Barcos que se cruzan

Barcos que se cruzan, a photo by JoseAngelGarciaLanda on Flickr.

Drama and Theatre

Beginning my course on English drama....

Literature is by and large a discursive phenomenon, a collection of texts, a set of linguistic practices. Literary works are made of words. Now, if literature is defined by its medium, written or printed discourse, drama is multimedia. Of course there is also "oral literature" (—a contradiction?) which is linked to live performance, and may therefore have a theatrical quality. But a book, a written text, is a well-defined medium. Drama may be written or printed—and read, just like any other poem or novel. In that sense we may speak of drama as part of literature, as a literary genre. But drama is also composed to be staged, and there it is multimedia: the words of the literary text interact with the presence and body of the actors, with gestures, acting, with staging conventions. In that sense, drama is literary, but theatre is multimedia. This ambivalence will be found everywhere; we may stress the literary aspect of drama, or its theatrical potential; we may read a play, or we may watch a performance, and we shall be experiencing drama in different ways. Some theories of drama emphasize its literary side, others emphasize spectacle and performance. Some dramatists are more literary, some are more theatrical. And some dramatic companies, too, are more literary and attentive to the text, while others emphasize theatricality, spectacle and acting. So the issue of mediality has to be acknowledged every time we encounter drama and theatre.

Here we shall use both terms interchangeably in many contexts, but when we need to emphasize live performance we will speak of "theatre" and when we emphasize the linguistic or literary aspect we will speak of "drama".

The twentieth century saw a certain reaction against "wordy" theatre or literary drama—although it was an age of powerful and innovative literary drama. But many directors and actors (and dramatists themselves) emphasized acting, spectacle, visual symbolism, creative staging and nonverbal communication; other semiotic dimensions apart from language are discovered and emphasized: lights, gesture, music, objects, space…

In studying a play, therefore, we may focus on the text or on the text in a specific performance—or a kind of performance, for instance, on the typical performance in a given theatrical tradition. That is, we may focus on the drama as literature, or on the theatrical aspect of the play. From a semiotic viewpoint, we may also speak in this case of the theatrical text, only we use here text in an extended sense, meaning not words but other kinds of signs.

Some aspects of the written play point to the theatrical text: these are called the stage directions. They may be missing in some authors or traditions; sometimes they are supplied by editors, not by the playwright. In many modern dramatists, such as Valle Inclán, Beckett or Tennessee Williams, the stage directiosn may be quite elaborate, showing that the author wants to control not only the text, but also the way it is performed; not suprisingly, sometimes such modern dramatists direct their own plays, or express annoyance when a company keeps the text but disregards the stage directions—part of the theatrical text as the dramatist understands it.

The main text in drama consists in the direct presentation of characters' words (and their actions, in the case of theatre). The author is silent, present like an invisible God in the world, but letting his characters speak and act without his intervention. Of course there may be exceptions: in "epic" drama (epic in the sense of narrative) there may be a narrator, a kind of author-figure whose discourse mediates the world of the stage and the world of the audience.  Sometimes a non-dramatic work may be adapted to the stage (e.g. Don Quijote) and then many options are open: the character's words may be preserved, or expanded and supplied where they are missing; the narrator's discourse may be suppressed or kept usually in a more marginal position as an epic or voice-over narrator.

In narrative the narrator's voice acts as a mediator between the authorial creation and the characters' world. For instance, sometimes the narrator is a kind of author, reading the characters' minds, but still he is "in the middle" in the sense that he presents the world of the characters as fact and not fiction—Although there are many possibilities and variations. In drama, such mediating figures may appear, too, between the world of the interacting characters and the world of the audience. Sometimes a chorus or narrator will address the audience; Shakespeare uses this device in some of his plays.

It is only to be expected that the most "literary" dramas will be those which work best as literature. Theatrical spectacles which rely on acting, situation, gesture or music rather than drama will belong to the history of the stage, or to the history of music, but not to literary history. For instance, opera combines music, song, story, text and acting, but operatic librettos are rarely considered significant works of literary art. The same goes for pantomimes or music-hall spectacles. The works which we study in this course are important literary texts which were also theatrically successful., for the most part (exceptions like Milton's Samson Agonistes).  Milton's text is an instance of closet drama, drama written to be read, not performed, although of course nothing prevents its being performed. Seneca's plays in the Roman period were influential instances of closet drama, much studied and imitated by the Elizabethan dramatists for their own theatrical plays.

A performance may complete or supplement the words of the dramatic text into significant action and gesture. Sometimes the acting and staging are so significant and prominent that they not only illustrate or "translate" the dramatic text—they may also interpret it, complete it or add to it, sometimes enter into a complex relationship with it, perhaps adding to the performance a number of meanings which are not to be found in the dramatic text as originally written by the author. A dramatic work may be written by one person, although sometimes we collaborate with others without even knowing it. But a theatrical performance is like a film, it is not the work of one person but of a whole team: author, adaptor, translator, director, manager, actors and the rest of the team behind the scenes—makeup, music, sound, light, stage hands, etc.

El mundo todo es máscaras

 

—oOo—

Actas del I Congreso AEDEAN (1977)

Para incluir en mi bibliografía, unas actas que ya son un viaje en el tiempo. Qué hacías tú en el 77:

Actas del Primer Congreso de la Asociación Española de Estudios Anglo-Norteamericanos: Granada 15 al 17 de diciembre 1977. Granada: U de Granada, Facultad de Filosofía y Letras, Departamento de Filología Inglesa, 1978:

Serrano Valverde, Fernando. "The Grammar of Verbs of Movement."  9-16.
Quereda, Luis. "Análisis de contrastes: Posibilidades y limitaciones."  17-23.
Whelan, Peter. "The Relationship between D. H. Lawrence's 'The Rainbow' and 'Women in Love' and Wagner's 'The Ring of the Nibelung'."  25-30.
López Ortega, Ramón. "La lengua de Lewis Grassic Gibbon en 'A Scots Quair.'"  31-39.
García Tortosa, Francisco. "El 'Melonsmellonous osculation' de Joyce."  41-47.
Mateo, Leopoldo. "La visión apocalíptica de Thomas Pynchon."  49-52.
Martín Mingorance, Leocadio. "The Study of Lexicon in Generative Grammar. Some Aspects of Words Formation."  53-58.
Barcelona, Antonio. "La tematización en inglés y en español."  59-66.
Martínez-Dueñas Espejo, J. L. "Expresión temporal en la oración condicional inglesa."  67-73.
Bardavío, J. M. "Taxi Driver desde la perspectiva sicológica."  75-79.
Martín Gutiérrez, F. "Alternativas críticas norteamericanas para la década de los ochenta."  81-86.
Dura, Juan. "La política norteamericana hacia España durante la post-guerra, 1945-1953."  87-93.
Olivares, Carmen. "Variación sintáctica en las obras de teatro de Donleavy respecto de las novelas enque se basan."  95-99.
Santoyo, J. C. "Lengua y estilo de J. P. Donleavy."  101-14.
Usandizaga, Aránzazu. "Patrick White, un intento de épica australiana."  115-19.
Lorenzo, Emilio. "Dos lenguas transplantadas: El inglés y el español en América."  121-33.
Pujals, Esteban. "Matices de la poesía de Thomas Hardy."  135-58.
McDermott, Doireann. "What Is the English Speaking World Today? New Perspectives to English Studies."  159-68.
Benito Cardenal, L. C. "W. Faulkner, el discurso narrativo como práctica semiótica poética."  169-83.

______

2022: 

De AEDEAN me hice socio en 1984 o 1985.  Y más de 35 años después me he borrado, después de aguantar varios desplantes de la asociación, en cuanto vi que me habían bloqueado en Facebook. Enough is enough. 

A Bibliography of Literary Theory, Criticism and Philology

 

—oOo—

The Wanderer

"El viajero errante". Un poema anónimo de hace más de mil años, que me gusta incluir en mis clases de literatura anglosajona; esta traducción inglesa viene del Project Gutenberg eBook of Old English Poems, aunque cambio algún detalle. Aquí hay una traducción española. Contiene una de las visiones más memorables del fin del mundo y de la extinción de la raza humana; no tiene nada que envidiar, desde luego, al Last Man de Mary Shelley o a Darkness de Lord Byron—o a La peste escarlata de Jack London. Combina de modo quizá ilógico pero poéticamente efectivo la vejez de un hombre y el fin del mundo; la ruina y muerte de una civilización entera, con el exilio y la nostalgia del último superviviente de un tiempo pasado, que viaja por un mundo inhóspito que ya nada le ofrece, quedando sólo el consuelo del recuerdo y la ilusión del más allá. Aunque no puedo librarme de la sospecha de que el toque de esperanza celestial que cierra el poema es un añadido cristianizante a un poema todavía más pesimista y desengañado, un auténtico viajero de otros tiempos, el poema mismo, que viene realmente de un mundo ya moribundo y sin esperanza de volver a la vida plena. Es especialmente llamativa la manera en que, en un poema dentro del poema, el viajero errante se imagina a sí mismo como everyman, meditando como lo hará todo superviviente sobre la desaparición de todo lo que conocía, y sobre la faz que ahora ve claramente de un mundo hostil a las esperanzas y las empresas humanas.



Often the lonely one longs for honors,
The grace of the Lord, though, grieved in his soul,
Over the waste of the waters far and wide he shall
Row with his hands through the rime-cold sea,
Travel the exile tracks: full determined is fate!
So the wanderer spake, his woes remembering,
His misfortunes in fighting and the fall of his kinsmen:

“Often alone at early dawn
I make my moan! Not a man now lives
To whom I can speak forth my heart and soul
And tell of its trials. In truth I know well
That there belongs to a lord an illustrious trait,
To fetter his feelings fast in his breast,
To keep his own counsel though cares oppress him.
The weary in heart against Wyrd has no help
Nor may the troubled in thought attempt to get aid.
Therefore the thane who is thinking of glory
Binds in his breast his bitterest thoughts.
So I fasten with fetters, confine in my breast
My sorrows of soul, though sick oft at heart,
In a foreign country far from my kinsmen.
I long ago laid my loyal patron
In sorrow under the sod; since then I have gone
Weary with winter-care over the wave’s foamy track,
In sadness have sought a solace to find
In the home and the hall of a host and ring-giver,
Who, mindful of mercy in the mead-hall free,
In kindness would comfort and care for me friendless,
Would treat me with tenderness. The tried man knows
How stern is sorrow, how distressing a comrade
For him who has few of friends and loved ones:
He trails the track of the exile; no treasure he has,
But heart-chilling frost— no fame upon earth.
He recalls his comrades and the costly hall-gifts
Of his gracious gold-friend, which he gave him in youth
To expend as he pleased: his pleasure has vanished!
He who lacks for long his lord’s advice,
His love and his wisdom, learns full well
How sorrow and slumber soothe together
The way-worn wanderer to welcome peace.
He seems in his sleep to see his lord;
He kisses and clasps him, and inclines on his knee
His hands and his head as in happier days
When he experienced the pleasure of his prince’s favors.
From his sleep then awakens the sorrowful wanderer;
He sees full before him the fallow waves,
The sea-birds bathing and beating their wings,
Frost and snow falling with freezing hail.
Then heavier grows the grief of his heart,
Sad after his dream; he sorrows anew.

His kinsmen’s memory he calls to his mind,
And eagerly greets it; in gladness he sees
His valiant comrades. Then they vanish away.
In the soul of a sailor no songs burst forth,
No familiar refrains. Fresh is his care
Who sends his soul o’er the sea full oft,
Over the welling waves his wearied heart.
Hence I may not marvel, when I am mindful of life,
That my sorrowing soul grows sick and dark,
When I look at the lives of lords and earls,
How they are suddenly snatched from the seats of their power,
In their princely pride. So passes this world,
And droops and dies each day and hour;
And no man is sage who knows not his share
Of winter in the world. The wise man is patient,
Not too hot in his heart, nor too hasty in words,
Nor too weak in war, nor unwise in his rashness,
Nor too forward nor fain, nor fearful of death,
Nor too eager and arrogant till he equal his boasting.
The wise man will wait with his words of boasting
Till, restraining his thoughts, he thoroughly knows
Where his vain words of vaunting eventually will lead him.
The sage man perceives how sorrowful it is
When all the wealth of the world lies wasted and scattered.
So now over the earth in every land
Stormed on by winds the walls are standing
Rimy with hoar-frost, and the roofs of the houses;
The wine-halls are wasted; far away are the rulers,
Deprived of their pleasure. All the proud ones have fallen,
The warriors by the wall: some war has borne off,
In its bloody embrace; some birds have carried
Over the high seas; to some the hoar wolf
Has dealt their death; some with dreary faces
By earls have been exiled in earth-caves to dwell:
So has wasted this world through the wisdom of God,
Till the proud one’s pleasure has perished utterly,
And the old work of the giants stands worthless and joyless.
He who the waste of this wall-stead wisely considers,
And looks down deep at the darkness of life,
Mournful in mind, remembers of old
Much struggle and spoil and speaks these words:
‘Where are the horses? Where are the heroes?
Where are the high treasure-givers?
Where are the proud pleasure-seekers? Where are the palace and its joys?
Alas the bright wine-cup! Alas the burnie-warriors!
Alas the prince’s pride! How passes the time
Under the shadow of night as it never had been!
Over the trusty troop now towers full high
A wall adorned with wondrous dragons.
The strength of the spear has destroyed the earls,
War-greedy weapons, Wyrd inexorable;
And the storms strike down on the stony cliffs;
The snows descend and seize all the earth
In the dread of winter; then darkness comes
And dusky night-shade. Down from the north
The hated hail-storms beat on heroes with fury.
All on earth is irksome to man;
Oft changes the work of the fates, the world under the firmament.
Here treasure is fleeting; here true friends are fleeting;
Here comrades are fleeting; here kinsmen are fleeting.
All idle and empty the earth has become.’

So says the sage one in mind, as he sits and secretly ponders.
Good is the man who is true to his trust; never should he betray anger,
Divulge the rage of his heart till the remedy he knows
That quickly will quiet his spirit. The quest of honor is a noble pursuit;
Glory be to God on high, who grants us our salvation!”

Wayfaring Stranger (3)

—oOo—

Backshadowing

 Sombra de hoja sobre hoja, a photo by JoseAngelGarciaLanda on Flickr.

Nuestra sed de aprobación y elogios

En El origen del hombre, Darwin tiene este interesante pasaje comentando el origen del altruismo y de la solidaridad social, explicados mediante la selección natural:

Pero otro estímulo, mucho más potente, para el desarrollo de las virtudes sociales lo proporciona el elogio y la censura de nuestros compañeros. Tal como hemos visto, al instinto de simpatía se debe, en primer lugar, el que apliquemos tanto elogios como censuras a los demás, mientras que gustamos de los primeros y tememos a las segundas cuando se nos aplican; y sin duda este instinto se adquirió originalmente, como todos los demás instintos sociales, mediante selección natural. Desde luego, no podemos decir lo temprano que era el período en que los progenitores del hombre, en el decurso de su desarrollo, se hicieron capaces de sentir y de ser impulsados por las alabanzas o las críticas de sus compañeros. Pero resulta que incluso los perros aprecian el incentivo, el elogio y la censura. Los salvajes más primitivos tienen sentimientos de gloria, como demuestran claramente al conservar los trofeos de sus proezas, por su costumbre de jactancia excesiva, e incluso por el cuidado extremo que ponen en su aspecto personal y en sus decoraciones; tales hábitos no tendrían sentido a menos que consideren la opinión de sus compañeros. (...)
   
Por ello podemos llegar a la conclusión de que el hombre primitivo, en un período muy remoto, estaba influido por el elogio y la censura de sus compañeros. Es evidente que los miembros de la misma tribu aprobaran la conducta que les pareciera que era para el bien general, y que reprobaran la que pareciera mala. Hacer el bien a los demás ("Tratad a los hombres como vosotros queréis ser tratados por ellos") es la piedra fundamental de la moralidad. Por ello, apenas es posible exagerar la importancia durante tiempos primitivos del amor por el elogio y del temor a la censura. Un hombre que no se viera impelido por ningún sentimiento profundo e instintivo a sacrificar su vida por el bien de los demás, pero que se viera estimulado a dichas acciones por un sentimiento de gloria, mediante su ejemplo excitaría el mismo deseo de gloria en otros hombres, y reforzaría mediante ejercicio el noble sentimiento de la admiración. De este modo haría más bien a su tribu que engendrando descendientes con una tendencia a heredar su propio carácter elevado.

Con una experiencia y razón acrecentadas, el hombre percibe las consecuencias más remotas de sus acciones; y las virtudes de amor propio, tales como templanza, castidad, etc., que durante las épocas primitivas, como hemos visto, no son tenidas en cuenta en absoluto, llegan a ser muy estimadas o incluso se consideran sagradas. Sin embargo, no necesito repetir lo que ya dije a este propósito el capítulo anterior. En último término, nuestro sentido moral o nuestra consciencia se convierte en un sentimiento muy complejo: se origina en los instintos sociales, es conducido en gran parte por la aprobación de nuestros semejantes, regido por la razón, el interés propio y, en los últimos tiempos, por profundos sentimientos religiosos, y confirmado por la instrucción y el hábito.

No hay que olvidar que aunque un elevado nivel de moralidad no confiere más que una ligera ventaja, o ninguna en absoluto, a cada hombre individual y a sus hijos sobre los demás hombres de la misma tribu, en cambio, un aumento en el número de hombres bien dotados de cualidades y un progreso en la norma de moralidad otorgará ciertamente una inmensa ventaja a una tribu sobre otra. Una tribu que incluya muchos miembros que, por poseer en grado alto el espíritu de patriotismo, fidelidad, obediencia, valentía y simpatía, estén siempre dispuestos a ayudarse mutuamente y a sacrificarse por el bien común, será victoriosa sobre la mayoría de las demás tribus; y esto será selección natural. En todas las épocas y en todo el mundo, unas tribus han sustituido a otras y, puesto que la moralidad es un elemento importante de su éxito, la norma de moralidad y el número de hombres con buenas cualidades tenderá a crecer y a aumentar en todas partes. (170-172)

A añadir aquí el capítulo de Fielding sobre el teatro de la aprobación y desaprobación en el mundo.

 

 ______

 2022:

La lectura de La Riqueza de las Naciones de Adam Smith influyó la teoría de la selección natural de Darwin. Me pregunto si de alguna manera se vio Darwin influido también, en el pasaje anterior, por otra obra  de Adam Smith, la Teoría de los Sentimientos Morales. Sea como sea, una noción de selección natural de los sentimientos morales tal como la que aquí se apunta está implícita en la obra de Smith, que podría considerarse también un incipiente tratado de psicología evolucionista.

Más hablo sobre el evolucionismo moral de Smith en este artículo sobre 

        "La construcción afectiva de la realidad social." 

         https://www.academia.edu/32391218/

Somos de lo más

 

—oOo—

A New Morning

El mundo como teatro

Platón, República (s. IV a.c.)

(Sócrates:) "Piensa entonces, Adeimanto, si nuestros guardianes deberían o no ser aficionados a las imitaciones. O, antes bien, ¿no ha quedado decidida ya esta cuestión con la regla ya establecida, según la cual un hombre puede hacer bien sólo una cosa, y no muchas; y que quien se dedica a muchas no conseguirá mucha fama en ninguna de ellas?
(A.). Ciertamente
(S.). ¿Y esto también es cierto de la imitación: que nadie puede imitar muchas cosas tan bien como imitaría una sola?
(A.). En efecto, no puede.
(S.). Entonces, la misma persona mal podrá representar un papel serio en la vida, y a la vez ser un imitador e imitar muchos otros papeles. Porque incluso en el caso en el que dos tipos de imitación están muy ligados, las mismas personas no pueden tener éxito en ambos, como, por ejemplo los escritores de tragedias y los de comedias—¿no las llamaste imitaciones, hace un momento?
(A.). Sí que lo hice, y tienes razón al pensar que las mismas personas no pueden tener éxito en ambas cosas.
(S.). ¿Como tampoco pueden ser a la vez rapsodas y actores a la vez?
(A.). Cierto.
(S.). Ni tampoco emplean los autores cómicos y trágicos a los mismos actores; y no obstante todas estas cosas son imitaciones.
(A.). Lo son.
(S.). Y la naturaleza humana, Adeimanto, parece haber sido acuñada en monedas aún menores, y ser tan incapaz de imitar muchas cosas bien, como de llevar bien a cabo las acciones copiadas por las imitaciones.

(...)

¿No has observado acaso cómo las imitaciones que comienzan a una edad temprana y que continúan mucho tiempo en la vida al final desarrollan hábitos, y se convierten en una segunda naturaleza, que afecta al cuerpo, a la voz y a la mente?

(...)

En lo que se refiere al hombre de vida ordenada (...), cuando llega el momento de describir algún dicho o acción de otro hombre bueno—creo que de buena gana lo representará, y no se avergonzará de efectuar este tipo de imitación: estará muy deseoso de interpretar el papel del hombre bueno cuando actúa con firmeza o con sabiduría." (Libro III).

—oOo—

Platón, Filebo:

"Sócrates: El razonamiento nos indica, pues, que en los duelos y en las tragedias y comedias, no sólo en el teatro sino también en toda la tragedia y comedia de la vida, los dolores están mezclados con los placeres, y también en otras muchísimas ocasiones." (50)

—oOo— 

Platón: Las Leyes: 

"también nosotros, en la medida de nuestras capacidades, somos dramaturgos, y nuestro drama es el mejor y el más noble, porque la totalidad de nuestro Estado es una imitación de la vida mejor y más noble, lo cual afirmamos que es efectivamente la verdad misma del drama. Vosotros sois poetas y nosotros somos poetas . . . rivales y antagonistas en el más noble de los dramas." 

—oOo— 

Epicuro (c. 300 a.C.)

Satis magnum alter alteri theatrum sumus — Somos teatro más que suficiente unos para otros. Un dicho criticado por Bacon en su ensayo "Of love".

 —oOo— 

Cicerón (s. I a.C.)

Recuerda que los más grandes (dolores) terminan con la muerte; que los pequeños tienen muchos intervalos de calma, y que los medianos somos dueños nosotros de soportarlos, si son tolerables; y, si no lo son, de retirarnos serenamente de la vida, como de un teatro, cuando no nos agrada. (De finibus bonorum et malorum, 1,49)

 —oOo— 

Séneca, Epístola 80.7

 ..."este drama de la vida humana, en el que se nos asignan los papeles que tan mal hemos de representar." Séneca pasa a contraponer la realidad del pobre actor con los regios papeles que representa: ""Allí está el hombre que se pasea por el escenario con andares orgullosos y con la frente levantada.." 

 —oOo—

Epicteto, Manual, §17 (siglo I):

"Recuerda que eres actor de un drama, con el papel que quiera el director: si quiere uno corto, corto; si uno largo, largo; si quiere que representes a un pobre, represéntalo con nobleza: como a un cojo, un gobernante, un particular. Eso es lo tuyo: representar bien el papel que te han dado; pero elegirlo es cosa de otro."

—oOo—

San Agustín (siglo IV): 

"También nosotros estamos actuando en la vida, en este mimo nuestro."



—oOo—


Para Honorio de Autun (siglo XII), el sacerdote es  un "tragicus" que representa para el pueblo de Dios, en el teatro de la iglesia, el esfuerzo de Cristo y les imprime la victoria de su redención.

—oOo—

A partir del siglo XII, el amor cortés y el ideal caballeresco literarizado se adoptan en la vida social aristocrática como role models — a modo de una teatralización de la vida social, siguiendo patrones literarios.

 —oOo—

Michel de Montaigne, Ensayos (I, XX), sobre la indiferencia a la muerte:

"Y en el peor de los casos, la distribución y variedad de todos los actos de mi comedia se acaba en un año. Si os habéis fijado en el movimiento de mis cuatro estaciones, habréis visto que abarcan la infancia, la adolescencia, la virilidad y la vejez del mundo. Ha interpretado su papel. No sabe sino volver a empezar. Siempre será igual." (Ensayos completos, 135)

                                                               —oOo—

Ephemerality of the court masque too in Daniel: "Are they shadows that we see" (Thetys' Festival). 


—oOo—

Cervantes, Don Quijote (II.xii), tras el encuentro con la carreta de los comediantes de las Cortes de la Muerte:

—Todavía—respondió Don Quijote—, si tú, Sancho, me dejaras acometer, como yo quería, te hubieran cabido en despojos, por lo menos, la corona de oro de la Emperatriz y las pintadas alas de Cupido; que yo se las quitara al redropelo y te las pusiera en las manos.
—Nunca los cetros y coronas de los emperadores farsantes—respondió Sancho Panza—fueron de oro puro, sino de oropel o hoja de lata.
—Así es verdad—replicó Don Quijote—; porque no fuera acertado que los atavíos de la comedia fueran finos, sino fingidos y aparentes, como lo es la mesma comedia, con lo cual quiero, Sancho, que estés bien, teniéndola en tu gracia, y por el mismo consiguente a los que las representen y a los que las componen, porque  todos son instrumentos de hacer un gran bien a la república, poniéndonos un espejo a cada paso delante, donde se veen al vivo las acciones de la vida humana, y ninguna comparación hay que más al vivo nos represente lo que somos y lo que habemos de ser como la comedia y los comediantes. Si no, dime: ¿no has visto representar alguna comedia adonde se introducen reyes, emperadores y pontífices, caballeros, damas y otros diversos personajes? Uno hace el rufián, otro el embustero, éste el simple discreto, otro el enamorado simple; y acabada la comedia y desnudándose de los vestidos della, quedan todos los recitantes iguales.
—Sí he visto—respondió Sancho.
—Pues lo mesmo—dijo Don Quijote—acontece en la comedia y trato deste mundo, donde unos hacen los emperadores, otros los pontífices, y, finalmente, todas cuantas figuras se pueden introducir en una comedia; pero en llegando al fin, que es cuando se le acaba la vida, a todos les quita la muerte las ropas que los diferenciaban, y quedan iguales en la sepultura.
—Brava comparación—dijo Sancho, aunque no tan nueva, que yo no la haya oído muchas y diversas veces, como aquella del juego del ajedrez, que mientras dura el juego cada pieza tiene su particular oficio; y en acabándose el juego, todas se mezclan, juntan y barajan, y dan con ellas en una bolsa, que es como dar con la vida en la sepultura.
—Cada día, Sancho—dijo Don Quijote—, te vas haciendo menos simple y más discreto.

—oOo—

Shakespeare, Soneto 15:

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and cheque'd even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

   

—oOo—

— As You Like It  (II.7):


DUKE SENIOR

    Thou seest we are not all alone unhappy:
    This wide and universal theatre
    Presents more woeful pageants than the scene
    Wherein we play in.

JAQUES

    All the world's a stage,
    And all the men and women merely players:
    They have their exits and their entrances;
    And one man in his time plays many parts,
    His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
    Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
    And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
    And shining morning face, creeping like snail
    Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
    Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
    Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
    Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
    Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
    Seeking the bubble reputation
    Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
    In fair round belly with good capon lined,
    With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
    Full of wise saws and modern instances;
    And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
    Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
    With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
    His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
    For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
    Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
    And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
    That ends this strange eventful history,
    Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
    Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 

Shakespeare, en As You Like It (2.7-139-66, "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players..."

De ahí quizá el lema del Globe Theatre — y su nombre: "Totus mundus agit histrionem" (quizá 'todos somos actores' o quizá 'todos imitamos a los actores').

 Macbeth 5.5. 23-27:

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury

Signifying nothing.

The Tempest 4.1.148-58:

Our revels now are ended; these our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits, and

Are melted into air, into thin air;

And like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,

And like this insubstantial pageant faded

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on; and our little life

Is rounded by a sleep. 

—more on Shakespearean metadrama here: "Nought but shows - Music for a while".

—oOo—

Sir Walter Ralegh, "On the life of man":
What is our life? a play of passion;
Our mirth, the music of division:
Our mothers’ wombs the tiring houses be,
Where we are dressed for this short comedy;
Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is,
That sits and marks still who doth act amiss;
Our graves that hide us from the searching sun
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done:
Thus march we playing to our latest rest;
Only we die in earnest, that’s no jest.

—oOo—



Cervantes y el teatro vivido de "El curioso impertinente"

Y más sobre la vida como teatro.


—oOo—

John Donne, from Holy Sonnets, "This Is My Playes Last Scene"

This is my play's last scene; here heavens appoint

My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race,

Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,

My span's last inch, my minute's latest point;

And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint

My body and my soul, and I shall sleep a space;

But my'ever-waking part shall see that face

Whose fear already shakes my every joint.

Then, as my soul to'heaven, her first seat, takes flight,

And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,

So fall my sins, that all may have their right,

To where they'are bred, and would press me, to hell.

Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evil,

For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.

—oOo—

  Francisco de Quevedo, Epicteto y Phocílides en español con consonantes (Madrid, 1635):

No olvides que es comedia nuestra vida
y teatro de farsa el mundo todo
que muda el aparato por instantes
y que todos en él somos farsantes;
acuérdate que Dios, de esta comedia
de argumento tan grande y tan difuso,
es autor que la hizo y la compuso.
Al que dio papel breve,
solo le tocó hacerle como debe;
y al que se le dio largo,
solo el hacerle bien dejó a su cargo.
Si te mandó que hicieses
la persona de un pobre o un esclavo,
de un rey o de un tullido,
haz el papel que Dios te ha repartido;
pues solo está a tu cuenta
hacer con perfección el personaje,
en obras, en acciones, en lenguaje;
que al repartir los dichos y papeles,
la representación o mucha o poca
solo al autor de la comedia toca.

 —oOo—



Calderón, El Gran Teatro del Mundo, (1655):

 El personaje del Autor (Dios) habla al Mundo:
Pues soy tu Autor, y tú mi hechura eres,
hoy, de un concepto mío
la ejecución a tus aplausos fío.
Una fiesta hacer quiero
a mi mismo poder, si considero
que solo a ostentación de mi grandeza
fiestas hará la gran naturaleza;
y como siempre ha sido
lo que más ha alegrado y divertido
la representación bien aplaudida,
y es representación la humana vida,
una comedia sea
la que hoy el cielo en tu teatro vea.
Si soy Autor y si la fiesta es mía,
por fuerza la ha de hacer mi compañía.
Y pues que yo escogí de los primeros
los hombres , y ellos son mis compañeros,
ellos, en el Teatro
del mundo, que contiene partes cuatro,
con estilo oportuno
han de representar. Yo a cada uno
el papel le daré que le convenga,
y porque en fiesta igual su parte tenga
el hermoso aparato
de apariencias, de trajes el ornato,
hoy prevenido quiero
que, alegre, liberal y lisonjero,
fabriques apariencias
que de dudas se pasen a evidencias.
Seremos, yo el Autor, en un instante,
tú el teatro, y el hombre el recitante.
                                                 (36-66)


(el Autor responde a un pobre que se queja de su papel:)

En la representación
igualmente satisface
el que bien al pobre hace
con afecto, alma y acción
como el que hace al rey, y son
iguales este y aquel
en acabando el papel.
Haz tú bien el tuyo y piensa
que para la recompensa
yo te igualaré con él.
No porque pena te sobre,
siendo pobre, es en mi ley
mejor papel el del rey
si hace bien el suyo el pobre;
uno y otro de mí cobre
todo el salario después
que haya merecido, pues
con cualquier papel se gana,
que toda la vida humana
representaciones es.
Y la comedia acabada
ha de cenar a mi lado
el que haya representado,
sin haber errado en nada,
su parte más acertada;
allí igualaré a los dos. (409-34)



—oOo—

Fielding, el mundo como puro teatro.

—oOo—

From The Short Oxford History of English Literature, by Andrew Sanders (1994)

"In the Preface to Castle Rackrent [1800] Edgeworth had recognized the fluid relationship between her fiction and the writing of history. In a way that prefigures Thackeray's suspicion of the elevation of fancy-dress heroes by historians, she states her preference for a history which looks beyond the 'splendid characters playing their parts on the great theatre of the world' and which begs to be admitted behind the scenes 'that we may take a nearer view of the actors and actresses'."

—oOo—

Sartre, La nausée.  El camarero interpretando el papel de camarero.



—oOo—

Peter L. Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality— social roles based on secondary socialization following the individual's primary acquisition of a social identity and a world in childhood:

"Secondary socialization is the internalization of institutional or institution-based 'sub-worlds'. Its extent and character are therefore determined by the complexity of the division of labour and the concomitant social distribution of knowledge" (1966: 158)

"This makes it possible to detach a part of the self and its concomitant reality as relevant only to the role-specific situation in question. The individual then establishes distance between his total self and its reality on the one hand, and the role-specific partial self and its reality on the other. This important feat is possible only after primary socialization has taken place. Put crudely once more, it is easier for the child 'to hide' from his teacher than from his mother. Conversely, it is possible to say that the development of this capacity 'to hide' is an important aspect of the process of growing into adulthood" (1966: 162)

—oOo—



A note to David Marshall's The Figure of Theater: Shaftesbury, Adam Smith, Defoe, and George Eliot (Columbia University Press, 1986): 

Introd., note 6:

In addition to the works cited above, there is a rich and growing body of studies which focuses on theater, theatricality, role-playing, play, and related topics in a variety of disciplines and historical periods. Questions about the theatrical conditions of the self and its relation to others are addressed throughout the works of Jean-Paul Sartre and Kenneth Burke. Maurice Merleau-Ponty discusses "le spectacle du monde," "le théâtre de l'imaginaire"," and the other as "spectateur étranger" in Phénoménologie de la perception (Paris: Gallimard, 1945), (pp. iii, v, vii). In sociology, Erving Goffman's work (especially The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life (Garden City, New York: Doubleday, 1959) is concerned with role-playing and the theatrical relations of everyday life; while in anthropology, Clifford Geertz has presented important analyses of theatrical dynamics in Balinese culture. (See "Deep Play: Notes on the Balinese Cockfight" in The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays [New York: Basic Books, 1973], pp. 412-453, and Negara: The Theater State in Nineteenth-Century Bali [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980], pp. 98-136). Richard Sennett discusses roles, actors and spectators, and the theaters of public and private life in The Rise of Public Man (New York: Vintage, 1978). Relevant discussions of play include D. W. Winnicott, Playing and Reality (London: Tavistock, 1982); Gregory Bateson, "A Theory of Play and Fantasy," in Steps to an Ecology of Mind (New York: Ballantine Books, 1972), pp. 177-193; Hans-Georg Gadamer, Truth and Method (New York: The Seabury Press, 1975), pp. 91-150; and Johan Huizinga, Homo Ludens: A Study of the Play-Element in Culture (Boston: The Beacon Press, 1955). The significance of the role-playing and spectator-spectacle dynamics in the Renaissance is discussed in Stephen Orgel, The Illusion of Power: Political Theater in the English Renaissance (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1975); Stephen Greenblatt, Sir Walter Raleigh: The Renaissance Man and His Roles (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1973) and Renaissance Self-Fashioning: From More to Shakespeare (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980); Margaret Ferguson, "Nashe's The Unfortunate Traveller: The 'News of the Maker' Game," English Literary Renaissance (1981), 11(2):165-182; Thomas Greene, "The Flexibility of the Self in Renaissance Literature," and A. Bartlett Giamatti, "Proteus Unbound: Some Versions of the Sea God in the Renaissance," in Peter Demetz et al., eds. The Disciplines of Criticism: Essays in Literary Theory, Interpretation, and History (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968), pp. 241-264 and 437-476. Peter Brooks discusses the importance of melodrama for the nineteenth-century novel in The Melodramatic Imagination: Balzac, Henry James, Melodrama, and the Mode of Excess (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1976). Norton Batkin analyzes the problem of theatricality in the work of Paul Strand (see Photography and Philosophy, Diss. Harvard 1981). Finally, in Worlds Apart: Market and Theater in Anglo-American Thought, 1550-1750 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), a work which treats some of the same issues and authors considered in this book, Jean-Christophe Agnew traces the history of the relation between theater and the markeplace. I cite these various studies both to map some of the territory that forms a context and a background for my own work and to suggest some of the many roads that (inevitably) I have not taken.

 —oOo—

"Somos teatreros: El sujeto, la interacción dialéctica y la estrategia de la representación según Goffman." Artículo de José Angel García Landa:

         http://unizar.academia.edu/Jos%C3%A9AngelGarc%C3%ADaLanda/Papers/1670984/

    

 

—oOo—

Juan Luis Arsuaga y M. Martín-Loeches: El gran juego.

—oOo—

De estas cuestiones teatrales y dramatísticas, y de la Vida como Teatro Viviente, tratamos con frecuencia en nuestro blog sobre EL GRAN TEATRO DEL MUNDO. Donde continúa, que no termina, la trama.

Hegel: La comedia y la vida como metadrama

—oOo—

Chelsea Hotel on Vimeo

Esta era de Leonard Cohen sobre (o bajo) Janis Joplin.

Chelsea Hotel from Jose Angel García Landa on Vimeo.

The Fates of Men

Poema anónimo anglosajón. Aparece en el Project Gutenberg eBook of Old English Poems. Tiene un cierto toque a la canción Who By Fire de Leonard Cohen.


Full often through the grace of God it happens
That man and wife to the world bring forth
A babe by birth; they brightly adorn it,
And tend it and teach it till the time comes on
With the passing of years when the young child’s limbs
Have grown in strength and sturdy grace.
It is fondled and fed by father and mother
And gladdened with gifts. God alone knows
What fate shall be his in the fast-moving years.
To one it chances in his childhood days
To be snatched away by sudden death
In woeful wise. The wolf shall devour him,
The hoary heath-dweller. Heart-sick with grief,
His mother shall mourn him; but man cannot change it.
One of hunger shall starve; one the storm shall drown.
One the spear shall pierce; one shall perish in war.
One shall lead his life without light in his eyes,
Shall feel his way fearing. Infirm in his step,
One his wounds shall bewail, his woeful pains—
Mournful in mind shall lament his fate.
One from the top of a tree in the woods
Without feathers shall fall, but he flies none the less,
Swoops in descent till he seems no longer
The forest tree’s fruit: at its foot on the ground
He sinks in silence, his soul departed—
On the roots now lies his lifeless body.
One shall fare afoot on far-away paths,
Shall bear on his back his burdensome load,
Tread the dewy track among tribes unfriendly
Amid foreign foemen. Few are alive
To welcome the wanderer. The woeful face
Of the hapless outcast is hateful to men.
One shall end life on the lofty gallows;
Dead shall he hang till the house of his soul,
His bloody body is broken and mangled:
His eyes shall be plucked by the plundering raven,
The sallow-hued spoiler, while soulless he lies,
And helpless to fight with his hands in defense
Against the grim thief. Gone is his life.
With his skin plucked off and his soul departed,
The body all bleached shall abide its fate;
The death-mist shall drown him— doomed to disgrace.
The body of one shall burn on the fire;
The flame shall feed on the fated man,
And death shall descend full sudden upon him
In the lurid glow. Loud weeps the mother
As her boy in the brands is burned to ashes.
One the sword shall slay as he sits in the mead-hall
Angry with ale; it shall end his life,
Wine-sated warrior: his words were too reckless!
One shall meet his death through the drinking of beer,
Maddened with mead, when no measure he sets
To the words of his mouth through wisdom of mind;
He shall lose his life in loathsome wise,
Shall shamefully suffer, shut off from joy,
And men shall know him by the name of self-slayer,
Shall deplore with their mouths the mead-drinker’s fall.
One his hardships of youth through the help of God
Overcomes and brings his burdens to naught,
And his age when it comes shall be crowned with joy;
He shall prosper in pleasure, in plenty and wealth,
With flourishing family and flowing mead—
For such worthy rewards may one well wish to live!
Thus many the fortunes the mighty Lord
All over the earth to everyone grants,
Dispenses powers as his pleasure shall lead him.
One is favored with fortune; one failure in life;
One pleasure in youth; one prowess in war,
The sternest of strife; one in striking and shooting
Earns his honors. And often in games
One is crafty and cunning. A clerk shall one be,
Weighted with wisdom. Wonderful skill
Is one granted to gain in the goldsmith’s art;
Full often he decks and adorns in glory
A great king’s noble, who gives him rewards,
Grants him broad lands, which he gladly receives.
One shall give pleasure to people assembled
On the benches at beer, shall bring to them mirth,
Where drinkers are draining their draughts of joy.
One holding his harp in his hands, at the feet
Of his lord shall sit and receive a reward;
Fast shall his fingers fly o’er the strings;
Daringly dancing and darting across,
With his nails he shall pluck them. His need is great.
One shall make tame the towering falcon,
The hawk on his hand, till the haughty bird
Grows quiet and gentle; jesses he makes him,
Feeds in fetters the feather-proud hawk,
The daring air-treader with daintiest morsels,
Till the falcon performs the feeder’s will:
Hooded and belled, he obeys his master,
Tamed and trained as his teacher desires.
Thus in wondrous wise the Warden of Glory
Through every land has allotted to men
Cunning and craft; his decrees go forth
To all men on earth of every race.
For the graces granted let us give him thanks—
For his manifold mercies to the men of earth.

El viento de tormenta

La rebelión de Satanás

Del Génesis B, poema contenido en un manuscrito de hace mil años, el códice anglosajón Junius 11. Hay una edición en red en Project Gutenberg:


 V

(ll. 235-236) "...Eat freely of the fruit of every other tree. From that one tree refrain. Beware of its fruit. And ye shall know no dearth of pleasant things."

(ll. 237-245) Eagerly they bowed them down before the King of heaven, and gave Him thanks for all, for His teachings and counsels. And He gave them that land to dwell in. Then the Holy Lord, the Steadfast King, departed into heaven. And the creatures of His hand abode together on the earth. They had no whit of care to grieve them, but only to do the will of God for ever. Dear were they unto God as long as they would keep His holy word.

VI

(ll. 246-260) The Holy Lord, All-wielding God, with mighty hand had wrought ten angel-orders in whom He trusted well, that they would do Him service, and work His will. Therefore God gave them reason, with His own hands shaped them, and stablished them in bliss. But one He made so great and strong of heart, He let him wield such power in heaven next unto God, so radiant-hued He wrought him, so fair his form in heaven which God had given, that he was like unto the shining stars. He should have sung his Maker's praise, and prized his bliss in heaven. He should have thanked his Lord for the great boon He showered on him in the heavenly light, and let him long enjoy. But he turned him to a worse thing, and strove to stir up strife against the Highest Lord of heaven, who sitteth on the throne of glory.

(ll. 261-276) Dear was he to our Lord. Nor could it long be hid from God that pride was growing in His angel's heart. He set himself against his Leader, scoffed at God with boasting, and would not serve Him. He said his form was beautiful and bright, gleaming and fair of hue. Nor could he find it in his heart to serve the Lord God, or be subject to Him. It seemed to him that he had greater strength and larger following than Holy God might have. Many words the angel spake in his presumption. By his own power alone he thought to build a stronger throne and mightier in heaven. He said his heart was urging him to toil, to build a stately palace in the north and west. He said he doubted in his heart if he would still be subject unto God:

(ll. 277-291) "Why should I slave?" quoth he. "I need not serve a master. My hands are strong to work full many a wonder. Power enough have I to rear a goodlier throne, a higher in the heavens. Why should I fawn for His favour, or yield Him such submission? I may be God as well as He! Brave comrades stand about me; stout-hearted heroes who will not fail me in the fray. These valiant souls have chosen me their lord. With such peers one may ponder counsel, and gain a following. Devoted are these friends and faithful-hearted; and I may be their lord and rule this realm. It seemeth no wise right to me that I should cringe a whit to God for any good. I will not serve Him longer."

(ll. 292-298) Now when God had heard all this, how His angel was beginning to make presumptuous head against his Leader, speaking rash words of insolence against his Lord, needs must he make atonement for that deed, endure the woe of strife, and bear his punishment, most grievous of all deaths. And so doth every man who wickedly thinketh to strive with God, the Lord of might.

(ll. 299-319) Then Almighty God, High Lord of heaven, was filled with wrath, and hurled him from his lofty throne. He had gained his Master's hate, and lost His favour. God's heart was hardened against him. Wherefore he needs must sink into the pit of torment because he strove against the Lord of heaven. He banished him from grace and cast him into hell, into the deep abyss where he became a devil. The Fiend and all his followers fell from heaven; three nights and days the angels fell from heaven into hell. God changed them all to devils. Because they heeded not His deed and word, therefore Almighty God hurled them into darkness, deep under earth, crushed them and set them in the mirk of hell. There through the never-ending watches of the night the fiends endure an unremitting fire. Then at the dawn cometh an east wind, and bitter frost, ever a blast of fire or storm of frost. And each must have his share of suffering wrought for his punishment. Their world was changed when God filled full the pit of hell with His foes!

(ll. 320-322) But the angels who kept their faith with God dwelt in the heights of heaven.

VII

(ll. 322-336) The other fiends who waged so fierce a war with God lay wrapped in flames. They suffer torment, hot and surging flame in the midst of hell, broad-stretching blaze of fire and bitter smoke, darkness and gloom, because they broke allegiance unto God. Their folly and the angel's pride deceived them. They would not heed the word of God. Great was their punishment! They fell, through folly and through pride, to fiery depths of flame in hell. They sought another home devoid of light and filled with fire—a mighty flaming death. The fiends perceived that through the might of God, because of their presumptuous hearts and boundless insolence, they had won a measureless woe.

(ll. 337-355) Then spake their haughty king, who formerly was fairest of the angels, most radiant in heaven, beloved of his Leader and dear unto his Lord, until they turned to folly, and Almighty God was moved to anger at their wantonness, and hurled him down to depths of torment on that bed of death. He named him with a name, and said their leader should be called from thenceforth Satan. He bade him rule the black abyss of hell in place of striving against God. Satan spake—who now must needs have charge of hell and dwell in the abyss—in bitterness he spake who once had been God's angel, radiant-hued in heaven, until his pride and boundless arrogance betrayed him, so that he would not do the bidding of the Lord of hosts. Bitterness was welling in his heart; and round him blazed his cruel torment. These words he spake:

(ll. 355-367) "This narrow place is little like those other realms we knew, on high in heaven, allotted by my Lord, though the Almighty hath not granted us to hold our state, or rule our kingdom. He hath done us wrong to hurl us to the fiery depths of hell, and strip us of our heavenly realm. He hath ordained that human kind shall settle there. That is my greatest grief that Adam—wrought of earth—should hold my firm-set throne and live in joy, while we endure this bitter woe in hell.

(ll. 368-388) "Alas! could I but use my hands and have my freedom for an hour, one winter hour, then with this host I would— But bands of iron crush me down, the bondage of my chains is heavy. I am stripped of my dominion. Firmly are hell's fetters forged upon me. Above me and below a blaze of fire! Never have I seen a realm more fatal—flame unassuaged that surges over hell. Ensnaring links and heavy shackles hold me. My ways are trammelled up; my feet are bound; my hands are fastened. Closed are the doors of hell, the way cut off. I may not escape out of my bonds, but mighty gyves of tempered iron, hammered hot, press hard upon me. God hath set His foot upon my neck. So I know the Lord of hosts hath read the purpose of my heart, and knew full well that strife would grow between our host and Adam over the heavenly realm, had I the freedom of my hands.

VIII

(ll. 389-400) "But now we suffer throes of hell, fire and darkness, bottomless and grim. God hath thrust us out into the black mists. He cannot charge upon us any sin or evil wrought against Him in His realm! Yet hath He robbed us of the light and cast us into utter woe. Nor may we take revenge, nor do Him any evil because He stripped us of the light. He hath marked out the borders of the world, and there created man in His own image, with whom He hopes again to people heaven, with pure souls. We needs must ponder earnestly to wreak this grudge on Adam, if we may, and on his children, and thwart His will if so we may devise.

(ll. 401-407) "No longer have I any hope of light wherein He thinketh long to joy, in bliss among His angel hosts; nor may we ever bring this thing to pass, that we should change the purpose of Almighty God. Let us therefore turn the heavenly kingdom from the sons of men, since we may not possess it, cause them to lose His favour and turn aside from the command He laid upon them. Then shall His wrath be kindled, and He shall cast them out from grace. They shall seek out hell and its grim gulf, and in this heavy bondage we may have the sons of men to serve us.

(ll. 408-424) "Begin now and plan this enterprise. If ever in olden days, when happily we dwelt in that good kingdom, and held possession of our thrones, I dealt out princely treasure to any thane, he could not make requital for my gifts at any better time than now, if some one of my thanes would be my helper, escaping outward through these bolted gates, with strength to wing his way on high where, new-created, Adam and Eve, surrounded with abundance, dwell on earth—and we are cast out hither in this deep abyss. They are now much dearer unto God, and own the high estate and rightful realm which we should have in heaven! Good fortune is allotted to mankind.

(ll. 425-437) "My soul is sorrowful within me, my heart is sore, that they should hold the heavenly realm for ever. But if in any wise some one of you could bring them to forsake God's word and teaching, soon would they be less pleasing unto Him! If they break His commandment, then will His wrath be kindled. Their high estate shall vanish; their sin shall have requital, and some grim penalty. Take thought now how ye may ensnare them. I shall rest softly in these chains if they lose heaven. Whoso shall bring this thing to pass shall have reward for ever, of all that we may win to our advantage, amid these flames.


Sigue la tentación de Eva, y la escena de la manzana. El origen del símbolo de Apple. El Satanás del poema anglosajón es un cabecilla rebelde que se ha alzado contra su señor feudal. Pueden compararse los versos del más famoso monólogo de Satanás en el Paríso Perdido de Milton, donde el tono es más subjetivo y existencial, con más énfasis en la interioridad:


Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand?
Thou hadst. Whom has thou then, or what, to accuse,
But Heaven's free love dealt equally to all?
Be then his love accursed, since, love or hate,
To me alike it deals eternal woe.
Nay, cursed be thou; since against his thy will
Chose freely what it now so justly rues.
Me miserable! which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell;
And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep
Still threatening to devour me opens wide,
To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven.
O, then, at last relent! Is there no place
Left for repentence, none for pardon left?
None left but by submission; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduced
With other promises and other vaunts
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
The Omnipotent. Aye me! they little know
How dearly I abide that boast so vain,
Under what torments inwardly I groan.

Y de ahí a James Joyce: "Non serviam!"

Según Michael Alexander, no es imposible que Milton conociese este texto del Génesis B, pues estudió anglosajón y conocía a Junius, el primer editor del manuscrito.

Un pájaro en la noche y la destrucción de los altares

—oOo—