Chapter III. Great young men
Samuel Smiles
The world
is for the most part young. Children, boys and girls, young men and women,
constitute the greater portion of society. Hence the importance we attach to
education. Youth is the time of growth and development, of activity and
vivacity, of imagination and impulse. The seeds of virtue sown in youth grow
into good words and deeds, and eventually ripen into habits. Where the mind and
heart have not been duly cultivated in youth, one may look forward to the
approach of manhood with dismay, if not despair. Southey says: "Live as long as
you may, the first twenty years are the longest half of your life; they appear
so while they are passing; they seem to have been so when we look back upon
them; and they take up more room in our memory than all the years that succeed
them."
Each human
being contains the ideal of a perfect man, according to the type in which the
Creator has fashioned him; just as the block of marble contains the image of an
Apollo, to be fashioned by the sculptor into a perfect statue. It is the aim of
education to develop the germs of man's better nature, as it is the aim of the
sculptor to bring forth the statue from the block of marble.
Education
begins and ends with life. In this respect it differs from the work of the
sculptor. There is no solstice in human development. The body may remain the
same in form and features, but the mind is constantly changing.
Thoughts,
desires, and tastes change by insensible gradations from year to year; and it
is, or ought to be, the object of life and education to evolve the best forms of
being. We know but little of the circumstances which determine the growth of the
intellect, still less of those which influence the heart. Yet the lineaments of
character usually display themselves early. An act of will, an expression of
taste, even an eager look, will sometimes raise a corner of the veil which
conceals the young mind, and furnishes a glimpse of the future man. At the same
time knowledge, and the love of knowledge, are not necessarily accompanied by
pure taste, good habits, or the social virtues which are essential to the
formation of a lofty character.
There is,
however, no precise and absolute law in the matter. A well-known bishop has said
that "little hearts and large brains are produced by many forms of education."
At the same time, the conscientious cultivation of the intellect is a duty which
all owe to themselves as well as to society. It is usually by waiting long and
working diligently, by patient continuance in well-doing, that we can hope to
achieve any permanent advantage. The head ought always to be near the heart to
enable the greatest intellectual powers to work with wholesome effect. "Truly”,
says Emerson, "the life of man is the true romance, which, when valiantly
conducted, will yield the imagination a higher joy than any fiction.
The
difference of age at which men display the ability of thinking, and attain
maturity of intellect, and even of imagination, is very remarkable. "There be
some," said Bacon, “who have an over-early ripeness in their years, which fadeth
betimes; "corresponding with the words of Quintilian: "Inanibus artistic ante
messem flavescunt." This is
true of precocious children, who are sometimes found marvellous in their
knowledge when young and immature, but of whom nothing is heard when they arrive
at maturity. Precocity is often but a disease - the excitement of a fine nervous
organisation, or the over-activity of a delicate brain. The boy
Heinecken of Lubeck learned the greater part of the Old and New Testament in his
second year; he could speak Latin and French in his third year; he studied
religion and the history of the Church in his fourth year; and finally, being
excitable and sickly, he fell ill and died in his fifth year. Of this poor child
it might be said, in Bacon's words that "Phaeton´s car went but a day.”
Parents and
teachers sometimes forget that the proper function of a child is to grow; that
the brain cannot, in early years, be overworked without serious injury to the
physical health; that the body –muscles, lungs, and stomach – must first have
its soundness established; and that the brain is one of the last organs to come
to maturity. Indeed, in early life, digestion is of greater importance then
thinking; exercise is necessary for mental culture; and discipline is better
than knowledge. Many are the cases of precocious children who bloom only to
wither, and run their little course in a few short years. The strain upon their
nervous system is more than their physical constitution can bear, and they
perish almost as soon as they have begun to live. Boys and girls are at present
too much occupied in sitting, learning, studying, and reciting. Their brain is
overworked; their body is, underworked. Hence headaches, restlessness,
irritability, and eventually debility and disease.
Young people are not only
deprived of the proper use of their hands and fingers, but of the proper use of
their eyes; and the rising generation is growing up usclees-handed as well as
short-sighted. Education does not mean stuffing a lot of matter into the brain,
but educing, or bringing out the intellect and character. The mind can be best
informed by teaching boys and girls how to use their powers; which necessarily
includes the exercise of the physical system. If this were more attended to,
there would be fewer complaints of the over-pressure of children's brains.
There are,
however, some children less fragile especially boys who resist the perilous
influences of over-excitement, and live to fulfil the promises of their youth.
This is especially observed in the case of great musicians. But here there is no
over-pressure; for the art comes naturally, and causes only pleasant excitement. This was
especially the case with the great master, Handel, who composed a set of sonatas
when only ten years old. His father, a doctor, destined him for the profession
of law, and forbade him to touch a musical instrument. He even avoided the boy
to a public-school, for there he would be in taught the gamut. But young Handel´s passion for music could not be restrained. He found means to procure a
dumb spinet, concealed it in a garret, and went to practice upon the mute
instrument while the household were asleep. The Duke of Saxe-Weissenfels at
length became acquainted with the boy´s passion, and interceded with his father.
It was only then that he was permitted to follow the bent of his genius. In his
fourteenth year Handel played in public; in his sixteenth year he set the drama
of Almeria to music; in the following year he produced Florinda
and Nerone. While at Florence, in his twenty-first year, he composed his
first opera, Rodrigo; and at London, in his twenty-sixth year, he
produced his famous opera of Rinaldo. He continued to produce his works
operas and oratorios; and in 1741, when in his fifty-seventh year, he composed
his great work, The Messiah, in the space of only twenty-three days. In
the case of Handel, the precocity of the boy exercised no detrimental influence
upon the compositions of the man; for his very greatest works were produced late
in life, between his fifty-fourth and sixty-seventh year.
Haydn was
almost as precocious a musician as Handel, having composed a mass at thirteen;
yet the offsprings of his finest genius were his latest compositions, after he
had become a sexagenarian. The Creation, probably his greatest work, was
composed when he was sixty-five. John
Sebastian Bach had almost as many difficulties to encounter as Handel in
acquiring knowledge of music. His elder brother, John Christopher, the organist,
was jealous of him, and hid away a volume containing a collection of pieces by
the best harpsichord composers. But Sebastian found the book in a cupboard,
where it had been locked up; carried it to his room; sat up at night to copy it
without a candle by the light only of the summer night, and sometimes of the
moon. His brother at last discovered the secret work, and cruelly carried away
both book and copy. But no difficulties or obstructions could resist the force
of the boy's genius. At eighteen we find him court musician at Weimar; and from
that time his progress was rapid. He had only one rival as an organ-player, and
that was Handel.
But of all
the musical prodigies the greatest was Mozart. He seems to have played
apparently by intuition. At four years old he composed tunes before he could
write. Two years later he wrote a concerto for the clavier. At twelve he
composed his first opera, La Finta Semplice. Even at this early age he
could not find his equal on the harpsichord. The professors of Europe stood
aghast at a boy who improvised fugues on a given theme, and then took a ride-acock-horse
round the room on his father's stick. Mozart was a show-boy, and was taken by
his father for exhibition in the principal cities of Europe, where he was seen
in his little puce-brown coat, velvet hose, buckled shoes, and long flowing
curly hair tied behind. His father made a good deal of money out of the boy's
genius. Regardless of his health, which was extremely delicate, he fed him with
excitement. Yet the boy was full of uproarious merriment when well. Though he
was a master in music, he was a child in everything else. His opera of
Mithridates, composed at fourteen, was performed twenty times in succession;
and, three years later, his Lucia Silla had twenty-six successive
representations. These were followed by other great works the Idomeneo,
written at twenty-five; the Figaro, at thirty; the Don Giovanni,
at thirty-one; the Clemenza di Tito and the Zauberflote, at
thirty-five; and the Requiem, at thirty-six. He wrote the last work on
his death-bed. He died in 1792, worn out by hard, or rather by irregular work
and excessive excitement. The composer of the Requiem left barely enough
to bury him.
Beethoven
was not as precocious as either Handel or Mozart. His music was, in a measure,
thrashed into him by his father, who wished to make him a prodigy. Young
Beethoven performed in public, and composed three sonatas when only thirteen;
though it was not until after he had reached his twenty-first year that he began
to produce the great works on which his fame rests.
Most of the
other great Germain composers gave early signs of their musical genius.
Winter
played in the King of Bavaria's band at ten years old; he produced his first
opera, Bellerophon, at twenty-five.
Weber,
though a scapegrace of a boy, had a marvellous capacity for music. His first six
fugues were published at Salzburg when he was only twelve years old. His first
opera, Das Waldmddchen, was performed at Vienna, Prague, and St.
Petersburg when he was fourteen; and he composed masses, sonatas, violin trios,
songs, and other works, until in his thirty-sixth year he produced his opera of
Der Freisckutz, which raised his reputation to the greatest height.
Mendelssohn
tried to play almost before he had learned to speak. He wrote three quartettes
for the piano, violin, and violoncello before he was twelve years old. His first
opera, The Wedding of Comacho, was produced in his sixteenth year, his
sonata in B flat at eighteen, his Midsummer Night's Dream before he was
twenty, his Reformation Symphony at twenty-two, and all his other great
works by the time that he reached his thirty-eighth year, when he died. Meyerbeer
was another musical prodigy. He was an excellent pianist at nine. He began to
compose at ten, and at eighteen his first dramatic piece, Jephtha's Daughter,
was publicly performed at Munich; but it was not until he had reached his
thirty-seventh year that he produced his great work, Robert le Diable,
which secured for him a world-wide reputation.
In
Carlyle's Life of Schiller we find a curious account of Daniel Schubart,
a musician, poet, and preacher. He was everything by turns, and nothing long.
His life was a series of violent fits, of study, idleness, and debauchery. Yet
he was a man of extraordinary powers, an excellent musician, a great preacher,
an able newspaper editor. He was by turns feted, imprisoned, and banished. After
flickering through life like an ignis fatuus, he died in his fifty-second
year, leaving his wife and family destitute. Very
different was Franz Schubert, the musical prodigy of Vienna, though his life was
no more happy than that of Schubart. While but a child he played the violin,
organ, and pianoforte. At eighteen he composed his popular Erl King,
scribbling the notes down rapidly after he had read the words twice over. His
genius teemed with the loveliest musical fancies, as his published works
abundantly prove. He is supposed to have produced upwards of five hundred songs,
besides operas, masses, sonatas, symphonies, and quartettes. He died when only
thirty-one years old, almost destitute.
The musical
composers of Italy have exhibited the same precocious signs of genius.
Spontini
composed his first opera, Puntigli delle Donne, at seventeen, and its
complete success spread his fame over Italy.
Cherubini composed a mass and motet at thirteen, which excited a great sensation at
Florence, his native city.
Paisiello
composed a comic interlude at fourteen; and he was employed to compose an opera
for the principal theatre of Bologna at twenty-two.
Cimarosa,
the cobbler's son, wrote Baroness Stramba, his first musical work, at
nineteen. Paganini
played the violin at eight, and composed a sonata at the same age. Rossini's
father was a horn-player in the orchestra of a strolling company of players, of
which his mother was a second-rate actress and singer. At the age of ten young
Rossini played second horn to his father. He afterwards sang in choruses until
his voice broke. At eighteen he composed Cambiale di Matrimonio, his
first opera; and three years later he composed his Tancredi, which
extended his fame throughout Europe.
The French
composers,
Boildieu,
Gretry, and
Halevy,
gave indications of musical genius at an early age.
Boildieu wrote his first
one-act opera at eighteen.
Gretry's songs were sung everywhere when he was
twenty. At the same age
Halevy obtained the first prize for his cantata of
Hermione. Though the
English have not as yet been great in musical composition, Purcell
composed some of his best anthems while a boy-chorister at Westminster.
Crotch
was a precocity that broke down. Though he played the organ at four years old,
there is scarcely a note of his musical compositions that he did not owe to his
predecessors or contemporaries. The two
Wesleys
were precocious.
Charles played the harpsichord at three, when his mother used
to tie him to the chair lest he should fall off. Balfe composed his Lover's
Mistake when only nine, and Madame Vestris sang the song with great applause
in Paul Pry.
It is
worthy of remark that there has been no instance of musical precocity, or even
of musical genius, amongst girls. There may have been some prodigies, but they
have come to nothing. There has been no female Bach, Handel, or Mozart. And yet
hundreds, of girls are taught music for one boy; nor have they any such
obstructions to contend against as boys have occasionally had to encounter. It may also
be observed that musical genius seems to be a most consuming one. Though Handel
and Rossini lived to be old men, Schubert died at thirty-one, Mozart at
thirty-six, Purcell at thirty-seven, Mendelssohn at thirty-eight, and Weber at
forty these great musicians seeming to have been consumed by their own fire.
Rossini
wrote his William Tell at thirty-seven, after which he wrote but little.
His Stabat Mater was composed at fifty. He was a wise man, for he knew
when to leave off.
The lives
of painters and sculptors afford many indications of early promise. The
greatest instance of all that of Michael Angelo, showed the tendency of his
genius. He was sent into the country when a child, tote nursed by the wife of a
stone-mason, which led him to say in" after years that he had imbibed a love of
the mallet and chisel with his mother's milk. From his early years he displayed
an intense passion for drawing. As soon as he could use his hands and fingers,
he covered the walls of the stonemason's house with his rough sketches, and when
he returned to Florence he continued his practice on the groundfloor of his
father's house. When he went to school he made little progress with his books,
but he continued indefatigable in the use of his pencil, spending much of his
time in haunting the atelieri of the painters. The profession of an artist being
then discreditable, his father, who was of an ancient and illustrious family,
first employed moral persuasion upon his son Michael, and that failing, personal
chastisement. He passionately declared that no son of his house should ever be a
miserable stone-cutter. But in vain; the boy would be an artist, and nothing
else.
The father was at last vanquished, and reluctantly consented to place him
as a pupil under Ghirlandaio. That he had by that time made considerable
progress in the art is evident by the fact that his master stipulated in the
agreement (printed in Vasari's Lives) to pay a monthly remuneration to the
father for the services of his son. Young Buonarotti's improvement was so rapid
that he not only surpassed the other pupils of his master, but also the master
himself. But the sight of the statues in the gardens of Lorenzo de Medici so
inflamed his mind that, instead of being a painter, he resolved on devoting
himself to sculpture. His progress in this branch of art was so great that in
his eighteenth year he executed his basso-relievo of "The Battle of the
Centaurs"; in his twentieth year his celebrated statue of "The Sleeping Cupid";
and shortly after his gigantic marble statue of "David." Reverting to the art of
painting, he produced some of his greatest works in quick succession. Before he
reached his twenty-ninth year he had painted his cartoon, illustrative of an
incident in the wars of Pisa, when a body of soldiers, surprised while bathing,
started up to repulse the enemy. Benvenuto Cellini has said that he never
equalled this work in any of his subsequent productions.
Raphael was
another wonderfully precocious youth, though his father, unlike Michael
Angelo's, gave every encouragement to the cultivation of his genius. He was
already eminent in his art at the age of seventeen. He was already eminen in his
art at the age of seventeen. He is said to have been inspired at the sight of
the great works of Michael Angelo, which adorned the Sistine Chapel at Rome.
With the candour natural to a great mind he thanked God that he had been born in
the same age with so great an artist, Raphael painted his "School of Athens" in
his twenty-filth year, and his "Transfiguration" at thirty-seven, when he died.
This picture was carried in the funeral procession to his grave in the Pantheon;
though left unfinished, it is considered to be the finest picture in the world.
Leonardo da
Vinci gave early indications of his remarkable genius. He was skilled in
arithmetic, music, and drawing. When a pupil under Verrocchio, he painted an
angel in a picture by his master on the "Baptism of Christ”. It was painted so
exquisitely that Verrocchio felt his inferiority to his pupil so much, that from
that time forth he gave up painting in despair. When Leonardo reached mature
years his genius was regarded as almost universal. He was great as a
mathematician, an architect and engineer, a musician, and a painter.
Guercino,
when only ten years old, painted a figure of the Virgin on the front of his
father's house, which was greatly admired ; it exhibited the genius of which he
afterwards displayed so many proofs. Tintoretto was so skilful with his pencil and brush that his master Titian, becoming
jealous, discharged him from his service. But this rebuff had the effect of
giving additional vigour to his energies, and he worked with such rapidity that
he used to be called Il Furioso, until he came to be recognised as one of
the greatest and most prolific painters in Italy.
Canova is
said to have given indications of his genius at four years old by modelling a
lion out of a roll of butter. He began to cut statuary from the marble at
fourteen, and went on from one triumph to another. Thorwaldsen
carved figure-heads for ships when thirteen working in the shop of his father,
who was a wood-carver. At fifteen, he carried off the silver medal of the
Academy of Arts at Copenhagen for his bas-relief of "Cupid Reposing"; and at
twenty, he gained the gold medal for his drawing of "Heliodorus Driven from the
Temple."
Claude
Joseph Vernet
drew skilfully in his fifth year, and before he had reached his twentieth year
his pictures were celebrated.
Paul Potter
painted his greatest picture the famous "Bull" at the Hague when in his
twenty-second year, and he dropt his brush before he was twenty-nine.
Wilkie
could draw before he could read, and he could paint before he could spell
correctly. He painted his "Pitiessie Fair," containing about 140 figures, in his
nineteenth year.
Sir Edwin Landseer painted his "Dogs Fighting" at sixteen; the picture was much admired, and was at
once purchased and engraved.
Poets also,
like musicians and artists, have in many cases given early indications of their
genius especially poets of a sensitive, fervid, and impassioned character. The
great Italian poets Dante, Tasso, and Alfieri were especially precocious. Dante
showed this when a boy of nine years old by falling passionately in love with
Beatrice, a girl of eight; and the passion thus inspired became the pervading
principle of his life, and the source of the sublimest conceptions of his muse.
Tasso
possessed the same delicate, throbbing temperament of genius: he was a poet
while but a child. At ten years old, when about to join his father at Rome, he
composed a canzone on parting from his mother and sister at Naples. He compared
himself to Ascanius escaping from Troy with his father Eneas. At seventeen he
composed his Rinaldo in twelve cantos, and by his thirty-first year he
had completed his great poem of Jerusalem Delivered, which he began at
twenty-one.
Metastasio,
when a boy of ten, improvised in the streets of Rome; and Goldoni, the comic
poet, when only eight, made a sketch of his first play. Goldoni was a sad
scapegrace. He repeatedly ran away from school and college to follow a company
of strolling players. His relations from time to time dragged him away, and
induced him to study law, which he afterwards practised at Pisa with
considerable success; but the love of the stage proved too strong for him, and
he eventually engaged himself as stage poet, and continued to write comedies for
the greater part of his life.
But
Alfieri
whom some have called the Italian Byron was one of the most extraordinary young
men of his time. Like many precocious poets he was very delicate during his
childhood. He was preternaturally thoughtful and sensitive. When only eight
years old, he attempted to poison himself during a fit of melancholy, by eating
herbs which he supposed to contain hemlock. But their only effect was to make
him sick. He was shut up in his room; after which he was sent in his nightcap to
a neighbouring church " Who knows “ said he afterwards," whether I am not
indebted to that blessed nightcap for having turned out one of the most truthful
of men." The first sight of the ocean, when at Genoa in his sixteenth year,
ravished Alfieri with delight. While gazing upon it he became filled with
indefinable longings, and first felt that he was a poet. But though rich, he was
uneducated, and unable to clothe in words the thoughts which brooded within him.
He went back to his books, and next to college; after which he travelled abroad,
galloped from town to town, visited London, drowned ennui and melancholy in
dissipation, and then, at nineteen, he fell violently in love. Disappointed in
not obtaining a return of his affection, he became almost heart-broken, and
resolved to die, but his valet saved his life. He recovered, fell in love again,
was again disappointed, then took to his room, cut off his hair, and in the
solitude to which he condemned himself began to write verses, which eventually
became the occupation of his life. His first tragedy, Cleopatra, was
produced and acted at Turin when he was twenty-six years old, and in the seven
following years he composed fourteen of his greatest tragedies.
But it was
in poetical composition that the genius of Cervantes first displayed itself.
Before he had reached his twentieth year he had composed several romances and
ballads, besides a pastoral entitled Felena. Wieland was
one of the most precocious of German poets. He read at three years old;
Cornelius Nepos in Latin at seven; and meditated the composition of an epic at
thirteen. Like other poets, the fact of his falling in love first stimulated him
to verse; for at sixteen he wrote his first didactic poem on "Die Vollkommenste
Welt”. The genius
of Klopstock, too, showed itself equally early. He was at first a rompish boy,
then an impetuous student, an enamoured youth, and an admired poet. He conceived
and partly executed his Messiah before he had reached his twentieth year,
though the three first cantos were not published until four years later. The
Messiah excited an extraordinary degree of interest, and gave an immense
impetus to German literature.
Schiller's
mind was passionately drawn to poetry at an early age. The story is told of his
having been found one day, during a thunderstorm, perched on the branch of a
tree, up which he had climbed, "to see where the lightning had come from,
because it was so beautiful," This was very characteristic of the ardent and
curious temperament of the boy. Schiller was inspired to poetic composition by
reading Klopstock's poem; his mind was turned in the direction of sacred poetry;
and by the end of his fourteenth year he had finished an epic poem entitled
"Moses." Goethe was
a precocious child, so much so that it is recorded that he could write German,
French, Italian, Latin, and Greek, before he was eight. At that early age he had
anxious thoughts about religion. He devised a form of worship to the "God of
Nature," and even burned sacrifices. Music,
drawing, natural science, and the study of languages all had their special
charms for the wonderful boy. Korner
also, the ardent and the brave, met the death which he envied on the field of
battle, for his country's liberties at the early age of twenty-two. As a boy, he
was sickly and delicate; yet he was possessed by the true poetic faculty. At
nineteen he published his first book of poems; and he wrote his last piece,
The Song of the Sword, only two hours before the battle in which he fell.
Novalis,
also, was another German poet of promise, who achieved all that he accomplished
by his twenty-ninth year, when he died.
Many like
instances might be cited of early promise as well as performance on the part of
French and English poets. Indeed, the poetic genius depending, as it does, upon
peculiar organisation and temperament is that which displays itself the
earliest; and if it do not appear before the age of twenty, most probably it
will not appear at all.
Montaigne
has expressed the belief that our souls are adult at that age. "A soul," he
says, "that has not by that time given evident earnest of its force and virtue,
will never after come to proof. Natural parts and excellences produce that which
they have of vigorous and fine within that time or never." This statement,
though perhaps put too strongly, is yet in the main true. The mind and soul give
promise of their genuine qualities in youth, and though some plants flower late,
the greater number flower in the spring and summer of youth, rather than in the
autumn and winter of age.
Moore, the
Irish poet, has observed that nearly all the first-rate comedies, and may of the
first-rate tragedies, have been the productions of young men. Lope de Vega
and Calderon, two of the most prolific of dramatists, began writing very
early the one at twelve, the other at thirteen. The former
recited verses of his own composition, which he wrote down and exchanged with
his playfellows for prints and toys. At twelve, by his own account, he had not
only written short pieces, but composed dramas. His heroic pastoral of
Arcadia was published at eighteen. He was with the Spanish Armada, in its
assault upon England in 1588. He was then in his twenty-sixth year; and in the
course of that perilous and fruitless voyage, he wrote several of his poems. But
it was after he returned to Spain and entered the priesthood that he composed
the hundreds of plays through which his name has become so famous. Calderon
also was a most prolific playwriter in his youth, having added some four hundred
dramas to the national stock. His first work, Carro del Cielo, was
written at thirteen. He became a priest at fifty, and wrote only sacred pieces
after he had entered the Church.
These young
Spanish dramatists reached their maturity at an early period. Like girls of the
South, who reach their puberty early, ripened by the sun, they accomplished all
their great works long before they had reached the middle period of life. In
northern climes the mental powers ripen spore slowly.
Yet
Racine wrote his first successful tragedy at twenty-five; and his great work
Phedre,
which he himself thought to be the supreme effort of his dramatic muse, at
thirty-eight. Moliere's
education was of the slenderest description; but he overcame the defects of his
early training by diligent application; and in his thirty-first year he brought
out his first play, L'Etourdi. The whole of his works were produced
between then and his fifty-first year, when he died. Voltaire
began by satirising the Fathers of the Jesuit College in which he was educated
as early as his twelfth year, when Pere le Jay is said to have prophesied of him
"qu'il serait en France le coryphee du Deisme." His father wished him to apply
himself to the study of law, and believed him to be ruined when he discovered,
that he wrote verses and frequented the gay circles of Paris. At twenty,
Voltaire was imprisoned in the Bastile for writing satires upon the voluptuous
tyrant who then misgoverned France. While there, he corrected his tragedy of
Œdipe, which he had written at nineteen, and then he began his Henriade.
The tragedy was performed when Voltaire was in his twenty-second year.
Kotzebue
was another instance of precocious dramatic genius. He made attempts at poetical
composition when about six years old, and at seven he wrote a one-page comedy.
He used to steal into the Weimar Theatre. Then he could not obtain admittance in
the regular way, and hide himself behind the big drum until the performances
began. His chief amusement consisted in putting together toy theatres, and
working puppet personages on the stage. His first tragedy was privately acted at
Jena, where he was a student, in his eighteenth year. A few years later, while
living at Revel, he produced, amongst other pieces, the drama so well known in
England as The Stranger. Schiller's
Robbers was commenced at nineteen, and published at twenty-one. His
Fiesco and Court Intriguing and Love were written at twenty-three.
Victor Hugo
was an equally precocious dramatist. He wrote his first tragedy of Irtamene
when fifteen years old. He carried off three successive prizes at the Academy
des Jeunes Floraux, and thus won the title of Master in that Institution. At
twenty he wrote Bug Jargal, and in the following year his Hans d'Islande
and his first volume of Odes et Ballades. The contemporary poets of
France were then nearly all young men. "No writer," said the sarcastic critic
Moreau, "is now respected in France if he is above eighteen years of age”.
Casimir
Delavigne began writing poetry at fourteen, and published his first volume at
twenty.
Lammenais wrote his Paroles d'un Croyant at sixteen.
Lamartine's
Meditations Poetiques appeared when he was twenty-eight; and the work
sold to the exient of 40,000 copies in four years.
Among
English writers, the same dramatic and poetical precocity has occasionally been
observed. Congreve
wrote his Incognita, a romance, at nineteen, and The Double Dealer
at twenty. Indeed, all his plays were written before he was twenty-five.
Wycherley said of himself that he wrote Love in a Wood at nineteen, and
The Plain Dealer at twenty; but Macaulay doubts the statement. The first
mentioned play was certainly not publicly acted until
Wycherley had reached his
thirtieth year.
Farquhar
wrote his Love and a Bottle at twenty, and his Constant Couple at
twenty-two. He died at the early age of twenty-nine; and in the last year of his
life he wrote his celebrated Beaux' Stratagem.
Vanbrugh
was a very young man when he sketched out
The Relapse and The Provoked
Wife.
Otway
produced his first tragedy at twenty-four, and his last and greatest,
Venice
Preserved, at thirty-one.
Savage wrote his first comedy, Woman's a Riddle, at eighteen; and his second,
Love in a Veil, at twenty.
Charles Dibdin brought out his Shepherd's Artifice
at Covent Garden, at the age
of sixteen; while Sheridan crowned his reputation for dramatic genius by bringing
out his perennially interesting School for Scandal at twenty-six.
Of English
poets, perhaps the very greatest were not precocious, though many gave early
indications of genius. We know very little of the youth of Chaucer, Shakespeare,
or Spenser, and very little even of their manhood. So far as
is known, Shakespeare wrote his first poem, Venus and Adonis- of which he
speaks as "the first heir of my invention" -in his twenty-eighth year; he began
writing his plays about the same time, and he probably continued to write them
until shortly before his death, in his fifty-second year. Spenser
published his first poem, The Shepherd's Calendar, at twenty-six, and
Milton composed his masque of Comus at about the same age, though he had
already given indications of his genius, But Cowley
was more precocious than Milton, although he never rose to the height of
Paradise Lost. At the early age of fifteen Cowley published a volume
entitled Poetic Blossoms, containing, amongst other pieces, "The Tragical
History of Pyramus and Thisbe", written when he was only twelve years old.
Pope also
"lisped in numbers," While yet a child, he aimed at being a poet, and formed
plans of study. Notwithstanding his perpetual headache and his deformity, the
results of ill-health, he contrived to write clever verses. The boy was father
of the man; the author of The Dunciad began with satire, and at twelve he
was sent home from school for lampooning his tutor. But he had better things in
store than satire. Johnson says that Pope wrote his Ode on Solitude in
his twelfth year, his Ode on Silence at fourteen, and his Pastorals
at sixteen, though they were not published until he was twenty-one. He made
his translation of the Iliad between his twenty-fifth and thirtieth year.
Joseph
Addison, notwithstanding his boyish tricks and his leadership in barrings-out at
school, proved a diligent student, and achieved great distinction at Oxford for
his Latin verse.
The
marvellous boy, Chatterton, who "perished in his Pride”' ran his short but
brilliant career in seventeen years and nine months.
Campbell the poet, has said
of him, "No English poet ever equalled Chatterton at sixteen."
His famous Ode to Liberty and his exquisite piece, The Minstrel's
Song, give perhaps the best idea of the strength and grasp of his genius.
But his fierce and defiant spirit, his scornful pride, his defective moral
character, and his total misconception of the true conditions of life, ruined
him, as they would have ruined a much stronger man; and he poisoned himself
almost before he had begun to live.
A few more
instances of precocious poets. Bishop Heber translated Phædrus into
English verse when he was only seven years old; and in his first year at Oxford
he gained the prize for Latin verse. Burns, though rather a dull boy, began to
rhyme at sixteen. James
Montgomery wrote verses at thirteen; he wrote a mock-heroic poem of a thousand
lines in his fourteenth year, and began a serious poem to be entitled The
World.
Rogers used
to date his first determination for poetry to the perusal, when a boy, of
Beattie's Minstrel.
When a young clerk in his father's office, he meditated a call upon Dr. Johnson,
but on reaching his house in Bolt Court, his courage forsook him as he was about
to lift the knocker. Two years after Johnson's death, in 1786, Rogers, when in
his twenty-third year, published his first volume, An Ode to Superstition,
and other Poems. Robert
Burns published his first volume in the same year.
Thomas
Moore was another precocious poet. He was a pretty boy; Joseph Atkinson,
one of his early friends, spoke of him as an infant Cupid sporting on the bosom
of Venus. He wrote love verses to Zelia at thirteen, and began his translation
of Anacreon at fourteen. At that age he composed an ode about "Full
goblets quaffing” and "Dancing with nymphs to sportive measures, led by a winged
train of pleasures” that might have somewhat disconcerted his virtuous mother,
the grocer's wife. But Moore worked his way out of luscious poetry; and the
Dublin Anacreon at length became famous as the author of the Irish Melodies,
Lalla Rookh, The Epicurean, and the Life of Byron.
Some
precocious young poets have died of consumption at an early age. Henry Kirke
White wrote all his poems between thirteen and twenty-one, when he died. Michael
Bruce also died at twenty-one, and left behind him many short poems of great
promise, which were published posthumously.
Robert
Pollok, author of
The Course of Time, died at twenty-eight; and John
Keats, the greatest and brightest genius of them all, published his first volume
of poetry at twenty-one and his last at twenty-four, shortly after which he
died. Yet
Keats
was by no means precocious at his earliest years. When a boy at school, he was
chiefly distinguished for his terrier-like pugnacity; and his principal
amusement was fighting. Though he was a general and insatiable reader, his mind
showed no particular bias until he reached his sixteenth year, when the perusal
of Spenser´s Faëry Queen set his mind on fire, and reading and writing
poetry became the chief employment of his short existence.
Shelley was
another "bright particular star" of the same epoch. He was precocious in a
remarkable degree. When a schoolboy at Eton, and only fifteen years of age, he
composed and published a complete romance, out of the proceeds of which he gave
a "spread" to his friends. He was early known as "mad Shelley” or "the atheist."
At eighteen he published his Queen Mab, to which Leigh Hunt
affixed the atheistical notes; at nineteen, he was expelled from University
College, Oxford, for his defence of atheism; and between then and his thirtieth
year, when he was accidentally drowned, he produced his wonderful series of
poems. He was subject to the strangest illusions, and full of eccentricities. At
college he was considered to be "cracked." Yet his intelligence was quick and
subtle; every fibre of his fragile frame thrilled with sensitiveness; and the
productions of his fertile genius were full of musical wildness and imagination,
perhaps more than any poems that have ever been written, either before or since
his time.
Byron was
another great and erratic genius, belonging to the same group as Keats and
Shelley. Of turbulent and violent temper, he was careless of learning at school,
yet he could "fall in love” when not quite eight years old. He was club-footed.
While at Aberdeen he was nicknamed “Shauchlin´ Geordie"; yet he strove to
distinguish himself in the sports of youth, and, like Keats, he fought his way
to supremacy amongst his schoolfellows, "losing," as he himself says, "only one
battle out of seven." While at Trinity College, he kept a bear and several
bull-dogs, and indulged in many eccentricities. A strange training, one would
think, for a poet! Yet, as early as his twelfth year, he had broken out into
verse, inspired by the boyish passion which he entertained for a cousin of about
his own age. With all his waywardness, Byron was a voracious reader in general
literature, and he early endeavoured to embody his thoughts in poetry. In his
eighteenth year, while yet at college, he had printed a thin quarto volume of
poems for private circulation, and in the following year he published his
Hours of Idleness. Stung into revenge by the contemptuous notice of his
volume by Henry Brougham in the Edinburgh Review, he published, at twenty-one,
his English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. Three years later, when
twenty-four, the first canto of his Childe Harold appeared. “At
twenty-five," said Macaulay, “he found himself on the highest pinnacle of
literary fame, with Scott, Wordsworth, Southey, and a crowd of other
distinguished writers at his feet. There is scarcely an instance in history of
so sudden a rise to so dizzy an eminence." He died in his thirty-seventh year an
age that has been fatal to so many men of genius.
Of other
modern poets it may be summarily mentioned that Campbell wrote his Pleasures
of Hope at twenty-two; Southey, his Joan of Arc at nineteen, and
Wat Tyler in the following year; Coleridge
wrote his first poem at twenty-two, and his Hymn before Sunrise than
which poetical literature presents no more remarkable union of sublimity and
power at twenty-five. Bulwer
Lytton produced his Ismael at fifteen, and Weeds and Wildflowers
(a volume of poems) at twenty-one. Elizabeth
Barrett Browning wrote prose and verse at ten, and published her first volume of
poems at seventeen; while Robert Browning, her husband, published his
Paracelsus at twenty-three. Alfred
Tennyson wrote his first volume of poems at eighteen, while at nineteen he
gained the Chancellor's Medal at Cambridge for his poem of Timbuctoo, and
at twenty he published his Lyrical Poems, which contained some of his
most admired pieces.
Thus the
tumultuous heat of youth has given birth too many of the noblest things in
music, painting, and poetry. The poetic fancy may, however, pale with advancing
years.
Akenside,
late in life, never reached the lustre of invention displayed in his early
works. Yet, in
many cases, the finest productions have come from the ripeness of age. Goethe
was of opinion that the older was the riper poet. Milton had, indeed, written
his Comus at twenty-six; but he was upwards of fifty when he began his
greatest work. Although the young geniuses above mentioned did great things at
an early age, had they lived longer they might have done better. The strength of
genius does not depart with youth.
Yet the special qualifications which ensure
future eminence, usually prove their existence at an early age between seventeen
and-two or three-and-twenty. Although the development of poetic power may be
slow, if the germs are there they will eventually bud into active life at favourable opportunities.
Crabbe and
Wordsworth, who ripened late, were early poetasters. Crabbe,
when a surgeon's apprentice in Suffolk, filled a drawer with verses, and gained
a prize for a poem on Hope, offered by the proprietors of a lady's newspaper.
Wordsworth, though left very much to himself when a boy, and of a rather moody
and perverse nature, nevertheless began to write verses in the style of Pope in
his fourteenth or fifteenth year. Though Shelley sarcastically said of
Wordsworth that "he had no more imagination than a pint-pot," he was,
nevertheless, like Shakespeare, a poet for all time. He showed none of the
precocity which distinguished Shelley, but grew slowly and solidly, like an oak,
until he reached his full stature.
Scott was
anything but a precocious boy. He was pronounced a Greek blockhead by his
schoolmaster. Late in life, he said of himself that he had been an incorrigibly
idle imp at school. But he was healthy, and eager in all boyish sports. His true
genius early displayed itself in his love for old ballads and his extraordinary
gift for storytelling. When Walter Scott's father found that the boy had on one
occasion been wandering about the country with his friend Clark, resting at
intervals in the cottages, and gathering all sorts of odd experience of life, he
said to him, "I greatly doubt, sir, you were born for nae better than a gangrel
scrape-gut. "Of his gift for story-telling when a boy, Scott himself gives the
following account: "In the winter play-hours, when hard exercise was impossible,
my tales used to assemble an admiring audience round Lucky Brown´s fireside, and
happy was he that could sit next to the inexhaustible narrator." Thus the boy
was the forerunner of the man, and his novels were afterwards received by the
world with as much delight as his stories had been received by his schoolfellows
at Lucky Brown's. "Two boys," says Carlyle, "were once of a class in the
Edinburgh Grammar School: John, ever trim, precise, and dux; Walter, ever
slovenly, confused, and dolt. In due time, John became Bailie John of Hunter
Square, and Walter became Sir Walter Scott of the Universe." Carlyle
pithily says that the quickest and completest of all vegetables is the cabbage!
The growth of Scott's powers was comparatively slow. He had reached his
thirtieth year before he had done anything decisively pointing towards
literature. He was thirty (me when the first volume of his Minstrelsy of the
Scottish Border was published; and he had reached forty-three when he
published his first volume of Waverly, though it had been partly written,
and then laid aside, nine years before. Nor was Burns, though as fond as Scott
of old ballads, by any means precocious; but, like him, he had strong health and
a vigorous animal nature. Yet at eighteen or nineteen, as he himself informs us,
the marvelous ploughboy' had sketched the outlines of a tragedy.
|
Músicos, poetas
y pintores
Edición crítica
en línea
|
|
Músicos, poetas y pintores
José Martí
El mundo tiene más jóvenes que
viejos. La mayoría de la humanidad es de jóvenes y niños. La juventud es la edad
del crecimiento y del desarrollo, de la actividad y la viveza, de la imaginación
y el ímpetu. Cuando no se ha cuidado del corazón y la mente en los años jóvenes,
bien se puede temer que la ancianidad sea desolada y triste. Bien dijo el poeta
Southey, que los primeros veinte años de la vida son los que tienen más poder en
el carácter del hombre. Cada ser humano lleva en sí un
hombre ideal, lo mismo que cada trozo de mármol contiene en bruto una estatua
tan bella como la que el griego Praxiteles hizo del dios Apolo. La educación empieza con la
vida, y no acaba sino con la muerte. El cuerpo es siempre el mismo, y decae con
la edad; la mente cambia sin cesar, y se enriquece y perfecciona con los años.
Pero las cualidades esenciales
del carácter, lo original y enérgico de cada hombre, se deja ver desde la
infancia en un acto, en una idea, en una mirada.
En el mismo hombre suelen ir
unidos un corazón pequeño y un talento grande. Pero todo hombre tiene el deber
de cultivar su inteligencia, por respeto a sí propio y al mundo. Lo general es
que el hombre no logre en la vida un bienestar permanente sino después de muchos
años de esperar con paciencia y de ser bueno, sin cansarse nunca. El ser bueno
da gusto, y lo hace a uno fuerte y feliz. “La verdad es -dice el
norteamericano Emerson-que la verdadera novela del mundo está en la vida del
hombre, y no hay fábula ni romance que recree más la imaginación que la historia
de un hombre bravo que ha cumplido con su deber.”
Es notable la diferencia de
edades en que llegan los hombres a la fuerza del talento. “Hay algunos -dice el inglés
Bacon- que maduran mucho antes de la edad y se van como vienen”, que es lo mismo
que dice en su latín elegante el retórico Quintiliano. Eso se ve en muchos niños
precoces, que parecen prodigios de sabiduría en sus primeros años, y quedan
oscurecidos en cuanto entran en los años mayores.
Heinecken, el niño de la
antigua ciudad de Lubeck, aprendió de memoria casi toda la Biblia cuando tenía
dos años; a los tres años, hablaba latín y francés; a los cuatro ya lo tenían
estudiando la historia de la iglesia cristiana, y murió a los cinco. De esa
pobre criatura puede decirse lo de Bacon: “El carro de Faetón
no anduvo más que un día.”
Hay niños que logran salvar la
inteligencia de estas exaltaciones de la precocidad, y aumentan en la edad mayor
las glorias de su infancia. En los músicos se ve esto con frecuencia, porque la
agitación del arte es natural y sana, y el alma que la siente padece más de
contenerla que de darle salida.
Haendel
a los diez años había compuesto un libro de sonatas. Su padre lo quería hacer
abogado, y le prohibió tocar un instrumento; pero el niño se procuró a
escondidas un clavicordio mudo, y pasaba las noches tocando a oscuras en las
teclas sin sonido. El duque de Sajonia Weíssenfels logró, a fuerza de ruegos,
que el padre permitiera aprender la música a aquel genio perseverante, y a los
dieciséis Haendel había puesto en música el Almira. En veintitrés días
compuso su gran obra El Mesías, a los cincuenta y siete años, y cuando
murió, a los sesenta y siete, todavía estaba escribiendo óperas y oratorios.
Haydn
fue casi tan precoz como Haendel, y a los trece años ya había compuesto una
misa; pero lo mejor de él, que es la Creación, lo escribió cuando tenía
sesenta y cinco. A Sebastián Bach
le fue casi tan difícil como a Haendel aprender la primera música, porque su
hermano mayor, el organista Cristóbal,
tenía celos de él, y le escondió el libro donde estaban las mejores piezas de
los maestros del clavicordio. Pero Sebastián encontró el libro en una alacena,
se lo llevó a su cuarto, y empezó a copiarlo a deshoras de la noche, a la luz
del cielo, que en verano es muy claro, o a la luz de la luna. Su hermano lo
descubrió, y tuvo la crueldad de llevarse el libro y la copia, lo que de nada le
valió, porque a los dieciocho años ya estaba Sebastián de músico en la corte
famosa de Weimar, y no tenia como organista más rival que Haendel.
Pero de todos los niños
prodigiosos en el arte de la música, el más célebre es Mozart.
No parecía que necesitaba de maestros para aprender. A los cuatro años, cuando
aún no sabía escribir, ya componía tonadas; a los seis arregló un concierto para
piano, y a los doce ya no tenia igual como pianista, y compuso la Finta
Semplice, que fue su primera ópera. Aquellos maestros serios no sabían cómo
entender a un niño que improvisaba fugas dificilísimas sobre un tema
desconocido, y se ponía enseguida a jugar a caballito con el bastón de su padre.
El padre anduvo enseñándolo por las principales ciudades de Europa, vestido como
un príncipe, en su casaquita color de pulga, sus polainas de terciopelo, sus
zapatos de hebilla, y el pelo largo y rizado, atado por detrás como las pelucas.
El padre no se cuidaba de la salud del pianista pigmeo, que no era buena, sino
de sacar de él cuánto dinero podía. Pero a Mozart lo salvaba su carácter alegre;
porque era un maestro en música, pero un niño en todo lo demás. A los catorce
años compuso su ópera de Mitrídates, que se representó veinte noches
seguidas; a los treinta y seis, en su cama de moribundo, consumido por la
agitación de su vida y el trabajo desordenado, compuso el Requiem, que es
una de sus obras más perfectas.
El padre de
Beethoven quería hacer de él una maravilla, y le enseñó a fuerza de porrazos y penitencias
tanta música, que a los trece años el niño tocaba en público y había compuesto
tres sonatas. Pero hasta los veintiuno no empezó a producir sus obras sublimes.
Weber,
que era un muchacho muy travieso, publicó a los doce sus seis primeras fugas, y
a los catorce compuso su ópera Las Ninfas del Bosque: la famosísima del
Cazador la compuso a los treinta y seis.
Mendelssohn
aprendió a tocar antes que a hablar, y a los doce años ya había escrito tres
cuartetos para piano, violines y contrabajo: dieciséis años cumplía cuando acabó
su primera ópera Las Bodas de Camacho; a los dieciocho escribió su sonata
en si bemol; antes de los veinte compuso su Sueño de una Noche de Verano;
a los veintidós su Sinfonía de Reforma, y no cesó de escribir obras
profundas y dificilísimas hasta los treinta y ocho, que murió. Meyerbeer
era a los nueve pianista excelente, y a los dieciocho puso en el teatro de
Munich su primera pieza La Hija de Jephté; pero hasta los treinta y siete
no ganó fama con su Roberto el Diablo.
El inglés
Carlyle
habla en su Vida del Poeta Schiller de un Daniel Schubart,
que era poeta, músico y predicador, y a derechas no era nada. Todo lo hacía por
espasmos y se cansaba de todo, de sus estudios, de su pereza y de sus
desórdenes. Era hombre de mucha capacidad, notable como músico; como predicador,
muy elocuente; y hábil periodista. A los cincuenta y dos años murió, y su mujer
e hijo quedaron en la miseria. Pero Franz Schubert,
el niño maravilloso de Viena, vivió de otro modo, aunque no fue mucho más feliz.
Tocaba el violín cuando no era más alto que él lo mismo que el piano y el
órgano. Con leer una vez una canción, tenía bastante para ponerla en música
exquisita, que parece de sueño y de capricho, y como si fuera un aire de
colores. Escribió más de quinientas melodías, a más de óperas, misas, sonatas,
sinfonías y cuartetos. Murió pobre a los treinta y un años.
Entre los músicos de Italia se
ha visto la misma precocidad. Cimarosa,
hijo de un zapatero remendón, era autor a los diecinueve de La Baronesa de
Stramba. A los ocho tocaba Paganini
en el violín una sonata suya. El padre de Rossini tocaba el trombón en una compañía de cómicos ambulantes, en que la madre iba de
cantatriz. A los diez años Rossini iba con su padre de segundo; luego cantó en
los coros hasta que se quedó sin voz; y a los veintiún años era el autor famoso
de la ópera Tancredo.
Entre los pintores y
escultores han sido muchos los que se han revelado en la niñez. El más glorioso de todos es
Miguel Ángel.
Cuando nació lo mandaron al campo a criarse con la mujer de un picapedrero, por
lo que decía él después que había bebido el amor de la escultura con la leche de
la madre. En cuanto pudo manejar un lápiz le llenó las paredes al picapedrero de
dibujos, y cuando volvió a Florencia, cubría de gigantes y leones el suelo de la
casa de su padre. En la escuela no adelantaba mucho con los libros, ni dejaba el
lápiz de la mano; y había que ir a sacarlo por fuerza de casa de los pintores.
La pintura y la escultura eran entonces oficios bajos, y el padre, que venía de
familia noble, gastó en vano razones y golpes para convencer a su hijo de que no
debía ser un miserable cortapiedras, Pero cortapiedras quería ser el hijo, y
nada más. Cedió el padre al fin, y lo puso de alumno en el taller del pintor
Ghirlandaio,
quien halló tan adelantado al aprendiz que convino en pagarle un tanto por mes.
Al poco tiempo el aprendiz pintaba mejor que el maestro; pero vio las estatuas
de los jardines célebres de Lorenzo de Médicis, y cambió entusiasmado los
colores por el cincel. Adelantó con tanta rapidez en la escultura que a los
dieciocho años admiraba Florencia su bajorrelieve de la Batalla de los
Centauros; a los veinte hizo el Amor Dormido, y poco después su colosal
estatua de David. Pintó luego, uno tras otro, sus cuadros terribles y
magníficos. Benvenuto Cellini,
aquel genio creador en el arte de ornamentar, dice que ningún cuadro de Miguel
Ángel vale tanto como el que pintó a los veintinueve que unos soldados de Pisa,
sorprendidos en el baño por sus enemigos, salen del agua a arremeter contra
ellos.
La precocidad de
Rafael
fue también asombrosa, aunque su padre no se le oponía, sino le celebraba su
pasión por el arte. A los diecisiete años ya era pintor eminente. Cuentan que se
llenó de admiración al ver las obras grandiosas de Miguel Ángel en la Capilla Sixtina, y que dio en voz alta gracias a Dios por haber nacido en el mismo siglo
de aquel genio extraordinario. Rafael pintó su Escuela de Atenas a los
veinticinco años y su obra Transfiguración a los treinta y siete. Estaba
acabándola cuando murió, y el pueblo romano llevó la pintura al Panteón, el día
de los funerales. Hay quien piensa que La Transfiguración de Rafael,
incompleta como está, es el cuadro más bello del mundo.
Leonardo de Vinci
sobresalió desde la niñez en las matemáticas, la música y el dibujo. En un
cuadro de su maestro Verrocchio pintó un ángel de tanta hermosura que el
maestro, desconsolado de verse inferior al discípulo, dejó para siempre su arte.
Cuando Leonardo llegó a los años mayores era la admiración del mundo, por su
poder como arquitecto e ingeniero, y como músico y pintor.
Guercino
a los diez años adornó con una virgen de fino dibujo la fachada de su casa. Tintoreto
era un discípulo tan aventajado que su maestro Tiziano
se enceló de él y lo despidió de su servicio. El desaire le dio ánimo en vez de
acobardarlo, y siguió pintando tan de prisa que le decían "el furioso".
Canova,
el escultor, hizo a los cuatro años un león de un pan de mantequilla. El dinamarqués
Thorwaldsen
tallaba, a los trece, mascarones para los barcos en el taller de su padre, que
era escultor en madera; y a los quince ganó la medalla en Copenhague por su
bajorrelieve del Amor en Reposo.
Los poetas también suelen dar pronto muestras de su
vocación, sobre todo los de alma inquieta, sensible y apasionada. Dante
a los nueve años escribía versos a la niña de ocho años de que habla en su
Vida Nueva. A los diez años lamentó
Tasso
en verso su separación de su madre y hermana, y se comparó al triste Ascanio
cuando huía de Troya con su padre Eneas a cuestas; a los treinta y un años puso
las últimas octavas a su poema de la Jerusalén, que empezó a los
veinticinco.
De diez años andaba
Metastasio
improvisando por las calles de Roma; y Goldoni,
que era muy revoltoso, compuso a los ocho su primera comedia. Muchas veces se
escapó Goldoni de la escuela para irse detrás de los cómicos ambulantes. Su
familia logró que estudiase leyes, y en pocos años ganó fama de excelente
abogado, pero la vocación natural pudo más en él, y dejó el foro para hacerse el
poeta famoso de los comediantes.
Alfieri
demostró cualidades extraordinarias desde la juventud. De niño era muy endeble,
como muchos poetas precoces, y en extremo meditabundo y sensible. A los ocho
años se quiso envenenar, en un arrebato de tristeza, con unas yerbas que le
parecían de cicuta; pero las yerbas sólo le sirvieron de purgante. Lo encerraron
en su cuarto y lo hicieron ir a la iglesia en penitencia, con su gorro de
dormir. Cuando vio el mar por primera vez, tuvo deseos misteriosos, y conoció
que era poeta. Sus padres ricos no se habían cuidado de educarlo bien, y no pudo
poner en palabras las ideas que le hervían en la mente. Estudió, viajó, vivió
sin orden, se enamoró con frenesí. Su amada no lo quiso y él resolvió morir,
pero un criado le salvó la vida. Se curó, se volvió a enamorar, volvió la novia
a desdeñarlo, se encerró en su cuarto, se cortó el pelo de raíz, y en su soledad
forzosa empezó a escribir versos. Tenía veintiséis años cuando se representó su
tragedia Cleopatra: en siete años compuso catorce tragedias.
Cervantes
empezó a escribir en verso, y no tenía todo el bigote cuando ya había escrito
sus pastorales y canciones a la moda italiana. Wieland,
el poeta alemán, leía de corrido a los tres años, a los siete traducía del latín
a Cornelio Nepote,
y a los dieciséis escribió su primer poema didáctico de El Mundo Perfecto. Klopstock,
que desde niño fue impetuoso y apasionado, comenzó a escribir su poema de la
Mesíada a los veinte años.
Schiller
nació con la pasión por la poesía. Cuentan que un día de tempestad lo
encontraron encaramado en un árbol adonde se había subido "para ver de dónde
venía el rayo, ¡porque era tan hermoso!" Schiller leyó la Mesíada a los
catorce años, y se puso a componer un poema sacro sobre Moisés. De Goethe
se dice que antes de cumplir los ocho años escribía en alemán, en francés, en
italiano, en latín y en griego, y pensaba tanto en las cosas de la religión que
imaginó un gran "Dios de la naturaleza", y le encendía hogares en señal de
adoración. Con el mismo afán estudiaba la música y el dibujo, y toda especie de
ciencias. El bravo poeta
Koerner murió a los veinte años corno quería él morir, defendiendo a su patria. Era
enfermizo de niño, pero nada contuvo su amor por las ideas nobles que se
celebran en los versos. Dos horas antes de morir escribió El Canto de la
Espada.
Tomás Moore,
el poeta de las Melodías Irlandesas, dice que casi todas las comedias
buenas y muchas de las tragedias famosas han sido obras de la juventud. Lope de Vega
y Calderón,
que son los que más han escrito para el teatro, empezaron muy temprano, uno a
los doce años y otro a los trece. Lope cambiaba sus versos con sus condiscípulos por juguetes
y láminas, y a los doce años ya había compuesto dramas y comedias. A los
dieciocho publicó su poema de la Arcadia, con pastores por héroes. A los
veintiséis iba en un barco de la armada española, cuando el asalto a Inglaterra,
y en el viaje escribió varios poemas. Pero los centenares de comedias que lo han
hecho célebre los escribió después de su vuelta a España, siendo ya sacerdote.
Calderón no escribió menos de cuatrocientos dramas. A los
trece años compuso su primera obra El Carro del Cielo.
A los cincuenta se hizo sacerdote, como Lope, y ya no escribió más que piezas
sagradas.
Estos poetas españoles escribieron sus obras principales antes de
llegar a los años de la madurez. Entre los poetas de las tierras del Norte la inteligencia
anda mucho más despacio. Moliére tuvo que educarse por sí mismo; pero a los treinta
y un años ya había escrito El Atolondrado. Voltaire a los doce escribía sátiras contra los padres
jesuitas del colegio en que se estaba educando: su padre quería que estudiase
leyes, y se desesperó cuando supo que el hijo andaba recitando versos entre la
gente alegre de París: a los veinte años estaba Voltaire preso en la Bastilla
por sus versos burlescos contra el rey vicioso que gobernaba en Francia: en la
prisión corrigió su tragedia de Edipo, y comenzó su poema la Henriada.
El alemán Kotzebue fue otro genio dramático precoz. A los
siete años escribió una comedia en verso, de una página. Entraba como podía en
el teatro de Weimar, y cuando no tenía con qué pagar se escondía detrás del
bombo hasta que empezaba la representación. Su mayor gusto era andar con teatros
de juguete y mover a los muñecos en la escena. A los dieciocho años se
representó su primera tragedia en un teatro de amigos.
Víctor Hugo no tenía más que quince años cuando escribió su
tragedia Irtamene. Ganó tres premios seguidos en los juegos florales; a
los veinte escribió Bug Jargal, y un año después su novela Hans de
Islandia, y sus primeras Odas y Baladas. Casi todos los poetas
franceses de su tiempo eran muy jóvenes. "En Francia", decía en burla el crítico
Moreau, "ya no hay quien respete a un escritor si tiene más de dieciocho años".
El inglés Congreve
escribió a los diecinueve su novela Incógnita, y todas sus comedias antes
de los veinticinco. A Sheridan
lo llamaba su maestro "burro incorregible"; pero a los veintiséis años había
escrito su Escuela del Escándalo. Entre los poetas ingleses de la antigüedad hubo muy pocos
precoces. Se sabe poco de Chaucer,
Shakespeare y Spenser. El mismo Shakespeare
llama "primogénito de su invención" al poema Venus y Adonis, que compuso
a los veintiocho años. Milton tendría veintiséis años cuando escribió su
Comus. Pero Cowley escribía versos mitológicos a los doce.
Pope
"empezó a hablar en versos": su salud era mísera y su cuerpo deforme, pero por
más que le doliera la cabeza, los versos le salían muchos y buenos. El que había
de idear La Borricada volvió un día a su casa echado de la escuela por
una sátira que escribió contra el maestro. Samuel Johnson dice que Pope escribió
su oda a La Soledad a los doce años, y sus Pastorales a los
dieciséis:
de los veinticinco a los treinta, tradujo la Ilíada. El infeliz Chatterton
logró engañar con una maravillosa falsificación literaria a los eruditos más
famosos de su tiempo: rebosan genio la oda de Chatterton a la Libertad y
su Canto del Bardo. Pero era fiero y arrogante, de carácter descompuesto
y defectuoso, y rebelde contra las leyes de la vida. Murió antes de haber
comenzado a vivir.
Robert Burns, el poeta escocés, escribía ya a los dieciséis
años sus encantadoras canciones montañesas. El irlandés Moore
componía a los trece, versos buenos a su Celia famosa, y a los catorce había
empezado a traducir del griego a Anacreonte. En su casa no sabían qué
significaban aquellas ninfas, aquellos placeres alados, y aquellas canciones al
vino. Moore se libró pronto de estos modelos peligrosos, y alcanzó fama mejor
con los versos ricos de su Lalla Rookh y la prosa ejemplar de su
Vida
de Byron.
Keats, el más grande de los poetas jóvenes de Inglaterra,
murió a los veinticuatro años, ya célebre. Pero nadie hubiera podido decir en su
niñez que había de ser ilustre por su genio poético aquel estudiantuelo feroz
que andaba siempre de peleas y puñetazos. Es verdad que leía sin cesar; aunque
no pareció revelársele la vocación hasta que leyó a los dieciséis años la
Reina Encantada de Spenser: desde entonces sólo vivió para los versos.
Shelley sí fue precocísimo. Cuando estudiaba en Eton, a los
quince años publicó una novela y dio un banquete a sus amigos con la ganancia de
la venta. Era tan original y rebelde que todos le decían "el ateo Shelley", o
"el loco Shelley". A los dieciocho publicó su poema de la Reina Mab, y a
los diecinueve lo echaron del colegio por el atrevimiento con que defendió sus
doctrinas religiosas; a los treinta años murió ahogado, con un tomo de versos de
Keats en el bolsillo. Maravillosa es la poesía de Shelley por la música del
verso, la elegancia de la construcción y la profundidad de las ideas. Era un
manojo de nervios siempre vibrantes, y tenía tales ilusiones y rarezas que sus
condiscípulos lo tenían por destornillado; pero su inteligencia fue vivísima y
sutil, su cuerpo frágil se estremecía con las más delicadas emociones, y sus
versos son de incomparable hermosura.
Byron fue otro genio extraordinario y errante de la misma
época de Shelley y de Keats. Desde la escuela se le conoció el carácter
turbulento y arrebatado. De los libros se cuidaba poco; pero antes de los ocho
años ya sufría de penas de hombre. Tenía una pierna más corta que la otra,
aunque eso no le quitaba los bríos, y se hizo el dueño de la escuela a fuerza de
puños, como Keats: él mismo cuenta que de siete batallas perdía una. Cuando
estaba en Cambridge de estudiante, tenía en su casa un oso y varios perros de
presa, y cada día contaban de él una historia escandalosa: aquél era sin embargo
el niño sensible que a los doce años había celebrado en versos sentidos a una
prima suya. Leía con afán todos los libros de literatura, y a los dieciocho años
publicó para sus amigos su primer libro de versos: Horas de Ocio. La
Revista de Edimburgo habló del libro con desdén, y Byron contestó con su
célebre sátira sobre los Poetas Ingleses y los Críticos de Escocia.
Cumplía los veinticuatro cuando salió al público el primer canto de su poema
Childe Harold. "A los veinticinco años", dice Macaulay, "se vio a
Byron en
la cima de la gloria literaria, con todos los ingleses famosos de la época a sus
pies. Byron era ya más célebre que Scott, Wordsworth y Southey. Apenas hay
ejemplo de un ascenso tan rápido a tan vertiginosa eminencia". Murió a los
treinta y siete años, edad fatal para tantos hombres de genio.
Coleridge
escribió a los veinticinco su Himno del Amanecer, donde se ven en unión
completa la sublimidad y la energía. Bulwer Lytton tenía hecho a los quince su
Ismael. A los diecisiete había publicado su primer tomo la poetisa
Barrett Browning,
que desde los diez escribía en verso y prosa. Robert Browning,
su marido, publicó el Paracelso a los veintitrés. A los veinte había escrito
Tennyson algunas de las poesías melodiosas que han hecho ilustre su nombre. Se ve, pues, que en el fuego tumultuoso de la juventud han
nacido muchas de las obras más nobles de la música, la pintura y la poesía.
Suele el genio poético decaer
con los años, aunque Goethe dice que con la edad se va haciendo mejor el poeta.
Es seguro que si no hubieran muerto tan temprano, los poetas precoces habrían
imaginado después obras más perfectas que las de su juventud. La fuerza del
genio no se acaba con la juventud.
Pero las dotes especiales que hacen más tarde
ilustres a los hombres se revelan casi siempre entre los diecisiete y veintitrés
años. Puede irse desarrollando poco a poco el talento poético; pero el que es
poeta de veras, siempre lo mostrará de algún modo. Crabbe y Wordsworth, que descubrieron el genio tarde,
escribían versos desde la niñez. Crabbe
llenó de versos toda una gaveta, cuando estaba de aprendiz de cirujano; y
Wordsworth,
que era agrio y melancólico de niño, empezó a hacer cuartetas heroicas a los
catorce. Shelley dice de Wordsworth que "no tenía más imaginación que un
cacharro",
lo que no quita que sea Wordsworth un poeta inmortal. No fue precoz como
Shelley; pero creció despacio y con firmeza, como un roble, hasta que llegó a su
majestuosa altura.
Walter Scott
tampoco fue precoz de niño. Su maestro dijo que no tenía cabeza para el griego,
y él mismo cuenta que fue de muchacho muy travieso y holgazán; pero gozaba de
mucha salud, y era gran amigo de los juegos de su edad. En lo primero en que se
le vio el genio fue en su gusto por las baladas antiguas, y en su facilidad
extraordinaria para inventar historias. Cuando su padre supo que había estado
vagando por el país con su camarada Clark, metiéndose por todas partes, y
posando en las casas de los campesinos, le dijo: -"¡Dudo mucho, señor, de que
sirva Ud. más que para cola de caballo!". De su facilidad para los cuentos, el
mismo Scott dice que en las horas de ocio de los inviernos, cuando no tenían
modo de estar al aire libre, mantenía muchas horas maravillados con sus
narraciones a sus compañeros de escuela, que se peleaban por sentarse cerca del
que les decía aquellas historias lindas que no acababan nunca.
Dice
Carlyle que en una clase
de la escuela de gramática de Edimburgo había dos muchachos: "John, siempre
hecho un brinquillo, correcto y ducal; Walter, siempre desarreglado, borrico y
tartamudo. Con el correr de los años, John llegó a ser el regidor John, de un
barrio infeliz, y Walter fue Sir Walter Scott, de todo el universo". Dice
Carlyle, con mucho seso, que la legumbre más precoz y completa es la col. A los
treinta años no se podía decir de seguro que Scott tuviera genio para la
literatura. A los treinta y uno publicó su primer tomo del Cancionero de
Escocia, y no imprimió su novela Waverley hasta los cuarenta y tres,
aunque la tenía escrita nueve años antes.
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