The little that anthologies give to one of the great poems of
Spanish Romanticism, Espronceda's «Canto a Teresa», glosses over a
bibliographic fact: the poet published this splendid lyric with the heading
Canto II and, beneath that, the dedication
A Teresa. As Canto II of
El Diablo Mundo it is introduced by the
following note: «Este canto es un desahogo de mi corazón;
sáltelo el que no quiera leerlo sin escrúpulo, pues no
está ligado de manera alguna con el Poema»1. Critics have generally accepted this note at face value and
have either dealt with the Poem
(El Diablo Mundo) with little, if any,
attention to the Canto(A Teresa), or discussed the Canto with no
concern for the Poem. A few have speculated on the origin of the Canto and how
it came to appear where it does. Is it an overgrown dedicatory prelude, or
perhaps a sop to the publisher while Espronceda invented new adventures for his
hero?2 Such
possibilities cannot be discounted, but they do not change the fact that by the
poet's own decision the Canto has become a part of the Poem. Once read as such,
how does its presence affect our reading of
El Diablo Mundo? And how does the poetic
context in which it is placed affect our interpretation of the Canto? These are
the questions to which I shall suggest some answers.
El Diablo Mundo explores the fate of man in an
evil world; and to develop this theme, Espronceda tells the story of the
childishly innocent Adán, who step by step encounters «the
heartache and the thousand natural shocks / that flesh is heir to».
Adán's antagonist is to some extent society, yet also more than society,
since it is not society that has created love and death. It is «the
world», el mundo, el
diablo mundo -in itself a grammatically unusual
expression: not
mundo diabólico, nor
diablo universal, but
diablo mundo, the deliberate equating on the
same syntactic plane of Devil and World.
The Introducción that precedes the story of Adán
announces a different theme. If that of the hero's adventures is, in a word,
existential, that of the Introduction is epistemological. Here
el Poeta, in a kind of Walpurgisnacht, hears
fantastic voices that sing of the striving for truth and the charms of
falsehood (vv. 168 ff.). A monstrous
infernal gigante suddenly appears; and a voice
that critics seem to attribute to the giant, but which I rather think is the
voice of humanity, asks a series of questions about the nature of God and about
the nature and destiny of the «espíritu altanero» himself.
To these the giant replies:
¿Quién sabe? Acaso yo soy
el espíritu del hombre
cuando remonta su vuelo
a un mundo que desconoce,
cuando osa apartar los rayos
que a Dios misterioso esconden,
y analizarle atrevido
frente a frente se propone.
...............................
Y yo soy parte de ti,
soy ese espíritu insomne
que te excita y te levanta
de tu nada a otras regiones,
con pensamiento de ángel,
con mezquindades de hombre.
(vv. 392 ff.)
Here the diabolic is not the enemy of man; the Satanic urge is the
lust for absolute knowledge, the wish to decipher the moral mystery of the
universe, the eating of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The same
theme appears in
El estudiante de Salamanca, where Don
Félix de Montemar is described as a Satanic figure who seeks to
penetrate the secrets of God3, and in
«A Jarifa en una orgía», where eternal suffering is the lot
of the soul that aspires «de la verdad para el mortal velada, / a
descubrir el insondable arcano»4. Thus, while Adán faces evil on the practical level, the
poet must discern the truth about the world and bare the knowledge of good and
evil. That this is the peculiar mission of the poet is suggested at the
conclusion of the Introduction, when, after the conflicting claims of truth and
falsehood have been advanced and after the thirst for ultimate knowledge has
been characterized as Satanic, dawn finds the Poet as much in the dark as
before:
¿Es verdad lo que ver creo?
¿Fue un ensueño lo que vi en mi loco devaneo?
¿Fue verdad lo que fingí?
¿Es mentira lo que veo?
(vv. 647-51)
The point is made even more clearly in «El ángel y el
poeta», a fragment of
El Diablo Mundo, in which the Angel tells the
Poet:
¡Tú más alto, poeta, que los reyes,
tú, cuyas santas leyes
son las de tu conciencia y sentimiento;
que a penetrar el pensamiento arcano
osas alzar tu noble pensamiento,
del mismo Dios, en tu delirio insano!
¡Y sientes en tu espíritu la grave,
maravillosa música süave,
y del mundo sonoro la armonía!
¡Qué ineficiente y fría
sientes vil la palabra a tu deseo,
y en vértigo perpetuo y devaneo,
y en insomnio te agitas
y en pos de tu ansiedad te precipitas!
(p. 382)
We may, then, see in the Poem two themes: the encounter with evil,
whose protagonist is Adán, and the search for the meaning of good and
evil, whose protagonist is the Poet. The telling of Adán's adventures is
itself the adventure of the Poet in his Satanic quest. The interweaving of
these two sets of adventures is particularly evident in the first three cantos
of the Poem.
El Diablo Mundo is punctuated by digressions.
None appears in the Introduction; but the poet has not proceeded a hundred
verses into Canto I before he begins to depart from his story, first by an
octave of commentary (vv. 716 ff.), then by a more extensive, and ironic,
discussion of the nature and purpose of poetry (vv. 733 ff.). Beginning with
verse 788, he digresses from his digression:
Llaman pensar así, filosofía,
y al que piensa, filósofo, y ya siento
haberme dedicado a la poesía
con tan raro y profundo entendimiento.
Yo con erudición ¡cuánto sabría!...
As numerous critics have pointed out, Espronceda may have learned
his ironic digressive technique from Byron; but the source of this technique
now concerns me less than its effects, since the poet was not, after all,
obliged to follow Byron's example. One effect is that the story of Adán
is, in a sense, itself a digression from the poet's thoughts. The miraculous
transformation of old Don Pablo into Adán is contemporary with the
writing of the account of it, occurring in «el año cuarenta en que
yo escribo/de este siglo que llaman positivo» (vv. 1935-36). In fact, the
events narrated are simultaneous with their narration: «Duerme entretanto
el venerable anciano,/mientras que yo discurro sin provecho» (vv. 844-45;
cf. vv. 4061 ff.). In these first cantos, the poet seems to return to his story
only with an effort, interrupting his musings, even as the musings interrupt
the story.
Canto II,
A Teresa, is one more digression from the
Adán story, by far the longest and the only one formally recognized in
the very structure of
El Diablo Mundo. It alone is a separate canto
of the Poem; and its digressive nature is advertised by the note, which, though
not in verse, is still, on another level, a part of Espronceda's text.
According to this note, as we have seen, the Canto«no está ligado
de manera alguna con el Poema», and it is true that the Canto does not
mention Adán or his transformation; but there are several points of
contact between it and the Poem5. For one, there is the thematic counterpoint between the flight
of youth in the Canto and the return of youth in the Poem. For another, there
is the thematic parallel between the innocent Adán's encounters with
suffering and disillusionment (e.g., his disillusionment with the love of
Salada) and the poet's own passage from naïve enthusiasm, as pictured
toward the beginning of the Canto, to disillusionment, suffering, and cynical
despair, as expressed toward its end. Even the imagery that pictures youthful
ebullience reappears. In Canto II, the poet says of his youth:
Mi vida entonces cual guerrera nave
que el puerto deja por la vez primera,
y al soplo de los céfiros süave
orgullosa desplega su bandera,
y al mar dejando que a sus pies alabe
su triunfo en roncos cantos, va velera,
una ola tras otra bramadora
hollando y dividiendo vencedora
¡ay! en el mar del mundo, en ansia ardiente
de amor volaba...
(vv. 1524 ff.)
Although the ship does not recur, the swelling of the sails and the
movement of the waves are echoed in verses that describe the «new
born»Adán:
El corazón henchido de esperanza,
sin temor de mudanza
mecida el alma en el placer futuro,
el ánimo seguro
tras su ilusión lanzándose a la gloria,
y libre de recuerdos la memoria,
y el alma y todo nuevo,
todo esperanzas el feliz mancebo.
(vv. 1953 ff.)
The disillusionment of the poet appears in the following octave of
the Canto:
Los años ¡ay! de la ilusión pasaron;
las dulces esperanzas que trajeron,
con sus blandos ensueños se llevaron,
y el porvenir de oscuridad vistieron;
las rosas del amor se marchitaron,
las flores en abrojos convirtieron,
y de afán tanto y tan soñada gloria
sólo quedó una tumba, una memoria.
(vv. 1732 ff.)
As Marrast points out, an ironic treatment of the same motifs, and
in the same stanzaic form, appears in Canto IV, where the poet consoles himself
for his loss with his new-found tranquility, because «si de amor no late
el pecho mío / también en cambio a mi placer me
hastío» (vv. 4021 ff. and p. 233, n. 126). These verses come at
the conclusion of the passage that describes the love of Adán and
Salada, echoing, according to Mazzei, «le ore d'idillio descritte nel
Canto a Teresa»6.
Other ironic repetitions of motifs also join the Canto to the Poem.
Teresa's fall was linked by the poet to Eve's (vv. 1712 ff.), which becomes
the object of mockery in Canto III (vv. 2066 ff.). Recalling his youth, the
poet writes:
Gorjeaban los dulces ruiseñores,
el sol iluminaba mi alegría,
el aura susurraba entre las flores,
el bosque mansamente respondía,
las fuentes murmuraban sus amores...
(vv. 1516 ff.)
These motifs recur at the beginning of Canto IV, where
Las rosas sobre el tallo se levantan
coronadas de gotas de rocío,
las avecillas revolando cantan
al blando son del murmurar del río,
chispas de luz los aires abrillantan,
salpicando de oro el bosque umbrío;
y si el aura a la flor murmura amores,
la flor le brinda aromas y colores.
(vv. 3053 ff.)
This time, however, the description is interrupted:
Y resonando... etcétera; que creo
basta para contar que ha amanecido,
y tanta frase inútil y rodeo
a mi corto entender no es más que ruido,
(vv. 3061 ff.)
a judgment that might be applied as well to the verses quoted from
Canto II, stylistically indistinguishable from those here condemned by a poet
disillusioned with poetic activity itself.
The Canto and the Poem are, then, related thematically and in
several motifs; yet the Canto is one more digression from the adventures of
Adán. Like the others, it splits open that narrative and suggests, not
explicitly but by example, the hollowness of poetic endeavor (the invented
story) when compared with reality (the poet's own story), even though,
paradoxically, it is the Canto that uses the more «poetic» language
and the Poem that favors «realistic» expressions.
If the Canto helps to undermine the Poem, it is, in turn, affected
by its context. We have already seen the parody of some of the Canto's motifs
and themes. Let us now note the abrupt transition from the conclusion of Canto
II to the beginning of Canto III. The former ends with the celebrated
octaves:
¡Oh! ¡Cruel! ¡Muy cruel!... ¡Ah! yo
entretanto
dentro del pecho mi dolor oculto,
enjugo de mis párpados el llanto
y doy al mundo el exigido culto;
yo escondo con vergüenza mi quebranto,
mi propia pena con mi risa insulto,
y me divierto en arrancar del pecho
mi mismo corazón pedazos hecho.
Gocemos, sí; la cristalina esfera
gira bañada en luz: ¡bella es la vida!
¿Quién a parar alcanza la carrera
del mundo hermoso que al placer convida?
Brilla radiante el sol, la primavera
los campos pinta en la estación florida:
truéquese en risa mi dolor profundo...
Que haya un cadáver más, ¡qué importa al
mundo!
These stanzas contradict the note that introduces the Canto,
according to which the whole Canto is «un desahogo de mi
corazón». They declare that the poet is suppressing his pain, not
venting it, though actually he has devoted forty-four octaves to telling his
story and proceeded to publish them in the context of his most ambitious poetic
undertaking. The desahogo of the note and the
escondo of the verses cast an ironic light on
each other, and this irony could well be extended to the note's suggestion that
the reader can safely skip the Canto.
From the bitter sarcasm of the final octave of Canto II we move
immediately to the opening of Canto III:
«¡Cuán fugaces los años,
¡ay! se deslizan, Póstumo!» gritaba
el lírico latino que sentía
cómo el tiempo cruel le envejecía,
y el ánimo y las fuerzas le robaba.
Y es triste a la verdad ver cómo huyen
para siempre las horas y con ellas
las dulces esperanzas que destruyen
sin escuchar jamás nuestras querellas;
¡fatalidad! ¡fatalidad impía!
Pasa la juventud, la vejez viene,
y nuestro pie que nunca se detiene,
recto camina hacia la tumba fría!
Así yo meditaba
en tanto me afeitaba
esta mañana mismo, lamentando
cómo mi negra cabellera riza,
seca ya como cálida ceniza,
iba por varias partes blanqueando;
y un triste adiós mi corazón sentido
daba a mi juventud, mientras la historia
corría mi memoria
del tiempo alegre por mi mal perdido,
y un doliente gemido
mi dolor tributaba a mis cabellos
que canos se teñían,
pensando que ya nunca volverían
hermosas manos a jugar con ellos.
The stately formality of the octave has been replaced by the free
flowing, rather informal,
silva. The verses reflect the initial octave of
Canto II, with its reminiscence of Garcilaso:
¿Por qué volvéis a la memoria mía,
tristes recuerdos del placer perdido,
a aumentar la ansiedad y la agonía
de este desierto corazón herido?
¡Ay! que de aquellas horas de alegría,
le quedó al corazón solo un gemido,
¡y el llanto que al dolor los ojos niegan,
lágrimas son de hiel que el alma anegan!
The flight of the hours, the sigh, and the painful memory of past
pleasure all recur now; and we also hear an echo of another passage from Canto
II:
y aquellas horas dulces que pasaron
tan breves ¡ay! como después lloradas,
horas de confianza y de delicias,
de abandono, y de amor, y de caricias.
Que así las horas rápidas pasaban,
y pasaba a la par nuestra ventura ...
(vv. 1680 ff.)
More than this, however, we see the reduction of the theme of the
Canto, first, to a commonplace of Classical poetry, and then to the musings of
a man while shaving. In other words, the Canto's major theme is here
trivialized7. Even the verb
gritaba adds a vulgar note. As for «la
historia... del tiempo alegre por mi mal perdido», what can it be but the
Canto that precedes these lines, the story of «aquellas horas de
alegría?» Pain and sighs are not, however, offered here to the
memory of Teresa but to the poet's own hair (another Byronic touch: cf.Don Juan, I, 213) and to his fear that no more
amorous adventures await him. This deliberate debasement of the Canto by the
verses that follow it accomplishes what the Canto's conclusion had claimed:
«mi propia pena con mi risa insulto». Just as the poet sees himself
in his mirror as he shaves, he sees himself in the Canto; and the comparison
reduces the poetic self-portrait to the vulgar level of the reflection of the
aging dandy.
The mockery continues when, among the neighbors who rush to
investigate the disturbance in the ex-Don Pablo's rooms, there comes «un
romántico joven periodista, / [...] / de alma gastada y botas de
charol», who mourns «las ilusiones que perdió» (vv.
2358 ff.). As Marrast suggests, this might well be «un trasunto
humorístico del propio Espronceda»8. The theme of the loss of illusion is debased even more
a little farther on:
Ármase un estridor de Satanás,
el poeta ha perdido una ilusión,
que ha visto de la dama no sé qué
y a más acaba de torcerse un pie.
(vv. 2569 ff.)
The vulgarity of the causes of disillusionment is here emphasized by
the cacophonic insistence on
agudo rhymes. Even the grandiose display of
suffering with which the Canto ends finds its vulgar counterpart in this
commentary on the soul's experience with pain:
Mas deje, el mundo por su amor se encarga
como un chorizo de curarla al humo,
y de hiel rica quintaesencia amarga
sacar para bañarla con su zumo;
luego la ensancha más, luego la alarga,
la esquina, en fin, con artificio sumo,
hasta que endurecida y hecha callo,
süave al tacto le parece un rallo.
(vv. 2973 ff.)
Life goes on, so to speak; and tearing one's heart from one's breast
is not an occupation that can be long sustained.
The transition into Canto II is also noteworthy. Throughout Canto I
the poet expresses, in digressions, his despair of poetry and his contempt for
it:
Que yo bien sé que el mundo no adelanta
un paso más en su inmortal carrera
cuando algún escritor como yo canta
lo primero que salta en su mollera...
(vv. 748 ff.)
Here the vulgar term
mollera stresses the triviality and uselessness
of poetic endeavor, which, anyhow, has no serious purpose and no proper order:
«terco escribo en mi loco desvarío / sin ton ni son y para gusto
mío» (vv. 754- 55; cf.«y allá van versos donde va mi
gusto», v. 1379). The poet does not seek in his verses to erect a
«monumentum aere perennius»:
no una altiva columna vencedora
que jamás rinda con su planta impío
el tiempo destructor alzar intento;
yo con pasar mi tiempo me contento.
(vv. 1392-95)
The concluding octaves of Canto I once more belittle poetic
activity. Mockingly the poet declares that he does indeed pursue glory, the
glory of having his bust displayed in «algún salón,
café, o peluquería» or having his form, cast in glass,
serve, like Napoleon's, as a perfume bottle on «el lindo tocador de
alguna hermosa» (vv. 1476 ff.). The canto ends with a plea for a
favorable, that is, financially profitable, reception of the Poem at the hands
of the public and with the promise of another canto«si éste te
gusta y la edición se vende». The fulfillment of this commercial
bargain is the Canto II, A Teresa, which immediately
follows, and which shifts our focus from the financial to the sentimental. What
for most readers is the most «poetic» part of
El Diablo Mundo is, in effect, introduced by a
passage that suggests that poetry is useless except perhaps as merchandise.
Thus, when read as Canto II of
El Diablo Mundo, the «Canto a
Teresa», with its long and uninterrupted story, lived by the poet
himself, advertised as true by the introductory note and by the use of the real
name Teresa, no doubt known to many of Espronceda's contemporaries, and told in
a richly poetic language of brilliant images, shatters the unity of the Poem
and shows it to be, in comparison, something broken, hollow, and contrived. It
contributes to the Poem's failure as an attempt to discover the ultimate truth
of good and evil. The poetic word is shown as «ineficiente y
fría» (p. 382), and the Poet as protagonist of the Satanic quest
for truth is defeated. The Poem, however, with its comments on the uselessness
of poetry, on the worthlessness of the poet's profession and on the importance
of money, and with its ironic trivialization of the Canto's major theme and
motifs, suggests that the Canto may itself also be hollow, frase
inútil y rodeo, / [que] a mi corto entender no es más que
ruido». The Poem thus mocks the author of the Canto as a poet, a user of
empty phrases, and as a man, one whose pain may be only a pose. What, then, is
left?
«Nihil novum sub sole», quotes
Espronceda at one point (v. 1324) from Ecclesiastes 1, 10. The same chapter
would yield his answer to our question:
«Vanitas vanitatum, et omnia
vanitas». Nothing is left; neither life nor art has permanent
substance.
Yet Espronceda was wrong: both the Canto and the Poem remain,
monuments to his art and his life.
