_Three helmsmen of the sacred barque; the pen, That so these heavenly wardens doth enhance,— No pen, but rather key of Fame's proud dome, Opening her everlasting doors to men,— Is no poor drudge recording things of chance, Which paints her shadowy forms on trembling foam._" Still, when all allowance is made, it must be confessed that Góngora excels in hiding his meanings. By many his worst faults were extolled as beauties, and there was formed a school of disciples who agreed with Le Sage's Fabrice in holding the master for "le plus beau génie que l'Espagne ait jamais produit." But Góngora was not to conquer without a struggle. One illustrious writer was an early convert: Cervantes proclaimed himself an admirer of the _Polifemo_, which is among the most difficult of Góngora's works. Pedro de Valencia, one of Spain's best humanists, was the first to denounce Góngora's transpositions, licentious metaphors, and verbal inventions as manifested in the _Soledades_ (Solitary Musings), round which the controversy raged hottest. Within twenty-five years of Góngora's death the first _Soledad_ found an English translator in the person of Thomas Stanley (1651), who renders in this fashion:— "_'Twas now the blooming season of the year, And in disguise Europa's ravisher (His brow arm'd with a crescent, with such beams Encompast as the sun unclouded streams The sparkling glory of the zodiac!) led His numerous herd along the azure mead. When he, whose right to beauty might remove The youth of Ida from the cup of Jove, Shipwreck't, repuls'd, and absent, did complain Of his hard fate and mistress's disdain; With such sad sweetness that the winds, and sea, In sighs and murmurs kept him company.... By this time night begun t'ungild the skies, Hills from the sea, seas from the hills arise, Confusedly unequal; when once more The unhappy youth invested in the poor Remains of his late shipwreck, through sharp briars And dusky shades up the high rock aspires. The steep ascent scarce to be reach'd by aid Of wings he climbs, less weary than afraid. At last he gains the top; so strong and high As scaling dreaded not, nor battery, An equal judge the difference to decide 'Twixt the mute load and ever-sounding tide. His steps now move secur'd; a glimmering light (The Pharos of some cottage) takes his sight._" And so on in passages where the darkness grows denser at every line. "C'est l'obscurité qui en fait tout le mérite," as Fabrice observes when Gil Blas fails to understand his friend's sonnet.