La Gatomaquia- Catfight (1634) by Lope de Vega

When was it now I do not care to remember I began a translation of Lope de Vega's mock epic La Gatomaquia. It was for a penance of sorts is all that I recall. The poem is a mock epoch in the stile of the Batromaquia from Homer's time. However instead of frogs and rats duking it out we have cats anthropomorphized to make fun of 17th century Spanish gallantry and questions of honor. Besides Chesterton I have not seen a poet or writer equal the energies of Lope, in his popularism and celebration of life. And Cervantes would shrug to hear me say this, but Lope created Spain as a literary construct in the popular imagination. Including a lot of the stereotypes which Antonio Banderas (the voice of Puss n' Boots picture above) and others have made their careers on. However, in this poem Lope is basically poking fun at himself in his old age, as the structure of the poem follows many of his plays.

Although I have not as yet finished the entire work I have many a canto stuffed away in my drawer, or electronic folder as the case may be. Here is the general Introduction and the first part of Canto I:

Introductory Sonnet

With a sweet voice and diligent pen

not dressed with confusing chaos

you sing, Tomé, the weddings and soirées,

of Shoo-kitty and valiant Puss n’ Fluff.

If Homer’s illustrious forehead was crowned

for singing about the arms of Greek ships

And you chant the most excellent meows of jealousy,

wars of love on account of sudden events

You well deserve a cat-hair bag of doubloons

even though you do not celebrate Lope or Tasso,

Richard the Lion Heart or Geoffrey de Bouillon.

Because of you, second Catspeare

the libraries of Parnassus

will always remain free of mice.

Prologue

I, the one who in times past

sang of forests and meadows;

these dressed with great trees,

those with cattle and flowers,

the arms and laws

that conserve kingdoms and kings

now in a less grave instrument

I sing of gentle love, anger and disdain.

Good things and bad not all forgotten,

the fierce drum beat tempered

with the whistle of the sonorous horn.

You, muses of Castalia’s choir,

give me favor the same

as you gave me genius so that I can

sing the war, loves, and trials

of two valiant cats.

As others go to the dogs

for their own wrongdoings

or those of others

there too are men who go to cats

because of the neglect of ungrateful princes

or because fortune persecutes them

from within the swing of earth’s cradle.

You, sir Lope, if perchance

you allow yourself to be distracted by Parnassus,

the Dutch pirate, the thieving cat of our silver

who infests the coasts which you wander along with the Armada,

stay for a time that valiant steel

with which you enter into battle

and listen to my famous Cat Fight.

Thus from the Indies to Romania

our name and fame resound

and now it runs through out our fatherland

since you saw the Moorish port of Tunez and Bizerta,

a child armed like Cupid

alongside the famous Marquis of greater title

blessed like his father, through out the sea,

you do not always have

to attend to wrathful Mars,

as practiced since your tender age

dressed with diamonds,

proud, arrogant and topped-off with feathers.

Sometimes rest is a cordial comforter of arms

and Venus at peace like Saint Elmo

removes his helmet with marble hands . . .

Canto I.

On top of a tall rooftop

there sat beautiful Shoo-kitty

licking her tail and bottom

in the cool breeze,

so stuffy and proud

as if she were a cat from a convent.

Her own thoughts served as a mirror

since a broken piece

attracted a joshing magpie

that left no hairpin or collar

that she did not hide on that roof,

which was at the corner of a Master’s hallway.

After she had washed and licked her paws,

covered in a mink fur,

she sang a sonnet in a half-formed voice

from her windpipe

as the Thracian muse could have sung

so that anyone of a feline nature

who heard her discordant meows

would know she didn't

give a damn for mice.