[In the following essay, Jones presents an overview of Bécquer's works, tracing his poetic theory through his writings.]

Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer did not enjoy fame in his own lifetime, but at his death in 1870 he left behind a small body of literature which has earned him a place in the foreground of nineteenth-century Spanish letters.¹ Today he stands between Romanticism and the more modern literary tendencies. The abundance of supernatural and mysterious elements, his fascination with ruins, the unlucky heroes who populate the Leyendas, and the quest for the absolute link him with the former movement, yet he deviates from the Romantic fondness for impulsive creation in his interest in the formal aspects of art.² Bécquer's works contain, in fact, a surprising amount of material on this subject, dispersed among other topics. There are important ideas on the poetic process in the Cartas desde mi celda and the Cartas literarias a una mujer (as well as in the Rimas and the Leyendas), couched in a very informal, intimate tone—one which he obviously tailored to please the taste of the discriminating nineteenth-century newspaper public. Bécquer avoids authoritativeness, disclaiming any pretense to scholarship; his critical statements often seem as subjective as the Rimas and Leyendas themselves. He offers no complete system of poetics supported by formal dicta, but there is a certain consistency in lines of thought concerning artistic creation. The constant return to these reflections suggests that, at the very least, he felt them fruitful enough for exploration; in fact, what he presents in theory has a clear counterpart in practice in the Rimas or the Leyendas.³

Bécquer tends to express his theories in traditional antithetical terms: the opposition of the material with the spiritual, the ideal with the real. The greatest frustration in the creative act stems from another old dichotomy: idea and form, two ingredients often irreconcilable in his mind. There is a gulf between inspiration and the written word, etc. Both the Rimas and the Leyendas show his efforts to bridge the gap between idea and form, as well as the ideal and the real. Bécquer continually describes his poetic concepts (“Extravagantes hijos de mi fantasía”) as waiting to receive material form so they can make their appearance; the artist must give a rational framework to the chaotic world of imagination: “Mi inteligencia os [las ideas] nutrirá lo suficiente para que seáis palpables; os vestirá, aunque sea de harapos, lo bastante para que no avergüence vuestra desnudez. Yo quisiera forjar para cada uno de vosotros una maravillosa estrofa tejida de frases exquisitas … Yo quisiera poder cincelar la forma que ha de conteneros, como se cincela el vaso de oro que ha de guardar un preciado perfume.”⁴ Only by the careful choice of words can a writer give flesh to his ideas, yet Bécquer laments the impossibility of reproducing certain scenes with words, which are always “descoloridas y pobres.”

Observations on the raw material for art and the process of turning this raw material into literature—the difference between sudden inspiration and the later formalization of it—occupy much of Bécquer's critical writings. Subjects for artistic elaboration, present in the recesses of the mind, come to the surface when the poet is in a state of dream-like abstraction. Bécquer devotes a number of pages to describing his experiences in this vein (introducing still another dichotomy—dream and reality). The “Introducción sinfónica” makes a distinction between the world of common sense—of reason and light—and the chaotic world of shadows and unexpressed ideas. The writer recounts the sleepless nights in which ideas come to him (described here and earlier with such phrases as extravagante procesión, limbo en que vivís, fantasmas sin consistencia, as well as other terms which show confusion, disorder, etc.): “El sentido común, que es la barrera de los sueños, comienza a flaquear, y las gentes de diversos campos se mezclan y confunden. Me cuesta trabajo saber qué cosas he soñado y cuáles me han sucedido” (p. 3). In the first Carta desde mi celda, the same parallels with the comparison of drowsiness and wakefulness recall the general feature of the above quotation:

Yo he oído decir a muchos, y aun la experiencia me ha enseñado un poco, que hay horas peligrosas, horas lentas y cargadas de extraños pensamientos y de una voluptuosa pesadez, contra la que es imposible defenderse: en esas horas, como cuando nos turban la cabeza los vapores del vino, los sonidos se debilitan y parece que se oyen muy distantes, los objetos se ven como velados por una gasa azul, y el deseo presta audacia al espíritu, que recobra para sí todas las fuerzas que pierde la materia. Las horas de la madrugada, esas horas que deben de tener más minutos que las demás, esas horas en que entre el caos de la noche comienza a forjarse el día siguiente, en que el sueño se despide con su última visión, y la luz se anuncia con ráfagas de claridad incierta, son, sin duda alguna, las que en más alto grado reúnen semejantes condiciones

(p. 426).

According to the author, then, there is a special period when the imagined and the real become confused. This interim seemingly differs from all other in that the barrier of common sense (to use Bécquer's words) has been let down; the sharp line that usually divides fantasy from reality has become blurred. The shift in mode of perception is apparent in the change from quantitative to qualitative time; the relativity applied to measurable proportions can be extended to any other aspect of existence usually governed by the intellect.

The perspectives of reality change when reason is lulled; yet another factor intervenes in this operation. The senses play a crucial role in the imaginative process: the suspension of rational functions gives way to a preconceptual period in which emotion-charged sensations overwhelm the mind and take precedence over the rational process of thought. There is no place for conscious thought at this stage; it will enter at a later time: “En esos instantes rapidísimos en que la sensación fecunda la inteligencia y allá en el fondo del cerebro tiene lugar la misteriosa concepción de los pensamientos que han de surgir algún día evocados por la memoria, nada se piensa, nada se razona, los sentidos todos parecen ocupados en recibir y guardar la impresión que analizarán más tarde” (p. 451). According to the author, at these critical moments, it is the senses—not reason—which capture significant details and preserve them until they are called forth.

Yet this is only a first step; the process of recall will provide a means of elaborating and formalizing ideas. The initial experience, once introduced into the mind, often undergoes drastic transformation: the primary sensations may evoke and set into motion certain associated ideas: “Estas ideas [relativas], que ya han cruzado otras veces por la imaginación y duermen olvidadas en alguno de sus rincones, son siempre las primeras en acudir cuando se toca su resorte misterioso” (p. 451). The resorte misterioso, in this case, is another sensory impression. Such words are reminiscent of Proust's technique of introducing a seemingly unimportant experience to trigger total recall. A curious passage from still another Carta reveals even closer affinities with Proust, as well as Bécquer's obvious sensitivity to the creative function of the senses. He tells of an episode in which he opens a newspaper; the smell of fresh ink stimulates the memoria del olfato, a strange instinct by which complex images crowd in when the doors of memory are opened by the senses: “Hasta el olor particular del papel húmedo y la tinta de imprenta, olor especialísimo que por un momento viene a sustituir al perfume de las flores que aquí se respira por todas partes, parece que hiere la memoria del olfato, memoria extraña y viva que indudablemente existe, y me trae un pedazo de mi antigua vida: de aquella inquietud, de aquella actividad, de aquella fiebre fecunda del periodismo” (p. 439). The odor evokes the sounds of the press, memories of work late into the night, writing articles at the last minute, etc.

The Cartas literarias a una mujer carries the same subject to the next step in the creative act:

Guardo, sí, en mi cerebro escritas, como en un libro misterioso, las impresiones que han dejado en él su huella al pasar; estas ligeras y ardientes hijas de la sensación duermen allí agrupadas en el fondo de mi memoria, hasta el instante en que, puro, tranquilo, sereno y revestido, por decirlo así de un poder sobrenatural, mi espíritu las evoca, y tienden sus alas transparentes. …, cruzan otra vez a mis ojos como en una visión luminosa y magnífica.

Entonces no siento ya con los nervios que se agitan, con el pecho que se oprime, con la parte orgánica y material que se conmueve al rudo choque de las sensaciones producidas por la pasión y los afectos; siento, sí, pero de una manera que puede llamarse artificial; escribo como el que copia de una página ya escrita …

Todo el mundo siente.

Sólo a algunos seres les es dado el guardar, como un tesoro, la memoria viva de lo que han sentido.

Yo creo que éstos son los poetas. Es más, creo que únicamente por esto lo son

(p. 612).

Still other examples show Bécquer's interest in the process of recall by association (direct or indirect); he contrasts Madrid with the peace of Veruela and ends with the following statement: “… si alguno de mis lectores ha sentido otra vez algo de lo que yo siento ahora, mis palabras le llevarán el recuerdo de más tranquilos días, como el perfume de un paraíso distante …” (p. 445).

Bécquers reveals the whole pattern of artistic creation as bound up with the senses, and the dual attitude toward sensations (the inspiring, yet inexpressible, first impression; the later re-creation of it when the poet is no longer under its power).⁵ “Cuando siento no escribo” is Bécquer's well-known statement concerning the poetic process; the siento refers to the entrance of the raw emotions into the memory patterns. The artist's unique talent consists of keeping, then reviving the same kind of emotions in another atmosphere. Memory has a primary function here, in its role of guarding the impressions in their original state.

Thus we find that Bécquer has clearly stated the distinct steps in the poetic process: (1) the prerational period in which the ideas, still unexpressed, enter the mind through the senses; (2) the germinative period, in which associations, concomitant ideas, etc. group themselves in the unconscious; and (3) the recall, in which the poet “copies” the unconsciously pre-arranged poem.

When it comes to putting his ideas on paper, the poet may falter; as stated above, words cannot always capture the total emotion. Thus Bécquer must pursue again the original question of form and idea: poetry experienced and poetry transmitted. “Hay una parte mecánica, pequeña y material en todas las obras del hombre, que la primitiva, la verdadera inspiración desdeña en sus ardientes momentos de arrebato” (p. 613). He returns time and again to the problem of language:

El espíritu tiene una manera de sentir y comprender especial, misteriosa, porque él es un arcano; inmensa, porque él es infinito; divina, porque su esencia es santa.

¿Cómo la palabra, cómo un idioma grosero y mezquino, insuficiente a veces para expresar las necesidades de la materia, podrá servir de digno intérprete entre dos almas?

Imposible

(p. 614).

Bécquer's own struggle to translate the ineffable becomes artistic material in one of the Leyendas, which takes on new significance when one understands his aesthetic theories. In “El miserere,” Bécquer uses music to symbolize the inexpressible idea. A poor sinner wishes to atone for his past by composing a wonderful Miserere; he visits a ruined church where the souls of murdered monks appear on the anniversary of their slaughter and entone the Psalm. After seeing this horrible vision, the musician returns inspired, but he cannot transfer the sounds to paper. Ironically, all he can reproduce are the sketches of bones instead of notes. Just as Bécquer speaks of the difficulty of translating his feelings into words, so the protagonist cannot express in adequate form what he has heard.

Having thus established the two distinct notions of artistic creation (the difficulty of expression, and the poetic process in which sensations provide the path for ideas), we can now join the two together to show that Bécquer has applied one idea to solve the problems of the other. In his search for adequate expression, the author turns time and again to sense impressions as the most satisfactory means for suggesting the rich chaos of the artistic intuition with the “faded” form of words. Sensations offer an excellent way to capture moods as well as to draw the reader more closely into the work through an empathic process; he thus substitutes the more satisfactory perceptual approach for the analytical method.

We need go no further than the first Rima (“Yo sé un himno gigante y extraño …”) to find the extent to which Bécquer uses sensory perceptions as a solution for problems of composition. In an attempt to convey the hymn in words, the poet will create his personal interpretation of synaesthesia: “Yo quisiera escribirlo, del hombre / Domando el rebelde, mezquino idioma, / Con palabras que fuesen a un tiempo / Suspiros y risas, colores y notas” (p. 359). The use of the verb quisiera shows the unfulfilled urge to express his insights or the images of his imagination. The solution would be the “translation” of the ineffable through a combination of sense impressions. The “Introducción sinfónica” also mentions creating beauty through references to the senses of sight (maravillosa estrofa), touch (cincelar la forma) and smell (preciado perfume).

Bécquer's theory that sensory stimuli have the power to revive entire scenes or periods explains his tendency to “sensuous” language, since it must be the most evocative. Thus the note of intimacy which characterizes most of the Leyendas comes in part from the poet's ability to draw his readers into the work through a shared sensory experience. The sentient process, with its power to fuse many impressions simultaneously—something that the temporal limitations of the written word cannot accomplish—can cipher abstracts in a way that language cannot. It is interesting to note that the point where the author leans most heavily on the phenomenal manifestations is particularly at the threshold of the fantastic, for he feels here the sterility of the language to express the ineffable. Some of the most outstanding descriptive passages in the Leyendas use the senses to enhance a supernatural event or some kind of ideal.

The liberal use of the mysterious, supernatural or fantastic elements in the Leyendas has drawn the attention of several critics. The chaotic world of pre-rational ideas,⁶ and a deliberate vagueness contribute to the total impression of the “elusive” which Professor Inglis has recently studied in his article “The Real and the Imagined in Bécquer's Leyendas.” In this work, the author analyzes Bécquer's prose style in the following terms: “The difficulty is not simply that of finding words which can express an emotion or an idea, but of translating an emotion which belongs to one field of experience into terms which can be understood in another.”⁷ This is exactly what Bécquer hopes to accomplish with the sensory material in the Leyendas, an area well worth exploring for the use of phenomenal material as mirror-devices to reflect what words do not have the power to convey. Touch, smell and taste enter as secondary descriptive elements; pictorial and auditory images are so prevalent throughout these pieces that they stand out through sheer number. Almost any Leyenda will provide an example of visual emphasis: “Tres fechas,” with word pictures of buildings conceived both as black and white drawings and in color; the use of sketches as a mnemonic device (p. 149), in the description of which the author then provides the prose “translation” of the drawing. A systematic confusion of words and pictures is often present: “Los ojos verdes” is a “boceto de un cuadro que pintaré algún día” (p. 37); the opening scene of “El Cristo de la calavera,” noteworthy for the impression of noisy animation, ends with the author's lament that it really is “imposible de pintar con palabras” (p. 166).⁸

Sound effects are no less outstanding. The use of music in “El Miserere” and “Maese Pérez el organista” are excellent examples of Bécquer's theories of artistic creation in practice. The music leads the reader to the threshold of the supernatural, both in the introduction of the other world and in the glorification of God. Auditory stimulus in the contrast of sound and silence is a favorite device of this writer: “El monte de las ánimas” builds an atmosphere of terror exclusively through the suggestion of sound; other examples may be seen in “La ajorca de oro” (in the final pages) or the fountain scene in “Los ojos verdes.”

Bécquer's artistic exploitation of the senses offers him a partial solution to a serious problem of literary creation, for they can capture what he calls “… [cosas] tan inmateriales que es imposible encerrar en el círculo estrecho de la palabra” (p. 153). Although he has not used synaesthetic principles in the strict sense of the word, he has created a type of personal synaesthesia in his choice of perception to create the necessary ambiance and to describe what the sixth sense may feel, but what the mind cannot rationally explain. The repetition of such a device, coupled with his writings on artistic theory, show the degree to which he was conscious of its usefulness. The interesting analogies between the Cartas desde mi celda and the Leyendas, for example, offer proof of similar material developed for critical as well as artistic purposes.

Repeated themes, ideas, metaphors, etc. establish a close relationship between all his writings. It is also fruitful to note the stylistic techniques that recur throughout the prose, and especially the degree to which Bécquer uses sense impressions to help overcome the difficulty of expression. The exploitation of the senses for special effects or emphasis once again proves his knowledge of narrative technique and a mastery of the prose he manipulates. By means of this device, Bécquer has discovered one way of successfully creating the “… ilusión de la fantasía, que oye y ve y palpa en su exaltación lo que no existe” (p. 53).

Notes

1. Today he is praised for his originality, subjectiveness and note of intimacy. For an evaluation of Bécquer's fate with the critics, see Donald F. Fogelquist, “A Reappraisal of Bécquer,” Hispania, XXXVIII, 1 (March, 1955), 62-66. Juan Valera offers a more coetaneous appraisal of the poet's success in “Poesía lírica y épica del siglo XIX,” Obras completas, 2nd ed. (Madrid, 1949), II, 1235 ff. According to Valera (p. 1246), Campoamor was far more popular; Correa, the editor of Bécquer's first editions was responsible for his popularization: “Sin Correa, pocos sabrían hoy quién fué Bécquer” (p. 1669). He was appreciated by a coterie of friends during his lifetime; his fame was truly posthumous.

2. E. Allison Peers calls him “the complete Romantic” not only because of his literature, but his background, atmosphere and medium. A History of the Romantic Movement in Spain (Cambridge, 1940), II, p. 359. Guillermo Díaz Plaja, Introducción al estudio del romanticismo español (Madrid, 1936), p. 55, believes that Spanish Romanticism does not separate formal aspects of creation from the creation itself: “el más profundo sentido lírico va unido a la más fina sobriedad formal.”

3. José Pedro Díaz, Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer: vida y poesía, 2nd ed. (Madrid, 1964), 296 ff. gives excellent examples of correlation between theory and poetry.

4. Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, Obras completas (Madrid, 1940), p. 451. All page references are to this Aguilar edition and will be included in parentheses after the quotation.

5. This is the point of departure that José Pedro Díaz takes when he speaks of the elaboration of impressions: “Lo que la memoria evocará son los resultados de un proceso que se inició—y sólo se inició—con la sensación, pero que no son ni la sensación ni la emoción que ésta produjo, sino algo de un orden diferente. Las que fueron experiencias humanas se transformaron en materiales estéticos, y son éstos los que el poeta va a expresar.” (Díaz, p. 318).

6. Jorge Guillén, Language and Poetry (Cambridge, 1961) discusses the pre-poetic states revealed in Bécquer's works; for further treatment of this point, see John H. Hartsook, “Bécquer and the Creative Imagination,” Hispanic Review, XXXV, 3 (July, 1967), 252-269.

7. A. D. Inglis, “The Real and the Imagined in Bécquer's Leyendas,” Bulletin of Hispanic Studies, XLIII, 1 (1966), p. 27.

8. One outstanding study of visual techniques in this writer may be seen in Edmund L. King, Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer: From Painter to Poet (Mexico, 1953).