NOT LONG AFTER his arrival in Chile from Nicaragua in 1886, Rubén Darío published an article in the newspaper El mercurio, in which he lamented the present state of the arts. Speaking of Chilean poets in particular, he complains: “Casi todos permanecen silenciosos; casi todos han olvidado el amable comercio de las Gracias. Quién con la cartera del diplomático no cura si la Fama le ha encumbrado a la categoría del primer poeta filosófico de América; quién en prosaicas oficinas cuenta números en lugar de hemistiquios” (qtd. in Martínez, introduction 15; Almost all remain silent; almost all have forgotten the kind commerce with the Graces. One, with a diplomat’s briefcase, cares not if Fame has raised him to the rank of premier philosophical poet of America; another, in a prosaic office, counts numbers instead of hemistichs).1 Darío’s scorn for those accountants who waste their time in mundane offices balancing accounts and calculating profits reflects a typical modernista critique of contemporary bourgeois society. While people could be composing verses that bring the world closer to invisible spiritual realities, they are mired, instead, in vain and earthly pursuits that leave society feeling unfulfilled, discontent, and isolated. Yet this dualistic vision defined by counting money, on one hand, and counting hemistichs, on the other, also presents the perceived crisis in terms similar to those that traditionally characterized the concept of melancholy. Since antiquity, those who suffered from melancholy were often pictured as gloomy, materialistic people who excelled at such activities as counting and measuring. However, it was also possible to conceive of melancholy in positive terms, and it was thought that the negative effects of melancholy could occasionally be controlled and even sublimated to allow for incredible achievements, as in the arts, for example (Yates 51). Melancholy could claim both morose bookkeepers as well as creative geniuses, and this is why the sixteenth-century Dominican friar, Battista da Crema, opined that a melancholic person was “either an angel or a demon” (qtd. in Brann 134). Darío’s comments speak to a dichotomous perception of modernity as dominated by the negative traits of melancholy, but they also suggest that spiritual and artistic fulfillment may be tantalizingly close at hand. His remarks in the newspaper reveal his mindset as he adjusted to life in his new surroundings, and these initial reflections on melancholy in Chile find their fullest expression in his poem “Autumnal.” Through comparison to a series of poetic texts, visual representations, and Arthur Schopenhauer’s philosophy, this article examines the ways in which the discourse of melancholy informed Darío’s conception of “Autumnal” as a passage from discontent to ecstasy.“Autumnal” is the third in a series of four poems called El año lírico, which appears in Darío’s landmark book, Azul . . . (1888). As the title of the poem suggests, autumn provides the theme for the poem, and like many other texts from Azul . . . , it was originally published in the Valparaíso newspaper, La época, in 1887. Before Darío took up residence in Chile, though, he had already shown an interest in using the seasons to reflect on melancholy, as evidenced in his poem “Ecce homo.” This poem, written when he still lived in Central America as a teenager, presents all of humanity as afflicted by “spleen.” The voice of the poem addresses God and describes how spleen insinuates itself into everyone: El spleen nos invade, nos sofoca,esta tu humanidad se vuelve loca,a fuerza de sufrir tantos revesesy tanto desengaño.(25–28)2Spleen invades us, suffocates us,this humanity of yours goes crazy,after suffering so many setbacksand so much disillusionment.In this text, spleen is the result of the endless monotony of daily life symbolized by the unending repetition of the seasons: “No podemos mirar con tanta flema / esas evoluciones / que llaman estaciones” (15–17; We cannot look upon with such phlegm / these evolutions / called seasons). The word “spleen” is a metonymic reminder of the conceptual origins of melancholy in humoral psychology, according to which the condition resulted from an excess of black bile produced in that organ. The term was nearly synonymous with melancholy, ennui, and the so-called mal du siècle, all of which encompassed feelings of boredom, sadness, and disillusionment. Faced with the tacit refusal of God to grant a respite from the monotony of everyday life, the poetic subject in “Ecce homo” looks around and sees only moribund tedium. Nature, the heavens, society, religion, science, female beauty, and art are all consulted as antidotes, but none of these offers any deliverance. Melancholy returns, or rather, it continues (“yo me muero de spleen” [339]; I’m dying of spleen), leaving only one hope: Visión pura de amor, dame consuelo:corramos de esta noche la cortina;abre tus ojos, quiero ver el cielo,visión pura de amor, visión divina.Aquí en mi corazón tengo guardadoun mi pequeño edén iluminadopor la luz de una aurora indefinida,donde, en la tempestad, hallamos calmasrecogidos yo y Ella,mi adorada, mi bella.Se besan dulcemente nuestras almas,y me refresca el rostro mansa brisa,y me inunda de gozode mi amada la cándida sonrisa.(353–66)Pure vision of love, give me comfort:let us lift the curtain on this night;open your eyes, I want to see heaven,pure vision of love, vision divine.Here in my heart I keep storeda small Eden of my own, illuminatedby the light of an undefined dawn,where, amid a storm, we find calmShe and I, huddled,my adored, my beautiful.Our souls sweetly kiss,and a soft breeze refreshes my face,and I am flooded with the delightof my beloved’s bright smile.The mystical, Neoplatonic symbolism of vision and light that characterizes these lines culminates in the last stanza, in which the souls of the subject and an idealized woman kiss (“se besan dulcemente nuestras almas” [363]), and the bliss (“gozo” [365]) of beholding the smile of the beloved washes over the lyric voice. Taking refuge in an abstract, intangible woman, rather than in a living, breathing one, reflects the repeatedly disappointing search in Darío’s poetry for comfort from melancholy in sexual pleasure (Palacios Vivas 35). “Ecce homo” expresses a misogynistic rejection of the supposedly temporary, physical, impure beauty imputed to real women, described collectively as “un rebaño de lindos luciferes” (242; a flock of pretty Lucifers), in favor of the “hermosura verdadera” (256; true beauty). In its reworking of the vanitas trope, the poem reduces the physical attractiveness attributed to women of flesh and blood to just that, “un costal de carne y huesos” (312; a sack of flesh and bones). For Darío, physical indulgence in sex only serves to exacerbate melancholy, since it offers only a fleeting suspension of the condition after which the feelings of dissatisfaction return more acutely. As Lily Litvak writes, Eros no sólo produce placer sino también soledad, desolación, desesperación, melancolía, spleen. Precisamente, son la misantropía y el pesimismo del erotismo fin de siglo lo que nos muestran su fundamento espiritual. Este impulso se concreta en una filosofía idealista, vagamente derivada de los filósofos alemanes, y se manifiesta en la consideración dualista de la vida como un campo de batalla entre fuerzas espirituales y terrenales. (3–4)Eros produces not only pleasure, but also solitude, desolation, desperation, melancholy, spleen. It is precisely the misanthropy and pessimism of the end-of-century eroticism that show us its spiritual foundation. This impulse takes form in a philosophical idealism, vaguely derived from the German philosophers, and becomes evident in the dualistic understanding of life as a battleground between spiritual and terrestrial forces.This failure of physical eroticism contrasts with the “hermosura verdadera” (256; true beauty) projected in the serene beauty of the smile that brings great joy, peace, and a relief from the pain of melancholy. “Ecce homo” suggests that whereas material pleasures fail, perhaps an imagined spiritual fulfillment conceived in Neoplatonic terms with echoes of nineteenth-century idealist philosophy can still be attained. “Ecce homo” foreshadows much of what appears subsequently in “Autumnal,” and it establishes a structural pattern that is followed in the later poem. Melancholy is introduced, a search for deliverance from suffering is pursued, and the mystical vision of an idealized woman concludes the text. “Autumnal” follows this sequence, reinforcing and intensifying it through subtle evocations of influential texts and artwork.The first indication of the melancholy subtext in “Autumnal” appears in the title itself, as the temperament had long been associated with the season of fall. There may be something seemingly natural to this seasonal connection, and indeed Darío professed as much: La autumnal es la estación reflexiva. La Naturaleza comunica su filosofía sin palabras, con sus hojas pálidas, sus cielos taciturnos, sus opacidades melancólicas. El ensueño se impregna de reflexión. El recuerdo ilumina con su interior luz apacible los más amables secretos de nuestra memoria. Respiramos, como a través de un aire mágico, el perfume de las antiguas rosas. (qtd. in Ramoneda 28)Autumn is the season for reflection. Without words, Nature communicates its philosophy with its pale leaves, its taciturn skies, its melancholic opaqueness. Revery is pervaded with reflection. Recollection, with its gentle interior light, illuminates the kindest secrets of our memory. We breathe, as if through a magical air, the perfume of ancient roses.Darío’s assessment of autumn and its associations may very well reflect his own personal convictions and experiences, but it is also consistent with a conventional interpretation of the season that extends back to antiquity. As mentioned above, the concept of melancholy derives ultimately from the ancient humoral psychology in which the four humors (blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm) were each related in an extensive system to corresponding temperaments, ages, elements, planets, seasons, and times of the day (table 1).3 Melancholy was related to black bile, adulthood, earth, Saturn, autumn, and the afternoon, the last of which appears referenced in the first line of the poem: En las pálidas tardesyerran nubes tranquilasen el azul; en las ardientes manosse posan las cabezas pensativas.(1–4)On pale afternoonstranquil clouds wanderin the blue; in ardent handspensive heads rest.Described using the poetic plural for the singular, the lyric subject sits with his head in his hand as the clouds drift through the afternoon sky colored by pale shades of light (“pálidas tardes” [1]). The poetic voice is not said to observe the clouds directly as they float overhead, but their presence and passage through the air can be taken to symbolize the thoughts that move through his mind. The melancholy content of these meditations is revealed indirectly through a series of exclamations: “¡Ah los suspiros! ¡Ah los dulces sueños! / ¡Ah las tristezas íntimas” (5–6; Ah the sighs! Ah the sweet dreams! / Ah the intimate sorrows!), which reflect feelings of sadness, nostalgia and longing.Another reflection of the melancholy tradition is the pose assumed by the subject, with his head cradled in his hands. This bodily position is one of the most enduring and recognizable of the iconographic attributes of melancholy, and it was frequently depicted in visual artwork and described in verbal texts. In the Hispanic tradition, descriptions of this gesture, understood as proper to “dejected spirits, morbid brooding and melancholy” (Nordström 18) appear in medieval Spanish texts and continue in such paintings as the portrait of Don Gaspar Melchor de Jovellanos (1798) (fig. 1) by Francisco Goya (Nordström 133–41). The most influential modern depiction of this pose and all its associations with melancholy, however, appeared nearly three centuries earlier in Albrecht Dürer’s Melencolia I (1514) (fig. 2).This engraving was especially popular in nineteenth-century France, where Dürer’s “fame was great in literary and artistic circles” (Patty 245). The artwork was influential on several of the same poets that Darío admired and imitated, such as Théophile Gautier, who composed Melancholia (1834). In this poem, Gautier imagines Dürer contemplating the misery and frustration of humanity in the same posture assumed by the angel in his engraving: Il me semble te voir au coin de ta fenêtreEtroite, à vitraux peints, dans ton fauteuil d’ancêtre.L’ogive encadre un front bleuissant d’outremer,Comme dans tes tableaux, ô vieil Albert Dürer!Nuremberg sur le ciel dresse ses mille flèches,Et découpe ses toits aux silhouettes sèches;Toi, le coude au genou, le menton dans la main,Tu rêves tristement au pauvre sort humain.(121–28; emphasis added)Behind the painted panes methinks I see thee there,In thy strait window-nook, in thine ancestral chair.The ogive frames a front, pale ’gainst a ground of gold,As in thy pictures ’tis, o Albrecht Dürer old.Nürnberg its thousand spires outlines against the skyAnd lifts its angled roofs and gables builded high;Whilst, sadly, chin in hand and elbow upon knee,Thou ponderest the lot of poor humanity.(Payne 121–28; emphasis added)The description of Nuremberg establishes the contrast between its elevated spires and the humdrum lives of its inhabitants below. Gautier implies that Dürer enjoys a view from above, where the artist personifies the melancholic angel of his own creation (“dans sa création t’a personnifié” [136]) as he sits with chin in his hand. From there Gautier describes and extolls Melencolia I for capturing the melancholy spirit of Dürer himself and the superior spirituality of his bygone age. It is particularly revealing that, in his ekphrasis of the print, Gautier interprets the luminary in the background not as a comet, as is conventional, but as a black sun setting over the sea (“. . . d’un grand soleil tout noir” [168]). As discussed below, Darío’s poem also pairs the melancholy posture of the poetic subject with a sun setting into the sea.The final evocation of melancholy in the first stanza of “Autumnal” involves the vision of a woman enveloped by golden dust. The lyric voice exclaims: ¡Ah el polvo de oro que en el aire flota,tras cuyas ondas trémulas se miranlos ojos tiernos y húmedos,las bocas inundadas de sonrisas,las crespas cabellerasy los dedos de rosa que acarician!(7–12)Ah the dust of gold that floats in the airbehind whose flickering waves are seentender and damp eyes,mouths flooded with smiles,curly hairand the fingers of roses that caress!The emergence of a smiling female face is familiar to readers of “Ecce homo.” Here she appears from behind a golden cloud, lending her a mysterious quality, and her other physical traits, including tender eyes, wavy hair, and soft fingers, are similar to those commonly attributed to female characters throughout El año lírico. The potential touch of her fingers heightens her sensuality, but it also seems to offer gentle reassurance and comfort to the poetic voice. Ostensibly, the description merely refers to the fantasy of the daydreaming subject, but a clue to its metaphorical meaning can be traced through classical poetry. It is well known that dawn was conventionally personified as a woman, and Homer’s description of her rose fingers became a trope of the epic genre. The soft colors attributed to her fingers are a personification of the “pale shades of the dawn sky.”4 In “Autumnal” the woman described in the first stanza also has rose fingers (“dedos de rosa” [12]) and the sky, too, is lit by pale colors (“las pálidas tardes” [1]), but Darío’s poem takes place during the afternoon, at which time the sun would be descending. Her apparition could not therefore be interpreted as a metaphorical reference to dawn, but it could be read as a personification of the colors of the evening sky at twilight. As such, her fingers metaphorically caress the poetic subject through her warmth, while the last light of the sun recedes from earth. Her curly tresses (“crespas cabelleras” [11]) likewise recall those final sunbeams, and the floating golden dust (“polvo de oro” [7]) resembles what are known as crepuscular rays, or “shafts of sunlit air separated by cloud shadows, made visible by the scattering of light by airborne particles” (Pretor-Pinney 225). Finally, the portrayal of her facial features in relation to water suggests the specific location where the sun is setting. It is declining into the sea, and her eyes thus become humid and her mouth becomes flooded. The crests and troughs of the waves illuminated by the setting sun perhaps recall innumerable smiles arrayed across the surface of the water (“las bocas inundadas de sonrisas” [10]).5 Understanding these metaphorical atmospherics is important because the setting sun is yet another important part of the symbolism of melancholy (Nordström 21). These lines of the poem thus reinforce the explicit reference to the time of day conventionally associated with melancholy (“En las pálidas tardes” [1]) by describing the sunset.Understanding the “polvo de oro” (7; dust of gold) as a reference to the particles suspended in the air at sunset helps to reveal the influence of other texts behind this description. For Rosemary C. LoDato, the golden dust at the beginning of “Autumnal” reinforces the Neoplatonic subtext of the poem expressed in the opening epigraph, “Eros, Vita, Lumen” (135). She argues that “in Darío’s poem, each golden particle contains a secret meaning. Gold is not only a decorative metal; for Darío, it is the esoteric and alchemical symbol of knowledge and perfection” (135). This is certainly correct, but it should be added that the symbolism of secret, hidden knowledge is enhanced by previous treatments of sunlit dust particles that go back at least as far as Lucretius’s On the Nature of Things. In book 2 of his epic on Epicureanism, Lucretius writes: contemplator enim, cum solis lumina cumqueinserti fundunt radii per opaca domorum:multa minuta modis multis per inane videbiscorpora misceri radiorum lumine in ipso.(2.114–17)For look well when you let the sun peep in a shuttered roomPouring forth the brilliance of its beams into the gloom,And you’ll see myriads of motes all moving many waysThroughout the void and intermingling in the golden rays . . .(Stallings 39)6Lucretius goes on to provide an interpretation for the sight of specks in shafts of light, commenting: quod tales turbae motus quoque materiai significant clandestinos caecosque subesse. multa videbis enim plagis ibi percita caecis commutare viam retroque repulsa reverti, nunc huc nunc illuc, in cunctas undique partis. scilicet hic a principiis est omnibus error: prima moventur enim per se primordia rerum.(2.127–33)Such turmoil means that there are secret motions, out of sight,That lie concealed in matter. For you’ll see the motes careenOff course, and then bounce back again, by means of blows unseen,Drifting now in this direction, now that, on every side.You may be sure this starts with atoms; they are what provideThe base of this unrest.(Stallings 39–40)For Lucretius, the erratic motions of the dust particles provide evidence for the more elemental and invisible material that constitutes the very substance of our reality. Humans may not be able see the atoms, but according to Epicureanism they are surely there behind every sensorial perception of the world. Unlike Darío, Lucretius was a materialist, and thus for him the unobservable reality that lurks under the cover of everyday objects is strictly physical.Many centuries later, John Milton also takes up this image and works it into his classic poetic treatment of melancholy. His poem “Il penseroso” (1645) was conceived as the serious antithetical counterpart to “L’Allegro” (1645), in which he praises the carefree life spent pursuing earthly pleasure. In contrast to this lighthearted text, “Il penseroso” depicts the deep spiritual revelations made possible by a lifestyle devoted to contemplation and self-discipline. The poem begins with an unequivocal renunciation of the frivolous delights celebrated in “L’Allegro”: Hence vain deluding joys,The brood of Folly without father bred,How little you bestead,Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toys;Dwell in some idle brain,And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,As thick and numberlessAs the gay motes that people the sunbeams,Or likest hovering dreams.(1–9; emphasis added)Here again, the “gay motes that people the sunbeams” (8) refer to the specks of dust in the air that reflect the sunlight. In both Darío’s poem and in Milton’s, the references to the illuminated particulates appear in the opening stanza (line 7 of “Autumnal” and line 8 of “Il Penseroso”), and both serve to establish a similar view in the texts. For Milton, the golden dust symbolizes the negative attributes imputed to mirth, as David Miller observes: The faults of mundane joy are negative. They are “vain,” “deluding,” “fickle” dreams, of no more account than motes of dust dancing in the sunlight. . . . They harm man only insofar as they prevent him from desiring a higher state. (35)In effect, Milton employs an image of dust similar to that found in Lucretius only to denounce many of the same values espoused in the philosophy of—or at least popularly associated with—the Roman poet. Yet neither Lucretius nor Milton is content with the dust in itself, but rather their interest is in what lies beyond the motes. For the Epicurean, there are only smaller physical particles that underlie appearances, but these are crucial for understanding how the world works. For Milton, there is an unseen spiritual reality that ultimately gives meaning to the world. Nor does Darío’s poem appear to be concerned with the “polvo de oro” (7; dust of gold) per se, but rather what looms behind the dust. As LoDato argues, the golden dust is, indeed, symbolic of deeper, hidden knowledge; the true interest of the lyric voice is the personification of the setting sun, the enchanting, mysterious face of the woman. It is her countenance and its symbolism in which the deepest understanding consists.There are further similarities between Milton’s and Darío’s poems that help to highlight the melancholy subtext of “Autumnal.” The subject of both poems is a pensive person, as reflected early in the “cabezas pensativas” (4; pensive heads) of “Autumnal” and in the title of Milton’s “Il penseroso.” These subjects also gaze at the lights in the sky at midnight, and they recount the distant sounds they hear from an elevated position. Likewise, the passage from darkness to dawn is described in both poems, and the appearance of the bright light of aurora is initially veiled before it becomes fully visible. Most important is how both poems conclude with descriptions of spiritual rapture. The voice of “Il penseroso” imagines the joy of life among the “studious cloister’s pale” (156) and wishes for divine revelation: “There let the pealing organ blow, / To the full-voiced choir below, / In service high, and anthems clear, / As may with sweetness, through my ear, / Dissolve me into ecstasies, / And bring all Heav’n before mine eyes” (161–66). The speaker in “Autumnal” hears similarly unearthly music (“músicas nunca oídas” [52]) before experiencing a vision that produces an ineffable holy bliss (“sacras dichas” [60]) in his soul, and this final ecstatic experience is especially important for understanding the role of melancholy in Darío’s text.The visions experienced by the poetic subjects in both poems exemplify the heightened mental states that melancholy was thought to be capable of provoking. Traditional theories based on diverse theological, philosophical, and physiological arguments held that inspired melancholy could lead to bursts of artistic creativity in some, and in others it could provoke prophecies, visions, and the kind of mystical transport depicted by Milton and Darío. Lauren S. Dixon, for example, writes: The idea of religious melancholy, or “enthusiasm,” like the concept of melancholia itself, originated in ancient Greek philosophy. Socrates described it as a privileged condition in his discussion of the four “blessed” types of madness: prophecy, mystical revelation, poetic inspiration, and lovesickness. . . . Christianity derived the concept of the melancholic holy man from Aristotle, who linked creative genius with the state of enthousiastikon, meaning to be possessed or inspired. (31)“Il penseroso” exemplifies this thinking, and Frances A. Yates calls it the “supreme poetic expression of the theory of inspired melancholy” (56). In the nineteenth century, versions of these ideas continued to be popular among the same French poets who included the melancholic head-in-hand iconography in their texts, such as Gautier, discussed above, and Charles Baudelaire (Patty; Hauptman). As a predisposing condition for mystical or artistic revelations, melancholy was perceived as tightly bound to a kind of otherworldly sensibility attributed to creative genius and mystical ascetics alike from classical antiquity through the nineteenth century. For Darío, ever attracted to esotericism, melancholy would have afforded him a rich intellectual foundation from which to imagine the paths to hidden knowledge and divine secrets.7 By invoking attributes associated with melancholy, such as autumn, the afternoon, and a person brooding head-in-hand, and by evoking paradigmatic texts of the melancholy tradition, such as Milton’s “Il penseroso,” Darío presents “Autumnal” as a reflection on melancholy and the search for mystical knowledge, creative inspiration, and spiritual salvation.Beginning with the second stanza of the poem, a fairy acts as guide for the poetic voice in his spiritual quest. She leads him on a kind of pilgrimage that commences with a series of preliminary revelations consisting of “lo que cantan los pájaros, / lo que llevan las brisas, / lo que vaga en las nieblas, / lo que sueñan las niñas” (17–20; what the birds sing, / what the breezes bring, / what drifts in the mists, / what girls dream), which serve to whet her companion’s appetite. The fairy clears away that which obscures, interprets that which is indecipherable, and makes visible that which is unseen, disclosing esoteric knowledge accessible to few others. Her companion subsequently expresses a “sed infinita” (22; infinite thirst) and beseeches his fairy escort for “inspiración honda, profunda, / inmensa: luz, calor, aroma, vida” (25–26; inspiration, deep, profound, / immense: light, warmth, scent, life). Stanzas 4, 5, and 6 depict a succession of escalating revelations that stimulate the subject’s senses and leave him craving more each time. They begin at night, a kind of modernista “noche oscura,” and as they ascend a mountain, the lyric voice is treated to the twinkling stars (32), the ensuing sunrise (36), the fragrance of flowers (45), and the sound of enchanting music and strange noises (50–52). The description of dawn is particularly interesting, as it represents the counterpart to the twilight of the first stanza, and like this earlier portrayal, dawn is compared to the face of a young woman (36–40). These sensory stimuli are similar to the kinds of remedies traditionally prescribed to alleviate the symptoms of melancholy and here they function in much the same way, but they always leave the melancholic poetic voice gasping for more. “¡Más!” is repeated three times (35, 41, 49), once in each of the stanzas 4, 5, and 6. It is only the final revelation that appears to satisfy completely the infinite thirst of the poetic subject, as it leaves him entranced and speechless.Just before experiencing rapture, the melancholic subject hears voices, echoes, laughter, mysterious murmurs, flutterings, and “músicas nunca oídas” (52; music never heard before). This music seems to proceed from some other transcendent realm, and this is the destination where the fairy leads her follower. They have arrived at the interstices of the earthly and the divine worlds, where they are separated by only a thin veil from the “ansias infinitas” (54; infinite desires), the “inspiración profunda” (55; profound inspiration), and the “alma de las liras” (56; the soul of lyres). The intervening partition is quite distinct from the veil of Queen Mab described in the story of the same name also from Azul . . . . In the prose narrative, the veil symbolizes the queen’s deliverance of artists through the magic of dreams to another, idealized world that contrasts with the harsh conditions of their bourgeois surroundings. In “El velo de la reina Mab,” to be blanketed by the veil is desirable because it alters the artists’ perception, enabling them to see the world through a rose-colored filter. In “Autumnal,” the veil symbolizes the archetypal barrier between the mortal and the immortal, between illusion and reality, marking the limit against which humans cannot trespass and that which separates modern individuals from unity with the rest of the universe. It is the conventional disconnect that esoteric Romanticism strove to overcome so that humans might return to their mythical origins and thereby find true fulfillment and completeness.8 The fairy grants a rare glimpse into this realm when she tears the veil: “Y lo rasgó. Y allí todo era aurora. / En el fondo se vía / un bello rostro de mujer” (57–59; And [she] tore it. And everything there was dawn. / In the background could be seen / the beautiful face of a woman). The sunlight of dawn pours through the opening, and in the background the poetic subject discerns the face of a beautiful woman. The fairy has thus led him from the depths of dejection to the height of ecstasy, from the setting sun to the rising sun, and from dar