
skepticism and irreligion; and, though he had suffered much, he never
doubted Providence.

[Footnote 1: op. _cit. _, p. 86. ]

The influence of Alfred de Musset may be felt also in Becquer's
_Rimas_, particularly in the forty-second and forty-third; but in
general, the Spanish poet is "less worldly and less ardent"[1] than
the French.

[Footnote 1: Corm, _op. cit. _, p. xl. ]

The _Rimas_ are written for the most part in assonanced verse. A
harmonious rhythm seems to be substituted for the music of the rhyme.
The meter, too, is very freely handled. Notwithstanding all this, the
melody of Becquer's verse is very sweet, and soon catches and charms
even the foreign ear. His _Rimas_ created a school like that inspired
by the _Doloras_ of Campoamor. But the extreme simplicity and
naturalness of Becquer's expression was difficult to reproduce without
falling into the commonplace, and his imitators have for the most part
failed.




AN UNPUBLISHED LETTER OF THE POET BECQUER, ONE OF THE FEW THAT HAVE
SURVIVED HIM, ADDRESSED TO SOR. C. FRANCO DE LA IGLESIAS, MINISTERIO
DE ULTRAMAR, MADRID. DATED IN TOLEDO, JULY 18TH, 1869. [1]

[Footnote 1: The accentuation and punctuation of the original are
preserved. This letter is of particular interest, showing, as it
does, the tender solicitude of Becquer for his children, his dire
financial straits when a loan of three or four dollars is a godsend,
and his hesitation to call upon friends for aid even when in such
difficulties. The letter was presented to the writer of this sketch
by Don Francisco de Laiglesia, a distinguished Spanish writer and
man of public life and an intimate friend of Becquer. Senor de
Laiglesia is the owner of the magnificent portrait of Gustavo by
Valeriano Becquer, of the beauty of which but a faint idea can be
had from the copy of the etching by Maura, which serves as a
frontispiece to the present volume. ]


Mi muy querido amigo:

Me volvi de esa con el cuidado de los chicos y en efecto parecia
anunciarmelo apenas llegue cayo en cama el mas pequeno. Esto se
prolonga mas de lo que pensamos y he escrito a Gaspar y a Valera que
solo pago la mitad del importe del cuadro Gaspar he sabido que salio
ayer para Aguas Buenas y tardara en recibir mi carta Valera espero
enviara ese pico pero suele gastar una calma desesperante en este
apuro recurro una vez mas a vd.
y aunque me duele abusar tanto de su
amistad le ruego que si es posible me envie tres o cuatro duros para
esperar el envio del dinero que aguardamos el cual es seguro pero no
sabemos que dia vendra y aqui tenemos al medico en casa y atenciones
que no esperan un momento.

Adios estoy aburrido de ver que esto nunca cesa. Adios mande vd. a su
amigo que le quiere

Gustavo Becquer


Espresiones a Pepe Marco S/c Calle de San Ildefonso Toledo. Si le es a
vd. posible enviar eso hagalo si puede en el mismo dia que reciba esta
carta por que el apuro es de momento.




BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE


A list of the works consulted in the preparation of the sketch of
Becquer's life.


WORKS BY BECQUER

Obras de Gustavo A. Becquer. _Quinta edicion aumentada con varias
poesias y leyendas. Madrid, Libreria de Fernando Fe, 1898. _ Three
volumes.

Historia de los Templos de Espana, _publicada bajo la proteccion de
SS. MM. AA. y muy reverendos senores arzobispos y obispos--dirigida
por D. Juan de la Puerto Vizcaino y D. Gustavo Adolfo Becquer. Tomo I,
Madrid, 1857. Imprenta y Estereotipia Espanola de los Senores Nieto y
Campania. _ Becquer is the author of only a portion of this work--see
Introduction, p. xx.

La Ilustracion de Madrid, January 12-October 12, 1870, contains a
large number of articles by Becquer that have never been published in
book form. The same can be said of other periodicals for which Becquer
collaborated.


TRANSLATIONS

Gustave Becquer--Legendes espagnoles. _Traduction de Achille Fouquier,
dessins de S. Arcos. Paris, Librairie de Firmin-Didot et Cie, 1885_.
French.

Terrible Tales--Spanish. _W. W. Gibbings, London, W. C. _ In this
collection the following seven out of the twelve tales that it
contains are by Becquer,--"The Golden Bracelet," "The Green Eyes,"
"The Passion Flower," "The White Doe," "Maese Perez, the Organist,"
"The Moonbeam," and "The Mountain of Spirits. " The translation is
often inaccurate.


WORKS OR ARTICLES ON BECQUER

P. Francisco Blanco Garcia. _La Literatura Espanola en el Siglo XIX,
parte segunda, Madrid, 1891_, contains a good criticism of the
literary work of Becquer, pp. 79-91, and pp. 274-277.

Narciso Campillo. _Gustavo Adolfo Becquer_ is the title of an
excellent article on the Seville poet, by one who knew him well, in
_La Ilustracion Artistica_, Barcelona, December 27, 1886, pp. 358-360.
This number (261--Ano V) is dedicated to Becquer, and contains many
prose articles and much verse relative to him.

Achille Fouquier. _Gustave Becquer, Legendes Espagnoles. Traduction de
Achille Fouquier, dessins de S. Arcos. Paris, Firmin-Didot et Cie,
1885,--Avant-Propos_, pp. 1-19. An interesting sketch of Becquer's
life and an excellent appreciation of his style.

Jose Gestoso y Perez. _Carta a Mr. Achille Fouquier_ is the title of a
valuable article in _La Ilustracion Artistica_, Barcelona, December
27, 1886, pp. 363-366. This article contains important genealogical
matter regarding Becquer, which had not until that time been
published.

Eduardo de Lustono. Becquer is the titie of a sketch by this writer,
published in _Alrededor del Mundo_, No. 109, July 4, 1901, pp. 11-13,
and No. 110, July 11, 1901, pp. 22-23. It is largely a copy of the
article by Narciso Campillo, mentioned above, and of the following by
Rodriguez Correa.

Ramon Rodriguez Correa. _Prologo de las Obras de Gustavo A. Becquer.
Quinta edicion, Madrid, Fernando Fe, 1898_. Vol. I, pp. IX-XLV. This
is the principal biography of Becquer and the source of all the
others. Its author was Becquer's most intimate friend.

Juan Valera. In _Florilegio de Poesias Castellanas del Siglo XIX, Tomo
I, Madrid, Fernando Fe, 1902_, pp. 182-191, may be found an excellent
appreciation of the poet by one of the most capable of Spanish critics
and a personal friend of Becquer.

P. Restituto del Valle Ruiz, Agustino. In his _Estudios Literarios_,
pp. 104-116, there is a chapter devoted to Gustavo A. Becquer, which
contains an interesting critique of his poetry.

Mrs. (Mary A. ) Humphrey Ward, in _Macmillan's Magazine_, No. 280,
February, 1883, pp. 305-320, has an article entitled "A Spanish
Romanticist: Gustavo Becquer. " This is one of the best articles on
Becquer that have been published.



SPANISH PROSODY


The basis for the following remarks on Spanish prosody is, for the
most part, E. Benot's _Prosodia Castellana y Versification_, 3 vols. ,
Madrid, 1892. Other works which have been consulted are the _Ortologia
y Arte Metrica_ of A. Bello, published in his _Obras Completas_, vol.
4, Madrid, 1890; Rengifo's _Arte Poetica Espanola_, Barcelona, 1759;
J. D. M. Ford's "Notes on Spanish Prosody," in _A Spanish Anthology_,
published by Silver, Burdett & Co. , 1901; and a _Tratado de Literatura
Preceptiva_, by D. Saturnino Milego e Inglada, published at Toledo in
1887.

Spanish versification has nothing to do with the quantity of vowels
(whether long or short), which was the basis of Latin prosody.

There are four important elements in Spanish versification. Of these
four elements two are essential, and the other two are usually
present.

The essential elements, without which Spanish verse cannot exist,
are--

I. A determined number of syllables per line.

II. A rhythmic distribution of the accents in the line.

The additional elements usually present in Spanish poetical
compositions are--

III. Caesural pauses.

IV. Rhyme.


I. SYLLABIFICATION

Consonants. --In verse the same rules hold as in prose for the
distribution of consonants in syllables.

Vowels. --If there were but one vowel in a syllable, Spanish
syllabification would be easy; but sometimes two or more vowels are
found either between consonants, or at the beginning or at the end of
a word. When such is the case, intricacies arise, for sometimes the
contiguous vowels are pronounced in a single syllable and sometimes
they are divided into separate syllables.

The contiguous vowels may belong to a single word (see A); or they may
be the final vowel or vowels of one word and the initial vowel or
vowels of a following word or words (see B).

A. _Diphthongization_,--If two contiguous vowels of a single word are
pronounced in but one syllable they form a diphthong, e. g. _hu^esped_.

B. _Synalepha_. --If two or more contiguous vowels belonging to two or
more words are pronounced in a single syllable, they form synalepha.

Ex. _Yo se^un himno gigante y^extrano_, p. 164, I, l. 1.

Since Spanish verse depends upon a determined number of syllables per
line, _diphthongization_ and _synalepha_ are important factors in
versification.


A. DIPHTHONGIZATION

Mute _h_ between vowels is disregarded and does not prevent
diphthongization, e. g. _a^h^ora_, _re^h^usar_.

The separation of two vowels that are usually united in one syllable
is called _diaeresis_, e. g. _vi|oleta_.

The union in one syllable of two vowels that are usually in separate
syllables is called _synaeresis_, e. g. _ca^os_.

1. THE TWENTY-FIVE POSSIBLE COMBINATIONS OP VOWELS IN DIPHTHONGS

The vowels may be divided into strong vowels (a, e, o) and weak vowels
(i, u). For purposes of versification y as a vowel may be treated as
i. The five vowels (a, e, o, i, u) taken in pairs may form diphthongs
in twenty-five possible combinations, as follows:

a. Pairs of two weak vowels: ui, iu, ii, uu.

b. Pairs of two strong vowels:

{ ae, ao, aa,
{ ea, eo, ee,
{ oa, oe, oo.

c. Pairs of a strong vowel plus a weak vowel

{ ai, au,
{ ei, eu,
{ oi, ou.

d. Pairs of a weak vowel plus a strong vowel

{ ua, ue, uo,
{ ia, ie, io.

NOTE: In diphthongs a dominates o and e; and o dominates e. Any strong
vowel dominates a weak one.

Ex. In Bo^abdil, if a were not dominant, the diphthong would be
dissolved.


2. DIPHTHONGS AND WORD ACCENTUATION

There are with regard to accent three possible conditions under which
two contiguous vowels may occur within a word.

a. The contiguous vowels may precede the accented syllable.

b. One of the contiguous vowels may be accented.

c. The contiguous vowels may come after the accented syllable.


a. Two contiguous vowels before the accent.

(1) Of the twenty-five possible combinations all are admissible in
diphthongs in a syllable preceding the accented syllable.

Ex. _Habra po^esta_, p. 165, IV, l. 4.

(a) Diaeresis may be employed to dissolve the diphthong.

Ex. _Sobre una vi|oleta_, p. 169, XIII, l. 8.

b. One of two contiguous vowels accented.

(1) _When two contiguous vowel's are strong. _

(a) There is no diphthong if one of two contiguous strong vowels
receives the accent.

Ex. _Chispe|ando el sol hiere_, p. 173, XXVI I, l. 17.

Ex. _Tu, sombra a|erea que, cuantas veces_, p. 170, XV, l. 7.

By synaeresis, however, a diphthong may be formed, especially in the
combinations a^o, a^e, o^e--_c^a^o^s, c^a^e, ro^e_. But in order to
diphthongize oa, ea, and eo, when the accent naturally falls on the
first vowel, the accent must shift to the second, which is a dominant
vowel. Such diphthongization is harsh. For example, _loa_ would shift
the accent from o to a in order to form a diphthong. The accent would
also shift in _cre^a, fe^o_.

(2) _When one of the contiguous vowels is weak and the other strong. _

(a) There is no diphthong if an accented weak vowel precedes a strong.

Ex. _Yo, que a tus ojos en mi agoni|a_, p. 171, XV, l. 18.
Synaeresis is, however, sometimes employed to overcome this rule.
The accent must then shift.

Ex. _Habi^a llegado una nave. _ Calderon.