Problemáticas de las relaciones civiles-militares

I have listed Don Quixote’s physical features such as the big bones, the mole on the back, the iron tendons and the ailing kidneys, his lanky limbs, his mournful, gaunt, sun-tanned face, his fantastic assortment of rusty arms in the somewhat old molish

Nabokov’s chronology of Cervantes’s life The opening of Nabokov’s lecture on structure

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moonlight. I listed his spiritual traits—such as his gravity, his dignified manner, his infinite courage, his madness, the checkerboard of his mental condition, squares of lucidity and squares of lunacy, with a kind of knight’s move gear-shifting from mad logic to man logic and back again.²² I have mentioned his pathetic gentle helplessness, of which I shall have more to say when we come to the beauty of the book. I have likewise listed Sancho’s features, his quixotic lean legs and the belly and face of an “August,” which in modern circus slang is the name for the bum type of clown. I have mentioned some points at which his otherwise farcical personality is connected with the dramatic shadow of his master. I shall have more to say of Sancho in the role of enchanter.

I am now going to take up and examine some of the structural pegs from which our book loosely hangs—the most scarecrow masterpiece among masterpieces but forming against the backdrop of time a marvelous photopia (vision with light-adjusted eyes) of folds, f, o, 1, d, s.

But first a few general considerations. Don Quixote has been called the greatest novel ever written. This, of course, is nonsense.

As a matter of fact, it is not even one of the greatest novels of the world, but its hero, whose personality is a stroke of genius on the part of Cervantes, looms so wonderfully above the skyline of literature, a gaunt giant on a lean nag, that the book lives and will live through the sheer vitality that Cervantes has injected into the main character of a very patchy haphazard tale, which is saved from falling apart only by its creator’s wonderful artistic intuition that has his Don Quixote go into action at the right moments of the story.

I think there can hardly be any doubt as to the fact that Don Quixote was originally intended by Cervantes to be a long short story, providing amusement for an hour or two. The first sally, the one from which Sancho is still absent, is obviously conceived as a separate novella: it reveals a unity of purpose and accomplishment, capped with a moral.²³ But then the book grew and expanded and came to include matters of all kinds. The first part of the work

22 * For VN’s application of the phrase “knight’s move” and its significance, see his lecture on Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park in Lectures on Literature (1980), p. 57: “Especially in dealing with Fanny’s reactions, Austen uses a device that I call the knight’s move, a term from chess to describe a sudden

swerve to one or the other side on the board of Fanny’s chequered emotions.” 46/251

divides into four sections—eight chapters, then six, then thirteen, and then twenty-five. The second part does not divide into sections. Madariaga remarks that the rapid and bewildering succession of episodes and inset tales which suddenly breaks into the main narrative toward the end of the first part, long before the second part was conceived, is the padding of a tired author who disperses in minor tasks an effort no longer sufficient for his main creation. In part two (without sections) Cervantes regains full control over his central theme.

In order to give the work some crude unity, Sancho is made, here and there, to recall former incidents. But in the evolution of literature the seventeenth-century novel—especially the picaresque novel—had not yet evolved consciousness, conscious memory permeating the whole work, when we feel that the characters remember and know events that we remember and know about them. This is a development of the nineteenth century. But in our book even the artificial recalls are haphazard and are half-hearted,

Cervantes, in writing his work, seems to have had alternate phases of lucidity and vagueness, deliberate planning and sloppy vagueness, much as his hero was mad in patches. Intuition saved Cervantes. As Groussac remarks, he never saw his book in front of him as a perfect composition, standing aloof, completely separate from the chaos of matter from which it had grown. Not only that, not only did he never foresee things, but also he never looked back.

One has the impression that when he was in the act of writing the second part, he did not have a copy of the first part on his writing desk; never thumbed through it: he seems to remember that first part as an average reader would, not as a writer, not as a student.

Otherwise it is impossible to explain how he managed, for instance, while in the very act of criticizing the errors committed by the author of the spurious continuation of Don Quixote to make even worse blunders in the same connection, in regard to the same characters. But, I repeat, the intuition of genius saved him.

23 * “Ce petit pavilion isole existait par lui-meme, et rien ne faisait prevoir qu’il deviendrait le vestibule d’un chateau.” Paul Groussac, Une Enigme litteraire: Le DON Quichotte d’Avellaneda, p. 61. VN. (“This small isolated pavilion existed by itself and nothing indicated that it would become the

vestibule of a mansion.”) 47/251

Structural Devices

I shall now list and briefly describe the following ten structural devices, some of the ingredients of our meat pie.

(1) Snatches of old ballads which echo in the corners and crannies of the novel, adding here and there a quaint melodious charm to pedestrian matter. Most of these popular ballads, or references to them, are inevitably dimmed in translation.

Incidentally, the very first words of the book, “In a certain village of La Mancha” (“En un lugar de la Mancha”), are those of an old ballad. I cannot go into this matter of ballads in any detail for lack of time.

(2) Proverbs: Sancho, of the second part especially, is a bursting bag of old saws and sayings. To the readers of translations this Breughelian side of the book is as dead as cold mutton. So there again—I am not going to pursue this line of inquiry.

(3) Wordplay: alliterations, puns, mispronounced words. All this is lost in translation, too.

(4) Dramatic dialogue: Let us keep in mind that Cervantes was a frustrated playwright who found his medium in a novel. The natural tone and rhythm of the conversations in the book are marvelous even in translation. The theme is obvious. You will enjoy by yourselves in the solitude and silence of your dormitories the various conversations of the Sancho family.²⁴

24 * Part one, chapter 52: “At news of the knight’s return, Sancho Panza’s wife had hurried to the scene, for she had some while since learned that her husband had accompanied him as his squire; and now, as soon as she laid eyes upon her man, the first question she asked was if all was well with the ass, to which Sancho replied that the beast was better off than his master.

“‘Thank God,’ she exclaimed, ‘for all his blessings! But tell me now, my dear, what have you brought me from all your squirings? A new cloak to wear?

Or shoes for the young ones?’

‘I’ve brought you nothing of the sort, good wife,’ said Sancho, ‘but other things of greater value and importance.’

“‘I’m glad to hear that,’ she replied. ‘Show me those things of greater value and importance, my dear. I’d like a sight of them just to cheer this heart of mine which has been so sad and unhappy all the centuries that you’ve been gone.’

“‘I will show them to you at home, wife,” said Sancho. ‘For the present be satisfied that if, God willing, we set out on another journey in search of adventures, you will see me in no time a count or the governor of an island, and not one of those around here, but the best that is to be had.’

“‘I hope to Heaven it’s true, my husband, for we certainly need it. But tell

me, what is all this about islands? I don’t understand.’ 48/251

(5) The conventional poetical, or more correctly pseudo-poetical, description of nature enclosed in paragraph form and never mingling organically with the story or the dialogue.

(6) The invented historian: I shall devote half a lecture to the examination of this magic device.

(7) The novella, the inset story of the Decameron (ten-a-day) type, an Italian collection of a hundred tales by Boccaccio, fourteenth century. I shall return to this in a moment.

(8) The Arcadian (or Pastoral) theme is closely allied to the Italian novella and to the chivalry romance, merging with them at various points. This Arcadian slant is derived from the following odd combination of notions: Arcadia, a mountainous district of legendary Greece, had been the abode of a simple contented people; so let us disguise ourselves as shepherds and spend sixteenth-century summers wandering in idyllic bliss or romantic distress about the mollified mountains of Spain. The special theme of distress pertained to chivalry stories of penitent, unhappy, or insane knights who would retire to the wilderness to live like fictitious shepherds. These Arcadian activities (minus the special distress) were later transferred to other mountainous parts of Europe by eighteenth-century writers of the so-called sentimental school, in a kind of back-to-nature movement, though actually nothing could be more artificial than the tame and coy kind of nature visualized by Arcadian writers. In point of fact, sheep and goats stink.

“ Honey,’ replied Sancho, is not for the mouth of an ass. You will find out in good time, woman; and you’re going to be surprised to hear yourself called “my Ladyship” by all your vassals.’

‘What’s this you are saying, Sancho, about ladyships, islands, and vassals? ...

“‘Do not be in such a hurry to know all this, Juana [ later Teresa],’ he said.

‘It is enough that I am telling you the truth. Sew up your mouth then; for all I will say, in passing, is that there is nothing in the world that is more pleasant than being a respected man, squire to a knight-errant who goes in search of adventures. It is true that most of the adventures you meet with do not come out the way you’d like them to, for ninety-nine out of a hundred will prove to be all twisted and crosswise. I know that from experience, for I’ve come out of some of them blanketed and out of others beaten to a pulp. But all the same, it’s a fine thing to go along waiting for what will happen next, crossing mountains, making your way through woods, climbing over cliffs, visiting castles, and putting up at

inns free of charge, and the devil take the maravedi that is to pay.’” Ed. 49/251

(9) The Chivalry theme, allusions to books of chivalry, parodies of various situations and devices in them; in a word, a continuous awareness of romances of knight-errantry. In your eager hands will be placed specimens—copies of passages from two books of that kind—the best.²⁵ After reading these passages you will not rush out in search of rusty armor and old polo ponies, but you may get a faint whiff of the charm that Don Quixote found in those tales. You will also note the similarity of certain situations.

Being by nature a storyteller and a magician, but not a preacher, Cervantes is anything but a fiery adversary of a social evil. He does not really give a hoot whether or not books of chivalry are popular in Spain; and, if popular, whether or not their influence is pernicious; and, if pernicious, whether or not it may actually drive crazy a virgin gentleman of fifty. Although Cervantes makes a great show of being morally concerned with these matters, the only thing about this chivalry or antichivalry affair that interests him is firstly its most convenient use as a literary device to propel, shift, and otherwise direct his story; and secondly its no less convenient use as a righteous attitude, a purpose, a flutter of indignation which in his pious, utilitarian, and dangerous day a writer had better take. It would be a loss of my labor and of your attention if we were to fall for the deception and seriously probe this perfectly artificial and indeed fatuous moral, if any, of Don Quixote; but the structural use Cervantes makes of the chivalry theme as a literary device—this is a fascinating and important matter and I shall discuss it amply.

Finally (10) The mystification theme, the cruel burlesque jest (the so-called burla), which can be defined as a sharp-petaled Renaissance flower on a hairy medieval stem. The mystification practiced upon the dignified madman and his simple squire by the ducal pair in the second part of the work are good examples of this kind of thing. I shall discuss the dignified madman and his simple squire by the ducal pair in the second part of the work are good examples of this kind of thing. I shall discuss the mystification theme later on in connection with a general account of the cruelty of the book.

I shall now proceed to discuss some of these ten points, with additional details and illustrations.

25 * See Appendix for mimeographed material distributed to the students.

Ed. 50/251

Dialogue And Landscape

If we follow the evolution of literary forms and devices from the remotest antiquity to our times we notice that the art of dialogue was developed and perfected much earlier than the art of describing, or better say expressing, nature. By 1600 the dialogue with great writers in all countries is excellent—natural, supple, colorful, alive. But the verbal rendering of landscapes will have to wait until, roughly speaking, the beginning of the nineteenth century to reach the same level as the dialogue had reached 200 years before; and it is only in the second part of the nineteenth century that descriptive passages referring to outside nature were integrated, were merged with the story, ceased to stick out in separate paragraphs, and became organic parts of the whole composition.

No wonder then that in our book the dialogue is so vivid and the landscape so dead. I direct your attention especially to the charmingly supple conversation Sancho has with his wife in chapter 5 of part two.

“‘What do you bring with you, friend Sancho,’ she asked, ‘that makes you so merry?’

“‘Wife,’ he replied, ‘if it was God’s will, I’d be glad not to be as happy as I am.’

“‘I don’t understand you, husband,’ said she. ‘I don’t know what you mean by wishing you were not as happy as you are. I may be a fool, but I fail to see how you can find pleasure in not having it.’

“‘Look here, Teresa,’ said Sancho, ‘I am happy because I have made up my mind to go back to serving my master Don Quixote, who wants to go out a third time in search of adventures,...

although, naturally, it makes me sad to have to leave you and the young ones. If God would only let me eat my bread at home, dryshod, without dragging me through the byways and crossroads

—and it would not cost Him anything, all He has to do is will it—

it goes without saying that my happiness would be more solid and lasting than it is, whereas now it is mixed up with my sorrow at leaving you. That is what I meant when I said that I’d be glad if, God willing, I was not so happy.’

“‘Listen to me, Sancho,’ his wife replied. ‘Ever since you joined up with a knight-errant, you’ve been talking in such a

roundabout way that there’s no understanding you.’ 51/251

“‘It is enough, wife, if God understands me; for He understands everything, and that is good enough for me ....

“‘... I promise you, wife, ... that if God only sees to it that I get hold of any kind of an island at all, I will get Mari-Sancha a husband so high up in the world that no one will be able to come near her without calling her “my Ladyship.”

“‘No, Sancho,’ said his wife. ‘Marry her to someone who is her equal; that’s the best way. If you take her out of wooden shoes and put her into pattens, if you take her out of her gray flannel petticoat and put her into silken hoop skirts, ... the poor girl will not know where she is and every step she takes she will be making a thousand blunders and showing the thread of the coarse homespun stuff she’s made of.’

“ Be quiet, foolish woman,’ said Sancho. All she will need is two or three years to get used to it, and, after that, dignity and fine manners will fit her like a glove; and if not, what does it matter?

Let her be “your Ladyship” and come what may.’ ...

“‘Husband,’ said Teresa, ‘are you sure you know what you are talking about? For I am very much afraid that if my daughter becomes a countess it will be her ruination. You can do what you like, you can make a duchess or a princess of her, but I want to tell you it will be without my will or consent ....

“‘You, brother, go ahead and govern your island and strut all you like, but I tell you in the name of my sainted mother that neither my daughter nor I is going to stir one step from our village .... Go, then, to look for adventures with that Don Quixote of yours, and leave us to our misadventures; for God will make things better for us if we deserve it ....

“‘What I say is, if you are determined to be a governor, take your son Sancho with you so that you can teach him how to govern also; for it is a good thing for sons to learn and follow their father’s trade.’

“‘As soon as I have a government,’ said Sancho, ‘I will send for him posthaste. I will send you some money too; for there are always plenty of people to lend it to governors that do not have it.

And I want you to dress him up in such a way as to hide what he is and make him look like what he is not.’

“‘You send the money,’ Teresa replied, ‘and I’ll see to that.’

“‘So, then, it’s understood, is it, that our daughter is to be a countess?’

52/251

“‘The day that I see her a countess,’ was Teresa’s answer, ‘I’ll feel that I am laying her in her grave. But I tell you again: do as you like; for we women are born with the obligation of obeying

“‘The day that I see her a countess,’ was Teresa’s answer, ‘I’ll feel that I am laying her in her grave. But I tell you again: do as you like; for we women are born with the obligation of obeying