IV.

LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN.

Spanish writers have in general too much overrated the merits of their national dramas, and foreigners have too often repeated the eulogies, as if they were deserved. Like those of antiquity, the Spanish, though they abound in passages of much poetry and feeling, are almost entirely deficient in that delineation of individual character, which constitutes the highest class of the art. Thus all the representations may be observed of the same description of personages and incidents, given often with much ingenuity, but also often in the worst taste, and always betokening a limited power of invention. Of this school Calderon de la Barca was the great type, both as regards his merits and defects. Lopez de Vega too, though his comedies are more representations of manners and every-day life than Calderon’s, only showed his capability of something better, if he had allowed his genius to seek a reputation for perfectness, rather than for fecundity. The inferior order of writers mistook the errors of these for excellences, and thus exaggerated them.

There were not, however, wanting in Spain persons of better judgement, who observed those errors with a view to correct them, and among whom the prominent place is due to the two Moratins, father and son. Of these the former seems to have been the first of his countrymen who openly denounced the wrong tendencies of the national dramatists; and the latter, following in the same track, may be pronounced the great reformer of the Spanish stage, to whom it owes some of its best productions.

The elder Moratin was one of the ablest writers of verses in Spain during the last century, before the new æra of poetry arose, and his merits, if not of themselves superior to those of his contemporaries, have had an advantage over them, in connexion with the reputation of the son, who has rendered them more celebrated by a pleasing memoir of his father, prefixed to his works. From this we learn, that if the father did not attain a high rank himself as a poet or dramatist, yet he well deserves to be remembered as a bold and judicious critic, who, both by precept and example, effected much good in his own day, and still more by instilling good lessons into the mind of the son, so as to enable him to attain his merited success.

In the words of this memoir, “Calderon at that time enjoyed so high a reputation, that it appeared a sacrilegious hardihood to notice defects in his comedies or sacramental pieces, which, repeated annually on the stage with every possible pomp and appliance, delighted the vulgar of all classes, and perpetuated the applauses of their famous author. Moratin published three Discourses, which he entitled, ‘Exposition of the Misconceptions of the Spanish Theatre,’ written with the good judgement of a man of taste, and with the zeal of a citizen interested in the progression and literary glory of his country. In the first he showed the defects in which the old plays abounded; as also the modern, with which poets, without rule or plan, supplied the players, sanctioning every time more irregularity and ignorance. In the two following, he proved that the Autos of Calderon, so admired by the multitude, ought not to be suffered in a country that prided itself as civilized. It is unnecessary to say what opposition these discourses encountered; it is enough to add, that the third was scarcely published when the government prohibited the repetition of what he had condemned:--a memorable epoch in the annals of the Spanish stage, which can never remember, without praise, that judicious and intrepid writer to whom it owed so useful a reform.”

Of this able critic, Leandro Moratin was the only son that survived childhood. He was born at Madrid, the 10th of March, 1760, and in his earliest years is described as having been remarkable for infantile grace and vivacity. At four years of age, however, he unfortunately had a severe attack of the smallpox, which not only left its disfiguring marks on his countenance, but also seemed to have changed his character, making him the rest of his life shy and reserved. As he grew up he shunned all playfellows; like Demophilus, he was a man among boys,--Κεῖνος γὰρ ἐν παισὶν νέος--and devoting himself to drawing and making juvenile verses, pursued his favourite studies in secret, so that even the father seemed not to have been ever fully aware of the bent of his son’s genius.

The elder Moratin, whose father had been jewel-keeper to Isabel Farnesi, widow of Philip V., had been brought up to the profession of the law, in which he had not acquired any eminence, though he had some as an author. Seeing his son’s talent for drawing, he had first intended him to take advantage of it as an artist, but finally placed him with a brother, Miguel de Moratin, who was a jeweller, to learn his occupation. In his earlier years the younger Moratin had been only at an obscure private school in Madrid, but he had good examples and lessons at home, and recourse to his father’s library, where he found all the best works in Spanish literature, for secret study, beyond the tasks set in routine for his education. In 1779 the Spanish Academy, in the course of its objects for the promotion of literary pursuits, had offered, as a subject for a prize poem, The Taking of Granada; when the Accessit was awarded to a competitor who had signed himself Efren de Lardnoz y Morante. On this person being called for, Leandro Moratin, to the surprise of his father, presented himself as the author, producing the rough copy of the verses he had sent. This was naturally a source of great delight to the father, who might thus foresee, in hope at least, his son’s future success. But he did not live to witness it, having died the following year, at only forty-two years of age, leaving a widow dependent on his son’s labours as a working jeweller. At this business he continued, therefore, combining however with it his former studies, as far as his leisure permitted him.

In 1782 he obtained the honour of another Accessit from the Academy for a Satire on the vicious practices introduced into the Spanish language, and a greater feeling thereupon arose in his favour from literary persons who remembered his father, with the respect due to his merits. Hence, also, Leandro Moratin, notwithstanding his natural reserve, was drawn from his retirement into the company of several young men of kindred tastes and pursuits, whose conversation and society had great and good effect on his mind and future efforts.

In 1785 he published an edition of his father’s poems, with reflections, which may be considered his first essay on criticism and declaration of opinion on matters of taste, according to the precepts of the purest classicism, then so much in fashion. From his earliest years he had been much attached to the theatre, then sunk to the low state which he so feelingly describes in the preliminary discourse to his Comedies, subsequently published; and having witnessed his father’s anxiety to reform its abuses, he felt it a sort of inheritance left him to attempt the task. He had already begun one of his plays, which however he had not sufficient leisure to complete, on account of the demands for his daily labour; but about this time his mother died, and Leandro had then only his own wants to consider.

At the same time the good and great Jovellanos, whose notice he had attracted, proposed him as secretary to the Conde de Cabarrus, then going to Paris on a special mission, where accordingly Leandro went with that able and enlightened statesman, in January 1787, returning to Madrid in the January following. Shortly after the Conde and Jovellanos fell into ill-favour at court, and all their friends were involved in their fall. Moratin took shelter in the obscurity of his original occupation, and so escaped notice. He completed his play, but could not get it represented, and in the course of delays had the license for it withdrawn. He wished to be exempt from labour for maintenance, to give himself up to his favourite studies, but sought in vain for other means of attaining this end than from the favour of the government. A change in the ministry having now occurred, he wrote a petition, in verse, to the Conde de Florida Blanca, in which, humorously depicting his wants, he asked a small benefice in the church. This, though a very small one, was granted him, and thereupon he had to take the first orders of the tonsure. Shortly afterwards, Godoy, Prince of the Peace, came into power, and became a still more effectual patron for Moratin, on whom he conferred other benefices and favours, to the amount of about £600 a year sterling, so that he became at once, for his position in life, wealthy, and enabled to devote himself entirely to literature.

It has been the fashion lately for all parties to decry Godoy, and there can be no doubt that he was guilty of much misconduct in the exercise of power. But he was in this only acting according to the circumstances in which he was placed, and the favourite and minister of a weak-minded and despotic monarch could not be expected to have acted much otherwise than he did. In the memoirs he published in his later years in his justification, Godoy has, in a tone of apparent sincerity and earnestness, sometimes amounting even to eloquence, shown that often he could not have acted otherwise, and that his faults were the faults of his position, while his merits were his own. He declares that he was the first minister in Spain who curbed the power of the Inquisition, and that he had never instituted any prosecution for private opinions. His treatment of Jovellanos he might well excuse to himself, as a return for hostility manifested to him under circumstances that he might consider to warrant it. But of other eminent men of learning and of the arts he was the munificent patron, of Melendez among others, and of Moratin more especially. The former dedicated to him the second edition of his works, and Moratin now one of his plays, which had been received with much favour. From this dedication, a judgement may be formed by the translation, of the spirit of Moratin, that, while under the sense of great obligations, he did not condescend, like other poets, to flatter his Mæcenas’s vanity by ascriptions of descent from ancient kings or other fictions; but dwelt only on his personal qualities, and the great power which he undoubtedly possessed, as exercised in his favour. The same spirit Moratin showed in his letter to Jovellanos, in which adulation could less be imputed to him, as that illustrious individual was in disgrace at court, and no longer the dispenser of the favours of the government.

But Moratin showed the independence of his character still more decidedly, in refusing the request made by Godoy that he should write eulogistic verses on a lady of the court; and it is to the honour of Godoy, we are informed, that though he was at first angry at the refusal, he passed it over without subsequent notice.

To another request made by Godoy, for an ode on the Battle of Trafalgar, Moratin acceded, though it is stated with considerable disinclination to the task. He could not, he replied at first, celebrate a lost battle, and as Hermosillia tells us, could not hide from himself the ridiculousness of having to represent a complete defeat as a glorious triumph, though the “dreaded Nelson” had fallen in it. He felt bound, however, to obey the favourite and to reconcile his task to justice, wrote his ‘Shade of Nelson,’ in imitation of the Prophecy of Nereus, and of the Tagus by Fray Luis de Leon. In this poem, he represents Nelson appearing the same night on the heights of Trafalgar, and foretelling England’s approaching ruin, notwithstanding the victory which had been gained “so dearly, as to be in reality a discomfiture.” He observes, that “Napoleon, having overcome the Austrians, would now turn all his energies to the conquest of England, while Spain would raise a mightier fleet to join him. He therefore counselled his countrymen to abandon their ambitious projects and make peace, and to create disunion in foreign countries by corrupting their cabinets, for the purpose of maintaining their preponderance.” The thoughts are expressed in elegant poetical language, but the whole argument shows how little feeling he had in favour of the subject. In the last edition of his works prepared for publication before his death, he took care to have it omitted, but it has been again inserted in subsequent editions.

Prior to this, however, he had had a full opportunity of judging the character of the English nation. He had obtained permission to go abroad from Godoy, who also munificently gave him the means for that purpose. He first went to Paris, where he had scarcely arrived, in September 1792, when hearing a great tumult in the streets, and looking out for the occasion of it, he saw the head of the Princess de Lamballe borne along by the infuriated multitude on a pike. Horror-struck at the sight, he immediately left Paris for London, as, says his biographer, “anxious to contemplate for the first time true liberty arrayed in popular forms, without the mortal convulsions of licentiousness, or the withering foot-marks of oppression.” Here he stayed about a year, taking notes of the lively impressions made on him of the “character, ideas, traditions, legislation, and political and commercial tendency of that singular nation, so worthy of being studied.” It may be allowed us to regret that those notes were never published, and perhaps the censor’s license for them could not have been obtained. The only fruit of his visit was a translation of Hamlet, which he published in 1798, on his return.

On leaving England, Moratin passed through Flanders and some parts of Germany and Switzerland to Italy, whence, after visiting all the principal cities there, he returned to Spain in December 1796. Previous to his arrival in Madrid, he had been appointed Secretary Interpreter of languages, a valuable appointment in itself, but still more so to him, as it left him sufficient leisure for study. He took advantage of this to proceed with several dramas with which he enriched the Spanish stage, and had projected others which he felt under the necessity of abandoning. In several of his pieces, and especially in the Mogigata, which Maury translates La Femelle Tartuffe, he had offended the clerical party, so that he was denounced to the Inquisition, and though preserved from their power under the protection of Godoy, he was subjected to many and great annoyances. In consequence of these, he determined to give up further writing for the stage, contenting himself with producing afterwards only some translations from the French, and with preparing his most valuable work, ‘On the Spanish Theatre.’ This work treats the subject historically, and abounds with much interesting information as well as sound criticisms. On it he passed the latter years of his life, so that it was not published until after his death.

Shortly after his return from Italy he was named one of a commission to reform the stage, and on this proving insufficient for the purposes intended, he was appointed Director of Theatres by royal order. No one, it might be thought, could be better adapted for this office, and it would have seemed one agreeable to his inclinations; but he declined it, preferring to effect the reforms he recommended by example rather than by exercise of authority.

The events of the 19th March, 1808, deprived Godoy of his power, and the French armies soon after entered Madrid. Moratin had remained at his post in the execution of the duties of his office, and became involved in the course of proceedings, the final character of which he could not foresee. He was set down as one of the French party, and so exposed to public obloquy, that when the French had to evacuate Madrid, he felt himself under the necessity of going with them. When they returned he returned with them, and was appointed, by Joseph Buonaparte, Chief of the Royal Library, an appointment which was most congenial to his taste, and which would have been exceedingly appropriate for him to accept, had it been only from the national government.

As it was, he had to fly from Madrid a second time with the intruders, and henceforth there was nothing for him in life but privations to endure. Some houses which he had bought had been seized, and one of them sold. Another, which was restored to him, had been much injured, and his books and property destroyed. His benefices were denied him; a merchant, with whom he had entrusted his money, became bankrupt; and a dependent, in whom he had confided, by his defalcation brought a further heavy loss on his means. He had at first retired to France, but having been excepted from the list of the proscribed by Ferdinand VII., he returned to Spain, and for a length of time resided at Barcelona. But the Inquisition was attempting to rise again into power, and Moratin, naturally of a timid disposition, felt himself marked out for a victim. He could not submit to live subject to be watched and kept in constant alarm; and even when this office was finally put down, he felt the frequent recurrence of public commotions more agitating than he could endure. He therefore determined again to retire to France, first to Bayonne, in 1823, and afterwards to Bordeaux, to live with a friend, named Silvela, who had a seminary at that place, and in whose society he felt sure of enjoying domestic happiness.

Through his whole life, Moratin seems to have required the aid of friends on whom to rely for daily needs and attentions; and it was fortunate for him, in his advanced age and under the pressure of infirmities, to possess such a resting-place as in Silvela’s establishment. Shortly after this friend removed to Paris, where also Moratin followed him, and there he died, the 21st June, 1828. He was buried in the cemetery of Père la Chaise, in one of the lines to the right of the chapel, between the remains of Molière and Lafontaine, where a simple monument, with a cinerary urn, marks his grave.

“There,” says his biographer, “in a foreign land, lies a celebrated Spaniard, to whom his country did not offer sufficient security to allow him to die tranquilly in her bosom. A man averse to all party feeling, obedient to existing authority, whether of fact or of right, absorbed in his studies, teacher from his retirement of the purest morality, incapable of injuring any one, or of exciting disorder even indirectly, he had to wander forth many years, not proscribed, but driven away by apprehensions too justly entertained.”

After his death there were several editions of his works published, both in France and Spain: the last one in the collection of Spanish authors by Rivadeneyra, Madrid 1848, as the last seems most correct and complete. This republication is more interesting, as also containing, in the same volume, the works of his father, Nicolas Moratin. It is to be regretted that other works of his, yet existing in manuscript, have not been added, especially the account of his travels.

Moratin was an exceedingly careful writer, and very fastidious in the correction of his verses. His admirers, especially those of the classic school, have praised him as a great lyric poet, even superior to Melendez. This, however, he felt was not just; and without derogating from his merits, we must pronounce him far inferior to that eminent poet, whose works surpassed all that had preceded him in Spanish poetry. The fame of Moratin must rest on his plays, into which, however, it is not the object of this work to enter, confined as it is to lyric poetry. They are only five in number, and, like Sheridan’s, are remarkable for neatness and elegance of dialogue, as much as for incident and character. The Spanish theatre owes all its subsequent merit to Moratin; he reformed the taste of the times by giving the stage better works than it had previously possessed, and assuredly was thus one of the greatest public benefactors of his age.

LEANDRO FERNANDEZ MORATIN.

DEDICATION OF THE COMEDY OF THE MOGIGATA TO THE PRINCE OF THE PEACE.

This moral fiction, which the facile Muse, Thalia kind inspired, and which await The numerous crowds that throng the Spanish scene, Therein acquiring voice, and life, and form, To thee I now present, with feelings pure Of gratitude and love. By other path The difficult height of Pindus to ascend, In vain have I aspired, in vain; and oft Have wept me baffled, o’er the bold attempt. How often, striking the Aonian chords, To win her have I sought, so fleeting, coy, The beauty that in silence I adore! To imitate the voice and harmony, Which Echo erst repeated in the woods Of green Zurgüen: oft as Clio waked The trumpet that diffuses martial rage, I wish’d, with her sublimest ardour fired, To celebrate the lofty deeds of Spain: From her proud neck as beating, broken off, The barbarous yoke; the conqueror in turn Conquer’d on the burning sands of Libya: Numantia with the miseries appeased, Proud Rome was doom’d to know, abandon’d prey To frightful military outrages: Cortes, in the valley of Otumba, Lord of the golden standard, at his feet The sceptre of the West! but angrily, Menander’s muse offended, soon reproved My error, and the lyre and pastoral pipe Snatch’d from me, and the clarion of Mars.

“Follow,” she said to me, “the only track Which my voice indicates, if thou wouldst seek The honour, that despite of silent death, May make thy name immortal. I in love A thousand times upon thy infant lip Have printed a soft kiss, and bade thee sleep To the repeated heavenly tones I raised. Thou my delight wast ever, and my care; And the propitious gifts, which Nature shed On thee, it was my joy to cultivate. Now with loud festive acclamation sounds Thy country’s scene in thy just praise, on high Thy glory to affirm. Thou follow on To sacred Helicon, which Cynthia bathes With her immortal light, the Muses’ crown Of ivy and of laurel there to gain.”

Be not offended, Sir, if e’er so poor The tribute that I dedicate; and what Could worthy be the greatness of thy name? The gift is humble, the desire is rich; And not sufficing more my sterile vein, What I can give I offer. Prostrate thus, On the rude altars he has raised, is wont The husbandman to heap the simple fruits Of his fields gather’d round; and offering them To the high tutelar deity he adores, Spreads them forth grateful, incenses and flowers.

EPISTLE TO DON GASPAR DE JOVELLANOS, SENT FROM ROME.

Yes! the pure friendship, that in kindly bonds Our souls united, durable exists, Illustrious Jovino! nor can time, Nor distance, nor the mountains us between, Nor stormy seas hoarse roaring, separate Remembrance of thee from my memory.

The sound of Mars, that now sweet peace awhile Suspends, has long unhappy silence placed On my affection. Thou I know content Livest in obscure delicious quietude, For ever with untiring zeal inspired To aid the public weal; of virtue e’er. And talent, the protector and the friend.

These verses which I frame unpolish’d, free, Though not corrected with thy learned taste, In truth announce to thee my constant faith. And so may Heaven but soon to me return The hour again to see thee, and relate Familiarly discoursing, to my view Whatever of its varied scenes the world Presented. From my native shores to those Which bathes the Seine, blood-stain’d and turbulent; The daring Briton’s, master of the sea, To the bold Belgian’s; from the deep-flowing Rhine To the high tops of Apennine snow-crown’d, And that height further, which in burning smoke Covers and ashes over Naples wide, The different nations I have visited, Acquiring useful knowledge, never gain’d By learned reading in retired abodes. For there we cannot see the difference great Which climate, worship, arts, opinions, And laws occasion. That is found alone, If thou wouldst study man, in man himself.

Now the rough Winter, which augments the waves Of Tiber, on his banks has me detain’d, Inhabitant of Rome. O! that with thee ’Twere granted me to rove through her, to scan The wonderful remains of glories past, Which Time, whose force can naught resist, has spared! Thou nursling of the Muses and the Arts, Faithful oracle of bright history, What learning thou wouldst give the affluent lip; What images sublime, by genius fired, In the great empire’s ruin thou wouldst find! Fell the great city, which had triumph’d o’er The nations the most warlike, and with her Ended the Latin valour and renown. And she who to the Betis from the Nile Her eagles proudly bore, the child of Mars, The Capitol with barbarous trophies deck’d, Conducting to her car of ivory bound Great kings subdued, amid the hoarse applause Of wide-throng’d forums, and the trumpet’s sounds, Who to the world gave laws, now horrible Night covers her. She perish’d, nor expect More tokens of her ancient worth to find.

Those mouldering edifices, which the plough Breaks through in shapeless masses, once they were Circuses, strong palaces, and theatres; Proud arches, costly baths, and sepulchres; Where thou mayst hear perchance, for so ’tis said, In the deep silence of the gloomy shade, A funeral lament, they only tell The glory of the people of Quirinus. And this to future races but remains The mistress of the world, illustrious Rome! This and no more remain’d? of all her arts And dreaded power? What could not aught avail Her virtue, wisdom, valour, all conjoin’d, With such her opulence, the law severe To mitigate, or stay the blows of fate?

Alas! if all is mortal--if to Time Alike the strong wall and the tender flower Must yield--if that will bronze and porphyry break, Destroying them and burying in dust, For whom so guards unhappy Avarice His treasuries untouch’d? for whom foretells Immortal fame, the adulation vile That crimes and violence traitorous exalts? For what so hastening to the tomb runs on The human race, revengeful, envious, And haughty? Why, if all that e’er exists, And what man sees is all but ruins? all. For never to return the hours fly past Precipitate, and to their end but lead, Of the most lofty empires of the earth, The perishable splendour. The Deity, That hidden animates the universe, Alone eternal lives, and He alone Is powerful and great.