In Cesare Pavese’s diary, suicide can be easily glimpsed since we find, first, the suicidal idea that appears repeatedly as a solution, and, second, temperamental oscillations that cloud the reason. In Antero de Quental, the picture is completely different. Antero is, among other things, a stoic—and this implies both the ability to accept reality and the ability to control himself. In Antero, despite the atrocious psychological conflict, we find reason taking the reins of instinct, and from this it follows that the spirit, accustomed to sharp oscillations, is also accustomed to converting them into fruitful impulses through meditation. How, at the age of forty-nine, could Antero commit suicide? On the one hand, it seems obvious to me that we are all subject to the susceptibilities of the race; on the other hand, it seems erroneous to want to attribute common causes to an uncommon man.
The Flower With Black Petals
Let us exercise the imagination: a man, after much meditation on suicide, after careful consideration of all the torment he suffers, concludes that it is absolutely unjustifiable. He goes to a friend, with the faint hope that there is something he is not seeing, that his conclusions are based on an unknown error. The friend takes his time and begins to talk to him about the singing of the birds. Is it possible for the unfortunate man not to think it an insult? Let us now suppose a monk returning on foot from a long silent retreat. A lady comes up to him in the street and says she is afraid that it will rain and wet her clothes hanging on the clothesline. There is, again, a contrast so sharp that it seems to offer laughter as the only response. Well then: from this very banal contrast, is born a flower with black petals called misanthropy.
The Old Debate
Castilho says, in my translation:
The verses of Filinto displease and martyr any ear, even if not of the delicate; those of Camões commonly satisfy; those of Bocage enchant; to these, if anything should be reprehended it would be their excessively constant perfection.
It is true, it is true: technically, Bocage is no less than a master. But that does not stop the laughter at this conclusion that seems like a love letter. “Excessively constant perfection…” We should ask ourselves once again if the value of a poetic composition is reduced to technique or if, perhaps, poetry is configured as an expressive vehicle of a soul. If we opt for the latter hypothesis, we must conclude that the type of the soul that composes verses necessarily influences the value of the composition. And what else? A noble soul engages itself in issues worthy of its nobility; it expresses them because, for it, they carry real and decisive weight. How can we call perfect a poetry corroded by passions and worldly concerns? a poetry incapable of rising to more virtuous planes? Camões’ verses “commonly satisfy”, while Bocage’s “enchant”. What a conclusion!
The Poetry of Antero de Quental
To hell with this absurd feeling! I can, of course, separate myself from Antero and judge him. The comparison with Bocage comes in handy. Bocage is the full and sole artist, the technically impeccable poet. Bocage’s refinement in his verse work takes him to the top of the Portuguese language. However, I cannot judge Bocage superior to Antero. Come, stones! Antero fills his art with philosophy or, better said, art is for him the poetic expression of critical thinking. The same is not true of Bocage. The agonies, the torments, the lofty vision and metaphysical restlessness transformed into verse by Antero display a union between form and idea that impresses because it seems complete, satisfying the needs of the spirit. Bocage, the great though only poet, is not able to reason coldly, to isolate the idea; he lacks the vein of the philosopher. But, before that, his verses are concerned with ostensibly ordinary themes. The summary: Antero de Quental’s poetry, although full of flaws, is the expression of a superior spirit.