Page images
PDF
EPUB

APOLOGY

For the irregular Drama, by Don Felix de Vega Carpio, with a Translation by Henry-Richard Lord Holland.

M

ANDANME, ingenios nobles, flor de España,

Que en esta junta y academia insigue

En breve tiempo excedereis no solo

A las de Italia, que, envidiando á Grecia,
Illustró Ciceron del mismo nombre
Junto al averno lago, sino á Athenas
A donde en su Platonico lycco
Se vió tan alta junta de philosophos,—
Que un arte de comedias os escriba
Que al estilo del vulgo se reciba.
Facil parece este sujeto,-y facil
Fuera para qualquiera de vosotros
Que ha escrito ménos dellas, y mas sabe
Del arte de escribirlas, y de todo,
Que lo que á mi me daña en esta parte
Es haberlas escrito sin el arte;
No por que yo ignorasse los preceptos,
Gracias a Dios, que, ya tyrón gramático,
Passé los libros que trataban desto
Antes que huviesse visto al sol dicz veces
Discurrir des de el aries á los peces;
Mas porque en fin hallé que las comedias
Estaban en España en aquel tiempo
No como sus primeros inventores
Pensáron que en el mundo se escribieran,
Mas como las tratáron muchos barbaros
Que enseñaron el vulgo á sus rudezas,
Yassi se introduxéron de tal modo
Que quien con arte ahora las escriba
Muere sin fama y galardon; que puede
Entre los que carecen de su lumbre
Mas que razon y fuerza la costumbre
Verdad es que yo he escrito algunas veces
Siguiendo el arte que conocen pocos;
Mas luego que salir por otra parte
Veo los monstros de apariencias llenos ;
A donde acude el vulgo y las mugeres,
Que este triste exercicio canonizan,
A aquel habito barbaro me vuelvo ;
E quando he de escribir una comedia.
Encierro los preceptos con seis llaves ;
Saco á Terencio y Plauto de mi estudio

Para

Para que no me den voces, que suele
Dar gritos la verdad en libros mudos ;
Y escribo por el arte que inventaron,
Los que el vulgar aplauso pretendieron,
Porque como los paga el vulgo, es justo
Hablarle en necio para darle gusto.

Bright flow'rs of Spain, whose young academy
Ere long shall that by Tully nam'd outvie,
And match th' Athenian porch where Plato taught,
Whose sacred shades such throngs of sages sought,—
You bid me tell the art of writing plays

Such as the crowd would please, and you might praise.
The work seems easy-easy it might be

To you who write not much, but not tome:
For how can I the rules of art impart,
Who for myself ne'er dreamt of rule or art?
Not but I studied all the ancient rules:

:

Yes, God be praised! long since, in grammar-schools,
Scarce ten years old, with all the patience due,
The books that subject treat I waded through:
My case was simple.-In these latter days,
The truant authors of our Spanish plays
So wide had wander'd from the narrow road
Which the strict fathers of the drama trod,
I found the stage with barbarous pieces stor':
The critics censur'd; but the crowd ador'd.
Nay more; these sad corrupters of the stage
So blinded taste, and so debauch'd the age,
Who writes by rule must please himself alone,
Be damn'd without remorse, and die unknown.
Such force has habit-for the untanght fools,
Trusting their own, despise the ancient rules.
Yet, true it is, I too have written plays,

The wiser few, who judge with skill, might praise:
But when I see how show, and nonsense, draws
The crowd's, and, more than all, the fair's applause,
Wire still are forward with indulgent rage

To sanction every monster of the stage,
I, doom'd to write, the public taste to hit,

Resume the barbarous dress 'twas vain to quit:

I lock up every rule before I write,

Plautus and Terence drive from out my sight,

Lest rage should teach these injur'd wits to join,

And their dumb books cry shame on works like mine.
To vulgar standards then I square my play,
Writing at case; for, since the public pay,
'Tis just, methinks, we by their compass steer,
And write the nonsense that they love to hear.

EXTRACT

EXTRACT

From the Corona Trajica, a Poem on Mary Queen of Scots, with a

Translation.

By the same.

[blocks in formation]

Thanks for your news, illustrious lords, she cried;

I greet the doom that must my griefs decide:

Sad though it be, though sense must shriek from pain,
Yet the immortal sonl the trial shall sustain.

But had the fatal sentence reach'd my ears

In France, in Scotland, with my husband crown'd, Not age itself could have allayed my fears,

And my poor heart had shudder'd at the sound. But now immur'd for twenty tedious years,

Where nought my listening cares can catch around

But fearful noise of danger and alarms,

The frequent threat of death, and constant din of arms,

Ah! what have I in dying to bemoan?

What punishment in death can they devise For her who living only lives to groan,

And see continual death before her eyes?
Comfort's in death, where 'tis in life unknown;

Who death expects feels more than he who dies :—
Though too much valour may our fortune try,
To live in fear of death is many times to die.

Where have I e'er repos'd in silent night,

But death's stern image stalk'd around my bed?
What morning e'er arose on me with light,
But on my health some sad disaster bred?
Did fortune ever aid my war or flight,

Or grant a refuge for my hapless head?
Still at my life some fearful phantom aim'd,

My draughts with poison drugg'd, my towers with treachery famed

And now with fatal certainty I know

Is come the hour that my sad being ends,

Where life must perish with a single blow;

Then mark her death whom steadfast faith attends:
My checks unchang'd, my inward calm shall show,
While free from foes, serene, my generous friends,

I meet my death-or rather I should say,
Meet my eternal life, my everlasting day.

LOVE

LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT,

BY THE SAME,

Translated by the same.

NOdigan que es menester

Mucho tiempo para amar;
Que el amor que ha de matar
De un golpe ha de ser.
Amor que comienza ingrato
Y el trato le da valor,
No se ha de llamar amor
Sino costumbre de trato.

El que vio quiso y mató
vió
Esse es amor verdadero,
Y mas quando es el primero
Como el que te tengo yo.
Mirar,escribir, y hablar
Años un galan y dama,
Es hacer amor con ama
Que se lo han dado á criar.
Hombre ha de nacer Amor,
Luego andar, y ser galan ;
Que el Amor que no es Adan
No ha de tener valor.

Marques de las Νατας.

Let no one say that there is need
Of time for love to grow;
Ah no! the love that kills indeed
Dispatches at a blow,

The spark which but by slow degrees Is nursed into a flame,

Is habit, friendship, what you please; But love is not its name.

For love to be completely true,
It death at sight should deal,
Should be the first one ever knew,
In short, be that I feel.

To write, to sigh,and to converse, For years to play the foot; "Tis to put passion out to nurse,

And send one's heart to school.

« EelmineJätka »