Preferred Citation: Martin, Adrienne Laskier. Cervantes and the Burlesque Sonnet. Berkeley:  University of California Press,  c1991 1991. http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft4870069m/

Cervantes and the Burlesque Sonnet Adrienne Laskier Martín UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS Berkeley · Los Angeles · Oxford © 1991 The Regents of the University of California

Preferred Citation: Martin, Adrienne Laskier. Cervantes and the Burlesque Sonnet. Berkeley:  University of California Press,  c1991 1991. http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft4870069m/

Para Andrés

Preface

This book is a revised version of my doctoral dissertation, written at Harvard University under the direction of Francisco Márquez Villanueva. I am forever indebted to Professor Márquez for initiating me into the world of Cervantine thought and humor, and for giving his time unstintingly to guide me throughout the initial project. Stephen Gilman, whose infectious enthusiasm for Don Quixote will remain a treasured memory, has been another profound influence on my own thinking. Without such mentors I would not be a cervantista today. Other scholars with whom I was fortunate to study at Harvard generously shared with me their insight and knowledge of poetry and Hispanic letters; foremost among these are Christopher Maurer and Claudio Guillén.

I would like to thank Muriel Kittel of Berkeley, California for her inspired translations of the Italian sonnets included here. I also wish to thank my colleague Professor John Freccero for his generous help in rendering difficult passages from the Italian. I have used the Ormsby translation of Don Quixote ; all other translations are my own. The primary goal in translating has been to communicate the sense and tone of the original as faithfully as possible. I am grateful to the School of Humanities and Sciences and the Department of Spanish and Portuguese of Stanford University, who kindly provided grant support for preparation of the translations.

As this project comes to fruition, I wish to express my gratitude to my partner Andrés Gonzales, whose unwavering encouragement and support have sustained me during the worst and the best of times.

A. L. M.
STANFORD, CALIFORNIA

Introduction

Mikhail Bakhtin observed not many years ago that laughter and its forms represent the least scrutinized sphere of human creation.^[1] It is true that "humorous" literature has historically been considered secondary, even marginal, within the western European literary tradition; perhaps this is so because "comedy" was never fully legitimized by classical poetics. In the case of poetry, the poets themselves are often reluctant to publish or even conserve what they consider to be their "frivolous" comical verse. Yet the comic tradition is as rich and as deep-seated within human nature and in literature as is the serious mode. Humor and its manifestations are of profound and vital significance to both social history and literary studies; without knowledge of what makes us laugh and why, our understanding of human nature and of literature in any given time and place is incomplete.

Comic poetry—burlesque, satire, and festive verse in general—is an enormously fertile and joyful area of study for Hispanists. In Golden Age Spain in particular, most major "serious" poets also wrote superb and exuberant comic verse; Quevedo and Góngora are but two examples. Cervantes, recognized as Spain's greatest humorist, is especially alluring as a humorous poet since his festive corpus stands as a barely sampled treat waiting to be savored. It exemplifies his humor, the touchstone of all Cervantine literature, and at the same time confirms his substantial poetic gifts.

The question of "Cervantes, poeta" has confounded Hispanists for decades. Transcending the contradictory and often arbitrary judgments of Cervantes's early critics,^[2] twentieth-century Cervantists have directed renewed attention to his lyric poetry.^[3] Their brief essays have rendered valuable, yet partial, results regarding Cervantes's talents as a poet. As the new century beckons, the opportunity, and the responsibility, is ours to reexamine Cervantine poetry as an essential part of the master's literary output.

My purpose in this book is to provide an artistic analysis of

Cervantes's burlesque sonnets, a genre of which he was particularly fond and in which he excelled. I seek to contribute to a new understanding and reappraisal of Cervantes as both an accomplished poet and a comic genius. Indeed, these poems reveal the model of comicity that Cervantes utilizes in his masterpiece of humor, Don Quixote .

The burlesque sonnet is a rich vein within the comic verse tradition in Europe. And Cervantes was an excellent burlesque sonneteer. But what does "burlesque" actually mean? Although the origin of the word "burla " is unknown, it is apparently a Spanish creation whose later derivation, "burlesco, " nevertheless derives from the Italian.^[4] The term means both a trick—"la acción que se hace con alguno, o la palabra que se le dice, con la cual se le procura engañar [an action or words used to deceive someone]" and mockery: "la acción, ademán, o palabras con que se hace irrisión y mofa de alguno, o de alguna cosa [an action, gesture, or words used to deride and ridicule someone or something]" (Autoridades, s.v. "burla "). The acceptations combine in burlesque poetry, whose purpose is to mock and ridicule someone or something, often itself. Burlesque can mock a literary style or movement or a specific work. It can also mock a person, a society, an institution, or even a nation. Burlesque is not specifically limited to literature, yet its richest expression is achieved through this medium. Burlesque is a certain attitude toward life and toward the object of the burla . Rather than criticize and censure bitterly as satire does, burlesque is festive and comic in spirit and in style. It does not imply satire's superior stance with regard to its object. While satire tends to portray life as tragically flawed and vice-ridden, burlesque depicts life as ridiculous and, therefore, worthy of being ridiculed. This element of burla —of mockery and ridicule and of pulling a trick on someone or something—is essential to the aesthetic category of the burlesque. It must be allowed, however, that burlesque and satire cannot be rigidly separated and often overlap in practice.

Indispensible to a proper appreciation of the burlesque is the realization that it has its own aesthetic standards and conventions. Unfortunately, in the late twentieth century we still operate to an extent under the often prudish nineteenth-century

canons of literary "good taste." But the burlesque deliberately turns its back on "the beautiful" in its search for the festive image, the quick joke, the laugh. It does not seek harmonious, melodic language but one designed to ridicule and provoke laughter, to debase, and to shock our ears and even our sensibilities. Its concerns are not the intricacies of the soul, of love, or of metaphysics, but the parodic inversion of such sublime themes. This is not to say, however, that the burlesque is without its own profound philosophical "meaning." Paradoxically, through exaggeration, burlesque is a call to truth and antidogmatism. It bids us to cast aside the prevailing deadly serious world view so that we might see and enjoy ourselves in all our complexity: imperfect, illogical, and irrational, yet vital and irresistibly comical creatures.

1—
The Burlesque Sonnet Tradition in Italy

Comic-Realistic Poets of the Thirteenth to Early Fourteenth Century

The burlesque sonnet was born and took its first steps among a fairly numerous series of poets living in Tuscany during the late thirteenth to early fourteenth century. Although varying in individual style, tone, and subject matter, they certainly form a distinctive group or genre when compared to their contemporaries, who were involved in serious, sublime verse. Commonly referred to as "comic-realistic" poets, theirs is not the exalted world of beauty and lofty sentiments, but an ironic one of caricature and raucous laughter. It is material life reduced to the basics where philosophical and moral concerns are swept aside in the search for the immediate gratification of elementary instincts. These poets sing an earthy existence, full of coarse and passionate inclinations, in a highly expressive, colorful, and colloquial—often regional—vernacular. This is in direct and, of course, deliberate contrast to the refined and sweet language used by their serious colleagues engaged in the newly discovered dolce stile .

Their style is often erroneously called "spontaneous," but their work is no more spontaneous than serious poetry since their words are chosen just as carefully to produce the desired effect. In fact, theirs is above all a poetry of comic effect, designed to surprise, shock, and at times provoke laughter. The language they use is often devastatingly concrete. The parts of the body are described graphically, as are the bodily functions normally omitted from polite conversation and poetry. At the

same time, their language can also be highly euphemistic, as in the use of sexual metaphors.

The life this verse describes can be wretched. The poets complain of constant misfortune and privations. Petty rivalries and political setbacks blossom into blasphemous invective and satirical portraits done in a trivial and insulting spirit. Other works sing the praises of a free-wheeling life. The exaltation of wine, women, and play is never far from these poets, and their verse can assume the cadences of a rollicking barroom song.

These early burlesque sonnets can be melancholic or gay, ironically cutting or explosively irreverant, lighthearted, or sarcastic. Their emotional and tonal range is wide. What underlies them all, however, is an ever-present spirit of humorous burla . This is the stuff they are made of.

The first Tuscan sonneteers gradually lead to the Italian Renaissance, at which point the burlesque sonnet takes on new shadings of meaning. Nevertheless, the characteristics displayed by these initiators of the genre are ever-present, to a degree, in the burlesque sonnet as it develops through the Italian—and subsequently Spanish—Renaissance and Baroque periods.

As it is not the purpose of this book to make an exhaustive study of all Italian burlesque sonneteers, the number of poets treated is limited to those who made original and direction-setting contributions to the genre. Through them the progress and development of the burlesque sonnet tradition is traced from its beginnings up to the point at which it enters Spain.

The new poetic form of the sonnet was an artistic invention, although popular in source, of a circle of poets at the Sicilian court of Frederick II.^[1] Thirty-one sonnets remain which date from 1220 to 1250; these were written by the royal notary and lawyer Giacomo da Lentino, the imperial chancellor Piero delle Vigne, Jacopo Mostacci, and others. Twenty-five of the sonnets are attributed to Giacomo, the leader of the literary group and recognized as the most likely originator of the sonnet.^[2] These early poems were divided into hendecasyllabic octave and sestet with a sense pause dividing the two. The corresponding rhyme schemes were ABABABAB and CDECDE (the majority) or

CDCDCD. It is generally accepted that Giacomo borrowed the octave from the eight-line Sicilian strambotto, a popular folk song; the sestet was apparently sheer inspiration.^[3] In content, the Frederician sonnets derive from the Provençal love tradition of fin'amors ; several are tensons.

Thus the sonnet was born at one of the thirteenth century's most brilliant, intellectual, and literary Italian courts. When cultural and linguistic primacy passed to Tuscany in the second half of the same century, Guittone d'Arezzo, Guido Guinizelli, and Guido Cavalcanti embraced the sonnet. Guittone was the first to use the crossed rhyme scheme ABBAABBA in the octave; this was subsequently adopted as the standard by Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio.

But the love sonnet was not the only poetic genre to flourish in late-thirteenth-century Tuscany. Practically hand-in-hand with it we have the emergence of another: the burlesque sonnet. The Florentine Rustico di Filippo, "il Barbuto," (1230 [1240?]–300?) was the father of the burlesque sonnet.^[4] Taking its inspiration from the hurly-burly of Florentine street life, his burlesque verse was new and unique in its faithful rendition of surrounding reality, done in a mocking and colloquial tone. His originality would garner Rustico the honorific of "geniale rimatore " among his contemporaries in the lively and colorful capital of late-thirteenth-century Tuscany.

Rustico's fifty-eight extant sonnets fall into two categories: love poems and burlesque-realistic-political poems. The love poetry is more often than not quite conventional; however, as Federici has pointed out, at times Rustico sheds conventional formulas and expressions to concern himself with the expression of "real" feelings.^[5] This movement toward an animated depiction of real life is also the basis for the success of his burlesque verse. In it a spirit of acute observation and mordant caricature produces brief but piercing sketches of Florentine life.

Rustico's best-known sonnet is "Messer Messerin" (Appendix 1)—a caricature of Albizzo (Messerino) di Caponsacchi, a member of contemporary Florentine nobility.^[6] The poet creates a bizarre combination of bird, beast, and man, and is merciless in the enumeration of this triform monstrosity's defects. The

coup de grace is the concluding tercet where Rustico admits that God created this curious creature in an idle moment in order to display His talents.

The alternating rhyme of the quatrains, combined with the anaphoric "che" and "ed," provide a rolling rhythm that propels the reader or listener along smartly to the conclusion. Lacking the sense pause that often clearly divided early sonnets into octave and sestet, the poem is, instead, an accumulation of highly descriptive images composed around one single subject. This accumulative structure will prove to be typical of the burlesque sonnet. The poet's purpose is often a prodigal display of wit through the creation of novel imagery.

Here Rustico proves himself to be a skillful pioneer in accommodating the age-old literary vituperium to a new, highly sophisticated, and demanding mold. In terms of the language used, this becomes an interweaving of the crude and the sublime. The latter is, of course, used ironically. All Rustico's burlesque sonnets feature the parodic use of courtly language. In this poem, words and expressions such as "sembia," "piagente cera," and "savere" clearly emerge from the Occitanic tradition.

In addition to parodying courtly language, this sonnet also satirizes the bestiary simile adopted from the Provençal tradition by Tuscan poets.^[7] In such verse human (generally favorable) qualities are compared to those found in animals. Rustico parodies this by stretching the simile beyond its limit to create a "strana cosa," neither beast nor human, but instead a fantastic hybrid.

"Messer Messerin" is typical of Rustico's burlesque sonnets that constitute mocking caricatures of contemporary Florentines. Alongside messer Messerin parade ser Laíno (sonnet IX; numbering follows Massèra), a man who surpasses in obesity any other "che fossa o sia o possa essere al mondo [who was, is, or could be in the world]"; the libidinous pervert messer Iacopo (sonnet III), who the poet calls "comare"; slothful, malodorous, and repugnant men and women; gluttons and misers; and bores and boors.

Unfortunately, many allusions in Rustico's work are lost to us today (an inevitable problem with much burlesque verse). His poetry is firmly rooted in a city and its circumstances, to which

we now have only limited access. Nevertheless, the characters can at times be universal, as the miles gloriosus of "Una bestiuola ho vista molto fèra" (Appendix 2). The silly tin soldier, with his posturing, outlandish armor, grimacing, and snorting, is reduced to a ridiculous figure popular in European literature. The entire poem is an extension and development of the oxymoron established in the first verse: a bestiuola, an insignificant little beast, who is at the same time molto fèra . The comparison of the soldier to a lion is another bestiary simile that parodies the standard measure of human bravery.

Other sonnets are not quite so innocently mischievous, however, and range from the piquant to the openly obscene. In sonnet XI (Appendix 3) the sly, quick-witted wife of the cuckold Aldobrandino tries to convince her husband that she has not deceived him. Pay no attention to wagging tongues, she tells him, and return the doublet left behind in their bed to its owner—their neighbor, and her lover, Pilletto. After all, Pilletto was a fine and courteous young man who had simply acted as an "amorevole vicino." And besides, as she ambiguously says in the final verse, he did nothing to cause her pain. In other words, the affair was pleasurable and she has no regrets. Out of the wife's wry protestations Rustico creates a vivid scene between the cheeky spouse and her simple-minded husband.

This poem uses ironic ambiguity, rather than the mocking caricature that characterizes "Messer Messerin" and "Una bestiuola," to make fun of Aldobrandino. Especially successful is the wife's description of the "loving neighbor" who will not return again since he now knows what Aldobrandino desires. In other words, he is both aware of the husband's wishes that he stay away, and "knows," in the sexual sense, the neighboring object of desire. Such irony and ambiguity is present in the most accomplished burlesque verse and is an important differentiating factor between burlesque and invectious satire.

"Aldobrandino" is not simply a burla of a betrayed husband; it is ultimately a burla of the poetic tradition of courtly love. By adopting courtly expressions such as "egli è tanto cortese fante e fino" and "il tuo volere" to veil a crude tale of marital infidelity, the poet parodies the Provençals' exquisite sublimation of physical love. In addition, the vulgar affair satirizes the tradi-

tion of courtly love whereby passionate love can be found only outside marriage.^[8]

Rustico's more lewd verses are the first strands of an erotic thread that winds through many Italian (and other) burlesque sonnets. In his case it is not obscenity for obscenity's sake, nor can it be deemed pornographic. It leans more toward the bawdy spirit of Chaucer, albeit coming from an infinitely lesser poet. Modern sensibilities perhaps find little humor in these coarse verses today. Given the frequency with which they occur in much Renaissance and Baroque literature, however, it is obvious that they were an accepted branch of the burlesque and, indeed, prompted laughter in the contemporary reader or listener.

Unfortunately, literary critics have historically preferred to avoid dipping their toes into these somewhat murky waters; thus the more risqué poetry remains in large part uncommented. A typical critical reaction to ribald verse is that of Carmelo Previtera, who finds four of Rustico's sonnets (XXVI, XXVII, XXVIII, and XXIX) brazenly obscene, saying that "la bruttura delle cose descritte è cosí turpe che non c'è nessuna scusa per l'autore, il quale si compiace di guazzare nella trivialità e nella sconcezza piú indecente [the baseness of the things described is such that there is no excuse for the author, who enjoys wallowing in vulgarity and the most indecent obscenity]."^[9]

Nevertheless, in this case the critic's negative personal reaction against the subject matter does not make him reject the verses without comment, and after his initial disclaimer he adds: "Eppure qui i versi sono chiari e direi quasi piú spontanei che altrove; la rappresentazione nella sua cruda espressione è viva e ricca di rilievi plastici! [Yet here the verses are clear and I would say almost more spontaneous than elsewhere; in its crude expression the imagery is lively and rich in plastic relief!]." Previtera's final judgment is that perhaps it is precisely in this "poesia lubrica" where Rustico's true voice and character lie. Rustico, the Florentine burlone who talks of all subjects openly and without reserve. But Rustico's "true" voice is found as much in the "obscene" verse as in the purely caricaturesque. His burlesque tone and overriding mocking attitude encompass and contain the obscene elements. These are merely another facet

of the burlesque and do not stand alone as a separate category of verse; this is exactly what separates them from so-called erotic literature. The reader is certainly not incited to libidinous thoughts, but at most to a sardonic grin—perhaps in Rustico's time, even to laughter.

Rustico is the first known poet to channel burlesque content into the sonnet medium. He is the precursor of many burlesque sonneteers, but he himself had no formal precursors. We would be hard-pressed to discover Sicilian or Provençal linguistic or ideological influences (except, of course, when used parodically) in such sonnets as "Messer Messerin" and "Aldobrandino," or Latinisms in "Messer Iacopo." Rustico's language is pure Tuscany; his "influences" are the streets of Florence. He is no innovator in form; his sonnets are surprisingly free of the metrical experimentation found in contemporaries such as Guittone d'Arezzo.^[10] Rustico is, however, a great innovator in the use of the still relatively new sonnet form to express a different spirit—one of critical jest.

Rustico's first follower of merit is the highly original poet Cecco Angiolieri, who appeared in Siena approximately five years later. He Would prove to be very important to the burlesque tradition in Italy. Although born around 1260 into a prominent family of the Sienese nobility, Cecco lived a somewhat disorderly life and died a poor man in 1313.^[11] In fact, he was so debt-ridden upon his death that his children renounced claim to their inheritance.

Romantic critics have wedded the scant biographical data available to Cecco's literary production and subsequently interpreted his sonnets as the moral confessions of a dissipated and tragic soul. This critical posture is worthy of consideration; it is the classic error of confusing literature with reality. Ugo Foscolo has said that in Cecco's sonnets, "un'allegria forzata mal nasconde il cruccio dell'animo che sente d'esser caduto in basso ma non ha la forza di rialzarsi [a forced gaiety poorly conceals the sorrow of a spirit that feels it has fallen but does not have the strength to raise itself back up]."^[12] No matter how poor a citizen and soldier our poet might have been, however, the Cecco of the sonnets should not be given biographical, factual credence. He is a literary persona, no more "real" and credible

than the Dante of the Vita Nuova . And this literary Cecco, along with his great love Becchina, his despised father and mother, and assorted others, are the hapless creatures that animate these lively and hyperbolic sonnets. Burlesque and satire are built upon deformed caricature and exaggeration; to assume that their images faithfully reflect true reality or authorial "sincerity" would be critically naive.^[13]

Cecco is the first true master of the burlesque sonnet. His canzoniere numbers some 150 sonnets ranging in tone from snappy caricatures of his acquaintances and sardonic parodies of the Stilnovist poets—his literary contemporaries—to shouts of rage as he rails dramatically against the injustices of a life spent in want. More often than not, Cecco is the subject of his own verse. The brilliant descriptions of his own miserable state as a lovelorn pauper make him the victim of his own burlas . Everything in Cecco is twisted, exaggerated, stretched to the limit. Presenting himself as the unrequited and suffering lover, he mocks the platitudes of Stilnovist and courtly love as he bewails its hardships. The object of his love, the foulmouthed and coarse Becchina, is the anti-Beatrice. She also is idealized, but in reverse. As Beatrice is elevated to a shining pedestal, so is Becchina lowered to her grimy one.^[14]

Sonnet XXII (Appendix 4) is a lively dialogue between Cecco and Becchina. Each verse contains a thrust and parry, a supplication from Cecco and Becchina's immediate rebuff. He is the plaintive and passionate lover; she, the haughty donna . But unlike the "belle dame sans merci," who according to the canons of courtly love is merely playing hard to get, Becchina could truly care less about her admirer's sufferings ("Non vi dò un fico") and repulses him crudely and brusquely. The poem is laced with the most plebeian language; through it Becchina is sketched as a rude and violent counterpoint to the refined courtesan.

True to his overriding sense of parodic exaggeration, Cecco's anti-Platonic love sonnets negate the noble sentiments and moral edification found in the Stilnovists. To their refined and aristocratic sensibility he opposes an overly mundane culture totally lacking in spiritual grace or ideals. His poetry exalts man's more elementary and worldly sentiments: sensual love,

the pursuit of physical satisfactions, indulgence in food and drink, and the longing for money.^[15]

It is sonnets such as "Tre cose solamente mi so 'n grado" (Appendix 5) where Cecco expounds his ideals for life, and his continual frustration in attaining them due to his penury, that led nineteenth-century critics to create a misleading biography of the poet.^[16] But Mario Marti has understood Cecco's purpose better, calling this poem "il manifesto della poetica angiolieresca, nella sua natura letteraria e nei suoi limiti culturali e spirituali [Cecco's poetic manifesto, in which he expresses the literary nature and cultural and spiritual limits of his poetry]."^[17] In it Cecco's debt to the goliardic tradition is obvious in his exaltation of "la donna, la taverna e 'l dado."

In accordance with the comedic low style determined by classical rhetorics and conserved in the burlesque tradition, the language Cecco employs is concrete and colorfully expressive. He often uses direct discourse to make his sonnets more immediate and dramatic, and to enliven short dialogues as in "—Becchina mia!" The extremely hyperbolic poems exaggerate sentiments, whether these be love, desire, hatred, anger, or intolerance, with comic passion. In several sonnets (as in "Tre cose mi so 'n grado") he inveighs against his parents, especially his father, who through his niggardliness, tyranny, and implacable longevity prevents Cecco from satisfying his earthly whims. Because of this, the poet often clamors for his father's death.^[18] Once again, these poems should not be taken as necessarily heartfelt; they are clearly within the tradition of the comic vituperium.

A good example of Cecco's hyperbolic and humorous ingiuria is sonnet LXXXVI (Appendix 6). Here he raises Rustico's abusive spirit to new heights in a seemingly spontaneous yet artfully crafted and outrageous vendetta. Practically each verse contains an explosive and perfectly measured threat; nothing and nobody is spared the poet's wrath. In the first three stanzas Cecco converts himself into the universal elements, into the most powerful men on earth, into God, and finally into life and death themselves to destroy the world and its inhabitants. The poem is perfectly constructed to enhance the violent nature of the emotions expressed. The division of the verses into hemistichs

with caesuras between each, along with the repeated conditional clauses, produce an extremely forceful rhythm. However, the sonnet ends in a different tone and on a different note, thus revealing its comicity and inherent burla —its true nature. After the wanton destruction depicted in the first three stanzas, this one could easily be recited with a wink, as Cecco threatens to grab the beauties for himself and leave the ugly women to others. By the unexpected change in rhythm and tone, the poet effectively deflates the vindictiveness and drama of the entire sonnet.

The carefully constructed hemistichs dividing each verse into conditional and result clauses, along with Cecco's skillful manipulation of tone, contradict any possible spontaneity in its creation. As Figurelli has pointed out, burlesque verse is a full-fledged literary genre with a specific form and content, governed by its own literary canon and norms. Rather than the spontaneous manifestation of the popular spirit, as interpreted by Romantic criticism, this poetry is an artistic construction governed by strict literary discipline.^[19]

Three of Cecco's extant sonnets are addressed to Dante, and evidence the fact that Cecco was acquainted with the younger poet and participated in at least one poetic interchange—a tenson—with him. The tenson, a song (or poem) of dispute or contention (from the Latin contentio ), originated and flourished as a well-defined poetic tradition with the Provençals. It could take any metrical form, and could be between two or more poets, or between two fictitious authors created by one single poet. Still another type of tenson was that which Martín de Riquer refers to as the tensó fingida : "una composición en la que el trovador simula debatir con alguien o algo que es inimaginable o imposible que le responda [a composition wherein the troubador pretends to debate with someone or something from which a response is unimaginable or impossible]."^[20]

The somewhat ambiguous definition offered in the Leys d'amours is that "the tenso is a combat and debate, in which each maintains and reasons some word or fact."^[21] Thus the tenson is a poetic debate originating from the challenge of one poet to another, or others, to defend one side of a specific question or topic. The respondent was obliged to answer using the same

rhyme scheme and meter employed by the challenger. The topics, generally taken from everyday life, varied greatly, but the favorite was love casuistry.

Nevertheless, the Provençal poets often strayed from discussing the refined etiquette of courtly love to compose jocular dialogues dealing with scatological or obscene themes. Martín de Riquer cites a hilarious tenson between Arnaut Catalán and Ramón Berenguer IV, Count of Provence, wherein they discuss the relative wisdom of propelling to shore a becalmed ship carrying "cent dompnas d'aut paratge" (highborn ladies) by the timely emission of anal gases.^[22] Riquer reports that the theme was also dear to Alfonso X of Castile. Personal grudges were another fecund source of tensons. Rather than coming to blows, poets would air their disagreements through grievous, often slanderous verse. However, the insults and rage vented were often feigned and simply responded to the exigencies of the genre.

The tenson tradition continued through the Middle Ages, where it adopted the new metrical scheme of the sonnet, very soon after this was born, in fact. The first tenson in sonnet form was already in use by three poets of the Frederician court: Giacomo da Lentino, Piero delle Vigne, and Jacopo Mostacci; its subject was love. Curiously enough, it was the gravest poet of the Middle Ages—Dante himself—who later engaged in the earliest extant sonnet tenson (dated between 1293 and 1296) dealing in personal invective. The six sonnets he exchanged with his one-time friend Forese Donati (each writing three) are quite intriguing as well as problematic for critics because the sincerity of the sentiments they express cannot be determined conclusively. The Florentine Donati was a distant relative by marriage of Dante; his only extant poetry are the three sonnets he sent to the former. These poems reveal a fairly competent sonneteer, at least in the burlesque genre.

In his sonnets—"Chi udisse tossir la malfatata," "Ben ti faranno il nodo Salamone," and "Bicci novel, figliuol di non so cui"—Dante mocks Donati's poverty and gluttony and hints that he neglects his duties as husband. He calls him a thief and illegitimate to boot. Donati, in turn, accuses Dante of poverty and of cowardice.^[23] The rancor revealed in the sonnets could be or

could not be sincere; there is really little way to know. Nevertheless, in the Purgatory we see a great change in attitude on Dante's part toward the man who had been his opponent in youth. Dante recalls their old friendship when he encounters Donati among the now emaciated gluttons in Cantos XXIII and XXIV. While the poet gazes upon the ravaged faces of the starving shades, he finally recognizes Donati and greets him with the dismay that befits finding an old friend in such a condition, saying to him: "La faccia tua, ch'io lagrimai già morta, / mi dà di pianger mo non miglior doglia [Thy face which once I wept for dead now gives me no less cause for tears]" (23.55–56).

Dante questions Donati's rapid progress into Purgatory. He had died a mere five years earlier and therefore had not spent the requisite time outside its gates—a period equal to that he had spent on earth. Donati explains that it has been through the intercedence of the prayers offered up on his behalf by his faithful and devout wife Nella—the same woman Dante had gibed in the sonnets. Dante later alludes to their old intimacy, saying: "Se tu riduci a mente / qual fosti meco, e qual io teco fui, / ancor fia grave il memorar presente [If thou bring back to mind what thou wast with me and I with thee, the present memory will be grievous still]" (23.115–117). His words seem to show a regret for former times misspent, perhaps in silly poetic jousts. Nevertheless, Dante seems to have participated in another tenson on at least one other occasion—this time with Cecco Angiolieri.

Three sonnets remain from Cecco to Dante. The first two, "Lassar vo' lo trovare di Becchina" and "Dante Alighier, Cecco, 'l tu' serv'e amico," (Vitale, C and CI) are cordial enough and seem to indicate that the two poets were friends. Sonnet CII (Appendix 7), however, is a sharp reply to and repudiation of a sonnet—now lost—from Dante to Cecco. Cecco responds in kind to what must have been accusations on Dante's part. In a kind of poetic one-upmanship, Cecco says that whatever he is, Dante is double. The final tercet is a warning to desist, to let the tenson rest. Dante cannot compete with Cecco on his poetical territory. If he insists, he will never rid himself of Cecco's goading, satirical barb.

More important than the anecdotal value of a tenson between

the leaders of two contemporary and opposing poetical schools, the sublime Stilnovists and the low burlesque, is the fact that such a relationship—conflicting or not—did actually exist. Perhaps Dante had chided Cecco for his sharp tongue and vulgar Becchina. Nevertheless, at the time he was not totally adverse to indulging in the very type of poetry he was supposedly reproving. This is evidenced by his tensons with Forese Donati. The burlesque was not totally neglected by the sublime poets. Many great fifteenth-, sixteenth-, and seventeenth-century Italian and Spanish "serious" poets indulged in poetic burlas (these often also erotic) from time to time. Others excelled in both types. This would seem to indicate that serious and burlesque-satirical verse spring from the same poetic source. They are simply streams that ran different courses, but one was no more spontaneous or realistic than the other. They are determined literary styles which the poet has deliberately chosen to suit his inspiration.

As the fourteenth century unfolds, several more Tuscan poets carried the burlesque standard. Among them were Folgore (Giacomo) da San Gemignano of Siena and Cenne da la Chitarra of Arezzo. These two contemporaries were closely linked through their poetry. A soldier and courtier, Folgore died before 1332.^[24] His better-known sonnets are arranged into two series, one a fourteen-sonnet corona on the months of the year, and another on the days of the week. The society depicted in his "Sonetti dei mesi" is remarkably different from the plebeian and embittered one of his countryman Cecco. In Folgore a courtly and idyllic Siena appears full of silk sheets, bountiful food, fair ladies, and chivalrous pastimes and manners. The corona is addressed to a "brigata nobile e cortese" (noble and gracious company) captained by a certain Niccolò di Nisi. Its poems enumerate the pleasures to be found in each month of the year, echoing the tradition of the Provençal plazer, which lists things that please. This light and festive poetry, full of picturesque images, presents a delightfully idealized portrait of Sienese life. The language is fresh and colloquial, popular in tone, and free of abrasive or coarse words.

Although Folgore's poems are included in anthologies of Italian burlesque-comic-realistic sonnets of the midthirteenth to

midfourteenth century, they cannot be described as burlesque as defined here. They reflect the courtly life and customs of the time in a lighthearted and fanciful way. This different spirit distances them from the sublime poets of the time, and also from the true burlesque poets. While the latter can at times adopt a similar light and festive tone of alegría, their purpose is different. Burlesque poetry prefers to point out and make fun of men's foibles and follies. It is interested in our shortcomings, not in the pleasantries of a somewhat idealized daily life.

Although Folgore cannot be classified as a true burlesque poet, he is included here because his work is inextricably linked to that of his contemporary Cenne (or Bencivenne) da la Chitarra of Arezzo. By profession a minstrel, Cenne's one claim to fame is the corona he wrote, and undoubtedly sung in the local square, parodying Folgore's "Sonetti dei mesi." Through it we catch a glimpse of the literary mockery to which many such courtly poets must have been subjected in Tuscan town squares. Following Folgore's meter and rhyme scheme exactly, he creates a gross travesty of his rival's courtly vision, providing a coarse counterpart to every element.^[25] What the Provençal plazer is to Folgore's corona, the eneug is to Cenne's: the former is an enumeration of pleasing things; the latter one, of vexatious things. In the first verse of the dedication, the "brigata nobile e cortese" is transformed into "la brigata avara senza arnesi" (miserly good-for-nothings). The poem includes the stock material of early burlesque poetry: hardships, primitive lodgings, adverse elements, unpalatable food and drink, and the ubiquitous crone. These, of course, contrast sharply and satirically with the luxurious creature comforts enjoyed by the Tuscan aristocracy depicted in Folgore's sonnet. In the subsequent sonnets, noble courtiers living a cultured and sumptuous existence continue to be steadily debased and degraded into ugly and vulgar creatures wallowing in smelly hovels.

Cenne's sonnets have little to recommend them as such; their value is purely parodic. Nevertheless they do reveal, once again, that the burlesque is a poetical attitude, or stance. It is a tendency toward the comic and away from the serious, but not necessarily toward sincerity or reality. As Previtera points out, here we have a poetic rivalry between two rimatori : one a man

of the court, the other a cantore di piazza . The former is serious (if not sincere) in attitude; the latter mocks that poetic posture.^[26] The corona should be judged for what it is—a parody. And as a parody it is successful. It goes hand-in-hand with its predecessor, matching it image for image and rhyme for rhyme. It is quick, incisive, and ends up making us laugh—not at it but with it. We are left with an invisible barrier between us and the original. This comic barrier prevents us from ever seeing Folgore's sonnets in the same respectful light again.

The remaining burlesque sonneteers of the late thirteenth century and first half of the fourteenth century are very minor figures with only a few extant poems each. While a few such as Pietro dei Faitinelli (Lucca) and Pieraccio Tedaldi (Florence) show a certain amount of poetic vigor; they are for the most part mediocre rhymesters whose work is conventional and lacks depth of spirit. Most are merely inferior continuers of Cecco Angiolieri, the only truly important burlesque poet of the period. In fact, not until the Italian Renaissance is well under way will burlesque poets of originality be found once again.

Bourgeois Poets of the Second Half of the Fourteenth Century

In the second half of the fourteenth century the so-called realistic poetry of Cecco and his generation flows into a type of verse generally referred to as "poesia borghese." The name is quite appropriate, as the aim of these poets is to depict daily life, generally seen from a comic angle. They profess no great depth of thought nor subtlety of language and style. They wrote for their fellows and were eagerly read by Florence's middle classes. While heirs of their predecessors, they also diverge from them in a fairly marked way. These contemporaries of Petrarch and Boccaccio inherit the colorful, unrefined language, popular style, and critical spirit often found in thirteenth-century poetry. But they differ much in tone and attitude. Gone is Cecco's bitterness and avowed dissoluteness. It is replaced by more tranquil, good-humored, and humorous pictures of popular life. A spirit of understanding and affection for the everyday existence and pastimes of the populace often underlies the gentle mocking we more often find in the second half

of the fourteenth century. At times a tendency toward moralizing becomes apparent and the tavern, women, and dice are replaced by the rewards of family life.

In no other is this more obvious than in Antonio Pucci (c. 1310–1388). Pucci served the Florentine commune as bell-ringer and town-crier. As the person responsible for broadcasting official proclamations in the streets, he had ample opportunity to mingle with the citizenry and ascertain public opinion on daily news. This he would later comment upon in his poems, many of which were, in fact, composed to be recited in public and fulfilled the function of today's newspaper editorials.

Pucci was a perspicacious, well-informed man with finely honed powers of observation. He made good use of them by chronicling Florentine daily life for his contemporaries and for modern readers. Through his verses we learn of the customs, attitudes, preoccupations, and sense of humor of the fourteenth-century man and woman of the street in Florence.

Pucci's extensive poetic corpus includes over one hundred sonnets on all themes, from love to politics. Of these, approximately thirty are burlesque.^[27] They deal mainly with humorous anecdotes from daily life. "Deh, fammi una canzon, fammi un sonetto" (Appendix 10), is a description of friends who pester him with requests for poems—which he spends sleepless nights composing at his own expense—and who then feel that the offer of a drink should be adequate payment. The nature and tone of this poem is representative of Pucci's burlesque work. Rather than harshly critical of surrounding reality, the narrator most often becomes the good-natured victim of lighthearted joking.

This is seen in another sonnet which is a typical "gato por liebre" tale of a swindling poulterer who sold the poet:

                        per pollastra
Sabato sera una vecchia gallina,
Ch'era degli anni più d'una trentina
Stata dell'altre guidatrice e mastra.^[28]

                        [for a pullet
Saturday evening an old hen,
in age about thirty years,
leader and mistress of the others.]

And in "Amico mio barbier, quando tu meni," Pucci gently ribs a barber whose way with the razor transforms his shop into a torture chamber.^[29]

Pucci's burlesque sonnets are written in a familiar tone and in a flowing, seemingly spontaneous or improvisational style. His rich poetic vein yields lively images which rarely indulge in the obscenity or crude language found among burlesque poets of the previous century. His poetry appears truly "realistic" in the sense that it reflects real life—neither idealizing nor brutalizing it. Pucci prefers to point out life's incongruencies with an indulgent smile. He is fond of giving advice for good living, and in his Noie complains about rude people who misbehave in church and commit other infractions of the rules of etiquette. He is also one of the few poets to respond to the commonplace misogynous literature of the time by coming to the defense of women and married life in several sonnets, one of which begins:

La femmina fa l'uom viver contento:
gli uomini senza lor niente fanno.
Trista la casa dove non ne stanno,
però che senza lor vi si fa stento.^[30]

[Woman makes man live happily:
Without them men do nothing.
Sad is the house where there are none,
Since without them it's hard to get by.]

The great majority of Pucci's sonnets were caudati or tailed (in Spanish estrambotados or con estrambote ). It seems that this addition to the sonnet appeared spontaneously in the late thirteenth century among Florentine and Pisan poets. There is only one conserved by Guittone, one each by Dante and Petrarch, and seven by Boccaccio. In the late fourteenth century its use became more pervasive, above all in the more familiar types of sonnet.

This one, two, or more verse addition to the sonnet was originally called the "ritornello." As thus it is registered by Antonio da Tempo in his 1332 Latin treatise on vernacular poetry and metrics, Delle Rime volgari .^[31] However, da Tempo seems to refer to each additional verse, but not the whole tail, as a ritornello. The term ritornello was soon abandoned and replaced by "coda," the term still used today.

The structure of the tailed sonnet is studied in detail by Leandro Biadene in his Morfologia del sonetto nei secoli XIII–XIV .^[32] Briefly summarized, Biadene mentions five types of coda having, respectively, one to five verses. Type three, by far the most common, has two main forms. These are either three hendecasyllabic verses or, more often, one heptasyllabic followed by two hendecasyllabic verses. The rhyme structure of the coda can vary, but its first verse normally rhymes with the last verse of the sonnet, while the last two verses of the coda form a rhyming couplet. This form was certainly the most successful and after the fourteenth century became for all intents and purposes the model for the sonetto caudato in Italy and, later, in Spain.

Biadene feels that the coda is not an integral part of the composition, and is simply the sonnet's "commiato" or envoi . It soon became a formal characteristic of the burlesque sonnet, especially in poets to be discussed shortly such as Burchiello, Pistoia, Francesco Berni, and, of course, Cervantes. Berni was the true champion of the Italian tailed sonnet, writing some with up to thirty codas or sixty additional verses. A coda four times longer than the sonnet to which it is attached surely disproves Biadene's contention that the coda is a mere leave-taking.

Another important figure among late-fourteenth-century bourgeois poets is the Florentine Franco Sacchetti (c. 1332–1400), best known for his Trecentonovelle —novellas similar to those of Boccaccio but supposedly based upon real events in Florentine life.^[33] Also a poet, his extensive canzoniere is entitled Il libro delle Rime .^[34] Perhaps his most accomplished verse are the light lyrics—ballads, madrigals, and canzonette—written for music. Nevertheless, he did write many types of poetry on as many topics: historical, satirical, moral, political, love, and burlesque.

Sacchetti's burlesque sonnets often hark back to Cecco Angiolieri when they denounce old women (also a favorite theme among his ballads) or show couples bantering as in the dialogue "Deh, Donna, udite. . . . Or di', col malanno."^[35] But more important here are those poems in which Sacchetti anticipates a manner of burlesque sonnet to be developed and perfected in the fifteenth century by Burchiello. This new type of poetry approaches nonsense rhyme. It is full of whimsical neologisms, puns, equivocal expressions, rhetorical games, and conceits.

Sacchetti's best-known sonnet in this vein is "Nasi cornuti e visi digrignati" (Appendix 11).

The purpose of the sonnet—and of this type of poetry—is simply to create a series of grotesque and disjointed images that appear to make sense, but do not. They seem to lead somewhere, but they lead nowhere. The poem is merely a linguistic and poetic joke. The unpleasant horned noses and dried-up vines, the lunatics and the gay cavaliers, the owls and the chestnuts, are merely items on a strange and senseless list. The enigmatic literary allusions, like those to Boccaccio's Truffia and Buffia (imaginary lands invented by Friar Cipolla in Day 6, Book 10 of the Decameron ), to Minos (both the devilish judge in Canto V of the Inferno who decides punishment with his tail and the judge of the dead in classical mythology), to Hercules and to Bacchus, lend shades of meaning to the poem. But there is no allegory; there is no "meaning" beyond the surface. The words may make sense, but that is where sense ends. This literary game will develop considerably in the Quattrocento.

Il Burchiello and Burchiellesque Verse in the Fifteenth Century

In the first half of the fifteenth century the attention of Italian intellectuals turned to humanistic pursuits. While the indefatigable Poggio Bracciolini busied himself in searching out classical manuscripts, the study of antiquity gave a renewed, classical impulse to learning and literature. Petrarchism was in full swing among the hoards of for the most part mediocre and conventional versifiers who were currently making a business of poetry. Concomitant with this stagnation in "serious" verse, however, was a significant development in the popular and semipopular poetry (càntari, serventesi, frottole, strambotti, etc.) that rang out throughout Tuscan streets in the late Trecento. Sapegno has described this movement as a gradual merging with learned literature, to which the popular vein contributes ideas, images, and linguistic coloring and rhythms. As popular poetry was integrated into the written medium, it lost its original directness and emotional clarity to become a delightful and conscious game.^[36]

The first attempts at this integration and subsequent "literaturization" of popular verse are appreciated in the poems of Franco Sacchetti. The true leader of this movement, however, was Domenico di Giovanni (1404–1448), known as "il Burchiello" (little bark). Burchiello was a Florentine barber whose shop on the Via Calimala became a meeting place for the city's wits and literati during the 1420s and 1430s. This barber poet was esteemed by other poets and patrons alike, so much so that he spawned a group of young followers known as "burchielleschi." Bernardo Bellincioni, Matteo Franco, and Antonio Alamanni are among the better known. These poets took up his themes and style shortly after Burchiello's death.^[37] Proof of his popularity among more exalted circles was the fact that the great Maecenas Lorenzo de' Medici kept a book of Burchiello's verse in his bedroom.^[38]

Burchiello wrote many different types of poetry: serventesi, a kind of parody of lofty narrative poems built around fanciful situations; typically burlesque misogynous and socially critical poems; bitter personal invective as in his tensons with Roselli; autobiographical sonnets lamenting the inequities and hardships of his life; and a group of prison poems wherein a tone of rising above the elements underlies his protestations against slow starvation in a lice-ridden cell. The majority of his poems are tailed sonnets.

"Cimici, e pulci, con molti pidocchi" (Appendix 12) is representative of his "autobiographical" poems, and brings to mind Cecco Angiolieri's bitter sonnets in the same vein. This poem shares a similar tone of self-mockery and comic exaggeration. It finds the author in an impossibly wretched inn, enumerating the miseries of a night spent among insects, mice, a snoring sheep, and two other unfortunate souls. Burchiello seems to mock himself for somehow allowing himself to get into such a situation. He does not vent his anger by decrying external causes (as Cecco would), but instead, apparently resigned to his fate, he tries simply to get on with life. He even attempts to maintain a modicum of dignity by protesting to the innkeeper. But the futility of the gesture only makes us laugh at his ill-timed and ill-placed indignation.

In a thematically similar sonnet, "Se nel passato in agio sono stato," the poet laments:

     Io sono in un palazzo sgangherato,
Ond'entra il freddo da tutte le bande;
E s'io fo foco, il fumo me ne mande,
Così me ne vo a letto mal cenato:
     E così lagrimando fo Sonetti,
Perchè dormir non posso per li Sorchi,
Che fanno maggior gridi, che 'Porchetti:^[39]

     [I am in a ramshackle palace,
Where the cold comes in from all sides;
And if I make a fire, the smoke drives me away,
So I go to bed poorly supped.
     And, tearfully, I write sonnets,
Since I cannot sleep for the mice,
Who squeal louder than piglets.]

Once again, hunger, cold, and problems with rodents scurrying noisily about are the poet's lot. The interesting part is that Burchiello wants us to believe that his only consolation in such an unfortunate existence is his art as he tearfully scribbles sonnets. In the prison poems he also begs for pen and ink in order to while away his time composing verse.

But Burchiello's best known sonnets are those which became his legacy to the so-called poesia burchiellesca. As foreshadowed by Sacchetti, these poems "alla burchia" (at random) are a type of nonsense rhyme. The poet creates enigmatic jigsaw puzzles out of disconnected words and phrases written largely in fifteenth-century Florentine slang. They are a jumble of incoherent sounds and crazy images, and burlesque allusions.

"Andando a uccellare una stagione" (Appendix 13) is typical of this type of sonnet. It appears as a series of grotesque and ultimately meaningless images. The complete lack of correspondence between the bizarre scenes creates an atmosphere of total incoherence. What could be stranger than skinning a snail and feeding it to a lion? Except, of course, raising a pavilion out of the skin. We never know what the poet is "talking about" because, naturally, he is not talking about anything. To search

for meaning in this type of verse is, as in the sonnet, to go bird-hunting at night—most likely we will return empty-handed.

In spite of this basic characteristic of unintelligibility, breaks occasionally do occur in the confusion to allow images infused with significance to shine through. One of the best examples of these sudden and inspired bits of eloquence occurs in the sonnet "O Nasi saturnin da scioglier balle," whose second tercet reads: "Ma che rigoglio è quel d'una guastada, / Ch'avendo pieno il corpo d'acqua fresca, / Vuole una sopravesta di rugiada [But what pride is that of a pitcher, which having its body full of cool water wants an overcoat of dew]."^[40] The almost epigrammatic concept applied to such a mundane object as a pitcher of water brings to mind the whimsy of the greguería . Through artistic creativity, Burchiello is making poetry out of any object, no matter how trivial. And perhaps this is precisely the ultimate "meaning" of this nonsense rhyme—that given wit, anything can be made poetic.

One final poem which must be mentioned is "La Poesia combatte col Rasojo" (Appendix 14), probably Burchiello's best-known sonnet. In it "Poetry" and the "Razor" do battle over the barber poet's devotions. The former haughtily draws attention to the nobility of literary pursuits while disdaining the vile accoutrements and manual activities of the barber's trade. The latter politely and pragmatically points to the fact that, without him, the poet would simply be flat broke. The sonnet treats a dilemma perhaps shared by other bourgeois poets of the time: how to reconcile one's need to make a living with one's more genteel poetic aspirations.

In the slightly ambiguous coda, Burchiello seems to take a conciliatory yet highly practical stance—let whoever loves him more buy his wine. He does not want to choose between his vocation and his avocation, but will remain true to whomever provides for him. Because, as Watkins says, "Poetry means poverty," our barber poet is reluctant to embrace her alone.^[41] Better to make one's way as one can rather than embody the commonplace of the noble but starving poet.

Numerous were the poeti burchielleschi who continued the poetic game popularized by Burchiello, both during his lifetime

and after his death. For the most part, however, they are imitative sonneteers who follow the conventions established by the burlesque tradition's more original poets. In fact, only one, extremely fecund, poet stands out among the so-called burchielleschi : Antonio Cammelli (1436–1502), known as "il Pistoia" after his birthplace. Pistoia's 553 burlesque sonnets, almost all tailed, constitute the largest burlesque canzoniere in Italian literature.

Pistoia was a member of a generation of court poets who lived and wrote under the patronage of the great Italian lords in the late fifteenth century. These poets provided entertainment for courtiers and their rulers. Therefore, versifying became a professional activity designed to amuse an audience rather than to express the poet's sincere sentiments. Because of their precarious situation and dependence upon the benevolence of the court, the status of these poets could at times deteriorate almost to that of the court fools. However, they did not enjoy the freedom of expression typically granted the buffoons.

The burlesque genre flourished in particular at the court of Lorenzo de' Medici with Luigi Pulci, Matteo Franco, Bernardo Bellincioni, and with Lorenzo himself. This greatest of Italian cultural patrons was quite proficient in the burlesque. Proof of this are his Beoni and Canti carnascialeschi —the songs he wrote to accompany the Carnival festivities he sponsored in Florence. He even tried his hand at the burlesque sonnet.^[42]

Although traditionally considered among the Burchiellesque poets, Pistoia's sonnets "alla burchia" are relatively few. The majority are clear, straightforward compositions on traditional burlesque themes: his miserable life at court; his ruinous house; lack of adequate food, clothing, and money; caricatures of people from all walks of life and professions and of all shapes and sizes; characterizations of the citizens of the various citystates; invectives against his literary contemporaries, and so forth. His canzoniere is a vast canvas depicting private, public, and political life in the late fifteenth century.

His own unrewarding situation at court was one of Pistoia's favorite subjects. He complains about not having enough money even to get a shave. He is reduced to eating horrible meals with the court buffoons and other servants in their dark, dank tinelli . A good example of these sonnets is XXVIII, "Cenando, Fidel

mio, hersira in corte," which describes such a dinner at the Mantuan court among the buffoons Fidel, Seraphino, and Galasso.^[43]

At times Pistoia turns his irreverent pen away from the courtiers, jesters, poets, clerics, doctors, judges, soldiers, and women he loved to caricature, and turns it upon himself as in sonnet XL, "Piì di cent'anni imaginò Natura" (Appendix 15). The description of his dubious physical delights is typically hyperbolic, and yet does not so degrade the man as to turn him into a bestial monstrosity as Rustico had done so long ago in his "Messer Messerin." The tone is closer to one of comic exaggeration of the ugly features he most probably did not have. In a few brush strokes his inspiration and facile wit create a swarthy, top-heavy Punch who from the waist down measures no more than dos dedos (two fingers). Although the sum of the parts is certainly grotesque, the sonnet breathes good humor rather than disgust.

Perhaps one of Pistoia's better-known sonnets is "Figliuola, non andar senza belletto" (Appendix 16). Here we have the poet at what he does best—presenting a very human snippet of life: the mother of an unattractive young girl prepares her for an evening wedding party. The mother comes across as a proto-Celestina as she instructs her daughter to apply rouge to her unfashionably dark skin and to push up her breasts. After dressing and adorning the girl, she proudly announces her triumph: "Tu pari una regina!" She then goes on to craftily tell the daughter to flirt with whomever she pleases, but without being dishonest! The comicality of the mother's paradoxical advice to behave honestly after the litany of instructions on how to cover her imperfections could not be more patent. Her parting words then lead into the rather nasty moral of the remaining tercets. But because this final condemnation is so bitterly dissonant, it rings false. Thus the "moral" of the poem is negated and the behavior reflected in the previous stanzas is regarded more sympathetically. The overall tone of the poem is one of indulgence toward human frailty.

The theme of women's artful use of makeup and their guile in the procurement of a husband is, of course, a staple of burlesque literature. Nevertheless, Pistoia's sonnet is a little gem within the tradition. In so few lines he manages to depict the desperate dilemma of a mother with an unattractive and still

unwed daughter on her hands. She resorts to the only means available to her to resolve the predicament—to do the best with what she has. Rather than approving the harsh castigation of the final tercets, Pistoia would probably stand back with a little nod of the head and a wink before this small vicissitude of life.

Another commonplace in burlesque literature is the description of ancient, rickety, and lame horses. Pistoia holds his own here also. One palfrey is so skinny and scabrous "che ricamato / avea il mantel di gemme sopra gli ossi [that he had a cloak embroidered in gems over his bones]" (sonnet CCLXXV). In sonnet CCLXXXVLL, another whose master is starving him to death calls for a priest and a notary "ch'io mi confessi e faci testamento [to hear my confession and prepare my will]." Vittorio Rossi has linked Pistoia and his admirer, the great burlesque poet Francesco Berni, through the second tercet of Pistoia's sonnet LXXXII, about a mule, which reads: "Mal volentier si leva ove el si pone; / sia pur un sasso quanto vuol sotter[r]a, / se gli dà drento, il cava del sabbione [She's unwilling to get up from where she sat down, / and no matter how deep down a stone is / she'll find one to stumble against even in the sand]." Rossi points out that Berni will take up this same image as an artistic motif in his sonnet "Dal più profondo e tenebroso centro," and identifies Pistoia as the later poet's most important precursor.^[44]

Pistoia can, in this sense, be called a poet of transition between the Burchiellesque sonnet and the new type of burlesque sonnet to be written by Berni. He moves away from nonsensical verse to take up again the traditional motifs which have woven through the burlesque tapestry since its beginnings. Unfortunately, because Pistoia was so fecund and produced so many sonnets in a relatively short period of time (most were written between 1478 and 1502; many were circumstantial besides and done upon demand), they often give the impression of being rushed and too improvisational. As Pèrcopo says: "scrive troppo, lima poco, ed usa una lingua ibrida, tosco-emiliana [He writes too much, polishes little, and uses a hybrid Tuscan-Emilian tongue]."^[45]

These defects notwithstanding, Pistoia was certainly more than a mere precursor of Berni. He was the most accomplished burlesque poet of his period, and was recognized as such and

copied by many. Berni so admired the older poet's sonnets that when he found out that Isabella Gonzaga, Pistoia's patroness, had the codex of his "Libro," he wrote a letter to her through his friend Francesco della Torre asking to see it.^[46] The Marchésa immediately granted their request, with the condition that they provide their estimation of Pistoia's work upon returning it. The poets complied, with the following critique:

il libro è bello secondo quei tempi, nei quali questa nostra lingua non era condotta così al sommo come ora, e se l'autore mostra non esser troppo ricco di guidizio, mostra certo non esser privo di spirito e di invenzione. Secondo questi tempi più floridi, mi pare, per dire il vero, un poco spinoso, ma non si però che, tra li spini, non si possano cogliere di molte rose. Vostra Eccellenza se lo tenga caro, perchè cuando per altro non meritasse esser prezzato, assai meriterebbe per essere dedicato a Lei.^[47]

[it is a fine book for those times when our language had not reached today's heights. If the author seems not too rich in judgment, he does not lack spirit and invention. In these more flourishing times, it seems to me, in truth, a little thorny, however, one can gather many roses behind the thorns. Your Excellency should hold it dear, for even if it merits esteem for no other reason, it does so for being dedicated to you.]

As Pèrcopo observes, few poets who are precursors have been judged favorably by the subsequent masters of a particular genre. Berni will also invoke Pistoia's spirit when he sits down to write a burlesque sonnet on the quack "Maestro Guazzalletto medico":

O spirito bizzarro del Pistoia,
Dove sei tu? Chè ti perdi un soggetto,
Un'opra da compor, non che un sonetto,
Più bella del Danese e dell'Ancroia.^[48]

[Oh, singular spirit of Pistoia,
Where are you? You are missing a great subject,
A work to fashion, perhaps even a sonnet,
More beautiful than those of the Dane and of Ancroia.]

Pistoia also wrote satirical and political poems, but few, if any, poets have dedicated themselves so totally to the burlesque son-

net. That he wanted to produce a body of work sufficiently vast to cover all the elements that made up his surroundings is evidenced by his canzoniere . His "Libro dei sonetti faceti" was the first conscious attempt to produce a book composed solely of burlesque sonnets.

Francesco Berni and the Burlesque Sonnet in the Sixteenth Century

Sixteenth-century Italy saw a continued growth in the more learned poetic forms such as sonnets, canzoni, and capitoli . The number of poets proliferated, overflowing the courts and academies alongside artists and buffoons. They often held ecclesiastical positions such as secretaries to powerful men of the Church. Just such a person was Francesco Berni—the culminating figure of the burlesque sonnet tradition in Italy.

Born in Lamporecchio in Bibbiena in 1496 or 1497, Berni studied in Florence until the age of nineteen. That city still breathed the atmosphere charged with art and flourishing literature, a large part of which was popular and burlesque, that had been established by Lorenzo the Magnificent. There Berni would spend his formative years reading not only Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio but also the burlesque greats Pistoia, Burchiello, and Pulci.

In 1515, Berni left Florence for Rome, where he made his living as secretary to various men of the cloth. Rome was much suited to his gay, humorous character, and he became the darling of literati and artists at the papal court. During this period Berni became a member of the Roman Accademia dei Vignaiuoli. This institution was typical of the festive social and literary organizations that flourished in Italy in the sixteenth century. Its members included famous contemporary burlesque poets such as Mauro, della Casa, Firenzuola, Bini, and Molza. Together they established a convivial and facetious atmosphere, reciting their outrageous verses for the pleasure of priests and literati alike. The Vignaiuoli adopted the names of plants and herbs in keeping with the name of their academy, as was the custom. Thus they were il Mosto, l'Agresto, il Fico, il Cardo, il Radicchio, and similar. The Vignaiuoli would meet almost

daily, honing their poetic skills by improvising verse on imposed topics. This verse would then be sung, filling the hearts of the listeners "non di minor piacere che di stupore [with no less delight than amazement]" and be judged by two "severi Censori" (strict censors).^[49] A representative selection of these poems is included in the three-volume edition entitled Opere burlesche del Berni, del Casa, del Varchi, etc. (Rome, 1760). The group would also organize poetic banquets whose festivities seemed to revolve around the tasting of worthy wines and engaging in general high spirits.

Known as the "Prince of Burlesque Poets," Berni bequeathed the name "Bernesque" to his particular type of jocose verse. With typical facetiousness and exaggeration, through his poetry he comically flaunts the vices of an age—the accepted vanity, indolence, and, most especially, the decadence that flourished at the papal court.

Berni's verse and letters reveal a festive, humorous man with an innate love of fun. Yet he was also quick to anger and capable of seething hatred, as evidenced by a bitter feud with Pietro Aretino (himself known as the "Scourge of Princes" owing to his sharp tongue). The mortal hatred between the two poets and political rivals is immortalized in sonnets of the most bitter personal invective. Similar to this personal invective, although less coarse, are Berni's burlesque-satirical sonnets on the papacy of Clement VII. In them he makes poetry out of the highly popular Roman pasquinade.

The history of the pasquinade is quite interesting. "Pasquino" was a damaged ancient bust unearthed in Rome in 1501. There are several anecdotal explanations for his nickname. One account is that a tailor named Pasquino lived where the statue was originally located. His shop was reportedly a notorious gathering place for Rome's wits. There they would discuss local events and compose impromptu epigrams and poems on them. After Pasquino's death the statue had to be removed while the streets were being repaired. It was placed next to the old shop and from then on adopted the tailor's name. Henceforth Pasquino, who can still be seen today in Rome's Piazza di Pasquino, became the "author" of the anonymous satirical epigrams and verses, written either in Latin or in the vernacular, customarily

placed on or around the statue. These "Pasquinate" were witty and extremely mordant (often libelous), especially those reproving the vices of Cinquecento popes and their retinues.^[50]

The sixteenth-century pasquinade is related to the burlesque sonnet in both content and form. The favorite meter for the pasquinade was the tailed sonnet; many were also dialogued. The close relationship between the pasquinade and Berni's sonnets is obvious in those he wrote on Clement VII's inept papacy and illness. In "Il papa non fa altro che mangiare," he criticizes the pope's bumbling doctors who will not rest until they have killed their patient.^[51] In "Fate a modo de un vostro servidore," he advises the ailing pope just to get it over with, saying: "Pigliate un orinale, / E date lor con esso nel mostaccio: / Levate noi di noia, e voi d'impaccio [Grab a chamber-pot and hit them with it across the moustache: you will rid us of our boredom and yourself of embarrassment]."^[52] "Un papato composto di rispetti" is a similar pasquinadelike sonnet on Clement's inadequacies.^[53] What differentiates these sonnets from the average pasquinade, however, is their artfulness. Many of the pasquinades, while ingenious, were simply anonymous slander—a more developed version of today's graffiti. Berni was an accomplished poet, and as such was able to elevate the material of the pasquinade to the level of literature.

In 1526 Berni wrote his prose Dialogo contra i poeti, a document that can be considered a burlesque ars poetica . It illuminates the poet's polemical literary stance, one that most probably was shared by other burlesque poets of the period. What emerges from the dialogue is a general attack on the humanistic concept of poetry and a distancing from the main poetical current of the day—Petrarchism. The two speakers are Berni and his friend Giambattista Sanga. They begin by denouncing the presumption of the armies of poetasters who importune their friends at all hours, forcing them to read the sheaves of verse they inevitably carry under their arms. The utmost conceit of these would-be poets is their lust for immortality, as evidenced by their desire to publish as soon as they are able to gather together "cinquanta sillabe"—something Berni himself was always reluctant to do. He even goes so far as to suggest an inquisition to seek out and punish these pedants. He accuses them—tongue

in cheek—of heresy, for while calling themselves Christians they nevertheless worship pagan gods in their poetry. Jove replaces Christ, Juno Our Lady, and Mercury, Mars, and Bacchus the saints. They ignore the teachings of the Church, considering them unworthy of their genius, and instead embrace nature.

Berni also mocks poets who presume to Horatian divine furor:

Se non ch'io li scuso per pazzi, perché essi medesimi si battezano cosí, ed hanno piacer di esser chiamati pazzi, dicendo che son furiosi e che hanno il furor divino e volano sopra le stelle, e cotali altre sciocchezze; io ti giuro a Dio ch'i' credo che li scannarei.^[54]

[If I did not pardon them as madmen—for they call themselves and like to be called madmen, saying that they are furious, that they are possessed by divine furor, and fly above the stars, and other such foolishness—I swear to you in God's name that I believe I would slit their throats.]

Here Berni appears to echo Erasmus's Folly when she comments about poets: "'Self-love and Flattery' are their special friends, and no other race of men worships me with such wholehearted devotion."^[55]

Farther on Berni totally rejects the Aristotelian principle of imitatio, declaring all poets, starting with Virgil, to be a bunch of thieves too lazy to invent for themselves. He concludes that thievery is, in fact, the poet's business and that the person who does not rob verses cannot be a good poet.^[56]

Berni also despised the hoards of mediocre and imitative Petrarchan poets whose exaggerated refinements and blind servitude to an inflated poetic ideal he did not share. He mocked these "professional," thus hypocritical, poets and proffered in their place a conception of poetry as recreation and entertainment. Berni's rhymesters:

non fanno professione di poeti; e se pur han fatto qualche cosa a' suoi dí, è stato per mostrare al mondo che, oltre alle opere virtuose che appartiene a far ad uomo, non è impertinente con qualche cosa che abbi men del grave ricrearsi un poco, e che sanno anche far delle bagattelle per passar tempo. Anzi dirò che quelli pochi versi che han fatto, han fatto per mostrare a questi animali che e' sono

asini et ignoranti, e che, quando vogliono, sanno far meglio con li piedi quello che essi stentono e sudono e si mordono le mani facendo.^[57]

[are not professional poets; and if they did something in their day, it was to show the world that a little recreation with trifles is not incompatible with the virtuous deeds that it is man's lot to perform. In fact, I would say that they wrote their few verses to show those other animals that they are ignorant asses and that, when they want, these people can produce better poetry with their feet than others do with great difficulty, much sweat, and knuckle-biting.]

If we can believe him, Berni's comments are extremely important for an understanding of what exactly the burlesque meant to him. His inspiration and conception of poetry emerge from the atmosphere of the academy—the type of literary academy (precisely like that of the Vignaiuoli) that flourished in the late quattrocento and early cinquecento. These were no longer assemblies of serious humanists grouped together to ponder classical texts. Those early Renaissance associations had been replaced by frivolous gatherings of literati and the nobility, banded together for mutual amusement and pleasure. The purpose of their poetry was to entertain, to provide fun and opportunities for jest and laughter. Berni blossomed in such an atmosphere; to try to maintain a serious attitude toward poetry, especially his own, would have betrayed his character and reputation. Indeed, he is reluctant to refer to his own poetry as such, saying about his youthful capitoli : "E se quelle baie che tu di' . . . se debbono chiamare poesia, da ora io le renunzio [And if those jests that you say . . . should be called poetry, from this moment I renounce them]."^[58] These capitoli, written in terza rima, consisted of mock encomiums of ridiculous, insignificant things such as fish, eels, chamber-pots, gelatine, and thistles. They would often contain obscene double entendres.^[59]

When we speak of Berni's anti-Petrarchism, it must be understood that he respected and admired the work of the master. What he resented was the bloated and pretentious verse of his imitators. In this, of course, he was not alone; the anti-Petrarchan current flowed deeply in his day. What Berni of-

fered as an antidote to the copious tears and stereotypical commonplaces of these professional versemongers was the burlesque: a poetry built on invention, jest, and, to an extent, on reality. A poetry to amuse and entertain, often, of course, at the expense of others.

The best expression of this anti-Petrarchan tendency is his "Sonetto alla sua donna" (Appendix 17), an extremely successful parody of Bembo's sonnet on the beauties of his lady.^[60] Because in the standard love lyric youth reigns supreme, burlesque poetry portrays old age in the meanest of terms. Therefore, in this poem Berni creates a wonderful mismatch between noun and epithet to destroy the trite components of traditional Petrarchan youthful beauty. Waving golden locks become a few stiff, graying, and entangled strands surrounding a furrowed brow. What remain are lashes of snow, teeth of ebony, milky lips, and stubby fingers. He closes the sonnet with a sneering crack at the "divine Slaves of Love"—the poets whom Aretino also mocked as the "sempre assassinati d'amore." These, concludes Berni smartly, are the beauties of his lady.

Berni was also very fond of teasing his contemporaries with his joking sonnets. Through them he would comment ironically on the anecdotes of court life. In his "Sonetto di Ser Cecco" (Appendix 18) he ridicules Francesco Benci di Assisi, a secretary to the papal court. What is most interesting in this sonnet is the ingenious way in which Berni has constructed it to express in its very form the inseparability of Ser Cecco and the court. Each element in the poem reveals this duality. Except for the final coda there are only two rhymes—Cecco and corte. The quatrains are divided into four sets of two verses each, and each two-verse set explains the mutual sides of one statement. The construction of the first three tercets also matches; the final verses of each are almost equal. In the final coda we learn that the duality will continue on. Through Trifone (Benci), Francesco's nephew, there will always be a Ser Cecco in the court.

The poem demonstrates Berni's deft command of the sonnet form. Gone is the improvisational air and often somewhat careless construction of his predecessors. Berni rarely makes a mistake in rhyme, even in the very long tailed sonnets. We get the

feeling of control and selectivity. The poet molds the traditional motives of burlesque verse to his own requirements so as to reveal his sharp wit to maximum advantage.

The "Sonetto sopra la barba di Domenico d'Ancona" (Appendix 19) is similar in its teasing tone. Here, however, the sonnet is a magnificent mock planctus, replete with references to the inevitable ravages of time and death. Apparently d'Ancona was very proud of his beard, but was forced to shave it by order of his bishop under pain of losing benefices. Off went the beard and up sprang Berni's sonnet. The poem is epic drama. It is not difficult to imagine Berni standing surrounded by his companion Vignaiuoli, eyes Heavenward, somberly entoning the silly-sounding rhymes in -uti . The final perversely ridiculous epitaph must have brought the house down.

This poem is a perfect example of what new developments Berni brings to the genre. As burlesque sonneteer he was inevitably indebted to those who had preceded him. He even openly acknowledged this debt on more than one occasion. Berni invoked Pistoia's spirit when writing his "sonetto caudatissimo," as Mario Marti calls it, on Maestro Guazzalletto. In another sonnet, written to Ippolito de' Medici, "Sul tristo impantanamento a Malalbergo," he wishes he had Burchiello's wit:

S'i' avessi l'ingegno del Burchiello,
Io vi farei volentieri un sonetto;
Ché non ebbi già mai tèma e subietto
Piú dolce, piú piacevol né piú bello.^[61]

[If I had Burchiello's wit,
I would willingly write you a sonnet;
For never did I have a theme and subject
More sweet, more pleasant, more beautiful.]

Berni indeed embraced the traditional burlesque repertoire: caricature of common human defects and types (including his relatives and ancient housekeeper Ancroia), antifeminine and antiecclesiastical diatribes, comic descriptions of ruinous houses and decrepit nags, blistering invectives against political and personal enemies. Nevertheless, he improved a great deal upon his models. Through his wit and novel images he surpassed con-

ventional treatment of the old themes. In this sonnet on D'Ancona's beard he approaches the subject of criticism of man's foolish pride from a different tack. Along with d'Ancona's beard goes the source of his pride and probably the external symbol of his virility. Better to have lost his head, which could have been embalmed and exhibited, beard intact, above a door for all to behold. In this way the beard could have taken on the properties of a saintly relic instead of meeting its doom on the barbershop floor.

The same type of new imagery can be found in his "Sonetto contra la moglie" (Appendix 20). In it Berni takes up the traditional misogynous commonplace of the woes of married life. His litany of noie, however, is a series of witty comparisons and paradoxes: to be tired and have no place to sit, to lend money but be in debt, to have one leg clothed and the other bare. But the worst of all these frustrations is, of course, to have a wife. Obviously the sincerity of his feelings are of no concern. What is important is how he manipulates this stock topic.

Berni often uses a system of enumeration of elements that build to what Mario Marti has called a hyperbolic crescendo. In this sonnet against wives each verse is a self-contained unit expressing a different noia . The verses build upon each other, leading up to the crowning element—the worst annoyance of all. This is stated in the final verse, which sums up all the previous ones and sends the poem on its way. Once again, it is this very careful and controlled construction, plus the fresh and highly descriptive images, that distinguish Berni from previous burlesque sonneteers. The same type of conceptistic imagery can be seen in his "Sonetto sopra la mula dell' Alcionio," who has "un par di natiche sí strette / E sí ben spianate che la pare / Stata nel torchio come le berrette [a pair of buttocks so narrow / and so flat that they look as though / they had been run through a hat-press]."^[62] The examples are as limitless as the sonnets he wrote.

Berni's images are incisive, compact, and full of ingenuity. With them the burlesque sonnet finds new vigor and the three-centuries-old tradition is rejuvenated and given renewed impetus for the future. His influence will be felt among not only his contemporaries but also the Spanish poets who will take up

the tradition not long after Boscán imports the sonnet into their country. In fact, if we listen to Berni's concepts carefully, we can almost hear a Quevedo en ciernes .

Berni was a witty, facetious entertainer. He had no lofty poetic pretensions, but did an admirable job of decanting his whimsical spirit into funny, well-constructed sonnets. His choice of comic—rather than serious—verse was, of course, intentional. If he did try his hand at serious verse, he found it was not really him. As he said in his "Capitolo al Cardinale Ippolito de' Medici":

Provai un tratto a scrivere elegante,
In prosa e in versi, e fecine parecchi,
Et ebbi voglia anch'io d'esser gigante;
Ma messer Cinzio mi tirò gli orecchi,
E disse: —Bernia, fa pur dell'Anguille,
Ché questo è  il proprio umor dove tu pecchi:
Arte non è da te cantar d' Achille;^[63]

[Once I tried to write an elegant passage,
And did several in prose and in verse,
And I even longed to be a giant.
But Mister Cinzio gave my ears a tug,
And said: Berni, stick to the eels,
That is the humor where you sin;
It is not your art to sing of Achilles;]

This good-natured way of expressing where his talents lie reveals true literary self-knowledge.

Berni enjoyed enormous success throughout the sixteenth century. His contemporaries lived for his celebrated tailed sonnets, capitoli, and epistles. He was imitated by many, even influencing the work of his good friend Michelangelo, little known as a festive poet. The great artist read and enjoyed Berni; the best proof of this is the Bernesque verse he wrote. His scatological capitolo "I'sto rinchiuso come la midolla" is not unlike Berni's "Capitolo dell'Orinale." He also wrote a tailed sonnet comically depicting the physical discomforts involved in painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel entitled "I'o gia facto un gozo in questo stento."

Bernesque verse became a fashion so tremendously in vogue

that any aspiring burlesque poet had to prove himself in it. Many generations would produce sonnets and capitoli following the Bernesque model. This resulted in the publication of many editions of Berni's and their poems. Berni's immediate successor and greatest admirer was Anton Francesco Grazzini ("il Lasca"). Besides being an accomplished and fecund burlesque poet in his own right, Lasca also published the earliest editions of Berni and other Bernesque poets: the now extremely rare 1548 Giunti edition entitled Opere burlesche del Berni, del Casa, del Varchi, del Mauro, di messer Bino, del Molza, del Dolce e del Firenzuola, and in 1555 the second book of the same Opere burlesche including poems by Martelli, Francesi, Aretino, and others.^[64] The titles of these editions provide a representative list of the best known among the great number of sixteenth-century burlesque sonneteers. Although very well known in their day, the majority of these poets are quite forgotten today.

Although Lasca was doubtless the best of these poets, writing approximately 200 sonnets as well as canzoni and capitoli, Berni was the only true master. None of his successors add anything totally new to the tradition. For many, if not most of these poets, burlesque verse was a fashionable but marginal activity, carried out during their hours of leisure or within the confines of the academy. They were humanists, prelates, secretaries to cardinals, "serious" poets, or even artists such as Michelangelo. For the most part they follow Berni's inspiration and take up the mock encomium capitolo and sonnet, creating poems in praise of the kiss (della Casa); of the bed, of beans, and of Priapus (Mauro); on the quartan fever (Aretino); on the "mal franzese" (Bini); on salad and the fig (Molza); on the paintbrush (Firenzuola); on ricotta cheese and fennel (Varchi). As is obvious from these few titles, a strong salacious vein runs through such verse. This provides a wealth of new obscene euphemisms to the literary lexicon.

The preceeding overview has illustrated the development of the burlesque sonnet from its origins up to the point at which it is adopted in other European countries. Of necessity, many little-studied poets who merit further attention have been neglected. Nevertheless, a more in-depth examination of the leaders of the genre is more fruitful than an excessively lengthy and

superficial listing of sonneteers, many of whom would have been unknown outside Italy even during their own time. This brief study of the "major" figures within this "minor" tradition reveals what, besides Petrarchism, Boscán brought to Spain with the sonnet in the sixteenth century. The sonnet was not simply the poem appropriate for love or the expression of intimate feelings. Since the form stabilized in the thirteenth century it has also been the bearer of comic verse—from political satire to personal invective, from nonsense rhyme to parody of serious poetic movements. In the midsixteenth century, the burlesque sonnet traveled to Spain, where it soon adapted to its new environment and language.

2—
The Pre-Cervantine Burlesque Sonnet in Spain

Hurtado de Mendoza and the Introduction of the Burlesque Sonnet into Spain

Iñigo López Mendoza, Marqués de Santillana (1398–1458), was the first Spanish poet to try his hand at the sonnet, with his forty-two "sonetos fechos al itálico modo" (sonnets in the Italian way). This man of arms and letters at the court of Juan II was familiar with the poetry of Dante and other dolce stil nuovo poets, as well as with Petrarch. The former were his models for the love sonnets he wrote along with others on political and religious topics. However, Santillana's sonnets appear clumsy and unsophisticated alongside the Galician-Portuguese and cancionero poetry being written at the time. The poet's lack of followers perhaps best reflects the prematureness, as well as the quality of his sonnets. His abortive attempt to adopt Italianate verse was soon forgotten, and he left no immediate perpetuators.

The new Italianate literary forms were definitively imported into Spain by Juan Boscán and Garcilaso de la Vega during the second quarter of the sixteenth century. These poets were followed several decades later (in the 1560s and 1570s) by an enthusiastic group we know and are accustomed to anthologizing as Spain's Renaissance poets: Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, Gutierre de Cetina, Hernando de Acuña, Francisco de la Torre, Francisco de Figueroa, Francisco de Aldana, Fernando de Herrera, and Fray Luis de León, among many others. What is perhaps less well known is the fact that not all of these poets restricted themselves to the classical and Petrarchan models, but

often wandered into burlesque territory. It is not surprising to discover that their model here was Francesco Berni.

Luis Barahona de Soto, a poet immortalized by his close contemporary Cervantes in Don Quixote, has explained Berni's role in Spanish letters.^[1] In an epistle criticizing satirical poets ("A los acentos roncos de mi canto") addressed to his great friend and fellow poet Gregorio Silvestre, Barahona accuses Berni of reintroducing nothing less than burlesque, satire, and "juegos del Priapo" (priapic games) into literature:

     Mas ya perdido este uso, se rehizo
Por un no sé qué Bernia italiano,
De donde fué en España advenedizo.
     Del vándalo andaluz y castellano
Fué recebido con aplauso y pompa,
Y aun muchos le trataron como á hermano.
     A cuál enseña á resonar la trompa
Del ave venenosa que, en picando,
Es necesario que su vida rompa;
     A cuál hace también, contrapunteando,
Gustar de un inferior regüeldo tanto,
Que casi se va en otro transformando.^[2]

     [This custom, once lost, was brought back
By a certain Italian Berni,
Whence it became an upstart in Spain.
     It was received by the Andalusian and
Castilian vandals with applause and pomp,
And many even treated it as a brother.
     It teaches some to sound the beak
Of the poisonous bird that
in order to bite, gives up its life.
     It teaches others to sing in counterpoint,
And to enjoy an evil belch so much
That they are almost transformed into another one.]

In spite of Barahona's tone of injured sensibilities, it was his own admiring colleague and fellow resident of Granada, Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, who was the first Spaniard to exploit Bernesque verse. Since he lived in Italy during the culmination of its Renaissance, he was in a perfect position to do so.^[3] A statesman and diplomat, erudite humanist, and man of letters, Men-

doza maintained close relations with Italy's powerful princes, men of the cloth, and literati. He also developed a close relationship with Berni's old archenemy, Pietro Aretino. Aretino's Venetian mansion was an important gathering place for contemporary personalities, artists, and writers. Mendoza was among these habitués, along with other high-placed Spaniards. Therefore, he was in intimate contact with a major part of Italy's cultural aristocracy.

In Diego Hurtado de Mendoza we have the third Spaniard, with whom we are familiar, after Boscán and Garcilaso to adopt the Italianate verse forms in Castilian. We also have a man totally imbued with classical Greco-Latin as well as contemporary Italian literature. Among his reading matter were the poetic anthologies so ubiquitous in Italy at the time. And, finally, a personal friendship linked him to Italy's most vitriolic pen. Mendoza reflects in both his life and poetry the absorbtion of Italian culture into Spain which so colored Spanish letters during the Renaissance. These circumstances meet and are reflected in the poetry he chose to write.

The first edition published of Mendoza's lyric verse is the ninety-six-poem Obras del insigne cavallero Don Diego de Mendoza .^[4] Unfortunately, misplaced prudery (or more likely concern for his own reputation) lead the compiler, Frey Hidalgo, to censure the edition, saying in his prologue "Al lector":

[Mendoza] fue Platonico en sus amores : Filosofo en las sentencias : Poeta en las inuenciones : y finalmente, puro, y limpio en su lenguaje. En sus obras de burlas (que por dignos respetos aquí no se ponen) mostró tener agudeza y donayre, siendo satirico sin infamia agena, mezclando lo dulce con lo prouechoso. La zahahoria, cana, pulga, y otras cosas burlescas, que por su gusto, o por el de sus amigos compuso, por no contrauenir á la gravedad de tan insigne Poeta, no se dan á la estampa : y por esto, que ya por no ser tan comunes, seran mas estimadas de quien las tenga, y las conozca.

[Mendoza was Platonic in his loves, a philosopher in his reasoning, a poet in his creations, and finally, pure and honest in his language. In his burlesque works—which out of respect are not included here—he showed grace and wit, being satirical without defaming others, mixing the sweet with the beneficial. The carrot, gray hair, flea, and other burlesque things that he composed for his own plea-

sure or that of his friends, are not published so as not to contravene the gravity of such a distinguished poet. Therefore, since they will be less accessible, these works will be even more esteemed by those who have and know them.]

The slightly ambiguous final words of this self-styled arbiter of public decency leads us to suppose that Mendoza's racier poems probably were among the most "estimados." Frey Hidalgo's perhaps unintentional irony would seem to evoke a public just as avid for burlesque and satire as for love lyrics.

A more modern and complete edition is William I. Knapp's 170-poem Obras poéticas de don Diego Hurtado de Mendoza, subtitled "Primera edición completa" (Madrid: Ginesta, 1877). Although not, in fact, complete, and with textual and attribution errors, it remains the best edition available to date.

In 1914 Raymond Foulché-Delbosc published nine additional poems, extracted from manuscript Esp. 311 of the Bibliothèque Nationale de Paris.^[5] Five of these compositions are burlesque sonnets. One of them—"Fue maestro de esgrima Campuçano"—is a different version of Cervantes's "Soneto a un ermitaño" (Appendix 34). Both poems are far superior to Mendoza's burlesque sonnets. They differ markedly in style, tone, and subject matter from the type of sonnet the earlier poet composed. The subtle irony and humor that characterize the sonnet, combined with the ruffianesque subject matter, are absent from Mendoza's poetry. However, they are indispensible characteristics of Cervantes's burlesque sonnets independent of Don Quixote . "A un ermitaño" clearly issued from Cervantes's pen, thus it is highly unlikely that the version included in the Foulché-Delbosc manuscript was composed by Mendoza.

Mendoza's burlesque cancionero is relatively extensive and merits examination as the first adaptation of the genre to the Castilian language. The sonnets fall into several groups, each representing a well-established type of comicity: erotic, anti-Petrarchan, debasing of classical mythology, praising of material life, and facetious narratives. A salacious spirit underlies practically all of his burlesque works.

Mendoza especially delights in poking fun at or remonstrating against mythological gods, especially those associated with

love. The sonnets are often narrated by a battle-weary lover who wants to be left in peace and free from Cupid's arrows, as in "¡Quien de tantos burdeles ha escapado" (Appendix 21). This poem's tone is typically vulgar and full of mock anger. The explosion of words such as "incordio" and "escupido" immediately jars the sensitive ears of the reader or listener accustomed to the dulcet tones of a sonnet by, for example, Garcilaso. The reader is, in fact, "burlado" and becomes the butt of Mendoza's poetic practical joke. And Cupid, so often exalted in the Petrarchan tradition, is reduced to a ridiculous "rapaz tiñoso" (scabby urchin) who risks having his wings clipped if he persists in his job.^[6] In another sonnet the same god is called "rapaz vellaco" (young scoundrel) and "Hi de puta traydor" (treacherous son of a bitch).^[7] The narrator rages against Cupid's insistence, concluding:

Si de vos no se saca otto interesse,
cagaos en vuestras flechas de oro fino,
que en fin acá sin vos vivir sabremos.

[If nothing more is to be gained from you,
you may shit on your arrows of pure gold,
for we can manage without you down here.]

The goddesses are treated with even less respect; their common denominator is lasciviousness. In sonnet X, Venus is accused as a lustful and Celestinesque fornicator:

¡Oh Venus, alcahueta y hechicera,
Que nos traes embaucados tierra y cielo,
Cuántas veces, por falta de una estera,
Heciste monipodios en el suelo!^[8]

[Oh Venus, procuress and witch,
Who tricks us on earth and in Heaven,
How many times, for lack of a mat,
Have you spread your legs on the ground!]

Diana, goddess of the moon and of hunting, is another favorite target. Also compulsively "cachonda" (see sonnet XI),^[9] in sonnet III (Appendix 22) she is irreverently accused of hypocrisy to boot. The crudeness of the language used in these sonnets (we

need go no farther than expressions such as "meterle mano") is shocking because it is out of place. Nevertheless, this does not mean that it is not funny. The comicity arises precisely from the parody. If a highly serious poetic tradition did not loom behind these burlesque poems, they would simply be obscenity. It must be recognized, however, that they are not gratuitously obscene, but instead respond to and mock a classical tradition and canon. The tradition can stand the ribbing.

Both sonnet XII (Appendix 23) and sonnet XIII (Appendix 24)^[10] belong to the type of burlesque sonnet designated here as "facetious narrative"; although in verse, they are very similar to the short, witty, often ribald, anecdotal stories known as "facetiae." In Mendoza, of course, these little verse narratives turn on a risqué joke. Both poems flow jauntily through the first eleven verses to the punch line contained in the final tercet. These poems are also good examples of what comic erotic poetry should be.

First, they are well constructed. Sonnet XIII especially builds up the suspense through the growing intensity of the praying man's devotion. In this way the old woman's saucy riposte, coming as it does in the strongest position of the sonnet—the last line—is a true comic explosion. Sonnet XII is constructed around a brief exchange of piropos in which a brash, flirtatious dama meets her match in a quick-witted galán . It also finishes neatly on the most playful verse.

Next, Mendoza's artistry in both of these sonnets lies in his use of witty euphemisms. Crude expressions, whether sexual or scatological, produce an entirely different effect. They are designed to shock and to recall the material side of life. As seen in "Señora, la del arco y las saetas," they deflate sublime verse by association and directly parody it. In poems such as sonnets XII and XIII, however, the comicity lies in their cleverness, in their way of communicating a perfectly understandable message couched in ingenious terms. Because of the poet's display of ingenio, the shock becomes amusement and the reader chuckles at, and should not be offended by, the galán 's witticism and the old woman's quip.

The theme of "live today," or "carpe diem," is very dear, in a special sense, to burlesque verse. It has been present through-

out the Italian burlesque sonneteers from Cecco to Berni. Rather than being a philosophical meditation, however, the notion is given the most earthly interpretation possible in order to mock the poetic commonplace. Mendoza does not neglect this call to the gratification of physical instincts. He welcomes life's material pleasures with open arms, as in sonnet VII.^[11] In this poem he urges his friend Demócrates (notably named after the Greek philosopher who recommended moderation as the key to happiness in life) to drink and be merry while they can:

Demócrates, deléitate y bebamos,
Que para siempre no hemos de durar,
Ni puede para siempre nadie estar
En esta vida en que agora holgamos.

[Democrates, drink up and be merry,
For we shall not last forever,
Nor can anyone forever remain
In this life that we now enjoy.]

As seen previously in Cecco's sonnets, Goliardic praise of wine continues to resonate throughout burlesque verse.

In "Teneys, señora Aldonza, tres treynta años" (Appendix 25) Mendoza takes up the anti-Petrarchan theme of the crone. After duly noting sparse hair, an empty mouth, sagging breasts, and wrinkles, the only images that strike us as novel are her "pechos de zigarra" and goatish spine. However, these images are not new, and the sonnet has a classical source. A different version of it is cited by Juan de Mal Lara in his 1568 Filosofía vulgar to illustrate the proverb "a falta de moza, buena es Aldonza."^[12] As Mal Lara points out, the sonnet is a recreation of Martial's epigram on an old woman named Vetustilla (Book III, 93). Although Mendoza's version of the poem adds nothing new, it deserves mention as the first known Spanish contribution to the well-established sonnet tradition of the description of ugly old hags. As noted earlier, the comicity of this tradition lies in the hideous disfigurement of Petrarchism's idealized youthful feminine beauty.

Mendoza's "Consejos de Don Diego" (Appendix 26) is a violent and cynical exhortation from father to son to take advan-

tage of as many women as possible. God forbid that he should foolishly fall in love and marry when he can defame and burlar instead. Don Diego's words foreshadow those of Tirso's Don Juan, who also derived the greatest pleasure not from seduction but from deceit.

This long, tailed sonnet is replete with obscene elements: the son's "alhajas" and the "sencillo y dos represas" are transparent euphemisms for his sexual organs; the derisive comment "Todas son unas en las partes bajas"—a crude play on the "de noche todos los gatos son pardos" (everything is permissible at night) proverb—is filled with sexist (albeit feigned) scorn. This poem's sin lies not in its vulgarity, however, but in its failure as a sonnet. Rather than being a neat and concise statement of its theme, it rambles repetitively on, idly overflowing the boundaries of the sonnet form. Instead of building to a crescendo and final recapitulation (as occurs, for example, in Berni's tailed sonnets), here the eight additional codas simply lope along aimlessly. When its lack of linguistic imagination is added to this formal weakness, what remains is a mediocre and ultimately forgettable poem.

This particular tailed sonnet resembles the capitolo in its familiar tone, mock praise, and length. At the time, both poetic genres were new to Spain and were undergoing a process of definition and adaptation. Mendoza's poem is symptomatic of this period of apprenticeship as he vacillates between the two favored burlesque forms.

The Italian capitolo has historically been somewhat of a catchall poetic form. Originally derived from Dante's tercets (in the fifteenth century the Divine Comedy and Petrarch's Trionfi were divided into capitoli, not cantos), the term "capitolo " was later used to designate compositions in terza rima on a variety of themes from politics to love.^[13] This vague, imprecise form was given a definitively burlesque content by Francesco Berni when his capitoli giocosi began to flourish in sixteenth-century Tuscany.

Widely popularized in the cinquecento, the capitolo was the appropriate genre for mock encomiums of ridiculous things, more often than not with obscene second meanings. The mock encomium belongs to the adoxographic tradition established early in classical times. Arthur Stanley Pease has defined adox-

ography as "a curiously miscultivated portion [of the field of the laudatio ] . . . in which the legitimate methods of the encomium are applied to persons or objects in themselves obviously unworthy of praise, as being trivial, ugly, useless, ridiculous, dangerous, or vicious."^[14] The type was cultivated by the sophists as a rhetorical exercise that afforded them ample opportunity for both novelty and self-display. Objects of their praise were physical traits or defects such as baldness; diseases such as the quartan fever, gout, and blindness; sins such as adultery; various animals, especially the equine species; annoying insects such as fleas, lice, and bedbugs; and food and drink.^[15]

Adoxographic literature was subsequently consecrated in the Renaissance by Erasmus and his brilliant satire Praise of Folly . Following this legitimization, adoxography converges with the capitolo and the sonnet in the poetry of Berni and his followers. Both poetic compositions often share the themes mentioned above. Both also involved the use of a "refined" form to express "low" content. Despite these similarities, however, the better sonnets did not lose sight of the exigencies of their own genre: one main theme or materia, stated in the first quatrain, developed throughout the second quatrain and following tercets and tails in an ascending rhythm, usually leading to a recapitulation in the final tercet or tail. No matter what the length of the sonnet, this basic structure remained. A good sonnet had to be concise and totally free of extraneous words or elements.^[16] The capitolo, in contrast, has a much less rigid structure. It is always a long composition whose thematic introduction often stretches over several tercets. Each tercet contains a discrete idea, giving a different perspective on the theme or developing it further. An expanding rather than crescendo rhythm is normally felt. Also, more often than not the final quatrain (an additional verse is usually added to the last tercet) lacks any thematic recapitulation or concluding statement. One way to perceive the differences is by comparison to prose genres: the sonnet is to the capitolo what the short story is to the novel. A good sonnet is a circular, closed structure with no superfluous elements. A capitolo is open and admits elements not essential to the basic theme.^[17]

The burlesque capitolo will enjoy scant success among sub-

sequent Spanish poets. It will soon disappear for all intents and purposes as a genre, and the sonnet will continue to be the preferred Italianate form for burlesque verse. The longer terza rima composition will be reserved for the elegy, the epistle, and for satire, and culminate in such magnificent works as Fernández de Andrada's "Epístola moral a Fabio," Lope's autobiographical epistles, Quevedo's "Epístola satírica y censoria," and, of course, Cervantes's Viaje del Parnaso .

Several burlesque capitoli have been attributed to Mendoza, however: the "Elegía de la pulga," "En loor del cuerno," and "Sobre la zanahoria."^[18] As is obvious from their titles, the last two compositions are obscene. The first is an imitation of Ludovico Dolce's "Capitolo del Pulice," included in the Rime diverse di molti eccelentissimi auttori nuovamente raccolte. Libro Primo .^[19] It is most likely that Mendoza was well acquainted with this famous Venetian poet. The author himself admits in the second tercet that the poem is his, "No toda de invención, mas traducida / De cierta Veneciana fantasía [Not all of my own invention, but translated / from a certain Venetian fantasy]." He goes on in the next tercet to reveal what the Spanish poets' procedure was in imitating their models, explaining that his poem "Va, mutatis mutandis, añadida; / Porque la traducción muy limitada / Suele ser enfadosa y desabrida [It is supplemented, mutatis mutandis, / because very close translations / are usually annoying and insipid]."^[20]

His nonchalant words are more enlightening than they would appear at first reading. They reveal a negative attitude toward servile imitation that will lead the later Spanish poets to far surpass their Italian models. Indeed, a steady improvement can be appreciated among Spain's Renaissance and Baroque burlesque poets, exactly at the moment when the burlesque genres enter into a period of decadence and decline in Italy. In fact, what is the end of a trajectory in Italy, with Bernesque verse, is the beginning of a renewed impulse that would thrive in late-sixteenth- to early-seventeenth-century Spain. Berni and his followers, while often excellent poets and the true originators of the mature burlesque sonnet, never attained the perfection of a Góngora or a Quevedo nor the intellectual depth of a Cervantes.

Mendoza brings to Spanish soil the insolence and the violence that had largely characterized the Italian burlesque tradition since the fourteenth century. His burlesque sonnets and capitoli are the first extant attempts made in the genre in Spanish. Because of this, his comic poems are for the most part somewhat primitive and derivative of Bernesque verse. While they compare favorably to his love poetry, in which he quite slavishly follows the Petrarchan tradition, they are inferior to his poetry written in Castilian meters. This notwithstanding, his work is important in representing the direct, observable link between the Italian and the Spanish burlesque sonnet and in providing a starting point from which to follow the development of the genre in succeeding generations.

The Soneto con Estrambote in Spain's Golden Age

In his "Consejos de don Diego" Mendoza vacillates between two burlesque forms: the capitolo and the tailed sonnet. The latter, known in Spanish as the soneto con estrambote, was inextricably linked to burlesque verse in late-sixteenth- to early-seventeenth-century Spain. Although not all classical Spanish tailed sonnets were burlesque, a considerable proportion of them were. Erasmo Buceta has studied the soneto con estrambote in Spanish literature in a series of four articles.^[21] Although he insists that comicality is neither a characteristic nor even an important factor of the soneto con estrambote, his own classification of the sonnets he lists would seem to negate his contention. Of the four series of tailed sonnets Buceta mentions, 17 percent, 29 percent, 57 percent, and 43 percent of the poems, respectively, are designated by him as burlesque. Nor are these lists complete. Many sonnets are overlooked, including all of Diego Hurtado de Mendoza's except one, Baltasar del Alcázar's, and even Cervantes's "En el soberbio trono diamantino" from Don Quixote I . The elevated percentages of burlesque poems among his tailed sonnets would indicate that comicality is, contrary to what Buceta contends, a very important characteristic of the soneto con estrambote .^[22] This is additionally supported by the fact that during a burlesque academy (poetic competition) held in Madrid's Buen

Retiro in 1637, a prize was offered for the best "soneto con estrambote o sin él, si al que miente siempre le pueden acusar de que ha mentido [tailed or nontailed sonnet expressing whether a liar may always be accused of having lied]."^[23] The fact that this asumpto called for a tailed sonnet within the confines of a specifically burlesque poetic competition clearly reveals the link between this poetic form and the burlesque. In another such certamen, three of the eight sonnets composing the vejamen —a notably burlesque part of the competition—were also tailed.^[24]

Juan de la Cueva indicates this contemporary link between the burlesque and the tailed sonnet in his 1606 Ejemplar poético . In Epistle III he says first regarding ocatava rima and then the sonnet:

     No guarda ley en acabar forzosa,
cuando quiere, y del modo que le agrada,
puede con facultad licenciosa.
     Esta licencia no será otorgada
al soneto, que es lícito y no puede
alterar de su cuenta limitada.
     Y cuando en esto alguna vez ecede,
y aumenta versos, es en el burlesco,
que en otros, ni aun burlando se concede.
     Esto usó con donaire truhanesco
el Bernia, y por su ejemplo ha sido usado
este épodo, o cola, que aborrezco.
     Sólo en aquel sujeto es otorgado,
mas en soneto grave, o amoroso,
por sacrílego insulto es detestado.^[25]

     [It observes no rule in forced endings,
it can end when and how it wishes
with free authority.
     This license is not granted to the sonnet,
which is licit and cannot alter
its limited number of verses.
     It may only exceed this number and increase
its verses in the burlesque; in other sonnets
this is not allowed, not even in jokes.
     Berni used it with buffoonish grace,
and this epode or tail, which I abhor,
has been used following his example.

     Only in such a subject is it allowed,
but in a serious or love sonnet
it is detested as a sacrilegious insult.]

Once again the influence of Berni on the Spanish burlesque sonnet is acknowledged. Although Cueva does not use the term "estrambote, " "cola" obviously means the same thing. The very fact that he bothers to censure its usage is an indication of its popularity. And in spite of his condemnation, Cueva himself composed at least one soneto con estrambote . His "Un mal de madre a Venus le dio un día" is an extremely vulgar account of how Venus is cured one day of menstrual cramps.^[26] Notwithstanding Cueva's comments, the tailed sonnet was, in fact, often used for serious verse, as can be seen from Buceta's lists.^[27]

In the Golden Age, the soneto con estrambote was variously called "con hopalandas," "de conterilla," "de coletilla," and "con cola."^[28] Nevertheless, estrambote was by far the most widely accepted term, and the one that survives today in Spanish to indicate the three-verse addition (estrambotes of more than one stanza were extremely rare after Mendoza) of one heptasyllable plus a rhyming hendecasyllabic couplet. However, the term had an additional meaning in the late sixteenth to early seventeenth century.

In two early articles, H. R. Lang has investigated the meaning of the etymologically similar terms estribote and estrambote, as used in Spanish poetry.^[29] Lang reports that estribote appears in the 1454 Cancionero de Baena to indicate a certain lyric addition to compositions of varied subject. It was meant to serve as a musical sequence or conclusion to another song. He concludes that the estribote, as transmitted in the courtly verse of the Cancionero de Baena, is "a type of folk-song which rose into the realm of literature simultaneously with its Italian congener, the strambotto " in the fifteenth century.^[30]

The term estrambote or estrimbote appears in the thirteenth century with the general meaning of song. Later, in the sixteenth century, Barbieri notes in his edition of the Cancionero Musical de los siglos XV and XVI that the sixteenth-century estrambotes were identical to the Spanish villancico and canción, and to the Italian frottola .^[31] Thus one meaning of estrambote in Golden

Age Spain was a type of song or lyric composition on varied subject matter.^[32] However, at this time it was also used in our modern acceptation of "versos o copla añadida al fin de alguna composición poética especialmente en los sonetos, para mayor expresión, lucimiento y gracejo [verses or strophe added to the end of a poetic composition, especially sonnets, for greater expression, display, and wit]."^[33] Although Lang does not make the connection between "estribote" and "estrambote," it seems likely that given the etymological proximity of the terms, this meaning of addition to a poetic composition is a development of the term estribote as used in the, Cancionero de Baena . What had been a detached conclusion to another song—the estribote —became an incorporated conclusion or extension to a poem—estrambote .

The most graphic application of this second meaning of estrambote is Salvador Jacinto Polo de Medina's cruel epigram directed against the playwright Ruiz de Alarcón, so often the butt of similar jokes:

Dicen que estás afrentado
los que la giba te ven,
y algunos, Fabio, lo creen
porque siempre estás cargado.
Yo digo que eres pipote
con alma, y aun hombre en brete,
que en la espalda traes juanete
o cual soneto, estrambote.^[34]

[Those who have seen your hump
say that you are offended,
and some believe it, Fabio,
because you are always burdened.
I say that you are a wine keg with a soul,
and even a man in shackles,
for on your back you carry a buttress
or, like a sonnet, an estrambote .]

Thus the term estrambote has a double meaning in Spain's classical literature: (1) an autonomous lyric composition and (2) a stanza irregularly added to another poem, especially the sonnet, that very often indicated burlesque or satirical content.

This second meaning is, of course, the only one that concerns this study.

Baltasar del Alcázar and the Sevillian Burlesque School

Several "serious" poets in the years following Mendoza would write the occasional burlesque sonnet. The Murcian Diego Ramírez-Pagán (1523–1525–?) has one surviving work, his two-volume Floresta de varia poesía .^[35] The author admits that among the Petrarchan compositions of volume two he includes "versos lascivos y de burlas [lascivious and burlesque verses]" for which he duly apologizes, calling them "prendas de la juventud [youthful garb].^[36]

One sonnet (Appendix 27) interests us in that it is labeled, presumably by the author himself, "de burlas." It belongs to the type of comicity designated "family problems" which consists of complaining about problematic family members in a spirit of mocking ridicule. This sonnet's first line is reminiscent of Mendoza's "Amor, cuerpo de Dios con quien os hizo." Here, however, the insults are hurled at the poet's mother-in-law rather than at Cupid. The poem also recalls Cecco's vituperations against his father, which actually serve to scorn the author-narrator. Here, too, even though the insults are directed against the mother-in-law, it is the poet himself who is mocked. He is the butt of the joke being played—cuckolded and made to sleep alone outside without even a blanket to protect him from the elements. The mother-in-law is herself an enthusiastic participant in sexual affairs, as evidenced by the appellative "Tigre."^[37] Therefore, to expect this woman to persuade her daughter not to cuckold the husband is senseless, especially given the fact that in burlesque poetry mothers are generally charged with teaching their daughters how to betray their husbands. Thus the full weight of the burla falls on the narrator and his futile request that the mother persuade his wife to protect his temples from the cuckold's horns.

In another more lighthearted sonnet, a would-be lover ridicules himself by relating a most embarrassing moment—the sleepy-headed Romeo nods off while in the throes of love:

Pisando del amor la alegre senda
quando más de velar tuve cuidado,
un sueño me acomete mal criado
en medio de la amorosa alta contienda.^[38]

[Treading the happy path of love,
when most I cared to be awake,
an ill-bred drowsiness overtook me
amid the amorous contest.]

Once again, in both sonnets the narrator is "burlado" and left in ridicule. Such self-mockery is a significant feature of burlesque verse.

Luis Barahona de Soto (1548–1595) was a poet well acquainted with both the poetic generation surrounding Diego Hurtado de Mendoza in Granada during the last years of the 1560s and the Herreran school in Seville a decade later. Although Herrera was his closest friend, this did not prevent Barahona from producing a burlesque sonnet on that poet's writing style. Entitled "Contra un poeta que usaba mucho de estas voces," the sonnet mocks Herrera's excessive use of neologisms such as "esplendores," "rigoroso," and "celajes."^[39] The situation is similar to that which Góngora would suffer later at the hands of his rivals. Nevertheless, Barahona's critique is much less caustic and free of the acrimony that characterized the denunciations of Góngora's poetry. Needless to say, Barahona was forgiven by his colleague.

Baltasar de Escobar also wrote several burlesque sonnets; three of these have been reproduced by Rodríguez-Marín in his previously mentioned study of Barahona.^[40] "Descripción de un impertinente en una venta" is a lively monologue by an ill-mannered customer having a meal at an inn. "Apuesta que hicieron dos de valentía en el beber" and "Al brindis que resultó de una pendencia" narrate typical goings-on in taverns. All three sonnets belong to the type of comicity that involves ruffianesque characters eating and drinking in dubious establishments.

For the above-mentioned and other poets, however, burlesque sonnets were an extremely marginal part of their poetic production. Until more manuscripts are unearthed to attest otherwise, we must assume that these mainly Petrarchan poets

preferred to write serious poetry, or, more accurately, that they were less concerned with conserving their burlesque works. This attitude was held by a poet who is precisely one of the few Renaissance Spaniards known best for their burlesque verse.

Seville, a city famous for producing great wits with a highly developed sense of fun, became the center of gravity for burlesque poetry in the late 1500s. And few wrote better festive verse at the time than its resident son Baltasar del Alcázar (1530–1606). This fact was acknowledged by his contemporary Cervantes in the "Canto de Calíope," by Medina, Herrera, Mal Lara, and Cetina. Alcázar's first attempts with the pen were Italianate love poems, but his true vein was the light, festive poetry he wrote in Castilian verse. This is where his fame lay and his epigrams earned him the sobriquet of "Marcial sevillano."

Martial had been rediscovered in the Italian Renaissance and forty editions of his epigrammata were eventually published between the princeps in 1471 and the year 1600. These epigrams, which satirized common vices and customs, were translated, imitated, and popularized by Italian neo-Latin poets such as Pontano, Poliziano, and Sannazaro. Martial's classical epigrams also enjoyed great popularity and were widely imitated in his own country, Spain, in the late sixteenth to early seventeenth century.^[41] In fact, the satirical-burlesque explosion begun in Spain in the last two decades of the sixteenth century owes much to this rediscovery of Martial and of other classical satirists such as Juvenal and Persius. Sonnets, romances, and letrillas all served as vehicles for the classical satiric tradition that would culminate in the work of Quevedo in the seventeenth century.

One of the favored forms for the translation of classical epigrams was the sonnet, owing to the similarity between the two. In his 1596 Filosofía antigua poética, Alonso López Pinciano states that

el epigrama no es otro que una breve descripción y demostración de alguna cosa . . . en él se mete en todas las materias, acciones, lugares, tiempos y personas. . . . Pide este poema suma brevedad y agudeza suma, porque, no las teniendo, queda muy desabrido y enfadoso . . . después, tomó el nombre mismo de epigrama cualquier otro poema que le pareciese en lo breve y agudo.^[42]

[the epigram is nothing more than a brief description and demonstration of something . . . it contains all themes, actions, places, times, and people. . . . This poem demands maximum brevity and wit because without these it is very insipid and tedious . . . afterward any other poem which was similar in brevity and wit took the name of epigram.]

The burlesque sonnet shares the same requirements: a single subject, brevity, conciseness, and wit.^[43] Therefore both genres will often converge in the Golden Age and, as seen in Mendoza's (or Mal Lara's) "Teneys, señora Aldonza, tres treynta años," the burlesque sonnet will frequently be a translation of an epigram by Martial. Perhaps the only difference between a burlesque sonnet and an epigram during this period is one of tone, the epigram generally being more critical and barbed when not outright satire. All attempts at establishing clearly defined criteria are problematic, however, given the traditionally imprecise application of terminology.

It is easy to see why Baltasar del Alcázar was called the "Sevillian Martial." His short verse is composed of light, gay, and succinct compositions that seem to roll off his pen effortlessly, with an adroit adaptation of theme to meter. Their tone is one of playful spontaneity, as would be expected from poetry written, as was his, for leisure-time recreation.

While Alcázar's skill at composing original, creative epigrams led him to become the model of the genre in the seventeenth century, the poet was less original in his burlesque sonnets. Rodríguez Marín's statement that Alcázar "escribió lo que le dictó su corazón y su fértil ingenio, sin traducir ni glosar de griegos, latinos ni italianos [wrote what his heart and fertile imagination dictated, without translating or glossing Greeks, Latins, or Italians]" is not entirely true.^[44] This can be appreciated by a closer look at his sonnets, which will reveal their debt to the Italian tradition. The most obvious example is his sonnet "Cabellos crespos, breves, cristalinos" (Appendix 28). Rodríguez Marín has failed to see this sonnet's clearly burlesque nature, including it among Alcázar's "poesías amatorias" in his edition.

While neither a direct translation nor a gloss, Alcázar's sonnet is unquestionably influenced by Berni's "Sonetto alla sua

donna" (Appendix 17). Both belong to the anti-Petrarchan tradition of parodying the stereotypical components of feminine beauty. Alcázar has adopted many of Berni's images: "chiome d'argento fino" become "cabellos cristalinos," "occhi di perli" are "ojos de perlas," "ciglie di neve" are "cejas cuyo valor . . . el alabastro y nieve hace indignos," and "denti rari e pellegrini" are "dientes raros, peregrinos." While Berni's sonnet ends in a direct snipe at Bembo, however, Alcázar's ends on a surprising and risqué suggestion. Instead of beginning at the lady's tresses and moving down to end at her neck, as do Petrarchan descriptions, Alcázar continues his downward movement all the way to "lo secreto." Thus he carries his parody one step farther, ironically mocking both the chasteness of the love tradition and its idealization of beauty.

By the time Alcázar was composing his poetry the first generation of Spanish Petrarchan poets (Garcilaso, Boscán, Mendoza, etc.) were already very well known. Boscán and Garcilaso's poetry had been published, and the latter had become the Spanish model for the Italianate poetry that was by now totally acclimated to Spanish soil. Thus Alcázar and the poets of his generation who wrote similar burleque verse were parodying not only Italian but also contemporary Spanish Petrarchism. Therefore, it is not unusual to find an echo of Garcilaso's "aguas, puras, cristalinas" in the first verse of Alcázar's sonnet.

The majority of Alcázar's burlesque sonnets correspond to already well-established types of comicity. Many mock the classical gods in the same manner as Mendoza. Cupid is an "hi de puta" who has given up his arrows to arm himself with coins instead. Love can now be purchased, as seen in the following play on the word plata, meaning both silver-colored and money:

Hecho se ha pescador el dios Cupido
Y la mar en que pesca es el poblado;
Rubias y hermosas ninfas el pescado;
De plata son las redes que ha tendido.^[45]

[The god Cupid has become a fisherman,
The sea in which he fishes is the town;
Blonde and beautiful nymphs are the fish,
Of silver are the nets he has cast.]

In other sonnets the poet begs for mercy from Love, crying out for his lost freedom.

Sonnet III is a variation of the praise-of-wine theme. In this one, however, the poet protests:

Dime, hermoso Baco, ¿quién me aparta
Contra mi voluntad de tu servicio
Y de aquel gustosísimo ejercicio
Que alegra, hinche, traba, mas no harta?^[46]

[Tell me, fair Bacchus, who drives me
From your service against my will,
And from that most pleasurable exercise
That gladdens, swells, harmonizes, but does not fill?]

This poem is based on a true incident from the poet's life. Poor Alcázar was old and suffering from gout at the time, and his doctor had prohibited him drink. In the final tercet he wistfully notes the dangers of taking the "carpe diem" theme too seriously:

Dulcísimo peligro es ¡oh Fineo!
Seguir un rojo dios que trae ceñida
Siempre de verdes pámpanos la frente.

[It is a most sweet danger, oh Fineo,
To follow a red god whose forehead
Is ever garlanded by green vines.]

Many of Alcázar's sonnets are erotic. He does add a new dimension to this traditional type of comicity, however. In two of his sonnets we are introduced to the theme of the lecherous fraile, long a tradition in Spanish letters. In sonnet X the poet advises a friend against admitting friars into his home during his absence, concluding that:

No es bien que os descuidéis destos señores,
Porque si Amor les sopla el pensamiento,
Todos han de toser á costa vuestra.^[47]

[It is not good that you do not heed these men,
Because if love blows a thought their way,
They will all cough at your expense.]

In sonnet XI a certain "bellísima Costanza" finds herself expecting a child "Que será un frailecillo franciscano, / Porque quien siembra habas, coge habas [That will be a little Franciscan friar / Because one reaps what one sows]."^[48] In neither of these sonnets is the tone morally indignant or satirical. Both poems are more an indulgent recognition of human frailty—an attitude that characterizes burlesque verse.

Sonnet VIII (Appendix 29) is anti-Petrarchan in sentiment while narrating a new solution to the dilemma of unrequited love: the rejected lover will simply go where he is better appreciated. The poem flows smoothly and ends in a typically Alcazarian (and epigrammatic) manner—with a surprise in the last verse. This poet is a true master of finishing off his compositions with an ingenious twist, a highly desirable trait in burlesque sonnets. The reader should be left chuckling not only at the author's wit but also at that person's ability to construct the sonnet so as to best display it.

Another novel composition is sonnet XV (Appendix 30), "Contra un mal soneto." The epigraph is self-explanatory; what is not as obvious, however, is the literary circumstance to which the poem refers. What does Alcázar mean by "un mal soneto?" Most likely he refers to the type of satirical sonnet in vogue at the time. Expressions such as "malvado," "sacrílego," "revolvedor de caldos," "mentiroso," and "discurso infame" indicate a criticism of the content, not the form of the sonnet.

Alcázar was certainly not the first nor the only poet to criticize satirical verse. Barahona's epistle to Gregorio Silvestre, "A los acentos roncos de mi canto," which eschews satirical poets, has already been mentioned. Francisco de Figueroa wrote two sonnets similar in tone: "¿Hay quien quiera comprar nueve doncellas," and "Musas que en Helicón monte sagrado."^[49] Figueroa denounces the current vulgarization of poetry, the fact that any base wit now ventures to challenge the heights of Helicon, and that an unworthy spirit dares to attempt possession of its beauty. He also protests Spain's lack of patrons, which has forced the Muses to become vagabonds, "mendigando / de puerta en puerta, rotas y baldías, / y por sólo el comer se venderían [begging / from door to door, broken and idle, / selling themselves for a simple meal]."^[50] In a similar sonnet published by Miguel

Sánchez de Lima, "En tres blancas está la Poesía," poetry is auctioned off for that miserable sum.^[51] This is because poets no longer use her for "cosas muy altas y subidas [high and lofty things]," but instead for"cosas . . . bajas y rateras [low and thieving things]." Poetry is now so corrupted and transformed that she is beyond recognition.

Cervantes would criticize the same situation in the Viaje del Parnaso, his magnificent satire on the current state of poetry in Spain, as well as in Don Quixote . In one of his many discourses on the nature of poetry, Don Quixote informs Don Diego de Miranda, the Knight of the Green Cloak, that:

La poesía, señor hidalgo, a mi parecer, es como una doncella tierna y de poca edad, y en todo estremo hermosa . . . pero esta tal doncella no quiere ser manoseada, ni traída por las calles, ni publicada por las esquinas de las plazas ni por los rincones de los palacios . . . hala de tener, el que la tuviere, a raya, no dejándola correr en torpes sátiras ni en desalmados sonetos; no ha de ser vendible en ninguna manera. (II: 16)

[Poetry, gentle sir, is, as I take it, like a tender young maiden of supreme beauty . . . but this maiden will not bear to be handled, nor dragged through the streets, nor exposed either at the corners of the marketplace, or in the nooks of palaces . . . He who possesses her must keep her within bounds, not permitting her to break out in ribald satires or soulless sonnets. She must on no account be offered for sale.]^[52]

Cervantes is alluding to a situation that came about some thirty years before. In Alcázar's time the poetic race was proliferating at an alarming speed. Seville especially was suffering from a true plague of poets. Everyone, from students to cobblers to the town executioner, considered himself a vate . Francisco Rodríguez Marín has unearthed an interesting document that is both a result and manifestation of this situation. It is the 706-verse "Sátira apologética en defensa del divino Dueñas," written by the canon Francisco Pacheco (uncle of the painter of the same name).^[53] In a preliminary note Pacheco clarifies the circumstances to which the poem refers. The seed of the satire is a typically Sevillian anecdote of wounded pride, dating from the year 1569. Apparently Pacheco was seated in the Seville

cathedral with his friend the poet Diego Ramírez de Dueñas when another would-be poet by the name of Cuevas sauntered by without doffing his hat.^[54] In order to take this young man down a peg or two, Pacheco had Dueñas say the following tercet to him aloud: "Enfádame un manteo que se estrena / De un mancebo Espadarte, deseoso / De que todos le den la norabuena [Young Espadarte's new cloak annoys me, / as he wears it to seek / the congratulations of all]."^[55] Thinking the verses were composed by Dueñas, the indignant Cuevas later gathered his friends about to compose a satire against Dueñas. The natural outcome of this was open warfare with devastating mutual satires being recited in public places. To put an end to this tiresome situation the Count of Monteagudo, Asistente de Sevilla, rounded up and arrested all the city's bards so that the public jail was eventually filled with them. Another satire was immediately dispatched in defense of the incarcerated poets, and they were finally released. The episode illustrates the extent to which the plague of satirical poets had become a public nuisance during those last decades of the sixteenth century.

Pacheco's composition in tercets is popularly known as the "sátira contra la mala poesía [satire against bad poetry]." He begins it with a declaration of war:

¿Qué bestia habrá que tenga ya paciencia,
Que no tome la pluma y haga guerra
Contra aquesta musaica pestilencia?

[What beast exists who has not lost patience
And does not take up the pen to wage war
Against this Musaic pestilence?]

His enemy poets are "asnos pardos [gray asses]" who have prostituted the now "bergantes musas [brazen muses]" who once were "castas doncellas [chaste maidens]." He goes on to condemn the poet's dissoluteness and inevitable poverty. He also criticizes the proliferation of albardanes who have displaced poets in the palaces of the rich. These court fools were also denounced by Sánchez de Lima who accused the truhanes of defiling poetry with their "profanidades y dissoluciones [profanity and dissoluteness]," while at the same time diverting economic

support away from true poets. In all, Pacheco's "Sátira" is a perfect example of the type of satire he is denouncing: insulting and oozing personal invective, extravagant and bitter.

Returning now to Alcázar's poem "Contra un mal soneto," it is obvious that it fits easily into the Sevillian context described above. It could even have been the author's contribution in support of Dueñas since Pacheco and Alcázar were close friends. However, the sonnet differs in tone from Pacheco's "Sátira" and from Figueroa's sonnets. Hyperbolic and inflammatory as it may be, it lacks the bitterness and moral indignation that characterize the former works. Alcázar is also denouncing the vulgar, satirical "zizaña" sprouting out of control everywhere. Nevertheless, as he says in the last verse, he knows all protest is fruitless and the hoards of poetasters will ultimately prevail.

Juan de Salinas y Castro was another great epigrammatist and festive "poète de salon."^[56] He was such an accomplished satirical-burlesque romancista as to be on a par with Góngora. Although a man of the cloth, one of his best known ballads is the highly irreverent "En Fuenmayor, esa villa." The poem relates a painful mishap in the life of the Augustinian friar Maestro Fuenmayor. While traveling away from home, this unfortunate man apparently had arisen in the middle of the night to relieve himself. Sleepy and confused, he mistook a brasier for the toilet. His singed backside was the subject of Salinas's ballad—a masterful series of puns on the word culo (anus, behind). Naturally the ballad was on everybody's lips. When Fuenmayor left the district, full of indignation over the poem, Salinas dispatched him with some equally scatological and sacrilegious redondillas on the "culincendio."^[57]

Salinas wrote only twenty-three sonnets. Number 94 (Appendix 31) is the only notable burlesque sonnet in that it is a good example of the poet's command of conceptismo . Entitled "Metáfora de un buboso," it is worthy of a Quevedo. The subject matter is not surprising given the fact that Salinas served as administrator of the Sevillian Hospital de San Cosme y San Damián (vulgarly known as "de las bubas") for many years. As indicated by its title, the poem is a series of vividly repugnant metaphors done in a martial tone. The sonnet responds to a procedure that is the basis of high burlesque—treating low sub-

jects in an elevated manner. The comicity arises from the inappropriateness between style and content.

The poem contains a series of expressions of double meaning which blend two linguistic provinces: that of war and that of venereal disease. The "rumor tremendo de armas francesas" image combines the two to perfection. "Coyuntura" is both an occasion and a bodily juncture—the groin; "parches" refer to military drums and the bandages or patches applied to a wound. The second quatrain provides a series of violent images that liken the weeping sores to erupting volcanoes. The closed vowels of "negros humos" and the alliterative "infernal figura" add to the strophe's dark and portentous atmosphere.

In the first tercet there is an unusual change of narrative voice as the Muse of the octave cedes to the poet. This new narrator mocks the tone of the first eight verses, finding the poetic material more appropriate to the lovers Mercury and Venus than to the warrior Mars. He concludes that the sonnet's descriptions befit not battle, but an ailing French youth, in other words, the all-too-familiar Morbus Gallicus .

As can be appreciated in the preceding works, the pre-Cervantine burlesque sonnet in Spain still operates clearly within the Renaissance tradition of imitatio ; the Spanish comic poets of this period remain closely tied to their Italian models. The types of comicity in which they indulge are those popularized by the classical and by the Italian burlesque sonnet tradition: anti-Petrarchism, eroticism, burlesque Anacreontic themes, adoxography, facetiae, and the beginnings of personal and professional invective. While "serious" Renaissance poets continue to look to Petrarch and Garcilaso for their inspiration, "comic" poets still look to the comic hyperbole of Berni and his followers. This yields poetry that can be quite memorable, and yet is always imitative. Cervantes is the poet who will bring intellectual depth and inventio to the burlesque sonnet.

3—
Cervantes and Humor

Humor and Madness

Although Cervantes is traditionally included among Europe's great humorists and Don Quixote is referred to as a "masterpiece of humor," rarely is this epithet applied to his poetry. However, his burlesque sonnets are infused with the same humorous spirit as his prose. In order to correctly appraise them, this most elusive and unstable of terms must first be defined: what did "humor" mean during Cervantes's time?

The word originated in the classical medical doctrine expounded by Hippocrates and Galen. According to their theories, all earthly matter is made up of four elements—air, water, earth, and fire—which, in turn, have a certain combination of four basic qualities—heat, dryness, humidity, and cold. The food we eat is made up of these four elements. As it is absorbed by the body it is converted into liquid substances that are the source of energy and life. These substances—melancholy, phlegm, blood, and choler—are known as the "four humors." Each humor has its counterpart among the elements and assumes the qualities associated with it. When these humors are present in the correct proportion, the person is in good health; however, an imbalance (an extreme predominance of one) causes illness.

Martine Bigeard, among others, has noted that these classical theories were reasserted in the Renaissance: "La théorie des humeurs s'est incrustée dans le fond culturel commun, et a exercé sous la Renaissance une véritable fascination sur les hommes de lettres et les hommes de science espagnols [Humoral theory is embedded in traditional culture and was a source of veritable fascination for Spanish men of letters and science during the Renaissance]."^[1] To no other person are

Bigeard's words more applicable than to the Spanish physician Juan Huarte de San Juan. His treatise on pedagogical psychology, entitled Examen de ingenios para las ciencias, explains commonly held humoral theory in detail.^[2] Huarte illustrates how one's physical and psychological makeup is determined by one's unique proportional combination, or temper, of humors. By natural extension, during the late sixteenth century the word "humor" was used throughout Europe to mean disposition or temperament in general.

Huarte goes on to state that an equal balance of the humors is impossible because of the rigors of climate, customs, and lifestyle. Thus all people are somewhat "distempered" (destemplado ), even though they may not seem to be, or are unaware of it:

todos hombres que vivimos en regiones destempladas estamos actualmente enfermos y con alguna lesión, aunque por habernos engendrado y nacido con ella, y no haber gozado de otra mejor templanza, no lo sentimos.^[3]

[all men who live in distempered regions are ill and have some type of lesion, however, because we were born with it and have never had the benefit of a better temper, we are unaware of it.]

Because one's distemper (destemplanza ) is unique, so are one's temperament, outlook, aptitudes, and skills. Huarte then applies humoral theory to pedagogy. First he establishes the specific temperament required by various professions; then he recommends matching young people's humoral composition to a career for which they are apt.

What is of interest here is the idea of distemper or destemplanza . Huarte feels that the same humoral imbalance that leads us to make different rational judgments is also the cause of each individual being, to some extent, mentally imbalanced:

pasemos aquellos cuatro humores en mayor cantidad al celebro, de manera que la inflamen; y veremos mil diferencias de locuras y disparates, por donde se dijo: cada loco con su tema . Los que no llegan a tanta enfermedad parece que están en su juicio y que dicen y hacen cosas convenientes; pero realmente disparan, sino que no se echa de ver por la mansedumbre con que algunos proceden.^[4]

[let us pass those four humors in greater quantity to the brain so that they inflame it, and we shall see a thousand different types of madness and lunacy, whence it is said: to each his own madness . Those who are not quite as ill appear to be in their right mind and to speak and act logically, but in reality they talk nonsense, although this goes unnoticed owing to the calmness with which they proceed.]

In this way Huarte establishes a causal progression between humor, individual idiosyncracy, and madness. Because of humoral differences—temperament—all human beings enjoy their own particular brand of folly. At the same time the word "humor" is irrevocably linked to the idea of folly or madness. "To have a humor" or to be "humorous" assumes the meaning of "to be mad."

However, Huarte was not the first to relate "humor" to madness. In Book One of his Cortegiano (1528), Castiglione had already said that madness was common to all humans: "Therefore I hold this for certain: that in each one of us there is some seed of folly which, once it is stirred, can grow indefinitely."^[5] What determines a particular type of madness is a certain humor, which can be sparked into action by others:

In the same way, whenever we have suspected some hidden strain of folly, we have stimulated it so cunningly and with so many different inducements and in so many various ways that eventually we have discovered its nature; then, having recognized the humour for what it was, we have agitated it so thoroughly that it has always been brought to the culmination of open madness.^[6]

The parallel between Castiglione's words and what happens during Don Quixote's sojourn at the ducal palace in part two of the novel is startling.

Juan Luis Vives had also incorporated the basics of humoral theory into his 1538 psychological treatise entitled Tratado del alma y de la vida . In this book he writes of the effects produced on the body and mind by the respective humors. He also comments that we all have "un grano de locura que es efecto de la bilis negra [a grain of madness which is a product of the black bile]".^[7]

Huarte was a source of inspiration for many Golden Age

writers in Spain. Literary theorists such as El Pinciano (in his 1596 Philosophia antigua poética ) and Luis Carvallo (in his 1602 Cisne de Apolo ) developed Huarte's theories on the origins of literary creativity. Baltasar Gracián's 1648 study of wit, Agudeza y Arte de ingenio, shares similar ideas with the Examen and Jerónimo de Mondragón's 1598 Censura de la locura humana y excelencias della borrows an anecdotal tale from Huarte.

More important, however, is the provocative question of Huarte's influence on Cervantes. The presence of a nucleus of Huartean theory is undeniable, at least in Don Quixote and El licenciado Vidriera . The nature of Huarte's influence with respect to these works has been discussed in varying depth in three works. Rafael Salillas argues for the direct influence of Huarte on Cervantes.^[8] Malcolm Read rejects Salillas's notion of direct influence, citing the popularity of the madness theme among Renaissance writers and in folklore. He prefers to recommend further study of the extent to which Cervantes and Huarte shared a common intellectual outlook.^[9] Mauricio de Iriarte contends that Cervantes must have been acquainted with the Examen given its great editorial success—ten editions were published in Spain prior to the first part of Don Quixote . As he says, in Huarte Cervantes found "un alma . . . afín a la suya [a kindred spirit]".^[10]

The most obvious reflection of Huarte in the Cervantine works mentioned are the fact that both are clinical studies in madness. As we know, Don Quixote's lunacy stemmed from the excessive reading of romances of chivalry. He passed countless sleepless nights devouring book after book until, finally, "se le secó el cerebro" (his brain dried up and shriveled).^[11] The resulting heat and dryness lead to his particular locura (madness, insanity)—an excess of ingenio . Indeed, what befell the ingenioso caballero was an uncontrollable imagination (imaginativa ), which nevertheless left his understanding (entendimiento ) and memory unimpaired. Therefore Don Quixote can hold forth intelligently on any topic that does not concern chivalry.

Thus the link between the term "humor" and the notion of extravagant behavior is made in the mind of Cervantes and his contemporaries, both in Spain and abroad. In England, self-declared home of humor, the Latin term was also borrowed to

mean something other than simple disposition. Huarte's Examen was first translated into English in 1594 by Richard Carew. It was doubtless read by the great playwright Ben Jonson, who, as Harry Levin has pointed out, was the first to transpose humor from physiognomy to the sphere of comedy.^[12] In the induction to his Every Man Out of His Humor (1599), Jonson explains the term humor as he uses it to mean, basically, human eccentricity:

so in every humane body
The choller, melancholy, flegme, and bloud,
By reason that they flow continually
In some one part, and are not continent,
Receive the name of Humours. Now thus farre
It may, by Metaphore,  apply it selfe
Unto the generall disposition:
As when some one peculiar quality
Doth so possesse a man, that it doth draw
All his affects, his spirits, and his powers,
In their confluctions, all to runne one way,
This may be truly said to be a Humour.

Jonson's so-called humor plays (Every Man in His Humor, Every Man out, and Magnetic Lady ) develop a theory of comedy based on the humors which demands strict adherence to decorum in characterization. That is, all characters must act in accordance with their particular humors. Through their individual eccentricities, Jonson's "humorous" characters are, in fact, good examples of the adage Huarte also put to use: "cada loco con su tema."

In his mentioned study of humor, Levin clarifies that in Jonson's time:

humor could be conceived as a person's state of mind at the moment: a mood, caprice, a whim, an inclination to be indulged—or humored [Shakespeare was apparently the first to use the verbal form]. Persons subject to such passing states—moody, capricious, whimsical—were said to be humorous.^[13]

The question of who was the first to use the verbal form is of little consequence. Nevertheless, it is interesting to note that

Cervantes uses the expression "seguirle el humor" in both parts of Don Quixote . The knight is "humored" by the innkeeper (I: 3), by Sansón Carrasco (II: 3), and by the infamous duke and duchess (II: 30). The opposite expression—"revolver los humores"—meaning to upset or "turbar el sosiego," is also used (I: 33). "Buen humor" (II: 35) and "mal humor" (I: 48) are used in the same sense as they are today. But "humor" meaning a distemper or madness is used three times with reference to Don Quixote. Dorotea is aware of his "menguado humor" (I: 30), the group that comes together at Juan Palomeque's inn is aware of his "humor estraño" (I: 43), and the ducal pair "humors" Don Quixote after learning of his "disparatado humor" (II: 30).

These expressions coincide in Don Quixote with the use of the term "humor" in its original etymological sense of fluid from the Latin umor, -oris[ōris] (I: 25; I: 27; II: 39). We are at a fascinating point in the evolution of the word—the moment at which an already existing term is borrowed for a notion still in the developmental stage. Through the idea of madness, humor is taking on comical shadings.

Jonson reveals that at the beginning of the seventeenth century human eccentricity became a subject worthy of taking front-stage.^[14] England's famous playwright permanently linked the idea of "humor," indicating temperament, to the idea of comicity. As Louis Cazamian has noted:

Through his strong relish for the raciness of full-blooded eccentricities and his abundant vein of comic invention . . . he destroyed whatever impression might still linger that the physical bondage implied in the medical sense of "humor" was a tragic element, fit rather for pathos than for comedy. He made the atmosphere of the word and the notion definitely comic.^[15]

After Jonson, in England any eccentricity of behavior was referred to as a humor. These eccentricities could be purely individual or collective, leading to Jonsonian satire of social conduct. This "atmosphere of the word" Cazamian speaks of is the atmosphere of madness created by the eccentricities or multifarious follies of Jonson's comedy.

The same linguistic evolution occurs concurrently in Italy. Around the year 1603 certain festivities were held to honor the

recent marriage of a young Roman gentleman by the name of Paolo Mancini. Because the date coincided with Carnival (the traditional season of madness), a group of young gentlemen, relatives of the bride and groom, gave themselves to the composition of impromptu comedies, sonnets, and speeches on light, entertaining subjects—to the delight of the celebrants.^[16] So successful were these young wits that they were dubbed "Belli Humori." Hence the notions of good humor and wit were interlocked in an atmosphere of gay festivity. The group then decided to form a literary academy, changing their name to "Humoristi." Thus was born the long-lived Roman Accademia degli Umoristi whose insignia was a cloud:

che formata dalle amare essalationi del mare, e sollevata in alto per virtù de raggi del Sole, si vede poco dopo in minuta, e spessa, ma gratiosa pioggia, risolta, all'in giù stillare, co 'l motto, tolto da Lucretio nel Lib. 6, REDIT AGMINE DULCI.^[17]

[which, formed from the bitter exhalations of the sea and raised above by virtue of the sun's rays, turns into minute, thick, and welcome drops of falling rain, with the following motto from Book 6 of Lucretius: REDIT AGMINE DULCI.]

This coat of arms apparently had its detractors. The academician Girolamo Aleandro subsequently came to its defense, explaining the relationship between the Umoristi and the rain-cloud logo. In his Discorso sopra l'Impresa degli Accademici Humoristi, Aleando clarifies that: "sicome la Nuvola è condensata d'humorosi vapori levatisi dall'amarezza del mare, così l'Accademia de gli Humoristi è una raunanza di spiritosi ingegni, che dall'amarezza de' costumi mondani sí sono separati [just as the cloud is condensed from humorous vapors risen from the bitterness of the sea, so the Accademia de gli Humoristi is a gathering of spirited wits who have distanced themselves from the bitterness of social custom]."^[18] In Italy, as in Spain and England, the terminology still current to indicate humidity was evolving in a new direction. The fact that these buffoonish wits felt the name that best expressed their nature was "humorists," as well as Aleandro's insistence upon their carnivalesque separateness from sour mundaneness, reveal, once again, the link between humor, madness, and comicity.

The Literary Tradition of Madness

Madness or folly was traditionally associated with comicity throughout the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. The presence of "natural" fools (the mentally defective), who were not institutionalized but integrated into medieval communities and supported by them as dependents, were a ready source of amusement for societies less sensitive to the handicapped. The fifteenth century witnessed the rise and rapid development of the "artificial" fool. Whether simple public entertainers or highly esteemed court jesters, these "buffoons" or "fools" assumed the guise of the mentally imbalanced in order to make a living of ridiculing and criticizing with the impunity traditionally granted to the mentally deficient. Thus folly, whether real or feigned, was a highly visible presence in Renaissance society. The story of the natural fool belongs to the history of psychiatry; that of the artificial fool belongs to literary history.^[19]

The literary tradition of folly gained tremendous popularity in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, especially after the publication in 1511 of Erasmus's best selling opuscule Moriae Encomium (Praise of Folly ). This little book marked a turning point in the literature of madness. In the main work prior to Praise of Folly, the figure of the fool had been treated as an inferior species, indeed a sinner because he failed to seek the true end of man—knowledge of God. Brant's 1497 Narrenschiff was, in essence, a vigorous denunciation of disorder in favor of reason. By following the established order man lived well on earth and gained access to heaven; to fail to do so was to be ignorant and a fool. For Brant, the severe moralist, the fool was unacceptable to God.

Praise of Folly, as its title implies, holds quite the opposite to be true. For Erasmus human nature, although foolish, is basically good. Precisely within our foolishness lies our humanity and our happiness:

Now I believe I can hear the philosophers protesting that it can only be misery to live in folly, illusion, deception and ignorance. But it isn't—it's human . . . a foolish man is not unfortunate, because this is in keeping with his nature.^[20]

Through what Walter Kaiser (following Edgar Wind) has called the "transvaluation of values," Stultitia ironically inverts all commonly accepted values by showing their opposite to be true.^[21] In the resulting topsy-turviness, ideals such as reason, wisdom, and prudence are shown, paradoxically, to be no less "good" (and most certainly less advantageous) than foolishness. Through Stultitia's charmingly specious arguments, Erasmus nevertheless provides a moral lesson: tolerance. Human beings should not be condemned but understood and accepted in all their folly. To be foolish is to be human. To be foolish is, also, to be Godlike. This, Erasmus's ultimate vindication of madness, is through the Fool in Christ.

Erasmus's theological apology for the fool is the culmination of a theme dating back to the teachings of St. Paul. Basic to Christian belief is the notion that the Christian is a fool in the eyes of the world: "Nonne stultam fecit Deus sapientiam huius mundi? . . . Quia quod stultum est Dei, sapientius est hominibus, et quod infirmum est Dei, fortius est hominibus [Has not God made foolish the wisdom of this world? . . . Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men]."^[22] The Pauline interpretation of the fool refers to the innocent Christians who, in their disregard for human reason, are close to Christ. Christ, in turn, had allowed himself to be taken for a fool when he assumed the form of a man. The Northern Renaissance thinkers Thomas à Kempis and Nicholaus of Cusa, as well as Erasmus, had reasserted Christian folly as a means to salvation. The former's Imitatio Christi (1421?), an apology for the humble Christian life, and the latter's De docta ignorantia (1440), an explanation of the notion of learned ignorance through the paradoxical coincidentia oppositorum, helped in laying the foundations for Erasmus's further development of the wise-fool paradox.

In the final section of Praise of Folly Erasmus distances himself from the harsh satire that characterizes the second part of the book, to set forth his final apology for folly. Culling from the Scriptures, he cites Jeremiah, Ecclesiastes, and St. Paul to denounce, as did Christ, those who put their trust in reason and their own intelligence. He concludes that "it is quite clear that the Christian religion has a kind of kinship with folly in some

form, though it has none at all with wisdom."^[23] He also links the idea of pleasure to folly when in his Christian Epicureanism he states that "the supreme reward for man is no other than a kind of madness."^[24]

Kaiser has pointed out that this concept of happiness is the essence of Stultitia's teleology and the ultimate justification of all her arguments. Because the world is God's creation and was made for our pleasure, we should rejoice in it. Of course the greatest pleasures are afforded by Christian piety; thus pleasure is reconciled to virtue.^[25]

Erasmus's greatest contribution to both the notion of madness and the literary expression of that notion was to legitimize it. The ultimate folly is to lose oneself in God and to follow His teachings. And as Stultitia says, to his ignorant apostles Christ "unfailingly preached folly."^[26] Therefore, to be foolish is to be Godlike, and to be Godlike means to be tolerant of human frailty—in the words of Saint Paul and of Shakespeare, to "suffer fools gladly."

The content of Praise of Folly has been explored, but of equal importance here is the manner in which Erasmus chose to write his treatise. Through his manipulation of irony and paradox Erasmus puts his ideas into practice. What is expressed is contained within the manner of expression itself. Each idea Stultitia discusses is clothed in paradox. We can see this when, for example, she states that "it's sad, people say, to be deceived. Not at all, it's far sadder not to be deceived."^[27] She goes on to explain that our happiness depends not on actual fact but on our opinions: if a man has a dreadfully ugly wife, yet in his eyes she is a Venus, isn't it just the same as if she were genuinely beautiful?

Stultitia's ironic presentation of both sides of all questions reveals that for any given truth, the opposite may be equally true. Erasmus is pointing out the necessity of considering all sides to any question. In a word, he is addressing the problem of perspectivismo .^[28] It is not so much a question of the "truth" equaling "A" or "B"; the only possible truth is "A plus B," plus "C," plus "D," ad infinitum. The most felicitous literary symbol for this idea is, of course, Sancho Panza's ingenious baciyelmo .

We also must not forget the fundamental irony of Praise of Folly : the fact that Stultitia is both its subject and object. Folly

praises folly, therefore, can anything she says be considered remotely the "truth"? Or is the whole book a mere equivocal joke? Erasmus himself warns against that interpretation when in the preface to More he comments: "unless my 'self-love' entirely deceives me, my praise of folly has not been altogether foolish."^[29]

Erasmus speaks the truth; while appearing comically foolish, Stultitia points out life's paradoxical dimension. She exposes both its underlying foolishness and its completeness. This totalizing perspective in which "reality" becomes a complex and ultimately equivocal paradox heralds literature's entrance into modernity. This growing awareness of the ambiguous nature of the world and of humankind is best expressed from the ironical distance that Erasmus has established. His irony and paradox enable our wit to perceive the absurdities of life at the appropriate emotional distance. The resulting self-conscious expression of human folly, underlaid with an acknowledgment and acceptance of the same quality in oneself, is humor.

The recognition of folly as underlying the human spirit facilitates a benevolent attitude toward it. While satirists refuse to forgive or to see in themselves the "vices" they castigate and instead remain at a critical distance, humorists use ironical distance to allow them to include themselves in the collective object of their humor.^[30] Humorists must look gently upon the phenomenon in others for the simple reason that they recognize that lunacy within themselves. Humor represents a kindly and participatory attitude toward life's inconsistencies. While not excluding a critical stance, it nevertheless accepts the faults it criticizes as part of humankind's inevitably foolish nature. Thus literary humorism is not simply madness, but a reaction to madness—a toma de postura before it. We smile at it, but our smile is indulgent; we are at one with the madman.

With Praise of Folly the comic has undergone a process of intellectualization and self-awareness, just as the medieval buffoon has evolved into a thinking fool (Stultitia). This new and self-conscious way of perceiving the comicity of madness is the humorous perspective. Humor becomes the expression of folly in sixteenth century literature when folly is perceived to be the quintessence of our humanity:

folly is the entrance to the human. We are unable to take ourselves seriously and thus we know we are human. We know we are human because we can fall into error, not simply in the rational sense of making a mistake, but in the sense of mistaking completely the very nature of things. We can do nothing in this situation of folly but be open to the world and attempt to chart our course on its stage.^[31]

As stated earlier, the appropriate modes for expressing humor are irony and paradox because they provide emotional distance and a totalizing perspective.^[32] Erasmus's new and totalizing expression of folly marked the entrance of humor into Renaissance literature. Through his analysis and rationalization of human folly, Erasmus intellectualized the comic mode, giving it a new philosophical dimension, a "dimension of calculation and thus reflective wit" with a target beyond mere comicity.^[33] This self-consciousness, and the combination of serious and comic elements viewed from an ironic distance, constitute modern humor. By intellectualizing the comic (thereby transforming it into humor) Erasmus legitimized it. Thus through the legitimization of human folly, humor and its accompanying laughter are in turn legitimized and brought into the literary mainstream. It is now possible and licit for a libro de entretenimiento to be so written that "el melancólico se mueva a risa, [y] el risueño la acreciente [the melancholy may be moved to laughter, and the merry made merrier still]."^[34]

Cervantes and Humor

The literary tradition of madness reaches its culmination when Cervantes transforms it into the very material of his great novel. The basic allegory of folly that Don Quixote embodies is at the core of Cervantes's humor and his vital philosophy. The author teaches us the truth through laughter—a new laughter different from the comicity of previous literature. It is a laughter that ridicules but also understands our folly and our humanity. Cervantes presents it dressed in the same paradox and irony that clothe Praise of Folly ; it is within this stylistic area that his debt to the little book lies.

Although our author's spiritual debt to Erasmus has been confidently established since Américo Castro's El pensamiento de Cervantes, Hispanists have been somewhat reluctant to recognize the shadow of the Moria in his works. At the time he wrote his Erasmo y España, Marcel Bataillon felt that because there were no Castilian translations of the Moria, it would have been known by only an extremely small minority.^[35] He later modified his opinion, realizing that "la locura itinerante y comunicativa de Don Quijote pudiera ponerse bajo el estandarte de la Moria erasmiana [Don Quixote's itinerant and communicative madness could be placed beneath the banner of Erasmus's Moria ]."^[36] While declaring the problem of whether Cervantes had read Praise of Folly to be unsolvable, Bataillon nevertheless ends by acknowledging its influence on Don Quixote, situating Cervantes "en la estela de Erasmo, con Rabelais y Shakespeare, entre los 'loadores de la Locura' que inauguran en la literatura moderna un tono nuevo [in the wake of Erasmus and, along with Rabelais and Shakespeare, among the 'praisers of folly' who inaugurate a new tone in modern literature]."^[37] The critic who has most insisted upon Cervantes's debt to the Moria is Antonio Vilanova. His studies trace in detail Cervantes's application of the lessons taught by Praise of Folly .^[38] Francisco Márquez Villanueva, in turn, includes the Moria as an important element within the fool literature of which Don Quixote is the endpoint.^[39]

The complexities of Don Quixote 's paradoxical structure, plus the author's total grasp of Erasmian irony (to say nothing of his attitude toward madness), point not only to a knowledge but also a deep understanding of the Moria . However, whether Cervantes read Praise of Folly in the original, in its Italian translation, or through Jerónimo de Mondragón's 1598 adaptation entitled Censura de la locura humana y excelencias della, he far surpassed his source. Erasmus's creation was ultimately a moral tract, albeit presented comically; Cervantes developed the irony and paradox—the humor—to create something new in literature: a novel. His targets were both social and literary. Don Quixote is a comment on the problematic nature of "reason" in an age of social unreason—one in which Spain's semitic minorities continue to be repressed. Cervantes realized that simple comicity was no longer enough in an age of institutionalized

madness where knights errant were ineffectual and fools had taken their place. In Don Quixote madness (humor) leads to literary autonomy (the modern novel). Don Quixote looks within to literature and without to society—one in which only the "mad" can be happy. Through the metaphor of madness Cervantes incorporates marginality, authenticity, and the transgression of conventions into life and literature. He is transgressing societal norms by suggesting that self-imposed madness is the only valid response to the institutionalized madness of society; at the same time his new "novel" transgresses current literary norms. Cervantes is proposing a kind of literature that, throwing off the mantle of a depleted generic past, becomes autonomous and authentic, transgressing the inherited norms of his age.

The way our author goes about his task is by making unprecedented use of paradox. As said before, Erasmus is Cervantes's most likely influence in his choice of this mode of expression. Nevertheless, Cervantes develops and takes it to the literary limit. Like the Moria, Don Quixote is a rhetorical paradox; but unlike Erasmus's opuscule, the Quixote is also a novelistic paradox. Rosalie L. Colie has pointed out that all paradoxes are self-critical. Rhetorical and logical paradoxes criticize the limitations and rigidity of argumentation and logic; epistemological paradoxes call into question the processes of human thought.^[40]Don Quixote is a rhetorical paradox in that it defends the indefensible—madness. Don Quixote's madness, his obsession, is what makes him ultimately human, and appealing. It provides him freedom and a life worth living. Because it praises the unpraisable, the novel can be placed alongside the Moria on the shelf of adoxographic literature. However, Don Quixote is also a novelistic paradox in that it criticizes the limitations and rigidity of the romances of chivalry. It questions the validity of the genre by placing it into a new "reality." Within this new context the old romance flounders and, paradoxically, the best chivalric romance ever written emerges. Cervantes's book overflows the bounds of generic limitations and in so doing creates something totally new—the modern novel.

Colie adds: "The paradox is always somehow involved in dialectic: challenging some orthodoxy, the paradox is an oblique criticism of absolute judgment or absolute convention."^[41] This

is precisely the ultimate goal of Cervantine paradox, both in his novel and in all his burlesque sonnets. He is questioning received opinion, calling all dogmatic "truth" into question, and putting literary conventions to the test. For him paradox is much more than mere "linguistic acrobatics" or "intellectual play."^[42] Cervantine paradox is more than a simple rhetorical exercise in epideixis; instead it questions the very nature of life, literature, and reality. It is the foundation upon which he builds most of his literature. By pointing out the equivocal nature of life and of human judgment, his lesson warns against dogmatism in all forms—whether religious, social, or literary. In a world of shifting realities it is best to practice tolerance and not impose one's criterion upon others.

Through ironical paradox, Cervantes protects the dissident who lives and breathes within him. As Jean-Claude Margolin has said of paradox: "Il porte en lui le ferment révolutionnaire qui favorise l'éveil du doute, les mises en question, l'esprit de reforme [It carries with it the revolutionary ferment that favors the awakening of doubt, of questioning, of the spirit of reform]."^[43] In an age where open revolution on any level was out of the question, Cervantes finds irony and paradox the perfect vehicles to express his nonconformity with contemporary literary and social reality. They are the basic building blocks of his humor, which itself represents another way of perceiving the world. By embracing folly, Cervantine humor recognizes and welcomes the authentic human experience into literature.

4—
Cervantes's Burlesque Sonnets Independent of Don Quixote

Pre-Burlesque Sonnets

Cervantine humor has been characterized here as the admission of a new dimension of authentic human experience into literature through the embracing of human folly. Spain's greatest observer of human nature was capable of pointing out our inevitable vices, but always with an indulgent eye. Rather than distancing himself to observe and comment upon our foibles from a critically superior distance, Cervantes followed the less thorny path of burlesque. By availing himself of gentle mockery and above all irony, Cervantes drew a humorous rather than a negatively satirical picture of his age.

Cervantes's earliest burlesque sonnets independent of other (prose) works date from the last decades of the sixteenth century. First among these is a poem composed to accompany a now extremely rare medical treatise. The sonnet (Appendix 32) can be considered the great humorist's first leanings toward the burlesque. The encomium accompanied Cervantes's friend Dr. Francisco Díaz's 1588 Tratado nuevamente impresso, de todas las enfermedades de los Riñones, Vexiga, y Carnosidades de la verga, y Vrina, dividido en tres libros .

Francisco Díaz was the same distinguished royal surgeon graduated in medicine from the University of Alcalá who had been praised by Cervantes in the "Canto de Calíope." There the beautiful nymph says of him:

De ti, el doctor Francisco Díaz, puedo
asegurar a estos mis pastores
que con seguro corazón y ledo,
pueden aventajarse en tus loores.

Y si en ellos yo agora corta quedo,
debiéndose a tu ingenio los mayores,
es porque el tiempo es breve, y no me atrevo
a poderte pagar lo que te debo.^[1]

[Doctor Francisco Díaz, I can assure
these shepherds of mine
that, with sure and merry heart,
they may excel in your praises.
And if I now fall short
of the great tributes your genius merits,
it is because time is brief, and I fear
I shall not be able to pay you your due.]

Apparently Cervantes took the opportunity to extend his praises in the later sonnet, but not in an entirely serious manner. On the surface the poem appears to be a rather standard encomium appropriate for the medical volumes it accompanies. However, upon closer examination it becomes apparent that the sonnet is actually on the threshold of the burlesque.

In it Cervantes gently pokes fun at both the book and Francisco Díaz's occupation. The first stanza slyly suggests that the doctor converts his many patients' kidney stones into gold.^[2] The idea is continued in the second stanza, where Cervantes speaks of the "ricas venas" of his science. In other words, Díaz's science, his medical practice, is a gold mine. In the first tercet Cervantes insists upon the piedra metaphor, saying that the stones the doctor removes are so numerous that a statue could be built with them.

Although the sonnet could perhaps be considered a satirical comment on the gold-digging medical profession, its tone belies any true satirical intent. There is no bitterness in the poem, only the suggestion of lighthearted leg-pulling of this famous physician and his profession. Because of their early date, these verses mark Cervantes's entrance into the burlesque sonnet tradition. The ambiguous mocking that appears here in a somewhat rudimentary form will be fully exploited in his subsequent burlesque sonnets.

The same subtle irony that characterizes the Francisco Díaz encomium can be appreciated in Cervantes's sonnet praising

Lope de Vega (Appendix 33). The poem appeared among the laudatory verses preceding the second edition (1602) of Lope's Dragontea . Although the sonnet accompanies an epic poem expressing Spain's joy at the death of Sir Francis Drake, Cervantes makes no allusion whatsoever to the historically significant event. Instead he concentrates on lauding Lope's skill as a poet. Playing on the name "Vega" and its meaning of a fertile lowland, the author explains how Lope has been blessed by the various gods. Apollo bathes this plain with Helicon's waters, Jupiter cultivates it, and the Muses make it their Parnassus. However, when we arrive to "honest" Venus, we find that she increases and nurtures the "santa multitud de los amores" within it.

Cervantes is obviously alluding mischievously to Lope's many love affairs. However, the tone and the discretion exercised in this sonnet differ markedly from the much more severe and far less veiled barbs that will characterize his later criticisms of Lope's art and life-style. Here the ambiguity he employs offers the suggestion of mocking irony, but it lacks the bitterness of his later sonetadas . Also absent from this sonnet is the literary criticism of Lope which is such a fundamental part of Cervantes's later works, especially Don Quixote . In this poem Cervantes concedes that Lope has been bathed by the waters of Helicon. This is spoken in a manner that differs tremendously from his treatment of Lope in the Viaje del Parnaso . In that 1614 satire Lope enters the ship of poets bound for Parnassus in a most irregular manner: he drops down out of a cloud to usurp a place aboard ship.

The difference between this preburlesque sonnet and Cervantes's later allusions to Lope is doubtless a result of the growing personal animosity that will characterize their relationship. Although this verse is included among the preliminaries to the Dragontea, it most likely dates from much earlier. Lope's epic poem was first published in 1598; Cervantes's sonnet could easily have been written then and not included for any number of reasons. It could also have been written prior to 1598, before the poets knew each other personally. An earlier date is especially convincing when we compare the sonnet to the scathing sonetadas written against Lope when he traveled to Seville in

1602. These were composed by the Academia de Ochoa, a group of young Sevillian poets to which Cervantes has been definitively linked.^[3]

Obviously Cervantes's and Lope's relationship had deteriorated a great deal between the date of composition of this sonnet and its publication, and especially between the time of its writing and that of the verses surrounding Part One of Don Quixote . This poem is characterized by highly ambiguous and cautious irony, even in the final tercet in which Cervantes points to Lope's prolificacy. It is doubtful that Cervantes ever truly felt that Lope's poetry was "[de] gusto y general provecho" (Horace's dulce et utile ). In his later works he will attack Lope with open sarcasm for his vulgarization of the poetic art, especially with regard to the comedia nueva . In this sonnet, however, he simply casts a fleeting shadow of doubt over the fruits of Lope's pen. The uselessness of so many angels, arms, saints, and shepherds is lightly called into question in such an ambiguous way that Cervantes cannot be accused of direct insult.

The sonnets to Francisco Díaz and Lope de Vega can best be designated preburlesque. They anticipate the burlesque sonnets that Cervantes will continue to compose, but differ from them in style and tone. Because they are written upon request, they contain the obligatory, hyperbolic praise that characterizes such verse. However, when we compare them with Cervantes's earlier sonnets, for example, those written on the deaths of Isabel de Valois (1568) and Herrera (1597?), we find our author gradually breaking the mold of this suffocating genre. He especially cannot take these encomiums seriously when they are written for such irresistibly amusing recipients. Therefore, slowly but surely, Cervantes introduces burlesque elements into the verses. The irony and double entendres present in embrionic form in these poems gradually increase to produce fully developed burlesque sonnets overflowing with humor and intellectual depth.

Ecclesiastical, Social, and Political Satire

In his fully mature burlesque sonnets, Cervantes breaks from the majority of his Italian and Spanish predecessors to develop

the new thread of humor seen gradually emerging in his two preburlesque sonnets. His remaining burlesque sonnets independent of Don Quixote provide models for the genre. With them Cervantes claims his rightful place as the first master of the tradition in Golden Age poetry.

These poems are skillful combinations of burlesque and satire. "A un ermitaño" (Appendix 34), "A un valentón metido a pordiosero" (Appendix 35), "A la entrada del Duque de Medina en Cádiz" (Appendix 36), and "Al túmulo de Felipe II en Sevilla" (Appendix 37) are satires in that they certainly censure common vices of the age. Nevertheless, they do so without the bitterness and causticity we commonly associate with much of later Golden Age satire.

Sonnets 34 and 35 (as well as Sonnet 37) have a certain picaresque tone that links them to the poesía germanesca that flourished in Spain at the end of the sixteenth century. Campuzano, the fencing master who later is metamorphosed into a hermit of questionable sincerity, and the soldier cum valentón are protagonists of poems that ironically point to the hypocrisy and obsession with appearances so prevalent in Spanish society at the time. Both practice dubious occupations. Far from being a noble, respected profession, that of fencing master was more closely associated with the underworld than with the court.^[4] Thus Campuzano makes use not only of a sword but also a dagger, an arm appropriate for braggarts and ruffians.^[5] And he uses his "art" to slice off noses rather than to serve the crown as a caballero .^[6] He is finally incapacitated by Montalvo "el de Sevilla" who halves our hero in a street fight. Montalvo is, of course, another Sevillian underworld tough.^[7] Campuzano then repents, trading in his sword and dagger for a hermit's staff, a rosary, and a bird snare. And alongside his dedicated sotaermitaño, he devotes his life to "ascetic" pursuits.

But Campuzano's reform is not to be taken seriously. His rosary is most likely of the cuenta gorda type, designed purely for show. The large-beaded rosary is emblematic for the hypocrisy of the ecclesiastic of little faith and dubious moral conduct.^[8] Rather than dedicating his remaining years to the ascetic life, Campuzano has moved into a love nest replete with eager partner. Cervantes makes this evident through the use of very thinly veiled erotic euphemisms.

The author first tells us that Campuzano has retired to an ermita, a secluded retreat where one enjoys the contemplative life alone. However, it should be kept in mind that ermita was also a euphemism at the time for the prostitute's shop.^[9] This underground meaning of hermitage is in accordance with the type of companion Campuzano chooses—his Madalena. Magdalena, of course, refers to the fallen woman repentant for her sins. However, this magdalen is hardly repentant as she dedicates herself to rejuvenating her latest lover.

The eroticism of the sonnet is reinforced by another possession Campuzano makes use of in his new life: a ballesta de matar pardales . This instrument is a snare used for capturing small birds. Nevertheless it has an additional, less honest meaning as a metaphor for the male genitals. Hence the popular, anonymous villancico that reads:

Andome en la villa,
fiestas principales,
con mi ballestilla
de matar pardales.
Unos de bailar
gustan aquel día,
yo de disparar
la ballesta mía;
otros la cuadrilla
buscan de zagales,
yo mi ballestilla
de matar pardales.
Echándoles cebos,
bajan a las puertas
pajaritos nuevos,
las alas abiertas;
y así por la villa
me ando días tales
con mi ballestilla
de matar pardales.^[10]

[I roam the village
on special holidays,
with my little snare
for shooting sparrows.
Some on those days

enjoy a dance,
I prefer to shoot
my little snare;
others the band
of shepherd lads seek,
but I my little snare
for shooting sparrows.
Lured by my bait,
new little birds
will come out of doors,
with wings spread wide;
and so through the village
I roam these days
with my little snare for shooting sparrows.]

Thus Campuzano becomes a Saint Hilary, an ascetic who, unlike his namesake—a sixth-century Tuscan abbot who lived in isolation beside the river Ronco where he dedicated his life to prayer and manual work—leads a life conspicuously free of self-denial and religiosity. Cervantes's final verse ("¡Ved cómo nacen bienes de los males!") is the final irony summarizing this ruffian's apocryphal conversion to the religious life.

The fact that Campuzano chooses to become a hermit, and his less than sacrosanct behavior, place this sonnet within the antiecclesiastical satirical tradition prevalent in Spain since the Middle Ages. At the same time, the false hermit is a profoundly Erasmian theme.^[11] Cervantes would treat hermits in an equally ironical way in the second part of his great novel. There Don Quixote comments that:

no son los que agora se usan como aquellos de los desiertos de Egipto, que se vestían de hojas de palma y comían raíces de la tierra. Y no se entienda que por decir bien de aquéllos no lo digo de aquéstos, sino que quiero decir que al rigor y estrecheza de entonces no Ilegan las penitencias de los de agora; pero no por esto dejan de ser todos buenos: a lo menos, yo por buenos los juzgo; y cuando todo corra turbio, menos mal hace el hipócrita que se finge bueno que el público pecador. (II: 24)

[Those we see nowadays are not like the hermits in the Egyptian deserts who wore palm leaves and lived on the roots of the earth.

But do not think that by praising them I am disparaging the others. What I mean is that the penances of present-day hermits do not equal the asceticism and austerity of former times. Yet it does not follow that they are not all worthy men, and such I believe them to be. At the worst, the hypocrite who pretends to be good does less harm than the shameless sinner.]

His final words take the sting out of the satire. The hypocrite is, after all, less evil than the public sinner.

The theme of hypocrisy, or more concretely of appearances, resurfaces in the sonnet "A un valentón metido a pordiosero" (Appendix 35). The poem is clearly within the poesía germanesca tradition, and yet it also is very different from the sonnets found in available texts. Cervantes's sonnet is better constructed, it reveals the true cowardly nature of the valentón in an ingenious way, and it contains the typically understated Cervantine wit that is conspicuously absent from the characteristically rather vulgar soneto germanesco . In addition, Cervantes's estrambote skillfully finishes off the poem on a humorous twist.

The sonnet forms a brief, highly visual, and carefully structured narrative, a quality present in all Cervantes's independent sonnets. It probably corresponds to scenes the author observed in daily life among the lower strata of Seville and Madrid. Here Cervantes equates the office of soldier to that of a roguish street tough who bullies passers by into giving him money. Because the ex-soldier has become a common atracador, it is easy to detect in the sonnet a criticism of the neglect to which such men were often subjected upon returning from battle.^[12] Cervantes himself suffered from such a lack of support after his return to Spain from captivity, when he was forced to fulfill somewhat menial governmental positions for which he was notoriously ill suited. Be that as it may, however, the inherent criticism is a shadow that soon passes over the poem. The real object of the sonnet's satire is, of course, the figure of the valentón .

This person is pure and superficial arrogance. His sword (although only marginally a sword as Cervantes refers to it as an espátula ), wide trousers, and bushy moustache all attest to his virility. His words threaten menacingly. But of course this vulgar braggart is revealed to be a despicable coward who is easily

frightened off by the first person to stand his ground. His cowardice is gradually exposed through a brilliant process of linguistic ridicule. First is the description: a "valentón de espátula y gregüesco." The extreme contrast between the comically vulgar augmentative suffix -ón, placed immediately alongside the learned diminutive -ula, creates an effect of carnivalesque disproportion.^[13] The tough carries not an espada but an espátula . The noble sword has suffered a linguistic deformation on two levels: espátula is not only a diminutive of the word espada, but is also an implement used by boticarios and painters in mixing their medicines or colors. In Cervantes's time pharmacists had a terrible reputation for adulterating medicines or preparing them badly. They were known as the doctors' righthand men in poisoning their patients. Quevedo includes a satirical allusion to them in his otherwise religious sonnet "Llegó a los pies de Cristo Magdalena:" "Y pues aqueste ejemplo veis presente, / ¡Albricias, boticarios desdichados, / Que hoy da la gloria Cristo por ungüente! [And since you see this example before you, / Congratulations, oh wretched pharmacists, / Today Christ offers perpetual glory for a salve!]."^[14] And in his burlesque ballad "En la pedregosa orilla," Góngora describes a portrait of the shepherdess Teresona: "que en un pedazo de anjeo, / no sin primor ni trabajo, / con una espátula vieja / se lo pintó un boticario [that a pharmacist painted for her / on a piece of burlap / not without skill or craft / with an old spatula]."^[15] This subtle reference by association to boticarios is, therefore, a highly negative nuance.

The espátula is also a cooking implement. This approaches a type of comicity involving popular, festive imagery exploited to great success by Rabelais: kitchen humor. The burlesque inversion of the foil into a mundane kitchen tool will be made use of by Quevedo in his Buscón . In that novel the crazy fencing master asks the innkeeper for a pair of asadores to demonstrate his skills to Pablos. The picaroon relates that: "los asadores estaban ocupados, y hubimos de tomar dos cucharones. . . . No llegaba hasta mí desde una legua, y andaba alrededor con el cucharón; y como yo me estaba quedo, parecían tretas contra olla que se sale [the spits were being used, so we had to grab two ladles. . . . He circled around me with the ladle, coming no

closer than a league's distance, and since I stood still it looked like a trick to catch an overflowing saucepan]."^[16] The same linguistic procedure is followed in both texts whereby the most prosaic of objects (a spatula and a ladle) are used to burlesque the fencing "art." The lexicon itself transports the texts to the most unpoetic, pedestrian, and consequently debasing imagery; therein lies their comicity.

Next, we find that the ruffian wears gregüescos . The word comes from the Greek, hence Góngora's scatological letrilla : "Aunque entiendo poco griego, / en mis gregüescos he hallado / ciertos versos de Museo / ni muy duros ni muy blandos [Although I understand little Greek / in my breeches I have found / certain verses of Musaeus / neither very soft nor very firm]."^[17] The vogue of these wide, baggy, short breeches was adopted from Germany, as was much Spanish male attire during the sixteenth century. A typical military garment, they were also de rigueur as courtly male apparel.^[18] This fashion soon became exaggeratedly stylized and bulky, differing somewhat from the slightly more discreet calzones .^[19]

Despite the legitimacy of these trousers as an accepted article of clothing, the word itself sounds definitely harsh and somewhat ridiculous to Spanish ears. Indeed, it is markedly unpoetic. Cervantes puts this fact to good advantage by establishing a burlesque rhyme scheme in -esco . In and of itself this -esco suffix (indicating an accessorial or possessive relationship) is ill-sounding and usually pejorative (pendantesco, rufianesco, grotesco ).

These phonetic connotations both contaminate and, in turn, are reinforced in their negativity by the word picaresco . The paronomasia "oficio de la pica" and "ejercicio picaresco," besides establishing internal rhyme, provides wordplay that acts to subtly undermine any officiality that might possibly be contained in the valentón 's old profession. Oficio de la pica is, in fact, a derogatory term for soldiering, which is equated here with the picaresque life. In terms of style, this first quatrain could not be more accomplished with its internal rhyme, paronomasia, and the contrast between "muerte" and "vidas."

The second quatrain continues the -esco rhyme with another ridiculous image: the "mostacho soldadesco." At the time the bushy mustache was a primary external symbol of male virility,

pride, and courage. It was also emblematic of the valentón .^[20] And to torcer el mostacho was a menacing gesture.^[21] Because of this culto al bigote, any reference to a man's mustache could be interpreted as ironically calling into doubt his masculinity. Therefore, in the poem the mention of the "mostacho soldadesco" subtly anticipates the valentón 's true cowardly nature soon to be revealed. At the same time and at the level of language, the Gallicism mostacho provides an additional element of mockery. The term connotes great size and hirsuteness, and as a consequence exaggerated male pretense and vanity. The suffix -acho also generally carries a pejorative nuance. These negative connotations would be absent from the more modest and discreet-sounding bigote .

The final component of the -esco rhyme system is "refresco." The word is harmless in itself. But it is precisely because of its absolute innocuousness that it is so comical. At the time refresco was a somewhat vague or general term indicating food or drink; what is at times called in contemporary Spanish a refrigerio . Therefore, instead of demanding money, or simply taking it as a true thief would, this menacing valentón who has all the outward symbols of aggressive manhood simply demands an insignificant offering, a sort of tip. He is really asking for what amounts to a trifle in order to buy himself a drink.^[22] The fact that he "begs" in essence for a drink further reveals his ruffianish nature seeing that drunkenness is symptomatic of the cowardly braggart who drowns his quarrels in wine.^[23]

The way in which the valentón-pordiosero asks for his "limosna" is perfectly in accordance with the Golden Age stereotype of Spaniards, especially Castilians. The infamous Spanish arrogance encompassed even beggars. As the pícara Justina says, "El pobre sobre todas las haciendas tiene juros, y aun el espafiol tiene votos, porque siempre el pobre español pide jurando y votando [Poor men hold all property rights for perpetuity, and Spaniards even have the vote, because poor Spaniards always beg with oaths and vows]."^[24] Another pícaro, this one male, shares Justina's opinion:

Por cuanto las naciones todas tienen su método de pedir . . . los castellanos con fieros, haciéndose malquistos, respondones y malsu-

fridos; a éstos mandamos que se reporten y no blasfemen y a los más que guarden la orden.^[25]

[All nations have their own way of begging . . . Castilians do it with threats, becoming impudent, impatient, and consequently despised; we tell these men to curb themselves and not blaspheme, and the rest to be orderly.]

This valentón fits the description perfectly. He is presumptuous and vain (thus he twists his mustache in a gesture of arrogant show), as well as a blasphemer with his vulgar apostrophe "por ocho santos." He is, in fact, a petty miles gloriosus now reduced to begging.

Beside the mundane and ridiculous lexicon already discussed (espítula, gregüesco, refresco ), the sonnet utilizes several terms extracted from germanesca: valentón, tiracantos, and bravonel .^[26] From the first word the poem is constructed using a lexicon and register appropriate to the underworld. A valentón is an arrogant coward who can be called by a variety of similar terms such as fanfarrón and bravonel . All three are distinctly derogatory because they imply a cowardly nature that the subject attempts to obscure through vain braggadocio. In effect, Covarrubias defines the fanfarrón as "El que está echando bravatas y se precia de valiente, hablando con arrogancia y jactancia, siendo un lebrón y gallina; porque los hombres valientes de ordinario son muy callados y corteses [The one who utters threats and boasts arrogantly of his valor when he is actually a coward and a chicken, because brave men are usually very quiet and courteous]." This definition fits the other three terms equally as well.

The term tiracantos, also common in this type of slang, is generally used as an insult against despicable and unimportant men.^[27] Thus the wealthy gentleman sees through the foolish and presumptuous beggar. As opposed to the latter's ridiculously ineffectual threat "por ocho santos," the caballero puts hand to sword to challenge the cowardly valentón . He insults the pordiosero to his face, leaving him to scuttle away in disgrace. The poem also utilizes to perfection vulgarisms such as voacedes (discussed in the following section of this chapter) and the oath por ocho santos . This curse is a diluted and meaningless expletive in the line of voto a tal . The numerical limitation of "ocho" is

ridiculous. Why eight, for example, and not eight hundred saints?

The comicity of this poem lies in Cervantes's adept use of language to draw a colorful portrait of a figure common to contemporary life—the fanfarrón . At the same time he chooses humor rather than negative satire. The poem is, indeed, a burla, a mockery of the superficial vanity and arrogance of this foolish and cowardly boaster. And by association Cervantes successfully deflates the menacing but empty posturing of the underworld hampones .

The picaresque world would be analyzed and novelized later by Mateo Alemán, Quevedo, and Cervantes himself. In this sonnet Cervantes places the valentón in the same humorous light that will illuminate the underworld of picaroons and ruffians that forms the background of many of his prose works. Cervantes treats this rogue with the same comic mockery that he will Monipodio's gang, Berganza, Ginés de Pasamonte, and Diego Carriazo. Rather than denounce and in so doing confirm the evils of this marginal segment of society in the severely embittered tone of a Guzmán de Alfarache or a Buscón, Cervantes subverts and thus blunts it through his adroit manipulation of burla . Because the poem's perfectly controlled structure gradually and humorously unmasks the valentón as a ridiculous and insignificant coward, we are left with a smile on our lips rather than the bitter taste in our mouths generally produced by the picaresque novel.

"A la entrada del Duque de Medina en Cádiz" (Appendix 36) is the most accomplished among a group of sonnets that satirize one of the darker moments in the history of Philip II's twilight reign.^[28] Only eight years after the shameful defeat of the Armada, the English admiral Lord Charles Howard Effingham again challenged Spain's navy. On July 1, 1596 Howard led the 150-vessel English fleet in an attack upon the port of Cádiz.^[29] The English entered the harbor, overwhelmed the smaller home fleet, and swiftly drove the Spanish back into the city. Fifteen thousand English soldiers under the command of the Count of Essex completely sacked Cádiz. They took everything of value, even the iron gratings decorating the houses, and held many hostages for ransom while sparing the lives of the

other residents. The invaders remained unchallenged in the city for over two weeks before leisurely setting sail once again for England.^[30]

And how was Spain's archenemy able to launch a second successful attack on Cádiz? The English fleet had been sighted off Lagos as early as June 25 and the coastal cities subsequently alerted. Immediate responsibility for the protection of the coast lay in the hands of Alonso Pérez de Guzmán, Duke of Medina Sidonia and Captain General of the Province and Coasts of Andalusia.^[31] The Duke was at home in Conil when news of the imminent attack arrived.^[32] He did gather troops and lead them to Puerto Real, but instead of coming to the defense of Cádiz, he hung back and observed the destruction of the city from a prudent distance. Abreu ironically rationalizes the captain's cowardice, saying:

El no entrar el Duque en Cádiz antes que el enemigo la entrara fué debajo de algunas justas consideraciones, porque siendo, como era, capitán general, no convenía poner su persona en estrecho donde no pudiese ordenar ni reparar otros mayores daños que pudieran suceder, además de que S.M. le había mandado en la ocasión pasada, cuando vino el Drak, que no pusiese su persona en peligro, pues importaba más su conservación que el daño que el enemigo podía hacer.^[33]

[After careful consideration the Duke did not enter Cádiz because, since he was Captain General, it was not advisable to put his person into a position where he could neither command nor remedy other greater damages that might occur. Besides, on the previous occasion when Drake attacked, His Majesty ordered him not to put his person in danger because his survival was more important than the damage the enemy might cause.]

The Duke finally entered Cádiz ten days later, when all danger was past, the dead had been removed and burned, and the streets cleaned.^[34]

Another incident took place in Seville that would also be amusing were it not for the tragic outcome of the sack of Cádiz. After the attack on the port, the threat loomed that the enemy would continue on to Seville. Therefore, when the news arrived there on July 1, the Conde de Priego, Chief Officer of Justice,

mobilized the city to come to the aid of Cádiz and to defend Seville.^[35] However, as the local historian Francisco de Arifio reported, in the entire city "no se halló arcabuz, ni mecha, ni pólvora, ni espadas, ni armas ningunas," until finally 400 harquebuses were found "llenos de moho, que no eran de provecho [there were no harquebuses, fuses, gunpowder, swords, or any other arms to be found until 400 rusty, useless harquebuses were finally discovered]."^[36]

In spite of everything Seville launched itself, at least apparently, into the defense efforts. Priego even released prisoners from the city jail to join the "troops"—a twenty-four-company militia from Seville and the surrounding towns. The captains of each company began to train their men, marching them up and down and holding war games in the surrounding countryside. Unfortunately, so zealous were the captains that they used up all the available gunpowder in these exercises.^[37] And in the meantime Cádiz was being sacked and burned. This miscreant Sevillian militia has been succinctly described as formed mainly of young, restless, and disorderly adventurers. Such soldiers must have scared off the city's inhabitants more than the enemy, who in the meantime was sacking Cádiz at will.^[38]

This, then, is the background of Cervantes's sonnet. The poem is full of ironic allusions to the events in Cádiz and Seville. He starts by establishing an initial correspondence between the militia and Sevillian Holy Week ceremonies. The cofradías are the companies of soldiers parading up and down displaying their plumed hats but never managing to actually enter into combat with the enemy. The plumes symbolize both their ridiculous ostentation and their impotence—the soldiers dressed the part but had no arms.^[39] The nature of these soldiers is revealed by the fact that the townspeople, not the enemy (who never even saw them), were frightened off. Instead of professional soldiers, they were the dregs of Seville. This must have deeply offended Cervantes, who had battled among true fighters, and under the command of an energetic leader, at Lepanto. These vulgar and unsavory tin soldiers, all bluff and bluster, were an insult to the memory of Don Juan de Austria and a more illustrious Spain.

Sure enough, the sonnet continues, the ostentation is for

nought and after two weeks the whole edificio falls apart at the seams. The word edificio is used here more in the sense of an extravagant stunt or operation than of an edifice.^[40] It is reminiscent of another word Cervantes will adopt in a satirical manner in his sonnet to Philip II's tomb: máquina . The idea is of a similar apparatus (in this case military) created with much fanfare and exhibition but which proves to be constructed on (hot) air and devoid of any true meaning. The would-be army was as impotent as their plumes flying upon the wind.

The first tercet is a patent allusion to one of the protagonists of the Sevillian fracas. The bellowing bull is a certain Marco Antonio Becerra, one of the more vociferous captains of the newly formed militia. The description befits the brutish man whose orders would echo through the streets of Seville, deafening the populace, as he lined up his men. Cervantes is censuring the same fanfarronería incarnated by the "valentón metido a pordiosero." It is a vice that must have especially infuriated our poet as he will return to it in yet another sonnet ("Al túmulo de Felipe II") and in many of his prose works. In this poem Becerra is depicted as another Andalusian valentón who has unfortunately been legitimized by a veneer of authority. The earth did, indeed, shake, with the menace of him and his fearsome warrors.^[41] However, when the great Duke finally enters Cádiz, once the Count of Essex is safely out of sight, the intimidation and swagger of the Sevillian militia is reduced to a whimper. With his composure intact ("mesura harta") Medina "triumphantly" enters the defeated, humiliated, and ruined city.

From the point of view of language and style, this poem is intriguing in the way in which it throws together the most disparate objects: Semana Santa, cofradías, compañías, vulgo, inglés, plumas, pigmeos, Golias, edificio, and becerro . When viewed together in series, the incongruity of these lexical elements becomes apparent. The list, and in a certain way the sonnet constructed around these elements, apparently do not make sense. Because of this the sonnet harks back somewhat to the fifteenth-century Italian nonsense poetry known as Burchiellesque verse. But as opposed to that earlier poetry, Cervantes's verse is neither grotesque nor meaningless. He also has more recent and familiar sources of inspiration in creating his neo-

nonsense verse: the fifteenth-century Spanish poesía sin sentido, which culminates in the disparates of Juan del Encina.^[42]

Closely related to the medieval French fatrasie and the Italian frottola, the disparate consists fundamentally of the chaotic stringing together of impossibilia .^[43] In this verse strange animals and absurd objects are juxtaposed, temporal and spatial relationships are violated, illogical comparisons and contrasts are made, vaguely scatological or erotic nuances are suggested. The disparate is, in fact, a form of linguistic madness designed to reflect the madness of a world in chaos.

No technique could better serve as a source of inspiration in Cervantes's presentation of the ludicrous, upside-down world of Cádiz. Most of the characteristic techniques of the disparate are present to a degree in Cervantes's sonnet. Line one begins with the type of temporal distortion exploited to great effect by Juan del Encina. This poet initiates his "disparates trobados" with the lines "Anoche de madrugada, / ya después de mediodía [Last night in the early morning hours/just after midday]."^[44] Cervantes's beginning ("Vimos en julio otra semana santa") employs a similar violation of "normal" time by displacing Holy Week into July.^[45] However, rather than doing so simply to subvert meaning in the poem, his manipulation of time serves to establish the sonnet's basic allegory: the efforts of Becerra and Medina are but ritualistic spectacle designed to dazzle the masses and mask their own inadequacies. At the same time Cervantes is calling attention to the vain display of luxury which was virtually synonymous with the Semana Santa festivities.

The allusions to Holy Week continue with the next items on the poet's chaotic list: cofradías and compañías . In Seville, of all places, the first term has quite special connotations. It maliciously conjures up images of the great Sevillian enthusiasm for Holy Week processions—perhaps the only thing that the city traditionally carried off to perfection. While the object of great pomp and show, the Holy Week brotherhoods and their processions were in reality little more than a naive and inoffensive form of popular entertainment. Although the word links the Holy Week image to the soldiers through the idea of exaggerated fanfare, it is more than a simple metaphor for the militias.

Cofradía has meaning on another lexical level: that of germanía . One acceptation is that of a brotherhood of thieves.^[46] Hence in Rinconete y Cortadillo Monipodio's gang is continually referred to as a cofradía .^[47] But within this linguistic world, the term has an even more specific meaning; it refers to certain brotherhoods of prisoners formed inside the city jails. Whenever a prisoner was to be hanged, the members would march in a procession to the infirmary or death row, carrying candles and chanting prayers.^[48]

Furthermore, when we read down we find that Becerra "púsolos (los soldados) en sarta." In other words, he lined them up military fashion—en fila . The semantic difference between sarta and fila is subtle but significant; it is the difference between stringing and lining up. Objects, not people, are usually strung (ensartados ): pearls or even garlic spring to mind. We approach culinary humor again and another incongruous element is evoked that considerably lowers the poem's linguistic register while heaping ridicule upon the wretched compañías .

Thus the lexical circle is complete. Cofradías is used on four linguistic levels: ecclesiastical terminology; military terminology; prosaic, perhaps even kitchen vocabulary; and underworld slang. The cofradías are first linked to Holy Week festivities on the surface level. Next they are linked to the military through their metaphoric relationship with compañías . In addition they are dehumanized through the subtle insinuations contained in the "poner en sarta" expression. And finally, they are related to the underworld on the level of slang, which, in turn, reverts back to the ecclesiastical term originally borrowed. The brotherhoods that march through the streets accompanying the sacred images during Holy Week are paralleled in a supreme act of blasphemy by the prisoners who accompany their colleague to the gallows. Through the use of the polysemous term cofradías, the two worlds are juxtaposed and inverted. In this way what originally appears as a slightly absurd series of nouns is revealed to be neither incongruous nor meaningless. The terms are, in fact, part of a solid and multilayered linguistic structure.

In only the first three verses of his sonnet, Cervantes has tapped several linguistic levels. Starting with line four, he delves into yet another lexical area. This provides an underground sys-

tem of connotation that, in turn, permits a somewhat different reading of the sonnet. On this level more sordid aspects of the Duke and the Sevillian militiamen's behavior are revealed, or at least hinted at.

If this embedded lexical level is not as immediately accessible to the reader, it is no less significant. In fact, words such as atestada, vulgo, plumas, volaron, and triunfando entró all have secondary erotic connotations that are not difficult to decipher. The words pluma, and especially volar, can be euphemisms for fornication.^[49]Pluma has historically been a euphemism for pene and still retains that meaning today.^[50] But more relative to our text is the fact that the word can also signify a prostitute, especially in Andalusia.^[51] In addition, feathers are associated with procuresses through the traditional public punishment they would receive for their crimes. The alcahueta would be emplumada : smeared with honey and then feathered. The word vulgo also has a secondary meaning of mancebía . In La Lozana andaluza, Sagüeso uses the term in this acceptation when he says to Lozana: "Mas ya me parece que la señora Celidonia os sobrepuja casi en el todo, porque en el vulgo no hay casa tan frecuentada como la suya [But it seems to me that Celidonia surpasses you in everything, because no brothel in the district is frequented as much as hers]."^[52]

An additional lexical item, becerro, has a euphemistic connotation different from that of a yearling bull. Its diminutive is, of course, becerrillo . At this point we begin to see how the word takes on a different, collateral meaning that is in keeping with the poem's underlying erotic-burlesque semantic system. Becerillo or becerril (marido becerril ) is an expression meaning "cuckold."^[53] Hence the following verses from a Quevedo ballad: "casadas que, en la partida / del marido becerril, / a los partos y a los medos / cubren con el faldellín [wives who in the absence / of their horned husbands / conceal Parthians and Medians / beneath their petticoats]."^[54] In Cervantes's poem this interpretation of becerro as cuckold is especially compelling when coupled with the verb bramar . Such a husband would, indeed, be likely to register his fury in quite a vociferous way.

The question remaining is who is the marido becerril ? It could refer to Becerra, or perhaps even to Sevillian husbands possibly

betrayed at the hands of the ruffians-cum-soldiers. But this is unimportant; what is significant is the fact that Cervantes is alluding to a more insidious side of this entire incident. He is accusing Medina and the grotesquely disparate militiamen (all of them, big and small: "pigmeos y Golías") of spending their time fornicating with prostitutes when they should have been fighting the English in Cádiz^[55] —volaron, in this particular sense, instead of"flying" to help Cádiz. Seen from this angle, Medina's "triumphal entrance" takes on less decent, and even more ironic shadings.

Therefore, what appears in this poem to be a puzzling and rather senseless disparatario, is actually a logical, subtly rendered sketch of the madness of a tragic historical episode. The sonnet contains obvious reflections of the poesía sin sentido tradition: seeming impossibilia are strung together (plumas-becerro ), absurd juxtapositions or contrasts are made (vulgo-inglés, pigmeos-Golias ), temporal relationships are violated (julio-semana santa ), and eroticism lurks just below the surface. However, Cervantes, as always, selects from the tradition only what serves his purposes. Once again he has transformed the broad comicity of absurd incongruity into the humor of madness. Far from nonsense rhyme, our author's poetry overflows with meaning on several semantic levels. Yet at the same time the sensation of chaotic madness is created. This, of course, is the ultimate "meaning" of the poem.

It seems evident that the culprit in the episode satirized in this sonnet is Alonso Pérez de Guzmán, but is he really ultimately to blame? This ineffectual man had never distinguished himself militarily and knew he was inevitably destined to fail at any such task. As mentioned earlier, the Duke was dismayed at the thought of leading the Armada. Thus in his letter to Philip II he argues that:

no es justo que la acepte [la empresa] quien no tiene ninguna experiencia de mar ni de guerra, porque no la he visto ni tratado. Demás de esto, entrar yo tan nuevo en el Armada sin tener noticia de ella ni de las personas que son en ella y del designio que se lleva, ni de los avisos que se tienen de Inglaterra, ni de sus puertos, ni de la correspondencia que el Marqués [don Alvaro de Bazán] a esto tenía los años que ha que de esto se trata, sería ir muy a ciegas aun-

que tuviese mucha experiencia. . . . Y así entiendo que Su Majestad, por lo que es su grandeza, me hará merced, como humildemente se lo suplico, de no encargarme cosa de que ciertamente no he de dar buena cuenta, porque no lo sé ni lo entiendo.^[56]

[it is not just that a person accept the post who has no experience of the sea or of war, because he has neither seen nor dealt with them. Besides this, for me to join the Armada without knowledge of it, its personnel or its purpose, nor of the information we have of England or its ports, nor the correspondence that the Marquis of Bazán had during the years of its operation, would be to proceed blindly even if I had a great deal of experience. . . . And so I hope that Your Great Majesty will do me the mercy, as I humbly beg, of not charging me with a task that I will surely not perform well because I am neither familiar with it nor do I understand it.]

After quoting from this letter Francisco Ayala asks himself, as should we, whether this is the letter of a fool. To the contrary, he concludes, it reveals discretion, modesty, and an uncommon knowledge on the Duke's part of his own limitations. It is, in fact, the king's inflexible attitude in insisting that Guzmán take command of the Armada that is at fault.^[57]

Without a doubt, responsibility for the failure of the Armada as a military enterprise must rest on the shoulders of Philip II. The same person is ultimately responsible for the disaster of Cádiz. In spite of the fact that Medina had already more than proved his inadequacies as a military leader, he was expected to respond effectively to the new English threat. And while this inept man was entrusted with the defense of the coast, bureaucratic blundering in Madrid compounded the situation.

Abreu reports that when notification of the imminent attack on Cádiz was received at court, the delegation from that city was "despach[ado] con desprecio" (scornfully dismissed) and their report rejected as "zumbería" (a joke) by Philip II's favorite, Cristóbal de Mora.^[58] Medina would subsequently receive few instructions from the king. Vranich has pointed out that at this time all the power of the Spanish empire was concentrated in the crown. An immense bureaucracy had been created that could not move without royal order. At the same time the king was advanced in age and incapacitated by illness, and yet he refused to delegate authority for the affairs of state. This caused

such a breakdown in leadership that "dentro del seno de España se sentía lasitud y agotamiento, y todo languidecía en incuria, abandono [the country languished wearily in indifference and neglect]."^[59] Given the lack of arms, support, and guidance from the higher authorities, Cádiz bore the brunt of a colossal military and bureaucratic failure. And if Alonso de Guzmán were responsible for the abandonment of Cádiz, Philip II would have been responsible, at least in part, for the downfall of imperial Spain.

Cervantes and the other poets who satirized Medina and the shameful events at Cádiz could not openly criticize Philip II. Therefore, they chose to concentrate their efforts on the immediate and most visible scapegoat. The Duke was, indeed, ineffective and a totally unsuitable military leader; nevertheless, he was far less guilty than the person who placed him in such an office. The criticism beneath the surface of Cervantes's sonnet is directed toward the king who had reduced Spain from a world empire to a nation economically and spiritually bankrupt. He will criticize this monarch and the Spain he had produced once again in his sonnet to Philip II's tomb.

"Por Honra Principal De Mis Escritos"

The quotation is from chapter 4 of the Viaje del Parnaso, where Cervantes proudly states: "Yo el soneto compuse que así empieza, / por honra principal de mis escritos: / Voto a Dios, que me espanta esta grandeza [I composed for the principal honor of my writings / that sonnet which begins: / I swear to God, I'm astonished by this grandeur ]" (vv. 37–39). He refers to the sonnet "Al túmulo de Felipe II en Sevilla" (Appendix 37). In the sixteen years that separate the two works, Cervantes has been able to acknowledge the success of this, his most celebrated poem. It is, in fact, the best known and best loved of all his poetic compositions and the only one generally anthologized. And if there is any doubt regarding Cervantes's accomplishments as a poet, it is quickly dispelled by these memorable verses.

The poem's history is both comical and tragic; in a certain way it epitomizes an entire epoch in Spain's history. Upon Philip

II's death on September 13, 1598, the Cabildo (Town Council) of Seville ordered the city to prepare the greatest demonstration of mourning and exequies ever made.^[60] Funeral rites were to be celebrated, for which purpose a gigantic simulacrum of a tomb was constructed that filled the entire nave of the cathedral. The construction lasted fifty-two days; all the particulars are reported by Francisco Gerónimo Collado in his 1611 Descripción del Túmulo y relación de las exequias que hizo la ciudad de Sevilla en la muerte del rey don Felipe Segundo .^[61] Collado describes how the city was ordered to build a tomb with the greatest pomp and grandeur possible.^[62] The most accomplished architects (Juan de Oviedo), sculptors (Juan Martínez Montañés), and artists (Francisco Pacheco) of the time were commissioned to participate in the construction and decoration of the tomb.

At the same time general mourning was declared and all acts of public rejoicing such as dances and musical spectacles were strictly prohibited in Seville and in seventy surrounding villages. The Town Council ordered the purchase of 1,981 varas of double-baize cloth for the confection of mourning attire for 165 public officials. This is an astronomical amount by sixteenth-century standards—1,664 meters of fabric. It also produced a great scarcity of black baize, resulting in a tremendous price increase.^[63] This created great consternation among the poor, who could not afford the cloth. Many were imprisoned for not complying with the edict. The new king, Philip III, finally ordered that the mourning be relaxed somewhat and the prisoners were released.^[64]

The monument was as ostentatious as possible: three levels high and located in the nave between the cathedral's two choirs. It was designed to imitate the church of San Lorenzo el Real in El Escorial and to commemorate the life and glories of Philip II and his Spain. The catafalque was crowned by a dome topped with a globe. This, in turn, was grasped in the claws of a phoenix about to soar from its ashes. The mythical bird's head reached almost to the vault of the cathedral. The structure was decorated with a multitude of paintings (one of them celebrating the battle of Lepanto), statues, figures, inscriptions, altars, pyramids, globes, and almost 500 columns. The casket itself reclined

in the center of the second level of the monument. Resting on a scarlet cushion on top of the tomb was a gold crown studded with gems.

The funeral ceremonies began as planned in the cathedral. Unfortunately, in the middle of the November 27th requiem mass a disagreement arose between the Town Council, the Inquisition, and the Royal Tribunal because the Tribunal had placed a black cloth on the bench upon which the judges and their wives were sitting. The Cabildo sent a representative to speak to the Regent of the Tribunal, explaining that protocol specified that the benches be uncovered. But the Regent ignored the man, turned to his constables, and barked: "Tomad a este desvergonzado y llevadlo a la cárcel y echadlo de cabeza en un cepo [Carry this insolent fellow off to jail and throw him headfirst into the stocks]." When the representative tried to explain, one of the Tribunal judges bellowed out: "Hi de puta, sucio, desvergonzado, ¿vos habéis de hablar? [You dirty, insolent son of a bitch, you have something to say?]," and the representative was carried off to jail.

The mass was continued until the members of the Inquisition arrived, already incensed by the news of the black cloth. The Secretary of the Inquisition, a corpulent man by the name of Briceño, marched straight to the steps of the tomb in front of the Tribunal, ordered that the mass be stopped, and summarily excommunicated the entire Royal Tribunal. The Regent immediately ordered the arrest of Briceño, but the Secretary managed to escape. The Regent then ordered that the mass continue, but this was impossible while excommunicated persons were present in the church. This produced a tremendous standoff. The Tribunal refused to leave the cathedral, and the Inquisition refused to lift the edict of excommunication. The former threatened to arrest the members of the Town Council, and the latter threatened to excommunicate the priest officiating if the mass were continued. And thus they remained, seated and in silence, from the early morning until four o'clock that afternoon. Both parties finally abandoned the cathedral, and an appeal was sent to the crown to resolve the matter.

The ridiculous dispute was finally settled a month later. The Inquisition was ordered to pay the cost of the candle wax and

the Royal Tribunal was forbidden from using the black cloth. However, the affair meant that the monument remained in position during the entire month of December. Not only the residents of Seville but also thousands of visitors were able to view and admire the tomb, lured by the news of its magnificence and by the gossip surrounding the dispute. Sevillian poets could also enter and recite their respectful verses in praise of the tomb and of Philip II.^[65]

Cervantes resided in Seville at the time and was eagerly following the events in the cathedral. He would have seen the tomb and perhaps even witnessed the inauspicious posturing, the insults, and the demands that finally ended in nothing. The result of all this was, naturally, the sonnet "Al túmulo de Felipe II." There is a clear relationship between the protagonists of the disgraceful scene in the cathedral and the braggart and soldier in the sonnet, which also ends in nothing.

But the sonnet's appearance on the scene created another comical incident. Apparently Cervantes entered the cathedral on December 29 and recited his poem before various people. The episode was witnessed by the chronicler Ariño, who reports that "este dia estando yo en la Santa Iglesia entró un poeta fanfarron y dijo una otava sobre la grandeza del túmulo [while I was in church that day a bragging poet came in and recited an octave on the tomb's grandeur]."^[66] The sonnet has been reedited in several places, occasionally with slight and at times more important variants.^[67] Because Ariño calls Cervantes a fanfarrón, identifying him with the narrators of the poem, it seems our author conceived a poetic reality that imposed itself upon everyday reality. As always with Cervantes, the line dividing reality and fantasy is blurred.

The sonnet spread like wildfire, circulating across Spain in manuscript copies and broadsheets. One indication of its tremendous success is the fact that the last verse ("fuese, y no hubo nada") remains today as a kind of adage.^[68] The poem's great popularity also suggests an attitude toward Philip II that is difficult to reconcile with the "official" one, placing in doubt the true sentiments behind the exequies.

Both the language used by the protagonists as well as the images reveal the immense lie that the tomb represented, the false

sympathies that it inspired, and the hypocrisy of the society that created it. From verse one the soldier's vulgar apostrophes discredit the meaning of the funeral celebrations. He reduces the entire spectacle to a pecuniary value and in a language that exudes lack of respect for the supposedly religious monument in honor of the dead king. Instead of true religious sentiment the tomb provides flash for the masses and mere religious formulas. Formulas that in reality have been trodden to the ground by the petty envies and inflated egos of the persons who organized the supposedly solemn acts. In this way the soldier's bravado and almost sacrilegious expressions echo the altercation between the Inquisition, the Town Council, and the Royal Tribunal. This costly yet ersatz catafalque of questionable taste has replaced the sincere act of faith.

The poem is constructed around a series of demystifications. The first is the fact that the tomb is being "admired" not by the Sevillian elite, but by members of the lowest stratum of society: a soldier and a valentón .^[69] The narrators may be dazzled by the monument's superficial magnificence, but their words belie the integrity of both the structure and the sentiments behind its erection.

A key element in this process of demystification is the use of vulgar language. The ruffians' expressions of admiration are of the lowest possible linguistic register. First, the soldier employs crude oaths (voto a Dios, por Jesucristo ) rather than a euphemism (such as, for example, voto a tal ). This type of billingsgate has been analyzed by Mikhail Bakhtin in his study of Rabelais.^[70] He calls it the language of the marketplace, identifying curses and profanity (jurons ) as the unofficial elements of speech which refuse to conform to etiquette and the conventions of respectability. The same can be said for the soldier's use of oaths in Cervantes's poem. However, rather than employing them in the marketplace, he does so in church before a monument dedicated to the memory of a deceased monarch. This linguistic license undermines the highly serious, even sacred, nature of the tomb. Through the soldier's use of profanity the officiality embodied by the monument is subverted and a situation of liberating laughter results. A similar comically subversive effect is created by the use of the gambling term "Apos-

taré" with respect to the, king's soul. The monarch himself is even referred to irreverently as "el muerto." This term is absolutely lacking in respect and reduces the dead king and his tomb to the category of trivia.

A not-so-subtle criticism of the tremendous expense involved in the tomb's construction and in the obsequies can be easily detected behind the soldier's words. This is made especially evident by his vocative: "¡Oh, gran Sevilla, / Roma triunfante en ánimo y riqueza [Oh, great Seville, Rome triumphant in spirit and in riches!]," another great demystification. It is true that the grand tomb reveals Seville's wealth, but not in the way in which the soldier believes. Just as the monument was an empty shell made of wood and cardboard to simulate marble, Seville's wealth was also purely superficial. If the tomb's surface were scratched, it would be revealed that it floated upon air, as did the Sevillian economy of the time. The city was practically bankrupt, having only the appearance of wealth.^[71] Its soul was as wretched as the squabblers in the cathedral had shown Seville's power structure to be.

When the ruffian comes on the scene in the second tercet we are reintroduced to one of Cervantes's favorite subjects. Quevedo informatively describes what he calls the "valientes de mentira" in his Capitulaciones de la vida de la corte, y oficios entretenidos en ella :

Estos por la mayor parte son gente plebeya, tratan más de parecer bravos que lindos, visten a lo rufianesco, media sobre media, sombrero de mucha falda y vuelta, faldillas largas, coleto de ante, estoque largo y daga buida; comen en bodegón de vaca y menudo . . . beben a fuer de valientes. . . . Sus acciones son a lo temerario; dejar caer la capa, calar el sombrero, alzar la falda, ponerse embozados y abiertos de piernas, y mirar a lo zaino . . . no hablan palabra que no sea con juramento . . . dicen voacé, so compadre, so camarada.^[72]

[For the most part these are common types, they try to resemble toughs rather than dandies, dress as ruffians in knee-stockings and breeches, wide-brimmed hat, long coattails, suede jerkin, long sword, and shining dagger; they eat beef and tripe in taverns and drink like the brave. . . . Their actions are foolhardy; they drop their cape, pull their hats down low and turn up the brim, cover

themselves up to the eyes, sit with legs apart, and give sideways looks . . . they do not speak a word without an accompanying oath . . . they say things like voacé, so compadre, so camarada .]

Cervantes's valentón does precisely what is expected of him, right down to the sideways glance.^[73] This seemingly belligerent tough is a worthy brother to the "valentón de espátula y gregüesco" of sonnet 35. To borrow Quevedo's phrase, they are both "accionistas de valentía." In this poem the bravonel 's fierce mentís, an insult that had to be defended by the sword, is exposed for what it is: an empty threat.^[74]

The estrambote that finishes off the sonnet is a gem. With the vain gesticulating and attitude of foolish bravura with which he attempts to disguise his cowardice, the valentón embodies all the surrounding fanfaronade. He is as false as Philip II, as the supposedly pious men who ordered construction of the tomb, and as the masses who cannot or will not distinguish between tinsel and reality. The soldier's and the valentón 's menacing attitudes are exposed as meaningless, empty gestures. The true heroism that the soldier should embody and that Cervantes lived at Lepanto has been reduced to a few paintings on a grotesque monument. And the soldier is now the colleague of a vulgar coward.

Philip II does not come off very well, either. In the only allusion to the king, Cervantes ironically insinuates that his soul, in an absurd act of arrogance, will abandon heaven to enjoy the flattery of his sumptuous, temporary, and fake tomb on earth. It is not the first time that Cervantes treats this monarch with subtle irony; he did so in a very indirect way in his sonnet "A la entrada del Duque de Medina en Cádiz." Américo Castro has also interpreted several verses from La Galatea as alluding to Philip II. It is in Book II, when Silerio, while posing as a truhán, recites the following lines: "De príncipe que en el suelo / va por tan justo nivel / ¿qué se puede esperar dél / que no sean obras del cielo? [From a prince whose path / on earth is so true / what, save deeds from Heaven, / can we expect to view?]." He also cites the quintillas that Cervantes wrote upon Philip II's death. There the poet calls the king a "nuevo y pacífico Marte [new and peaceful Mars]" and comments that the gold the people say

he gathered "en el cielo lo escondías [you had concealed in Heaven]."^[75]

According to Castro, Cervantes alludes to the king's lack of military spirit and courage. His interpretation coincides well with this poem; by referring to Seville ironically as "triunfante en ánimo," we cannot help but remember both the disastrous Armada of ten years earlier, which clearly marked Spain's decline as a world power, and the ignominious events in Cádiz. To the contrary of what the soldier says, Seville, Spain, and its deceased king, triumph neither in spirit nor in wealth. Just like the tomb, their grandeur is pure facade.

The entire sonnet ends in nothing. The tomb is in reality a fantasy, a ceremonial artifact totally devoid of artistic, religious, or patriotic meaning. The edifice is merely symbolic of the dead king and designed to hold nothing but air. In fact, it is a kind of enchanted tomb, as empty of true sentiment as it is of its inhabitant. The only tangible value given to it is monetary. And in this respect the construction of the fabulously opulent tomb for a funeral service programmed to last only two days was nothing but an outrageous andaluzada . The poem is a denunciation made by a person on the fringes of society, who can also analyze and describe that society better than anyone else. But, as always, Cervantes never loses his sense of humor. With him we laugh at society and at the same time, at ourselves and at our own presumption. In place of the nada in which the monument (which in the end was merely an illusion) remains, Cervantes has ultimately created a poetical monument that is solid and lasting.

In "Al túmulo" Cervantes's skillful control of tone, structure, and language produces his best and most faultlessly executed burlesque sonnet. In terms of structure, the poem is perfectly laid out. The first three stanzas lead in an ascending rhythm to line 12, where the change of narrator provides a corresponding modification of tone and tempo from feverish bluster to feeble bravado. The estrambote finishes off the poem, correctly, with an expert twist. The last line is the strongest and the final clause, and especially word, carry and resume the entire sonnet: "no hubo nada."

The language Cervantes utilizes in this poem serves to characterize the two narrators to a degree rarely achieved in

seventeen short verses. The soldier's and the valentón 's words show the former to be a vulgar, ignorant fool and the latter, a presumptuous coward. The soldier uses a language full of profanity, vulgarisms, and socially and linguistically substandard elements. The valentón 's speech is equally nonstandard and blustery.

The soldier's fondness for curses is evident in his use of the two oaths "Voto a Dios" and "Por Jesucristo vivo." As mentioned before, these expressions are markedly blasphemous. Cervantes, of course, is well aware of this. For this reason they appear only this once in his writings. In Don Quixote more sympathetic characters will substitute for voto a Dios the less passionate voto a mí, voto a tal, and even the comical voto a Rus (this uttered, of course, by the knight's faithful squire). In contrast to other Cervantine protagonists (even the rustic Sancho), the soldier is too uncouth to bother with euphemisms.

In addition to these curses, the soldier also uses the language of gambling ("Apostaré") and of currency ("diera un doblón," "vale más que un millón"). Any mention of money in burlesque verse lowers the linguistic register considerably. We only have to think of the poetry of Quevedo to realize that money was a tainted subject in the sixteenth and seventeenth century. To speak of it was definitely in poor taste at the time. Money was generally connected in poetry with undesirables: gamblers, thieves, prostitutes, and other venal women, and in society with Italian usurers and the mercantile classes (read Jews and conversos ). Thus the soldier's claim that he would give a doblón to describe the tomb's magnificence is loaded with ironic disdain toward the ostentatious monument.^[76] In addition, a doubloon was a gold coin of considerable value; it is unlikely that the soldier would have access to many. For this reason the exaggerated pecuniary value he places on the monument (each piece being worth a million) is equally ironic and ridiculous. What would such an individual know of the aesthetic or monetary value of a supposed work of art?

The soldier's speech is typically improper, almost substandard. The vulgarism "la anima," combined with the offensive "del muerto," creates a ninth verse characterized by three increasingly coarse components. The valentón uses a similarly

nonstandard vernacular with the syncopes "voacé" (vuestra merced ) and "seor" (señor ). Both are usual forms of address in the underworld. For this reason other Cervantine ruffians will use these terms, especially the latter one. The basket boy asks Rinconete and Cortadillo: "Díganme, señores galanes: ¿voacedes son de mala entrada, o no? [Tell me, gallant gentlemen, are you thieves or not?]."^[77] The immortal galley slave of Don Quixote protests to his guard: "Ginés me llamo, y no Ginesillo, y Pasamonte es mi alcurnia, y no Parapilla, como voacé dice [My name is Ginés, not Ginesillo, and my family name is Pasamonte, not Parapilla as you say]" (I: 22). In the interlude El rufián viudo, forms of both vulgarisms are used by Chiquiznaque: "Mi so Trampagos, ¿es posible sea / Voacé tan enemigo suyo? [My dear Señor Trampagos, is it possible / that you be such an enemy to yourself?]."^[78]So, a further contraction of seor and señor, was and still is (especially in Andalusia) an insulting appellative that precedes derogatory adjectives or nouns (e.g., so idiota, so imbécil ).^[79] With these subtle linguistic nuances the valentón not only identifies his own common nature but cunningly affronts the soldier at the same time.

The terms chapeo and mirar al soslayo are also somewhat vulgar sounding. The former is, of course, a rather presumptuous Gallicism (chapeau ) to describe the wide-brimmed hat favored by ruffians.^[80] The latter is a gesture that typifies the coward: the sideways glance to assure that there is no danger that Quevedo calls "mirar a lo zaino."

The sonnet employs an additional type of language that if not vulgar, is at least highly ambiguous. Words such as espantar, máquina, braveza, and mancilla are not free of double meanings and negative connotations. The first of these words, according to Covarrubias, means to cause horror, fear, or admiration. Thus the soldier's reaction is not necessarily one of simple admiration. The monument's size and ostentation may, in fact, shock and dismay.

The seventeenth-century lexicographer defines máquina as "una fábrica grande e ingeniosa [a large and ingenious structure]." The word can also mean affair or scheme: maquinación, trampa .^[81] Cervantes has used máquina in these latter acceptations in other works. For example, the priest in Don Quixote is called

the "trazador desta máquina [concocter of the scheme]," referring to the complicated trick used to cage Don Quixote and return him home (I: 46). Sancho warns Don Quixote to beware of how he hits his head during his penance for fear that he might put an end to the whole business with the first blow: "que con la primera se acabase la máquina desta penitencia [that the very first may put an end to this whole business of penance]" (I: 25).

Another meaning of máquina is of a complicated, chaotic tangle or mess. Cervantes uses the word thus in Don Quixote during the great dispute at the inn: "y en la mitad deste caos, máquina y laberinto, de cosas [in the midst of all this chaos, complication, and general entanglement]" (I: 45). He uses almost the same expression in the Coloquio de los perros when Berganza alludes to the complicated plot of Montemayor's Diana, saying "la sabia Felicia, que con su agua encantada deshizo aquella máquina de enredos y aclaró aquel laberinto de dificultades [Felicia the Wise, who with her enchanted water undid that maze of entanglements and cleared up that labyrinth of problems]."^[82] And once again in Don Quixote, Cide Hamete says of the knight's retelling of his adventures in the cave of Montesinos: "no pudo fabricar en tan breve espacio tan gran máquina de disparates [he could not in so brief a time have put together such a vast network of absurdities]" (II: 24).

Finally, our author has used the term in the sense of a complex machine or apparatus. At the beginning of Don Quixote the innkeeper is suspicious of the knight's strange collection of armor: "temiendo la máquina de tantos pertrechos [awed by all this complicated weaponry]" (I: 2); the savage who carries Clavileño into the ducal garden says: "Suba sobre esta máquina el que tuviere ánimo para ello [Let the knight who has the courage to do it mount this machine]" (II: 41); and in the printer's shop at Barcelona Don Quixote and Sancho view "toda aquella máquina que en las emprentas grandes se muestran [all the work that is to be seen in great printing firms]" (II: 62).

Given all the somewhat negative acceptations above, it is obvious that the connotations of the term máquina in this sonnet are also extremely ambiguous, if not downright derogatory. Although use of the word with reference to architectural monu-

ments was far from rare, when seen within the context of such an extremely ironic poem, and especially given the nature of the narrator, it is difficult to interpret the word in other than a disparaging sense.^[83]

Braveza is another questionable term. Covarrubias speaks of "Bravos edificios" (magnificent buildings) and gives "grandeza" as a synonym of "braveza." This meaning conforms well to the poem. Nevertheless, in germanía the word stands for the bravado and fanfaronade typical of the braggart.^[84] Once again we are faced with a term full of ambiguities. The narrators' very words betray the monument for what it is: empty show and bravado. These negative connotations cannot be ignored; the poem's comicity is embedded in their irony.

Mancilla casts another ambiguous shadow over the poem. A diminutive of mancha, the term means both stain and shame (mácula, lástima ). In other words, it is both a shame (lástima ) and shameful (vergüenza ) that the monument will not last a century, given the fact that "Cada pieza vale más que un millón." Because of the proximity and rhyme between the parallel phrases "que es mancilla" and "oh, gran Sevilla" (which are also equal in length), the former contaminates the latter. Mancilla, in fact, equals Sevilla ; the two become an indivisible unit. Seville, with the andaluzada of the tomb, is, in fact, a mancilla for all Spain. The vocative "oh, gran Sevilla" is also highly ironic, especially when coupled with "Roma triunfante en ánimo y riqueza." In the first place, what would such an uncouth individual know of triumphant Rome? And as mentioned before, Seville was not as wealthy as appearances would suggest and was as morally bankrupt as Rome in her decadence. Cervantes also cleverly links Seville with Philip II through the paronomasia ánimo—ánima .

Another skillful piece of wordplay is the repetition of the verb gozar . The dead monarch's soul will abandon the glories of heaven to enjoy the dubious yet highly flattering pleasures afforded by the monument. The term has been reduced from its noble, liturgical context to the intimate, personal one of possession and selfish indulgence.^[85] In the final analysis, it is incompatible with the idea of mourning and funeral ceremonies.

In this sonnet the lexicon, the ironic tone, and the carefully

controlled structure (leading inexorably to the final "nada") provide a different view of the tomb and of Philip II's image. It is society's marginados who, with their unconscious subversion of language and of the system, have the final word with respect to the monument and Seville. And this final word, significantly enough, is "miente."

In this and the two preceding masterpieces of burlesque poetry Cervantes employs various linguistic registers and polysemy to expand the possibilities of symbolic and connotative language to create poetry that is ambiguous yet crystal clear at the same time. His verse, paradoxically, can be meaningful nonsense. The lexicon he chooses runs the gamut from the liturgical to the blasphemous, from the prosaic to the erotic. The tone of the poems ranges from the hyperbolic, to the ridiculous, to the insulting. These general characteristics are typical, to a degree, of all Cervantes's independent burlesque sonnets.

Burlesque Sonnets in Other Works

The depth of thought that so characterizes all Cervantes's prose works is naturally extensive to his dramatic art. The increased critical attention recently directed to Cervantes's plays by Hispanists such as Joaquín Casalduero, Bruce Wardropper, Jean Canavaggio, Edward Friedman, and Stanislav Zimic, has contributed to a growing understanding of Cervantes's unique contribution to the Spanish theater.^[86] This last critic has pointed out that for Cervantes the theater, and literature in general, is not only pure entertainment; it has a Messianic, intellectual and spiritual function as well.^[87] Cervantes's intellectualization of drama extends to considerations of what the Spanish comedia established by Lope is, and what it should be. One of the fundamental aspects of Cervantes's theater is, in fact, literary criticism. And the key to understanding the relationship between Cervantes's and Lope's dramatic art depends, in part, upon the correct interpretation of La entretenida .^[88]

Desirous of garnering for himself the public success that Lope was enjoying, in La entretenida Cervantes attempts to utilize the structure of the comedia nueva to outdo his rival. However, the Lopesque elements he incorporates are inevitably

qualified by critical comments, ironic references, and contradictions.^[89] This criticism sprang both from Cervantes's ideas of what good theater should be and from the conflicting concepts held by him and by Lope with regard to life and literature in general. Because of this vital conflict the literary criticism contained in La entretenida is often bitter personal satire against Lope at the same time.^[90]

What relates La entretenida to the burlesque sonnet is the fact that one of its more striking formal characteristics is the inclusion in the drama of six sonnets (Appendix 39–44). This is a highly unusual number as compared to Cervantes's other plays.^[91] However, the purpose of these sonnets becomes clear when we remember that Lope often abused this metrical form in his dramatic works.^[92] He included as many as eight sonnets in his Comendadores de Córdoba .^[93] Therefore, Cervantes's parodic intent is obvious.^[94]

The comicity of these sonnets lies in their burlesque nature. They are not inherently or superficially comical (except, perhaps, sonnet 39) as are Cervantes's other burlesque sonnets. Their comicity becomes apparent only within the context of the play, where they parody the conventions of the comedia nueva . In other words, it is not the content of the sonnets themselves that is burlesque; they are burlesque in the manner in which they relate to their narrator, to the plot, and to the comedia nueva . Because of this parodic element these poems also differ from the type of burlesque sonnet usually included in Golden Age drama.

Zimic has pointed out the essential difference between the burlesque sonnet in the Spanish comedia in general and Ocaña's double cabo roto sonnet (Appendix 39). He affirms that the graciosos of the comedia nueva use the burlesque sonnet to mock the language of Gongorism and to parody their masters' love sonnets, thus also satirizing their sentiments. The gracioso also employs the sonnet to speak of love with servant girls or to explain his sentiments to the public.^[95] However, both these characters are typically depicted as incapable of deep feelings of love. Their role is to display the comical aspects of the pursuit and superficial eroticism.^[96] In Ocaña's sonnet, however, in spite of its comically vulgar expressions, "la genuinidad y fuerza del sen-

timiento se impone de manera inconfundible . . . Ocaña nos resulta cómico, pero no se lo propone, de manera obligada, como los graciosos de la comedia nueva [the sentiments are undeniably genuine . . . Ocaña seems comical to us, but not in the forced manner of the standard gracioso ]."^[97] In La entretenida the so-called commoners are as capable, if not more, than the nobles of higher emotions.

This notwithstanding, Ocaña's sonnet is still typically burlesque in that it is also a parody of traditional Petrarchan love sonnets in which the disdained lover bewails his situation. The scornful lady is transformed here into a fickle scrub-girl and sublimity of thought and expression is debased into a series of vulgar and grotesque images. Therefore, although Ocaña's feelings are heartfelt, they are expressed in a style appropriate to his station.

With respect to this sonnet's form, Zimic offers the explanation that Cervantes is mocking contemporary plays in which the graciosos would often recite sonnets with playfully manipulated word and verse endings.^[98] As opposed to this gratuitous wordplay, the use of cabo roto in Ocaña's sonnet is both aesthetically functional and meaningful. When Ocaña denounces Cristina as a "pu-[ta]" he is recalling and echoing her earlier insult when she called him "laca-[yo]."^[99]

Cervantes and Lope (and others) both used cabo roto sonnets as vehicles for personal invective. Therefore, the sonnet is another sly and malicious reminder to Lope that he is the true object of the metrical joke. In addition, and although he does not make the connection with Lope, Zimic has ingeniously observed that the syllables omitted by Ocaña form several vulgar, offensive words which reflect negatively on Cristina and her suitors: rata(ón), ratera, trotadora, sayón, remolón, descoco, jodes, lodosa, collón, cojón, and so on.^[100] Within the critical context of this play, these terms could be applied just as easily to Lope (supreme "competidor en amor") as to Cristina.

Torrente's sonnet (Appendix 40) satirizes the use to which sonnets are generally put in Golden Age drama. Rather than pronouncing a heart-rending soliloquy while alone on stage, the capigorrón is surrounded by a numerous group of characters all carrying on several conversations at once. The scene is highly

comical with Torrente trying to emote while at the same time Marcela and Don Antonio greet and converse with Cardenio, who, dressed as a pilgrim, is posing as their cousin Silvestre de Almendárez. Torrente is also ostensibly wooing Cristina while Ocaña seethes and grumbles in the background. Even Dorotea is still on stage making ironic observations about the false pilgrim. Torrente's recitation of his sonnet is interrupted by all these conversations; this totally subverts any dramatic or emotional impact his poem might have. Nobody is interested in his precipitous crush and his love dirge is fragmented into a series of meaningless asides.^[101] So fragmented is it, in fact, that the final estrambote is split off from the previous stanzas and recited by Don Antonio. Thus the indivisible sonnet is fractured and its internal cohesion as well as its external structure are irrevocably destroyed. Cervantes is saying that the sonnets are often not only meaningless additions to the play but also have no internal significance even as isolated poems.

Torrente's statement in the second tercet that his ansias "no pueden caber en un soneto" is an additional ironic allusion to the traditional role fulfilled by the sonnet in the comedia —a vehicle for expressing the torments of the soul. These, in turn, often come about as the result of an instantaneous and highly unrealistic flechazo . Cervantes realizes that it is ludicrous to expect one metrically limited poem to express convincingly the depth of feeling of a person truly in love.^[102] In the same way this verse comments upon the ultimate superficiality of the comedia nueva that sacrificed profound thought and emotion to heightened drama and action.

The remaining sonnets in La entretenida are recited by the various leading men. In keeping with the parodic nature of the play, these are designed to burlesque and subvert the conventions of the comedia nueva with respect to these characters and their formulaic sentiments. Don Antonio represents the typically heartsick galán who morbidly revels in his suffering. Montesinos has observed that the standard lover "se goza en sus cuitas como una voluptuosidad dolorosa. El amor . . . llega, a tener aquí cierto carácter de perversión [takes pleasure in his sorrows as a painful voluptuousness and love becomes a kind of perversion]."^[103] Cervantes neatly satirizes these purely

dramatic and literary excesses in the person of Don Antonio, the decidedly ineffectual lover who does nothing but whine throughout the play.^[104] Totally absorbed by his self-imposed afflictions and with his beloved's name constantly on his lips, he is unaware that his actions make his sister fear incest (both she and his lady are named Marcela). The insinuations of incest in this play have caused some discomfort among critics. However, when we realize that Don Antonio is a pure parody of the one-sided galán, the comic nature of Marcela's fears (which result from her brother's ridiculous and extravagant behavior) becomes obvious.

Don Antonio's two sonnets (Appendix 41, 42) are in keeping with his fundamental theatricality and exaggeratedly dramatic sentiments. In the first he bemoans the hardships he suffers as a result of his beloved's absence. This ausencia was, of course, a major convention often abused for dramatic effect in the comedia . For this reason Cervantes mocks the gratuitousness of the theme through Antonio. Because Marcela's absence is attributable to the fact that her father has sealed her away in a monastery, her lover's lament becomes totally ridiculous. The hyperbolic ayes and linking of absence to death ring totally false in a somewhat effeminate character who has probably never spoken a word to his beloved.^[105] The supreme irony of the sonnet, as it relates to its narrator, is resumed in line 11: "¡Oh milagros de amor, que nadie entiende!" Who, indeed, could understand such behavior? Cervantes seems to be linking milagros to the locuras performed in the name of love that he ridicules so brilliantly in Don Quixote . As in the novel, it is not the theme of love expressed in this somewhat commonplace sixteenth-century line that Cervantes parodies; it is the lack of authentic sentiment behind the words.

Avalle-Arce has noted that this sonnet is a reworking of two octaves extracted from an eclogue contained in La Galatea . He feels that the sonnet is a rather unsuccessful poem because Cervantes has tried to compress within a shorter form ideas previously expressed in a more flowing meter.^[106] However, the sonnet is "defective" simply because the situation to which it refers is ludicrous. By itself it is a quite accomplished love poem. The problem is that Don Antonio is a cardboard galán who

utters only stereotypic and inappropriate reactions to his self-imposed situation. Just as the authors of the Don Quixote sonnets are buffoons and thus write senseless poetry, Don Antonio is an absurd and self-absorbed pseudolover. Thus any love poetry, no matter how superficially lovely, on his lips becomes nonsense.

Don Antonio's next sonnet (Appendix 42) presents a similarly inappropriate reaction to his situation. Although he has no reason to be, he is consumed by jealousy.^[107] Nevertheless, this sonnet is also quite beautiful. Zimic interprets this as Cervantes suggesting that even though the comedia nueva contains much verse that is artificial and objectionable, at times it contains good poetry. He concludes that for Cervantes, Don Antonio's indiscriminate use of poetry is grave and laughable. The beauty and solemnity of the verses and the ridiculous situation to which they apply are mutually exclusive. Even the most worthy poetic style becomes comic if used inappropriately.^[108]

It is, indeed, this indiscriminate and indispensable dependence upon the jealousy theme in the theater that Cervantes is criticizing.^[109] Of course, the theme was very close to Lope, in his life as well as his theater. He was known to be a tremendously jealous person, and many of his works, especially his lyric poetry, are riddled with confessions of the celos he suffered as a consequence of his many love affairs. For this reason Don Antonio's posturing could be an oblique reflection on Cervantes's rival.

Cardenio's sonnet (Appendix 43) is an ironic description of his personality. This student aspires to Marcela's hand and, at the urging of her squire Muñoz, enters into a complicated ruse to gain access to her home. Once inside, Muñoz tells him, he will see how he fends for himself. Later, of course, it turns out that Cardenio falls dumb before Marcela, thus revealing his spinelessness and lack of ingenuity. The sonnet anticipates his future failure: his appropriately "estrecha y débil esperanza" (faint and slim hope) that flies upon "flacas alas" (slender wings) will never attain "el punto que pretende" (the point desired). His "atrevidos pensamientos" (daring thoughts) will, indeed, melt before the presence of Marcela, and Cardenio will be plagued by fears of being exposed as an impostor. Cardenio,

although a student, is a fool. Even he admits that his capigorrón Torrente is more intelligent than he. Rather than using his wits to court Marcela, he depends upon a foolish scheme concocted by an untrustworthy old servant whom he must bribe. Torrente passes correct judgment on the plan when he comments "Todo aquesto es disparate [All this is madness]" (Cervantes, Teatro completo, 556).

Once again, we have a sonnet of undeniable quality. Seen out of context it is fairly typical of the type of love poetry written at the end of the sixteenth century.^[110] However, Cardenio is reciting the poem while walking along the street with Torrente, who is nibbling on a piece of membrillo toledano . With the last verse of his sonnet still lingering upon his lips, Cardenio turns to Torrente, finds him eating, and feeling this is a dishonor, growls: "¿Comes? Buena pro te haga; / la misma hambre te tome [You're eating? I hope you profit from it / and may hunger itself strike you]" (Ibid., 551).^[111] Torrente has obviously been ignoring the lovelorn Cardenio's histrionics and concentrating on his quince instead. Thus any inherent beauty the sonnet has is undermined by the ridiculous situation.

Zimic has observed that even though almost all the characters in this play have prominent comic features, the most ridiculous traits are embodied precisely by the nobles.^[112] The membrillo scene is a perfect illustration of this. Torrente and the quince are comical, but it is Cardenio who appears ridiculous. Any seriousness he might wish to convey with his sonnet is completely subverted by the shadow of Torrente tagging along behind munching on his sweet. Once again, the comicity of the sonnet depends entirely upon its context.

The same can be said of Don Ambrosio's sonnet (Appendix 44). As before, when taken out of context the poem is quite good. Like the previous one, it seems fairly typical of late-sixteenth-century sonnets. In fact, it contains many expressions reminiscent of the Herreran school: "mar cano," "débil leño," "pisa alegre." However, where Cervantes's composition differs from those of Herrera is in the estrambote . This element, which in Cervantes's poetry is always associated with the burlesque, casts a dubious shadow over the poem.

Once again, the sonnet is effectively subverted by its context.

Don Ambrosio is also enamored of Marcela Osorio, therefore, when he hears that a beautiful "Marcela" resides in the Almendárez house, he assumes that she is his beloved and has been hidden there by her father. The confusion stemming from her name is typical of the type of impossible enredos so dear to the comedia de capa y espada . Ambrosio recites his sonnet on the glories of hope while waiting to find out if, in fact, Marcela is staying at the Almendárez home. This lover is very similar to Don Antonio; they both supposedly adore the same woman from afar and carry on in the same melodramatic way. Ambrosio admits that he has never spoken to his beloved: "Améla honestamente, / adoréla rendido, / solicitéla mudo, / aunque los ojos son parleros siempre [I loved her honestly / I adored her devotedly / I wooed her silently/although the eyes always speak out]" (Cervantes, Teatro completo, 585). Nevertheless, when confronted with the news that she is betrothed to another, he is ready to kill his rival. The effect at the bottom of Ambrosio's and Antonio's sonnets is a parody of the exaggerated and inappropriate histrionics of Golden Age drama's stock leading men.

The ultimate significance of all the Entretenida sonnets is to point to the senselessness of the type of theater produced by Lope. Rather than attempting to elevate the masses through a thoughtful, edifying art form, the comedia turned its back on the intellect to appeal to the passions. All was sacrificed on the altar of entertainment and commercialism. In Cervantes's eyes, Lope obstructed the creation of truly great literature in Spain. By admitting incultura into art, by creating for the masses, and by appealing to the lowest common denominator among the public, he established the tradition of a literature devoid of intellectual content. Cervantes, who wished to create and see performed the type of intellectually provocative drama he admired, found the way effectively blocked by the Lope phenomenon. And he responded in part by creating La entretenida . It was his way of proving he could also produce mindless entertainment for the corrales if he wished. But as evidenced by this play, Cervantes could not write Lopesque drama without criticizing it at the same time.

And Cervantes's criticism is quite complex. To express it he

has, in effect, created a new type of burlesque. The burlesque he employs with the Entretenida sonnets is neither "high" (treating a low subject in an elevated manner) nor "low" (treating an elevated subject in a base manner). Instead Cervantes has inserted several of his own quite beautiful serious sonnets into a burlesque context. By doing so he points out the fact that the comedia often contains good poetry, but such verse is lost to facile drama. The idealism that is embodied by the sonnets and which characterizes Cervantes's notion of the poetic art is crushed by the vulgar realism of the Toledan quince and the stage. For this reason the primary function of the sonnets in La entretenida is an intellectual and critical one. As with all Cervantes's burlesque sonnets, they are never merely superficially comical. They require thoughtful analysis on the part of the reader or listener to be fully appreciated. This intellectualization of the comic reveals a concomitant and often remarkable depth of meaning.

Comicity of the Independent Sonnets

With Cervantes the burlesque sonnet is emancipated from the tradition inherited directly from Italy. He abandons most of the types of comicity encountered in the Italian and Spanish Renaissance and turns instead to the subtleties of humor. Gone is the raucous laughter of earthiness, coarse language, exaggerated caricature, and the rambunctious praise of wine, women, and song. Notably missing is the current of obscenity for its own sake. Although Cervantes is not adverse to including sexual allusions and euphemisms in his poetry, these are relatively few and never gratuitous. They always serve a critical or exemplary purpose; Cervantes will not chastise woman for her hyperbolized sexuality.

Also totally absent from Cervantes's burlesque sonnets (and his literature in general) is the current of misogyny so prevalent before. Cervantes's attitude toward women is complex and positive. The female characters he creates cannot be reduced to mere stereotypes such as the ugly crone or the harridan wife. Indeed, the fact that Cervantes wrote no burlesque sonnets on

women is indicative of his lack of romantic cynicism and of the respect he felt for the opposite sex.^[113]

Another area of traditional burlesque is the parody of serious poetic currents found in Italian and Spanish Renaissance anti-Petrarchism. But there is no such overt parody in Cervantes's burlesque sonnets: no subversion of Petrarch or Garcilaso, no debasing of mythological gods, no praise of the material life to counteract the ecstasies of courtly love. This is an indication of the esteem in which Cervantes held classical poetry. He could not bring himself to parody a literature that he respected and admired, as he did the excesses of the chivalric romance. Cervantes objected to the vulgarization of poetry, whether in the comedia nueva or in the form of "torpes sátiras" and "desalmados sonetos." Nevertheless, he did indulge in personal invective (although in a guarded way), as will be shown in my discussion of the sonnets which surround Part One of Don Quixote .

The adoxographic tradition also holds few attractions for Cervantes, except for one important modality. He has no time for praise of such silly (or obscene) things as bedpans, cuernos, or carrots. He does, however, praise madness in his great novel. By lauding our folly, he exalts our humanity. This comprehension and acceptance of human foibles is also evident in his burlesque sonnets.

Cervantes brings a new tone and different concerns to the burlesque sonnet tradition. But above all he brings a new conception, a new understanding of the complexities of human nature. He still mocks and ridicules folly: the valentón 's bravata, the presumption of Seville's power structure, a fellow poet's amorous escapades, a ruffian's unlikely conversion to the religious life. However, he does so with humor, not with bitter satire. Cervantes does not observe and criticize from a superior distance. He realizes that he, too, has his own follies and we, as his readers, become aware of our own presumptions.

The burlesque sonnet before Cervantes deals in absolute judgments: Cupid is a rapaz tiñoso, there is nothing worse than to have a wife. Cervantes deals in ambiguities, in multiple perspectives, in the equivocal nature of our personal criteria, in irony and in paradox. Just as his sonnets express nonconformity

with the social reality, they also reject a large part of the burlesque tradition.

As mentioned before, simple comicity is not enough for Cervantes. This can be seen, for example, in the lack of true nonsense rhyme among his works. His poetry is consequential and intellectual, never frivolous, foolish, or silly. It is rarely superficially comical alone; it always has a serious critical core. This intellectualization of the comic carries over to his style. He employs irony to a degree rarely done before in the burlesque sonnet tradition. In the past poets had depended largely on vulgarity, invective, and trivial witticisms to make the reader or listener laugh. Cervantes is not interested in laughter in his burlesque sonnets; he is interested in making us smile.

Irony is, indeed, the cornerstone of his sonnets' comicity. Cervantes says one thing but implies another, or he employs equivocal language open to several interpretations. For this reason a thesis claiming that "Al túmulo de Felipe II" is a sincere encomium can, and has, been defended. Cervantes is never strident in his denunciations of society's ills. Instead he depends on the subtle undermining effect of paradox and ambiguity.

A linguistic current that flows strongly through Cervantes's burlesque sonnets is germanía . Ruffianesque poetry, as said before, was very popular in Spain at the end of the sixteenth to the beginning of the seventeenth century. Cervantes often adopts its expressions and characters. (His fondness for the figure of the valentón is more than evident.) However, rather than write long, tedious romances that the uninitiated cannot read without the aid of a lexicon, Cervantes is judicious in his use of jargon. Because of this his poems flow smoothly; they have gracia —both charm and wit.

One element that must be mentioned in terms of the comicity of Cervantes's burlesque sonnets is his use of different narrators. He will perfect this procedure in the Don Quixote sonnets. Allowing the protagonists of the poems to speak in their own voices (while at the same time describing their gestures) adds immediacy, agility, and a degree of comicalness not present in indirect speech. It also transforms the sonnets into brief yet vivid scenes of contemporary life. Indeed, many of Cervantes's poems do enjoy a generous measure of theatricality. This, of

course, is carried to the limit in the sonnets included in his dramatic works. The comicity of those poems lies precisely in the incongruity between the narrator's words and the surrounding situation. All these elements of Cervantes's comicity will be present to some extent in his subsequent sonnets—those which frame part one of his masterpiece. At the same time, the burlesque poems in Don Quixote represent the culmination of the author's work in this poetic vein.

5—
The Burlesque Sonnets in Don Quixote

The Sonnets and Don Quixote

The sonnets that frame Part One of Don Quixote contain the same humorous spirit as the rest of the novel. They share in the same madness that envelops the entire work. Yet from within this all-encompassing humor, the poems have meaning on several distinct, yet overlapping, levels.^[1] First, they reflect outward as a comment on current literary practices. Through the encomiums our novelist parodies the accepted custom of including laudatory verse (especially sonnets) among the preliminaries to published books. The Argamasillian epitaphs mock the Spanish literary academies that were closer to cliquish tertulias than Cervantes would have liked. Next, the sonnets reflect inward to the "history" itself and comment upon it as a chivalric romance. The sonnets are also shaped a great deal by the literature of buffoonery. And within that broad context they contain many carnivalesque elements. Finally, the sonnets also have a personal, "underground" meaning. They are full of allusions to the surrounding literary mundillo and to Cervantes's circle of acquaintances, especially Lope de Vega.

In the first study done of the Quixote burlesque sonnets, Pierre Lioni Ullman notes that these verses form a framework which is "linked intimately with the very structure of the novel."^[2] Ullman feels that they are connected to the novel in three ways: they introduce Cervantes's perspectivist technique (by describing the reactions of different characters to the same situation); they are a prelude to the intricate ways in which he plays with the time dimension; and they "make the reader realize that his seemingly closed book not only merges at its con-

clusion with the flowing current of literature, but also issued therefrom."^[3]

Ullman's findings are valuable as the first attempt at interpreting the sonnets; however, his article leaves many levels of significance untouched. The poems help to create a balanced, coherent novel out of the jumble of Don Quixote's adventures. This they do both stylistically and in terms of content. The preliminary sonnets introduce the irony and paradox—the humor—that is the cornerstone of the great novel. The book is initiated with a paradox: in his introduction Cervantes states his wish to offer his story to the reader "monda y desnuda, sin el ornato de prólogo, ni de la inumerabilidad y catálogo de los acostumbrados sonetos, epigramas y elogios que al principio de los libros suelen ponerse [plain and unadorned, without the embellishment of a prologue (which—paradox within paradox—he is in the middle of creating) or the lengthy catalogue of the usual sonnets, epigrams, and eulogies, such as are commonly put at the beginning of books]." Nevertheless, the very next lines to issue from his pen are the accustomed poems he has just rejected. The sonnets that close the book also house a paradox. While they are supposedly epitaphs, they are written before Don Quixote's death, or at least before the cartapacios containing the history of the hero's third sally are found. Encomiums that are not encomiums; epitaphs that are not epitaphs. What, then, are they? As we shall see, they are many things and none in particular.

The panegyrics are paradoxical in other ways. Cervantes tells us his book will not have encomiastic verse, yet it does. However, he parodies the custom with ridiculous poems. In terms of logic, we have a double negative. Do the poems negate or affirm Cervantes's prologue statement? Are they a true praise of the book and its characters? Or are they really what we take them to be at first glance—attacks against the pretentious and false-ringing laudatory sonnets so ubiquitous in contemporary literature, and to which Cervantes himself contributed on more than one occasion? This ironic ambiguity naturally helps join the novel to the contemporary literature of buffoonery.

In his study of the Quixote prologue with respect to Praise of Folly, Antonio Vilanova argues convincingly for the Moria as

being known by Cervantes and as a source of inspiration for parts of Don Quixote . As he says, it is certainly not a question of plagiarism, but rather "bajo el estímulo y la incitación de la Moria erasmiana, la originalidad creadora de Cervantes ha adaptado genialmente a sus propósitos y ha hecho suyas una serie de ideas ajenas [With his original creativity Cervantes has brilliantly adapted a series of Erasmus's thoughts, expressed in the Moria, to his own purposes]."^[4] Vilanova points out a series of correspondences between Cervantes's prologue and the text of Erasmus's Praise of Folly . One of these is Erasmus's invective against foolish writers who inundate each other with mutual praise. Vilanova feels Cervantes's intent in the prologue is identical: to satirize the hyperbolic laudatory verse customarily interchanged by poets.

It is true that if Cervantes needed an immediate source of inspiration for his satire, Praise of Folly certainly provided it. However, he develops the satire far beyond Erasmus. Instead of being content with his prologue statement, Cervantes apparently contradicts it by incurring in the same "vice" he is criticizing. By making his panegyrics ridiculous, however, he advances the satire even more. His sonnets not only burlesque the practice in general, but also allow him to personalize his mockery by filling the poems with specific allusions. Unfortunately, at a distance of three-and-a-half centuries these allusions are in great measure obscure.

It should be remembered also that the authors of the sonnets are not professional writers but protagonists of other books and readers of Don Quixote . Just as Cervantes is the stepfather of the novel, he is necessarily also the stepfather of the sonnets. Written as they are by characters from romances of chivalry, the poems never leave the ambit of novelistic fantasy and are sheathed in several layers of fancy. They represent readers of a former age responding to a future hero, who are at the same time mythical heroes responding to their betters. But the chivalric sonnets also represent the reception of the culmination of a genre by previous works within that genre. In fact, Cervantes is creating a type of early and reverse Rezeptionsästhetik, anticipating and novelizing reception theory 350 years before it comes into vogue. The paladins' horizon of expectations (to use

the term coined by Hans-Robert Jauss) must of necessity be different than that of the contemporary reader. Precisely because of this, and because they themselves are chivalric heroes, Amadís and his colleagues naturally read Don Quixote as history rather than as fiction. In addition, this sheds even more light on how Don Quixote perceives himself. For the brave knights and fair ladies who author the sonnets, Don Quixote is hardly a funny book. It is instead what Don Quixote (in the second part when he becomes aware of its existence) perceives it to be: the history of the greatest knight errant ever. Thus the sonnets become novels within a novel: the protagonists of previous romances leap forward to react to and to help write the history of Don Quixote.

Cervantes has disavowed authorship in favor of Cide Hamete-like "first" authors. But just as Don Quixote has a second author (or narrator), so do the sonnets. If we go back to the prologue and review Cervantes's words to the friend who enters and finds him perplexed before his problematic prologue, we hear him announce:

También ha de carecer mi libro de sonetos al principio, a los menos de sonetos cuyos autores sean duques, marqueses, condes, obispos, damas o poetas celebérrimos; aunque si yo los pidiese a dos o tres oficiales amigos, yo sé que me los darían, y tales que no les igualasen los de aquellos que tienen más nombre en nuestra España.

[Also my book must do without sonnets at the beginning, at least sonnets whose authors are dukes, marquises, counts, bishops, ladies, or famous poets. Although if I were to ask two or three friendly tradesmen, I know they would give me some, and such that the productions of those that have the highest reputation in our Spain could not equal.]

As is well known, the barb is for Lope, whose multitude of works written immediately prior to the publication of Part One of Don Quixote each contained a plethora of encomiastic sonnets written by just such personalities as Cervantes describes.^[5] Needless to say, many of these sonnets were actually written by Lope himself and christened under another's name. This practice is subsequently satirized by Cervantes, when the friend in the prologue tells him that the problem with the sonnets he lacks:

se puede remediar en que vos mesmo toméis algún trabajo en hacerlos, y después los podéis bautizar y poner el nombre que quisiéredes, ahijándolos al Preste Juan de las Indias o al Emperador de Trapisonda . . . y [si] hubiere algunos pedantes y bachilleres que por detrás os muerdan y murmuren desta verdad, no se os dé dos maravedís; porque ya que os averigüen la mentira, no os han de cortar la mano con que lo escribistes.

[can be removed if you yourself take a little trouble to write them. You can afterwards baptize them and give them any name you like, fathering them of Prester John of the Indies or the Emperor of Trebizond . . . and (if) any pedants or bachelors should attack you and question the fact, don't let it bother you two maravedís' worth, for even if they prove a lie against you, they cannot cut off the hand you wrote it with.]

This, of course, is Cervantes's final solution. But the authorship smoke screen he wafts around the sonnets has a very definite purpose. Just as Erasmus's Stultitia provides ironic distance that intervenes between Erasmus and his satire, the "authors" of the sonnets provide Cervantes with the ironic distance he needs from which he can mock and criticize at will. On a simplistic level he can always disclaim responsibility for what is said in them. At the same time he is satirizing the ultimate vanity displayed by Lope and other contemporary poets: self-aggrandizement, the trait embodied by Philautia (Self-Love), one of Stultitia's attendants in Praise of Folly . On a structural and stylistic level, he is also anticipating the ambiguity and the ironic distance to be created within the body of the novel by the authorship confusion between Cide Hamete, the translator, the narrator, and the second author.^[6]

In spite of this obvious ploy, well-respected Hispanists have used Cervantes's words in the prologue to support their arguments in favor of non-Cervantine authorship of some of the Quixote poems. For instance, Marcel Bataillon has affirmed that nothing proves that Urganda's décimas come from Cervantes's pen.^[7] He suggests that Gabriel Lasso de la Vega might be the "donoso poeta entreverado" and author of Urganda's preliminary verses, and that the epitaphs that close the book "sugieren la idea de una mixtificación colectiva procedente de un cenáculo

quijotizante de Valladolid, disfrazado de 'Academia de Argamasilla' [suggest the idea of a collective hoax on the part of a quixotic group from Valladolid, disguised as the 'Academia de la Argamasilla']."^[8]

However, to rob Cervantes of authorship of the preliminary verses and the epitaphs is unnecessary. Following Bataillon's logic, it is equally true to say that nothing disproves that Urganda's (and the poeta entreverado's) verses come from Cervantes's pen. Given the lack of factual evidence, we should rely on the most logical conclusion. Cervantes is burlesquing a custom he abhorred (at least in principle), and one in which his arrogant rival indulged to excess.^[9] Why beg verses from other lesser poets (Lasso's poetry, for example, is quite inferior to that of Cervantes), even in jest, when Cervantes was perfectly capable of writing his own? If he had requested poems from his friends, would they not have written serious encomiums as they did for his earlier Galatea and subsequent Novelas ejemplares ? Surely it is safer to assume that the same "pluma mai cortada" that wrote the sonnet adorning the Viaje del Parnaso was ultimately responsible for the Quixote verses. This is Cervantes at his most typical—spinning an equivocal web around his readers and drawing them into his juego de espejos . Although the joke is supposedly on Lope, is it not also ultimately on the reader (either contemporary or modern-day) as we try to extricate ourselves—using logic—from this labyrinth?

In the Quixote poems Cervantes successfully expands and joins the early burlesque sonnet tradition to the current of humor typified by the literature of buffoonery. Through the burlesque sonnets Cervantes has firmly subsumed and locked the novel into a solid buffoonesque structure. To disregard this connection has serious implications for an understanding of the author's purpose in writing his novel. The question of whether Don Quixote was meant to be primarily a "funny book," and whether it was read as such, has gained attention in post-Romantic Cervantine studies.^[10] Nevertheless, the burlesque framework that is every reader's first and last contact with Part One of the novel has been overlooked in this regard. The oftcited phrases from the prologue:

[T]odo él es una invectiva contra los libros de caballerías . . . vuestra escritura. no mira a más que a deshacer la autoridad y cabida que en el mundo y en el vulgo tienen los libros de caballerías . . . Ilevad la mira puesta a derribar la máquina mal fundada destos caballerescos libros.

[it is, from beginning to end, an attack upon the books of chivalry . . . this piece of yours aims at nothing more than to destroy the authority and influence that books of chivalry have in the world and with the public . . . keep your aim fixed on the destruction of that ill-founded edifice of the books of chivalry.]

are translated into poetry in the burlesque encomiums. Therefore, these poems definitely support the thesis that Don Quixote was primarily a "funny book" (i.e., a parody). This is not to say, however, that it cannot have a serious purpose. The problem is one of degree and of terminology: what does "funny" actually mean? Don Quixote is, above all else, a humorous rather than a funny book. And humor most often implies a serious intent.

Cervantes's humor has been shown to be different from mere comicity. His is an extremely thoughtful (i.e., self-conscious) mode of expression whose ideas are just as complex as those of reflective, "serious" literature. Unfortunately, the lingering inclinations of Romantic criticism (which tended to neglect the comic aspects of the book in favor of a more philosophical-symbolic interpretation), plus the residue of neoclassical canons of literary "good taste" (which frowned upon what they considered to be base laughter), continue to blind us to the merits of the comic. Because of this we still tend to classify humorous literature as secondary. However, true humor is neither frivolous nor shallow.

The hypothesis of humor as fundamentally serious has been well defended by Wenceslao Fernández Flórez, himself an accomplished humorist. His conference pronounced upon entrance into the Real Academia Española is one of the clearest analyses and most eloquent vindications of humor written in Spanish. The novelist starts by astutely pointing out that "el humor no puede ser solemne, pero es serio [humor cannot be solemn, but it is serious]."^[11] He speaks of the importance of

humor as a vehicle for ideas as well as emotions, and of its relative paucity in Spanish literature (which tends to be more fond of satire). With respect to "la subestimación del humor y la idea comúnmente mantenida de que está en los arrabales de la literatura y que suele ser producido por hombres que cifran sus ansias en alegrar, sin otras consecuencias, los ocios de los demás [the undervaluation of humor and the commonly held idea that it is marginal literature written by men whose only concern is to gladden the leisure-time of others]," he maintains that humor "ha logrado triunfos trascendentales sobre las costumbres, sobre las leyes, sobre las instituciones humanas . . . allí donde el ceño adusto nada logra, la sonrisa acierta a abrir un camino [has attained transcendental victories over customs, laws, and institutions . . . where a frown achieves nothing, a smile manages to open a path]."^[12]

Thirty years after Fernández Flórez's words, we still face basically the same prejudice. Hence without actually coming to grips with the general problem of why our twentieth-century aesthetic still tends to undervalue the comic, Anthony Close nevertheless reasons intelligently that "to interpret Don Quijote as a burlesque comedy is not necessarily to hold an impoverished view of it as a work of art, nor to reduce the critical problems that may be raised about it to an elementary level."^[13]

In fact, with his Don Quixote Cervantes elevates the comic tradition to the level of humor as initiated by Erasmus in his Moria .

The sonnets' ultimate significance is as fools' dialogues. If we follow the paradoxical logic proferred by Stultitia, we realize that to praise a fool is to be a fool. Therefore, the praisers of the fool Don Quixote are fools themselves. And these fools are passing judgment on the greatest fool of all, and on his foolish history. Don Quixote's madness—his "humor"—reaches back in time to encompass the heroes and heroines of what is, in the final analysis, a foolish (fantastically crazy) genre. Out of this foolish genre Cervantes creates a new madness—the humor of the modern novel. By making this link with the past (the romances of chivalry) and the present (the contemporary literary scene), the sonnets help guide the way toward the future (the

modern novel). The madness that permeates every level of the novel is a blanket of humor under which everything is tucked. And the edges of this blanket are the burlesque sonnets.

Cervantes, as ultimate author of the sonnets and of Don Quixote, also assumes the role of buffoon—the artificial fool who dons the mask of madman in order to point out society's ills. And if Don Quixote teaches us anything, it is that through madness lies freedom. Just as Alonso Quijano's obsession frees him from the tedium of a meaningless life, so Cervantes's irony, paradox, and humor free him from the constraints of an exhausted generic past.

Carnivalesque Elements

With his seminal study of Rabelais in the light of medieval and Renaissance folk culture, Rabelais and His World, Mikhail Bakhtin opened up a whole new area in literary scholarship: the awareness and study of carnivalesque elements and imagery in Renaissance literature.^[14] Bakhtin shows how Carnival was a time of freedom and laughter whose associated festivities and ritualistic comic spectacles "celebrated temporary liberation from the prevailing truth and from the established order."^[15] It was a time of change and renewal, separate from official time; a period of systematic inversions characterized by "the peculiar logic of the 'inside out' (à l'envers ) . . . of numerous parodies and travesties, humiliations, profanations, comic crownings and uncrownings."^[16] In sum, an explosion of ritual madness designed to preserve human sanity during the remainder of the regimented year.

In Don Quixote this carnivalesque madness joins with the humanistic, Erasmian folly already explored. In his masterpiece of humor Cervantes combines classical irony with the liberating, comic laughter of the popular tradition. Both social and literary currents are represented, perfectly interwoven and reconciled, in the Quixote sonnets. These embrace the novel and place it entirely witin a separate time—one of masquerade and make-believe. The book begins and ends in a carnivalesque atmosphere of laughter and parody—one that will surface repeatedly within the body of the text.

An integral part of the carnivalesque upside-down world is the disguise, the theme of the mask. Bakhtin identifies it as

the most complex theme of folk culture. The mask is connected with the joy of change and reincarnation, with gay relativity and with the merry negation of uniformity and similarity; it rejects conformity to oneself. The mask is related to transition, metamorphoses, the violation of natural boundaries, to mockery and familiar nicknames. It contains the playful element of life; it is based on a peculiar interrelation of reality and image, characteristic of the most ancient rituals and spectacles.^[17]

The ubiquitous presence of the mask and masquerades within the body of Don Quixote is one of its outstanding carnivalesque elements (Micomicona, the Knight of the Mirrors, Countess Trifaldi, Barataria, men dressed as women and vice versa, etc.).^[18] These episodes have been amply and well studied. However, one area that has not been mentioned in this respect is the authorship masquerade. Cide Hamete is a masked Cervantes; so are the authors of the sonnets. In the inverted world of the novel, knights of old are revived and transformed into literati to pass judgment on Don Quixote and his history. At the book's end a coterie of wretched Argamasillian poetasters pose as knowledgeable academicians. And Cervantes masquerades as all of these impersonators in order to parody and mock their counterparts in the humorless officialdom of "real" time.

All the playacting within the novel is a reflection of and is ultimately related to the first and foremost of all the masquerades: the masking of the author himself. Therefore, not only are Cervantes's authorship gambits a means of providing ironic distance, but they also anticipate and reflect a procedure he will adopt to great comic effect within the body of Don Quixote . They also wreath the novel in the liberating laughter that characterizes both the book and the festive atmosphere that reigned at the time of its publication.^[19]

In his authorship masquerade Cervantes does not merely affect an assumed name. Instead he takes on the personality of each of the paladins-cum-poets. A stylistic-linguistic analysis of the sonnets reveals that while they all form a cog in the bur-

lesque wheel, each is also quite unique: their individual style matches their "author." The fact that Cervantes creates the sonnets in character is also the reason why they are so "bad": what type of poetry can be expected from such bards? It is to Cervantes's credit that he has produced such inelegant verses; to think that he did not do so deliberately is to misunderstand their purpose. Madariaga and Clemencín fell into this trap when, of Orlando Furioso's encomium of Don Quixote, the former said: "Todo este soneto es malito y enrevesado [This entire sonnet is bad and does not make sense]" and the latter: "El soneto es ininteligible y malo de veras [The sonnet is unintelligible and truly bad]."^[20] Of course, it is; it was written by a madman.

Orlando's convoluted verses (Appendix 49) make sense only when we realize that he speaks from within his madness. The absurd punning (on par as meaning both Peer of Charlemagne's court and "equal") and the manifest inaccuracies of the first quatrain (calling Don Quixote "invito vencedor, jamás vencido"), together with the obscure allusions to Moors and Scythians in the final tercet, are nothing but the ravings of a selfdeclared lunatic for love. Cervantes was an adept sonneteer when he wanted to be; our analysis of the burlesque sonnets independent of Don Quixote has shown just how good they are. He was also capable of producing truly excellent serious sonnets: "¿Quién dejará del verde prado umbroso?" from La Galatea, "Cuando Preciosa el panderete toca" from La Gitanilla, and "Mar sesgo, viento largo, estrella clara" from the Persiles, to cite only a few. Therefore, our author's skill in the Quixote sonnets lies precisely in assuming so perfectly the identity of these ridiculous versemongers; literary decorum required that he do so.

And Cervantes applies the rules of decorum faultlessly to the sonnet panegyrics. Amadís, caballero enamorado par excellence, writes a somewhat soulful rendition of how Don Quixote imitated him and his penance on the Peña Pobre (Appendix 45). He uses the commonplaces of contemporary lyric poetry (the spurned lover who weeps, crazed and alone, surrounded by inhospitable nature) to refer back to himself rather than praise Don Quixote. The hyperbolic tone and sombre vocatives

("tú") are more self-praise given that Amadís perceives Don Quixote as really only imitating him. The sonnet is a mockery not only of the standard love lyric of the time and its incorporation of trite, euphuistic metaphors ("en tanto, al menos, queen la cuarta esfera / sus caballos aguije el rubio Apolo"), but also of the exaggerated poetic encomiums that so stretched the truth as to totally eclipse any semblance of reality. At the same time the sonnet pokes fun at Amadís's exaggerated sentimentality, which had led Maese Nicolás to dub him the "caballero llorón."

To best appreciate Don Belianís de Grecia's masterwork (Appendix 46), we should guide ourselves by the priest's comments to his story, expressed during the scrutiny of Don Quixote's library: "—Pues ése, replicó el cura—, con la segunda, tercera y cuarta parte, tienen necesidad de un poco de ruibarbo para purgar la demasiada cólera suya ['Well,' said the priest, 'that and the second, third, and fourth parts all stand in need of a little rhubarb to purge their excess bile']" (I: 6).

Unfortunately, Don Belianís is quite inaccessible today, but in his edition of Don Quixote Luis Murillo gives further information about this fierce paladin—the man he calls the belligerent and impetuous protagonist of El Libro Primero del valeroso e inuencible Príncipe don Belianís de Grecia : "Recibió un número extraordinario de heridas graves (Clemencin contó ciento y una en los primeros dos libros) porque no era invulnerable ni tenía armas encantadas [he received an extraordinary number of serious injuries (Clemencín counted 101 in the first two books) because he was neither invulnerable nor had magic weapons]" (pp. 62, 72). Therefore, our idea of this knight is of a quick-tempered, violent, and overbearing combatant. The sonnet conforms totally to this image of its author. The fast, choppy rhythm, produced by a surfeit of active verbs set off by commas ("Rompí, corté, abollé, y dije y hice"), reflects his "excess bile" (in other words, the fury typical of most chivalric heroes).^[21] His particular arrogance is obvious in that Don Belianís boasts only of his own feats until he reaches the final verse. There he is obliged to admit that notwithstanding his own great fortune and fame, he does envy Don Quixote's deeds.

As we know, for Maese Nicolás the Caballero del Febo was

superior to all as knight errant.^[22] The paladin acknowledges this recognition and his own sense of superiority shines through his words. Nevertheless, his encomium shares in the same irony as the others. He sarcastically ennobles Don Quixote by christening the humble hero godo . His irony also embraces Dulcinea, who because of Don Quixote has become famous, honest, and wise.

The systematic inversions and related carnivalesque elements we see with respect to the authorship of the poems also abound within the sonnets themselves. For example, Oriana's sonnet to Dulcinea (Appendix 47) is a tremendously ironic presentation of the "world upside-down" theme.^[23] This concept is intimately linked to Carnival and other festive times of misrule in which established order is reversed. In such ritual spectacles as the feast of fools, feast of the ass, Easter laughter (risus paschalis ), joyous societies, and the French sottie, hierarchical levels are inverted and the world is stood on its head. This inversion was captured symbolically and pictorially in Europe on popular broadsheets that depict such scenes as men walking on their hands, fish flying in the air, animals hunting and even roasting men over a fire, and kings waiting on servants. In Spain these scenes were often shown in aleluyas, the earliest of which date from the nineteenth century.^[24]

Helen Grant has pointed out that the idea of the world upside-down necessarily implies a world right-side-up—a harmonious one created by God according to a divine and rational order. Therefore, in the world upside-down divine order has been upset: "Inherent in the commonplace is the concept of an accepted norm, and it is therefore basically conservative."^[25] This conservative view is certainly the one held by many Spanish Baroque writers. For Quevedo the world upside-down is the world created by corrupt man, whom the great satirist never ceases to scourge. It represents the world of hypocritical appearances designed to cloak reality. Quevedo, of course, uses the topos to denounce human vices in the severest of terms. Perhaps the single most striking symbol he creates to represent the world upside-down is the "buscona piramidal" from La hora de todos y la Fortuna con seso who, at the hour of justice, is upturned to reveal the corruption hidden beneath her skirts.

Grant observes the same perspective in Gracián, whose Criticón also contrasts the world as created by God with the world as man makes it.^[26]

Cervantes, as always, takes a much more ambivalent attitude toward humans and their foibles. In the Quixote sonnets he subsumes the world upside-down topos into the larger buffoonesque structure of the book. In Oriana's poem, rather than making a statement about the morality of the world (either upside-down or right-side-up), he is burlesquing both Don Quixote's inverted world and the right-way-up literary world of the romances of chivalry.

Oriana's sonnet hinges on a series of systematic, burlesque inversions. She longs to trade the sumptuous Miraflores for El Toboso and her gowns for Dulcinea's Manchegan livery. She wishes she had been able to escape Amadís's embraces as chastely as Dulcinea did Don Quixote's, to be envied rather than envy, to be happy not sad, to indulge her pleasures without consequence. All these desires are, of course, totally ridiculous within the context of Dulcinea's world. Dulcinea (that is, Aldonza Lorenzo) neither desired Don Quixote nor was even aware of his amorous intentions. The knight was so exceedingly comedido in sensual terms that the idea of Dulcinea having to escape his affections is absurd.

The comicity of this sonnet lies specifically in its absurdity—the outrageousness of a literary world whose capital is El Toboso and whose queen is Dulcinea. Oriana is deposed and Dulcinea is crowned. What we see is the distorted mirror-image of the romance of chivalry, indeed, a feast of fools designed to ridicule and subvert the chivalric ideal. The sonnet heralds the eruption of disorder, madness, and consequently of robust laughter, into officialdom.

Gandalín's sonnet to Sancho (Appendix 48) is a perfect example of the mocking irony that permeates all the poems. Its comicity lies in the adept manipulation of this irony in order to ridicule Sancho by alluding to the coarse nature that belies his squirely vocation. Rather than a proper squire, Sancho becomes the butt of a Carnival joke.

By addressing him with the ludicrously pompous "salve" (a term of address applicable to gods, kings, or generally superior

beings), Gandalín symbolically crowns Sancho carnivalesque king of fools.^[27] This moment will be paralleled in Part Two of Don Quixote when Sancho is finally taken to his chimerical realm "y luego con algunas ridículas ceremonias le entregaron las llaves del pueblo y le admitieron por perpetuo gobernador de la ínsula Barataria [then with burlesque ceremonies they presented him with the keys of the town and acknowledged him as perpetual governor of the island of Barataria]" (II: 45). Indeed, the sonnet follows the same carnivalesque structure that we find in Sancho's mock reign. First he is "exaltado burlescamente" (comically exalted) and finally, "[t]ras un breve gobierno . . . se halla derrocado burlescamente, según los ritos carnavalescos [after a brief reign . . . he is comically overthrown in accordance with Carnival rites]."^[28] At the end of his Baratarian reign Sancho is immobilized and beaten; at the end of the sonnet he is also offended and struck. In the final tercet, Gandalín insults Sancho by addressing him as "buen hombre." Rodríguez Marín has pointed out that the term is derogatory; this is why Don Quixote becomes so incensed when the officer of the Holy Brotherhood addresses him in this way at the inn (I: 17).^[29] The reference to the buzcorona is a final cruel practical joke and is reminiscent of the blows and burlesque abuse that traditionally accompany the uncrowning of the Carnival king at the end of his reign.^[30]

Sancho's ironic vituperation at the hands of Gandalín in this sonnet (and the mistreatment both he and his master suffer within the text) would have been enjoyed as highly comical by the contemporary reader. Seventeenth-century Spain still indulged in a variety of aggressive acts during Carnival which must be understood within the context of the permissiveness of that festival. Julio Caro Baroja insists that Carnival represented a season of gaiety and "ocasión de tertulias donde se contaban chistes, cuentos, chascarrillos obscenos unas veces, sucios otras [occasion for parties where jokes, stories and dirty, at times obscene, tales were told]." At the same time it permitted great license and violent acts such as to "Proferir injurias a los viandantes. . . . Publicar hechos escandalosos que debían mantenerse en secreto. . . . Hacer sátira pública de as interioridades. . . . Ensañarse con determinadas personas [Hurl insults at

passers by . . . Publish scandalous secrets. . . . Make public jokes of private matters. . . . Act with cruelty toward specific people]."^[31] Therefore, the dismay that we feel when we see Sancho ridiculed or Don Quixote trounced was cause for belly laughs among the reading and listening public of 1605. They would relate such violence to the seasonal festivities that were still a part of their world.

Gandalín goes on to sarcastically state that he envies our squire's jumento . Any member of the equine species is, of course, a loaded topic in burlesque literature. The donkey especially fulfills multiple roles within both the folk and the classical traditions. From the twelfth century on in Italy mock testimonials were written in Latin and the vernacular in which asses bequeathed parts of their body to various groups; nuns would often receive the penis. Another vogue of mock encomiums of the ass swept through sixteenth-century Italy. These were most often a form of moralizing social and political satire in which men were unfavorably compared with the humble, patient, and virtuous donkey.^[32] A more classical, adoxographic tone characterizes an encomium of the ass contained in Pero Mexía's 1547 Diálogos . In it the donkey is praised for its humility and integrity, as well as for its practicality: the she-ass's milk is recommended as both an antidote for poison and a skin cleanser, the animal is a good mount for soldiers, and even its meat is tasty.^[33] The quadruped was also prominent in the fable tradition, symbolizing stupidity and obstinacy.^[34]

From the Middle Ages on, the ass was the traditional mount of the cuckold and of the husband who allowed himself to be beaten by his wife. These unfortunate souls would be forced to ride, facing backward, through the streets of fifteenth- and sixteenth-century French towns, suffering the derision of the crowds. This "chevauchée de l'âne" was gradually incorporated into the Carnival activities ("âneries") of certain towns wherein the "âniseur" would be officially designated from among the citizenry or, at times, replaced by a straw puppet.^[35]

In addition to the roles mentioned above, the ass is also traditionally associated with carnality; during Carnival it often symbolized Priapus.^[36] As does Sancho, the king in various carnivalesque rituals rode a donkey. The animal also figured prom-

inently in the Feast of Fools and the Feast of the Ass. In these festivals a donkey was introduced into the church and "asinine masses" were celebrated in which the priest and congregation would engage in comic braying. Thus the mention of Sancho's Dapple brings a wealth of richly symbolic and largely comical connotations to the poem.

Gandalín's initial sarcasm is the idea that Fortune, the Goddess who typically acted capriciously and blindly when apportioning her favors, proceeded "cuerdamente" (wisely) when initiating the novel squire and allowing him to escape unscathed from his duties ("sin desgracia alguna"). The ironic allusion is, of course, to the countless beatings and ignominious blanketing poor Sancho suffered in Part One.^[37] The terms "varón" and "trato (escuderil)" are highly suggestive in the initial verses. The first is a term charged with significance, generally indicating a virile man of good judgment, noble conscience, and valor. To apply it to Sancho brings immediately to mind his rotund figure and occasionally cowardly nature. "Trato" is also an ambiguous word not free of negative connotations. It can suggest the idea of negotiation or unsavory dealings of many kinds; Gandalín uses it to suggest that Sancho has usurped the profession of squire and to expose his chivalrous pretensions.

Other terms point to Sancho's peasant accoutrements (azada, hoz, alforjas ) to mock his rusticity. Once again, it is the world upside-down theme; these implements are a burlesque inversion of the knightly appurtenances of sword, shield, and finery. The words themselves represent the intromission of a comic and grotesque lexicon into the sublimity of poetry and chivalry. At the same time, and in keeping with Sancho's implicit role of Carnival king, the hoe and sickle can ironically symbolize his "sceptre," that is, his fool's bauble or bladder. Because natural fools were very often of peasant origin, an historical link can be established between the buffoon and the rustic.^[38] Thus these references to Sancho's rusticity provide additional oblique allusions to his carnivalesque nature.

Through his irony and malicious allusions Gandalín effectively lampoons Sancho's doubtful squirehood and reveals his true nature. In fact, he operates in much the same way as the

heartless duke and duchess who fabricate Sancho's government in order to make fun of his rustic characteristics—"tontería, glotonería y cobardía" (foolishness, gluttony, and cowardice).^[39] By doing so he points out our squire's undeniable links to the Carnival tradition.

The most enigmatic of all the encomiastic sonnets is the one written by Solisdán to Don Quixote (Appendix 51). He is the only unknown element among the paladins and the only one to reveal a true understanding of Don Quixote's madness and of his history. Three-and-a-half centuries later, Solisdán's identity still remains a puzzle. Over the years several critics have tried to identify him. Clemencín judged him to be a fictional invention of Cervantes. Shevill declared his name a misprint for Solimán, emperor of Trapisonda (from the Caballero del Febo ). Riquer believed him to be a character in a now-lost romance of chivalry. According to Paul Groussac, Solisdán is an anagram for Lassindo, Bruneo de Bonamar's squire who was knighted the same day as Gandalín from the Amadís cycle.^[40] Justo García Soriano feels that Solisdán is Alonso de Castillo Solórzano, pointing out that if the "i" is removed from his name, what remains is a perfect anagram for "D. Alonso."^[41]

Each of these theories is necessarily problematic. Why should Cervantes invent only one paladin while transposing others from well-known chivalric romances? If the name Solisdán were a misprint, why was it not corrected in subsequent editions? And if he were Solimán, why would an emperor be included among a group of otherwise celebrated heroes? Since all the other paladins are protagonists of best-selling romances of chivalry, it does not seem likely that Solisdán could be from a romance not popular enough to have survived. Surely his name would at least have been mentioned in other works. What is the purpose of using an anagram in only one sonnet? And if adopting a character from the Amadís cycle, why use an archaic style not characteristic of those books? And why not use similar archaizing language in the other sonnets? Why create a name to satirize Castillo and not Lope? And why would Cervantes bother with an anagram when all the sonnets contain allusions to his enemies, anyway?

A logical conclusion is that Solisdán is, in fact, a Cervantine

invention.^[42] In the first place, all the other paladin poets are mentioned or their actions are to some extent paralleled within the text of Don Quixote . Also, because these heroes were well known to the contemporary reader, Cervantes was somewhat constrained stylistically in composing their poems. As we have seen, their poetic style corresponds to a certain degree with their nature. A fictional character gave Cervantes the opportunity to invent a totally independent paladin. For this reason both the style and the content of Solisdán's sonnet differ markedly from that of the other encomiums. The sonnet is a tour de force of burlesque fabla —an imitation of medieval Spanish.^[43] At the same time, its "author" is free to tell it like it is, and in no uncertain terms, regarding Don Quixote and his exploits. In terms of ironic distance, Cervantes is one step further removed from the poem. From this new perspective he is absolutely free to comment as he wishes on the book. A more autonomous "author" also granted Cervantes wider rein in including cutting allusions to Lope.

The use of fabla was a literary convention that came into vogue at the end of the sixteenth century to give a patina of antiquity to historical ballads and plays. Lope used it with some frequency;^[44] the technique was also used, and abused, by Lope's enemy Gabriel Lasso de la Vega in his historical ballads.^[45] Most characteristic of Lasso was the use of the paragogic "e" as well as archaic and often invented words.

Both Lope and Lasso used fabla with serious intent. However, when reading works written in fabla one cannot help but snicker. Their attempts to reconstruct archaic speech, given their total lack of linguistic expertise, often turn out to be unintentionally hilarious. This can be appreciated by a glance at Lope's historical plays already mentioned.

It was left to Cervantes to parody this silly and tiresome custom, hence the expressions maguer (aunque ), vos (os ), cerbelo (juicio ), home (hombre ), fazañas (hazañas ), joeces (jueces ), tuertos desfaciendo (vengando injurias ), follones cautivos y raheces (cobardes viles y despreciables ), desaguisado (denuesto ), cuitas (aflicciones ), talante (semblante ), and conorte (consuelo ). His burlesque is twofold: within the novel he makes fun of the chivalrous romances that often used such archaic language; in the sonnet he ridicules both the

pretense and the linguistic ignorance of his contemporaries who also composed in fabla .

In spite of his absurdly antiquated expressions, Solisdán nevertheless tells the truth about the novel. Don Quixote committed no base acts, while discharging his duties he did, indeed, suffer violence at the hands of "follones cautivos y raheces," and Sancho was not the best of go-betweens. In fact, the final line ("necio él, dura ella, y vos no amante") fits the trio quite accurately. Precisely because he is not an "historical" but a fictional knight, Solisdán is the only paladin to realize and admit openly that Don Quixote is truly crazy, that Sancho is a fool, and that Dulcinea is no fair damsel.

The most ironic "encomium" of the characters in Don Quixote comes from the mouths of horses. The world upside-down theme comes to the fore once again in Babieca and Rocinante's equine dialogue (Appendix 52). Here we have animals not only talking but criticizing their master to boot. Besides being the basis of the fable tradition, animal dialogues, or more specifically horse dialogues, fulfilled a special role in Spanish Golden Age burlesque and satirical poetry. One type of equine dialogue in ballad form was used by both Góngora and Quevedo to criticize contemporary customs and professions. The former's "Murmuraban los rocines" and the latter's "Tres mulas de tres doctores" are the conversations conducted "en bestial idioma" (in a bestial tongue) of groups of underfed hacks who complain about their masters à la Berganza.^[46]

Rocinante and Babieca's dialogue, while clearly a part of this poetic vogue, is much more complex than generic social criticism. First, let us consider the steeds' names. "Rocinante," as Don Quixote tells us when he names his mount, is an indication of the animal's naggish condition before they embark on their adventures. However, the term "rocín" also signifies coarseness, ignorance, and foolishness. As Agustín Redondo points out, "según el testimonio de la pícara Justina, al bobo se le motejaba de rocín [according to the pícara Justina's testimony, the fool was branded as a rocín ]."^[47] Therefore, we already know that one conversant is mad.

Even though we associate Babieca's name with a fiery animal that salivates heavily (babeador ), the word is also a humoristic

term meaning necio . Chapter 2 of the Crónica particular del Cid relates how young Rodrigo's godfather called him "babieca" because he chose for himself a mangy colt. The child subsequently baptized the colt "Babieca." This is why Rocinante declares himself to be "bisnieto del gran Babieca" (great-grandson of the great Babieca) in the preliminary verses written by the "poeta entreverado." Therefore, we have another fool and another fools' dialogue. However, while Rocinante realizes he is a four-legged necio (hence he calls Don Quixote and Sancho "tan rocines como Rocinante" [as much a rocín as Rocinante]), Babieca does not. How can he when he speaks from within the epic tradition that Cervantes is obliquely mocking?

The sonnet responds to another contemporary poetic vogue, which can be denominated la burla equina . This was linked with contemporary literary academies and flourished as a direct result of Lope's extremely popular 1583 Moorish ballad "Ensíllenme el potro rucio." By 1585, Góngora was so fed up with hearing Lope's poem on everybody's lips that he produced his brilliant parody, "Ensíllenme el asno rucio," thus initiating the two poets' long-standing enmity.^[48] From then on rival poets would frequently insult each other with any number of equine terms: rucio, asno, rocín, frisón, Babieca, Pegaso, and so on. They would do this either openly in the academies, or "anonymously" in their poetry. Therefore, any mention of such quadrupeds was suspect and brought about indignation and immediate retaliation. The rather inflated egos of most Golden Age poets could not permit their being called a fool in so public a manner.

It was mentioned earlier that the idea of talking animals placed this sonnet within the world upside-down context of Carnival. Rocinante himself is also a carnivalesque figure. Redondo describes him as a Lenten symbol—the "macilento rocín" (emaciated nag) that was often used to symbolize Cuaresma and its accompanying hunger.^[49] Indeed, Rocinante complains that he does not eat—that Don Quixote will not permit him even a mouthful of "paja." Rocinante's malicious pun refers to the fact that his master allows him neither hay nor sexual pleasure. He is doubtless remembering the disastrous outcome of the Yangüesan affair (I, 15) when his attempted dalliance with "las señoras facas" (the lady hacks) ended in a beating all around.

Poor Rocinante is not only starving but is also forcibly emasculated. The mount is as chaste as his master, but apparently not out of choice. Thus Rocinante negates the image of the horse as a noble creature and symbol of masculinity. Babieca understands the implications of the joke and denounces Rocinante as "mal criado": both mal alimentado and mal educado .

This particular sonnet is unusual in that it is placed among the encomiums, and yet rather than praise it openly denounces Don Quixote and Sancho as fools. Because of this it is in an axial position between the preliminary encomiums and final verses. It effectively anticipates the subsequent vejámenes of the académicos de la Argamasilla; in this sonnet the "authors" are vejadores rather than praisers. At the same time, and most important, the poem represents the ultimate authorship irony. By putting the sonnet in the mouths of these two particular horses, whom he then reveals to be fools, Cervantes is effectively calling asses all poets who indulge in this absurd encomiastic verse. It is the strongest statement he can make about poets like Lope. And Lope, as we shall see later, was not amused.

The Sonnets and Literary Academies

It was noted earlier that the Quixote epitaphs are not true epitaphs, given their prematurity with respect to the heroes' resuscitation in Part Two. This, of course, is an indication that at the time Cervantes was not totally convinced that there would be a Don Quixote II, in spite of his hints in the final chapter to a third sally. Nevertheless, the epitaphs do provide further opportunity for satire. The ridiculous and brazenly discordant eulogies burlesque the poesía de túmulo, which was as much a plague at the time as the insincere encomiums. In addition, the fact that they issue from a preposterous Academia de la Argamasilla is a comment on another aspect of the contemporary literary scene.

Even before we see the epitaphs, the dubiousness of the parchments containing them is made quite clear by the questionable manner of their discovery. At the end of Part One, the "author" of Don Quixote's history confesses to having found no authentic documents to confirm the knight's third sally. He con-

tinues that nothing would have been learned of the hero's end either, unless:

la buena suerte no le deparara un antiguo médico que tenía en su poder una caja de plomo, que, según él dijo, se había hallado en los cimientos derribados de una antigua ermita que se renovaba; en la cual caja se habían hallado unos pergaminos escritos con letras góticas, pero en versos castellanos, que contenían muchas de sus hazañas y daban noticia de la hermosura de Dulcinea del Toboso, de la figura de Rocinante, de la fidelidad de Sancho Panza y de la sepultura del mesmo don Quijote, con diferentes epitafios y elogios de su vida y costumbres. (I: 52)

[good fortune had not produced an old physician for him who had in his possession a leaden box, which, according to his account, had been discovered among the crumbling foundations of an ancient hermitage that was being rebuilt. In this box were found certain parchment manuscripts in Gothic character, but in Castilian verse, containing many of the knight's achievements and setting forth the beauty of Dulcinea, the form of Rocinante, the fidelity of Sancho Panza, and the burial of Don Quixote himself, together with sundry epitaphs and eulogies on his life and character.]

Américo Castro has revealed the link between Cervantes's highly fictitious story and the Granada falsifications of some fifteen years before.^[50] The leaden box containing the spurious gospels fabricated by Alonso del Castillo and Miguel de Luna and buried in the Torre Turpiana had been causing a great stir since its discovery in 1588. Cervantes was aware of the notorious events and parodies the bizarre episode with his own lead box and parchments. By doing so he provides both an exotic and mysterious ambiance typical of the romance of chivalry and an inevitable air of humorous sham.

Francisco Márquez Villanueva has pointed out the relationship between the Argamasillian academicians, Rabelais's Gargantua (which is also surrounded by enigmatic burlesque poems), and Teófilo Folengo's Macheronee .^[51] The Macheronee are the group of burlesque macaronic works written by Folengo under the pseudonym Merlín Cocaio. It's main piece is the mock epic Baldus and the whole is finished off with epigrammata that include several burlesque poems in which the author

praises and then takes leave of his characters. Márquez points to Folengo's Epigrammata and the Baldus epitaphs as sources for Cervantes's burlesque compositions.

At the time that Cervantes was writing Part One of Don Quixote, the epigram was still in great favor. In Spain it could take sonnet form or be composed in octosyllabic verse: usually a copla castellana, a copla real, or a single redondilla . The epigram also fed another poetic fashion intimately related to the Argamasillian verses: the epitafio jocoso . The early-seventeenth-century anthologies witnessed a vogue of such burlesque epitaphs. For example, Pedro Espinosa's 1605 Flores de poetas ilustres contains four epitafios jocosos by the young Quevedo. Lope also included several in his 1602 Rimas . Both poets use the shorter Castilian verse forms in these compositions. Góngora uses the décima for his 1612 burlesque epitaph "De la muerte de Bonamí, enano flamenco." Lope, in turn, uses the sonnet for the two epitafios jocosos he includes in his 1634 Rimas de Tomé de Burguillos . A more exhaustive investigation of the tradition is necessary to make any definitive statements regarding it. Nevertheless, given the dates of the burlesque epitaphs produced by the three major poets of the period, it is interesting to note that Cervantes seems to be the first to use the sonnet for his epitafios jocosos . While Cachidiablo and Tiquitoc use shorter verse, the remaining academicians use sonnets.^[52]

It has been established so far that Cervantes is making use of events (the Granada falsifications), literature (Folengo's Macheronee ), and literary modes (the burlesque epitaph) known at the time. However, he has another ultimate purpose in creating his epitafios jocosos : to mock the extravagant behavior of contemporary literary academies. Not he, but the Argamasillians, are the "authors" of the sonnets. And these eulogizers are merely a team of grotesque liars (hence the lead-box ruse) banded together to insult Don Quixote and his friends. What they produce are a combination of burlesque epitaph and vejamen —a type of poetry de rigueur as the last piece of business at meetings of Spanish literary academies. The tradition of the vejamen originated in the universities where insulting poems were written to rag new graduates.^[53] From there it passed to literary academies. These could be single sessions to commemo-

rate a specific occasion, literary competitions (academia was often used in the same sense as certamen poético ), or an established organization that met on a regular basis. María Soledad Carrasco Urgoiti has recounted the rigid yet festive protocol followed at these assemblies:

El presidente pronunciaba su oración, casi siempre en verso; el secretario leía sus chistosas cedulillas o alguna composición similar; se recitaban las poesías presentadas—que debían versar casi siempre sobre temas prescritos, sumamente frívolos y manidos—y la academia concluía con el vejamen, pieza satírica en que el ingenio que había sido nombrado fiscal zahería uno a uno a los autores de los poemas que acababan de leerse.^[54]

[The president gave his speech, almost always in verse; the secretary read his humorous proclamations or a similar composition; the poems written for the occasion on set topics—almost always extremely frivolous and trite—were recited; and the academy ended with the vejamen, a satirical piece in which the wit who had been appointed judge would insult, one by one, the authors of the poems that had just been read.]

Not only the participants but also the academy itself was often scorned in this ritual.^[55] The vejamen was always understood to be a specifically burlesque phenomenon—an unmistakable burla . This explains why such great license was taken with the poems. As José Sánchez explains:

Aquí es cuando salen al descubierto los defectos personales de cada académico, maneras de escribir, ignorancia de los socios, defectos físicos, peculiaridades, idiosincracias, etc. Por su carácter festivo y delicado, uno de los mejores poetas se encarga del vejamen.^[56]

[This is when the personal defects of each academician came to light; the writing style, ignorance, physical defects, peculiarities, and idiosyncracies of the members. Because of its festive and delicate nature, one of the best poets would perform the vejamen .]

Owing to the inevitable petty jealousies and personality conflicts inherent to these academies, compounded by the often extreme nature of the verse, the "carácter festivo y delicado" of the vejamen frequently degenerated into bitter personal invective and feuds. Because of this the extant regulations of Spanish

literary academies of the time include repeated admonitions to the members to refrain from bajezas and indecencias . For example, the Orden followed in the Conde de Fuensalida's Toledan academy (based, in turn, on that of the Madrid academies) states that it is the duty of the fiscal to censure "fábulas y vocablos de sentidos malsonantes y indecentes" (offensive and indecent tales and words) as well as to pacify eventual uproars resulting from the same.^[57] The Leyes of the 1637 Academia burlesca en Buen Retiro also begin by stating that the burlas must be decentes, and that picardía or baxeça are prohibited. The rule governing the vejamen is as follows: "El bejamen le han de hazer el Fiscal y el Secretario, con dos preçetos que no se dispensara en ninguno: ques la modestia y el decoro: y con ygual moderaçion en lo breue y en lo templado [the vejamen must be performed by the Judge and the Secretary, with two indispensible rules: modesty and decorum, and with equal moderation in brevity and temper]."

As can be appreciated, the vejamen was a very touchy part of the academic ritual, and had an undoubtedly well-deserved bad reputation. The petty grudges and quarrels that so typified the academies lead Cristóbal de Mesa to complain in a letter published in his Rimas that

Si algunos dellos [los Príncipes] hace una Academia
Hay setas, competencia y porfías,
Más que en Inglaterra o en Bohemia,
Algunas hemos visto en nuestros días
Que mandado les han poner silencio,
Como si escuelas fueran de herejías.^[58]

[If any prince starts an Academy,
There are more sects, rivalries, and disputes
Than in England or Bohemia.
Some, in our day,
We have seen silenced,
As if they were schools of heresy.]

Even Lope de Vega, darling of the academies, became disgruntled with the events at the Conde de Saldaña's academy in Madrid. In a letter to the Duke of Sessa he notes that "Las academias están furiosas: en la pasada se tiraron los bonetes dos

licenciados [The academies are furious: during the last one two licentiates threw their caps at each other.]."^[59] This academy was doomed after a tremendous dispute that broke out between Pedro Soto de Rojas and Luis Vélez de Guevara "llegó . . . hasta rodelas y aguardar a la puerta; hubo prinçipes de vna parte y de otra; pero nunca Marte miró tan opuesto a las señoras Mussas [came to blows at the door; there were princes in both bands, but Mars never looked so adversely upon the Muses]."^[60]

Cervantes was a witness to such misbehavior and disapproved of literary academies whose daily fare was the reciting of silly and frivolous verse, petty envy, and gossip mongering.^[61] He also objected to the favoritism rampant in poetic competitions.^[62] This can be seen from Don Quixote's comments to Don Lorenzo, the poet-son of the Caballero del Verde Gabán. The knight tells him how all poets arrogantly believe themselves to be the best in the world, and that the first prize in any competition "se [lo] lleva el favor o la gran calidad de la persona [is determined by favoritism or the author's standing]" (II: 18).^[63]

Cervantes was never an academic luminary; his was not the gregarious type of personality that shone in such situations. A man who by his own admission stuttered probably did not have the self-confidence to speak up and garner attention. Lope, of course, was just the opposite; his self-confidence is legendary. Lope also triumphed in the academic world, participating in several academies (often as president) and numerous justas and certámenes .^[64] Proof of his status was the fact that he was invited to the prestigious academy of Juan de Arguijo when he travelled to Seville; Cervantes was conspicuously a nonmember.^[65]

Cervantes's literary sensibilities must certainly have been in conflict with the type of academy he witnessed in Madrid and Seville. As we already know, Cervantes believed (at least in principle) that poetry should be learned, chaste, free of "torpes sátiras" (crude satires) and "desalmados sonetos" (cruel sonnets), and beyond the reach of "el ignorante vulgo" (ignorant commoners). In La Gitanilla the poet-page Clemente concisely summarizes Cervantes's ideal of true poetry: "La poesía es una bellísima doncella, casta, honesta, discreta, aguda, retirada, y que se contiene en los límites de la discreción más alta [Poetry

is a beautiful maiden, chaste, pure, discrete, clever, modest, and of the greatest discretion]."^[66]

Cervantes held an equally classicizing view of the literary academy, preferring the Italian humanistic model. In the Persiles he praises just such an organization—Siena's Accademia degli Intronati (which he mistakenly locates in Milan). The pilgrims are informed that "lo más que había que ver en aquella ciudad, era la Academia de los Entronados, que estaba adornada de eminentísimos académicos, cuyos sutiles entendimientos daban que hacer a la fama a todas horas y por todas partes del mundo [what one most had to see in that city was the Academia de los Entronados, which was graced with extremely eminent academicians whose subtle minds were famous at all times throughout the world]."^[67] The Intronati were an elite and erudite organization similar to the more famous Accademia della Crusca. Both were founded during the heart of the Italian Renaissance and dedicated wholly to humanistic pursuits. The Intronati especially favored the cultivation of Greek, Latin, and Tuscan poetry. Such classical academies became the focal point of literary creation in sixteenth-century Italy. Formed under the guidance of a noble patron, academic life was characterized by a dignified attention to the advancement of literary ideals and the publication of good books.

In all probability this is the type of academy that Cervantes wanted for Spain—one based on the search for knowledge and the perfection of the poetic art. He longed for an institution in which poetry could become la cumbre de los saberes . Its members would be cultivated intellectuals capable of stemming the vulgarization of poetry represented by the phenomenon of the comedia . Instead, he saw infantile, frivolous tertulias dedicated to pure, antiacademic entertainment. Lacking the noble patronage and ideals of the Italian humanistic models, these anti-intellectual gatherings rejected classicism to exalt the shallow, vacuous poetry that triumphed among the masses. And Lope, who was in the best position to provide literary leadership and direction, chose instead the path of anticlassicism and commercialization that led directly to the corrales .^[68]

Cervantes's poetic ideals, his disenchantment with the

Spanish academies, and his probable resentment for being excluded from the more aristocratic among these, fired his determination to make fun of the academic establishment. Consequently he conceived the magnificently absurd Academia de la Argamasilla, whose members are no more than buffoons. At the same time Cervantes created an academy that would at least discuss his work rather than treating it with the indifference characteristically afforded his writings. The academy is pure burla from which nobody, not even Cervantes himself, escapes.

The first joke is on the place. There are two, equally wretched, Argamasillas in the heart of La Mancha: Argamasilla de Alba and Argamasilla de Calatrava.^[69] The North American equivalent of these one-horse towns, in the words of our beloved and greatly missed friend Steve Gilman, would be "Mudville." Argamasilla, from the word argamasa (mortar), brings with it a wealth of connotations evolving from its basic quality of hardness: inflexibility, hard-headedness, coldness, immobility. These qualities are transferred to the académicos, producing ignorant, doltish, and rigid minds. The academician's ridiculous names are an indication of the type of institution to which they belong. Monicongo, Paniaguado, Caprichoso, Burlador, Cachidiablo, and Tiquitoc sound suspiciously like underworld nicknames. In fact, they could easily be included along with el Renegado, la Ganancia, Ganchuelo, and la Cariharta among Monipodio's motley crew. These academics definitely belong to Argamasilla's hampa .

The poetry they produce is what we would expect from such low types. Their ignorance is immediately apparent in their pretentious display of a few miserable scraps of rachitic Latin ("hoc scripserunt," "in laudem Dulcineae del Toboso"). Their style and language are definitively base and occasionally border on thieves' slang. While the encomiums depend more often on irony to give backhanded compliments to Don Quixote and his companions, the epitaphs are directly insulting. This, of course, is appropriate for the vejamen .^[70] The intromission of vulgar language is greater and the burla more severe than in the preliminary verses.

Paniaguado's sonnet to Dulcinea (Appendix 54) and Bur-

lador's to Sancho (Appendix 56) are especially denigrating. In the first, Dulcinea's portrait—"rostro amondongado . . . alta de pechos . . . reina del Toboso"—is extremely crude. In fact, the first word of the poem sets the tone for the entire composition. It would be difficult to find a more disrespectful term than "Esta." Calling her "manchega dama" is a wound made with a double-edged sword. "Dama" can always be interpreted to mean exactly the opposite of "lady," and when combined with its adjective provides another burla manchega . La Mancha, after all, is hardly a chivalric milieu.

In just the first quatrain of his epitaph, Sancho is already called a short, cowardly fool. The vulgar oath "os juro y certifico," combined with the generally aggressive tone of the sonnet, divulges Burlador's true identity: he is just another valentón like his brother in the sonnet to Philip II's tomb. In spite of his ruffianlike nature, he ends his sonnet with a pompous allusion to the Baroque commonplace of the fugacity of life. The seemingly poetic "al fin paráis en sombra, en humo, en sueño" has already been totally undermined by the mention of and burlesque apology for the borrico that is Sancho.

The remaining epitaphs, Monicongo's sonnet to Don Quixote (Appendix 53) and Caprichoso's in praise of Rocinante (Appendix 55), are equally loud and vulgar compositions. The first author starts by calling our hero calvatrueno, a "vocablo grosero y aldeano" (rude and rustic word) according to Covarrubias. The tone of this entire poem is insulting and characterized by grotesque exaggeration. The final verse, "yace debajo desta losa fría," is formulaic for the epitafio jocoso . This poem is clearly within that tradition.

Caprichoso's sonnet is just as exaggerated, but also quite problematic. In the first place the author does not even mention Rocinante until the estrambote . Therefore, the epigraph "Del Caprichoso, discretísimo académico de la Argamasilla, en loor de Rocinante" is an error. This most discreet and circumspect of academicians does not even know whom he is eulogizing. The remaining verses are a series of ludicrous and obscure references to the memory and deeds of Don Quixote. Ultimately the sonnet is a perfect example of a truly bad poem and of what is to be expected from Argamasillian poets.

In sum, the académicos de la Argamasilla are a pack of sterile wits (as dense and dry as argamasa ) steeped in ignorance. Just as their names have no real meaning, their academy has no purpose other than to produce thoroughly worthless "poetry." Through them Cervantes is severely judging the type of academy he knew and despised. The Argamasillian academicians are consummate poetasters, filling their "academy" (the pages of Don Quixote ) with the only verse they are capable of producing: vulgar, superficial slander.

It remains to be established what the Argamasillian epitaphs contribute structurally to the novel. In fact, the structure of Part One of Don Quixote corresponds perfectly to that of literary academies. These meetings consisted of three stages: first came an encomium of the president and other officials, then the reading of poetry, and finally the vejamen . Clemencín says in his edition of the novel that Don Quixote is the president of the Academia de la Argamasilla. This is true since all the paladins praise him and his fellow "officers" (Dulcinea and Sancho) at the beginning. Therefore, the sonnet encomiums represent the first stage of the meeting; the epitaphs, the third. Francisco Máquez Villanueva, noting this structure, has ingeniously observed that what remains in the middle is, in fact, the reading of Don Quixote and the most fabulous academic session ever held.^[71] This would mean that not only the vejadores but also the paladins (and even Cervantes) are, in fact, members of this Manchegan academy. And what are these poets but buffoons mocking and parodying the world that surrounds them? Not only do they unite Don Quixote into a coherent and meaningful whole, but they also link it to the madness of the world outside the book.

Los Sinónimos Voluntarios and the Sonetada

It will be clear by now that the Quixote sonnets form part of a literary mundillo . In Seville, Valladolid, and Madrid, literary and personal relations were interwoven to such a degree as to render the two inseparable. Literature, and especially poetry, was the medium through which friendships were nourished, rival

factions were strengthened, and wars were waged. Poetry was often the weapon; the literary academies, the battleground. As often as they praised their mutual friends, poets would insult and revile their enemies. This could be done through subtle allusions or the most bitter personal invective. Cervantes was involved in both, and one of his favorite targets was Lope de Vega.

Cervantes had praised Lope in both the Galatea and the encomiastic sonnet discussed earlier "En honor de Lope de Vega" (Appendix 33). As mentioned, the poem was included among the preliminaries to the second edition (1602) of Lope's epic poem La Dragontea . However, by the time Cervantes was creating the Quixote preliminary and closing verses—probably the last part of the book to be written—their relationship was such that he filled them with sharply ironic allusions to his rival. Of course, Cervantes was not the only person to do so. As a result of his immense popularity among the masses and the concomitant envy of less successful poets, Lope found himself the constant butt of jokes and satirical pieces. As he himself complained in an epistle to Gaspar de Barrionuevo:

No se tiene por hombre el que primero
no escribe contra Lope sonetadas
como quien tira al blanco de terrero.

Luego se canoniza de poeta . . .
cualquiera que ha enseñado a su vecino
el sonetazo escrito contra Lope.^[72]

[He who has not written sonetadas  against Lope,
like a person taking aim at a target,
cannot call himself a man.

Then whoever has shown his neighbor
a sonetazo  written against Lope
canonizes himself as a poet.]

The sonetada, a sonnet steeped in bitter personal invective and burla, flourished at the turn of the century.^[73] It was intimately linked to literary academies and fed by the bitter rivalries rampant at the time. One Sevillian "academy" especially excelled at the sonetada . Baptized the Academia de Ochoa by

Francisco Rodríguez Marín, it was a rather motley association of younger poets: Juan de Ochoa, Mateo Alemán, Alonso Alvarez de Soria, Luis Vélez de Guevara, and Miguel de Cervantes.^[74] In opposition to the members of Juan de Arguijo's aristocratic, humanistic, and above all prestigious Sevillian academy, the Ochoans' forte was extemporaneous, highly satirical verse.^[75]

Therefore, when an unsuspecting Lope traveled to Seville in 1602 to visit his Camila Lucinda (Micaela de Luján) and Arguijo's academy, the Ochoans celebrated his arrival with several outrageous sonetadas (Appendix 57–60). These poems were designed to insult Lope and subvert his princely standing in the official literary community from which these lesser figures were excluded. Although each inflammatory sonnet was probably a group effort, all the verses have distinctly Cervantine ingredients. First, the dialogic structure is favored by Cervantes in several of his burlesque sonnets. In addition, the ruffianesque language in sonnet 57 is very reminiscent of the sonnet "Al túmulo de Felipe II en Sevilla" (Appendix 37), and even more so of "De otro valentón, sobre el túmulo de Felipe II" (Appendix 38). Expressions such as "Vive Dios," "Por Jesucristo," "Por el Hijo de Dios," and "Voto a Cristo" suggest that the narrators of "Lope dicen que vino" are two more Cervantine valentones . Sonnet 58 makes the same criticisms that Cervantes would make in his later Viaje del Parnaso : true poets starve while Parnassus has been usurped by greedy poetasters and mozos de golpe . This last expression indicates both popular poets who made their living by improvising vulgar poetry on demand,^[76] as well as the young boys charged with answering the door of brothels.^[77] This cruel inculpation combines the two constant criticisms Cervantes will make of Lope: his vulgarization of poetry and his sexual improprieties.

Even if we, at such great distance, cannot say for sure who wrote these poems, it would seem that Lope was able to identify Cervantes as at least co-author: their poor relations date from this period. And they would deteriorate even more after the publication of Part One of Cervantes's great novel. This is because the Quixote poems also function as underground sonetadas, albeit in a more subtle way. Personal satire in published books

had to depend more on irony and sarcasm than the outright vulgar invective that circulated anonymously. Beginning with Urganda's preliminary verses, the poems contain a plethora of thinly veiled and highly ironic allusions to Lope's works and private life. There are doubtless jabs at other contemporary figures, but what at that time were patent innuendos and "in jokes" are mostly undecipherable today. Nevertheless, given our knowledge of the Fénix's life and works, much of the criticism of Lope can be decoded. It certainly caused great consternation at the time and a flurry of reprisals in Lope's camp.

The major retaliation on Lope's part was, of course, Alonso Fernández de Avellaneda's apocryphal Quixote . Through his as yet unidentified minion, Lope tries to get his own back by insulting the true Quixote . In the prologue to his novel Avellaneda reveals how stung Lope was by Cervantes's pointed allusions when he says that even though he could, he will not "hacer ostentación de sinónimos voluntarios" (show off with voluntary synonyms) as his rival had.^[78] These "sinónimos voluntarios" are nothing other than the mischievous and at times ruthless allusions to Lope scattered throughout Don Quixote I . Nevertheless, several authors have argued over the correct interpretation of the expression. Rodríguez Marín feels they are what we today call "apodos, alias, motes" (nicknames or aliases).^[79] Angel Rosenblat sustains that the expression refers to plain synonyms: "términos de significación parecida o afín."^[80] However, both authors seem to miss the point, which is, why voluntarios ? Is there such a thing as involuntary synonyms? Avellaneda is using a metalanguage full of second intentions. He is speaking directly to Cervantes, advising him that he has understood his purposeful and meaningful synonyms—allusions—but chooses not to do the same (which, of course, he does). Justo García Soriano has best understood and deciphered the sinónimos voluntarios, saying of them:

En ellos está la malicia y la clave de las ofensas. Es indudable que Avellaneda se refiere aquí a las indirectas, apodos, alusiones mortificantes, ironías burlescas y frases de doble sentido, contenidas en el prólogo, versos preliminares y elogios de los Académicos de la Argamasilla, de la primera parte del Don Quijote cervantino.^[81]

[In them lies the malice and the key to the offenses. Avellaneda doubtless refers to the hints, nicknames, mortifying allusions, burlesque irony, and double entendres contained in the prologue, preliminary verses, and encomiums of the Académicos de la Argamasilla in Part One of Cervantes's Don Quixote .]

The latent references to Lope require careful analysis. Urganda's preliminary verses are an indication of what is to come. The lines "No indiscretos hieroglí-[ficos] / Estampes en el escu[do] [Put no vain emblems on thy shield / Or pompous coats-of-arms display]" are a repudiation of the spurious Carpio family shield with its nineteen towers and pompous motto "De Bernardo es el blasón, las desdichas mías son [the coat of arms is Bernardo's, the misfortunes mine]." Lope displayed these on several of his works, starting with the 1598 Arcadia .^[82] The same towers led Góngora to produce his famous sonetada "Por tu vida, Lopillo, que me borres."^[83]

Among other allusions to Lope are "Hablar latines rehu-[sa] [No Latin let thy pages show]" and "que el que imprime neceda-[des] / dalas a censo perpe-[tuo] [For fooleries preserved in print / Are perpetuity of shame]." The former refers to both Lope's penchant for Latin quotations and his rather tenuous grasp of that language. It also makes fun of the emblem and accompanying inscriptions that adorn his 1604 Peregrino en su patria . The frontispiece of the book shows Pegasus taking wing and the inscription "Seianus michi Pegasus," a pictograph of envy with the motto "Velis, nolis, Invidia," and, finally, a pilgrim with the caption "Aut unicus aut peregrinus." Urganda's latter verses reflect Cervantes's opinion of Lope's works: they are nothing but necedades .

García Soriano has neatly and schematically pointed out the bases for the attacks by other writers upon Lope. First were his amorous excesses, especially the long-standing and adulterous affair with Micaela de Luján that was still going strong at the time. Lope's extreme romantic sentimentality, expressed shamelessly in his biographical poetry, accompanied these public displays. Next were his known arrogance and ostentatious self-display: his genealogical pretensions (given the fact that he was the son of a humble embroiderer), the phoenix emblem and

mottos "único y solo" and "aut unicus aut peregrinus," and his association with the mythical steed Pegasus. Lope's innate presumption also led him to believe, not without reason, that everyone envied him—hence the "Velis, nolis, Invidia" inscription. His pedantry made him include pseudoerudite cites and Latinisms in his works, yet at the same time he turned his back on Aristotelian precepts and churned out entertainment for the masses. All these elements form the background of the Quixote poems.

Because of Lope's highly public sentimental life, all allusions to love or sensuality are suspect in Cervantes's sonnets. Amadís's mention of his "llorosa vida" and Don Quixote's copious tears (Appendix 45) immediately bring to mind Lope's famous "Serrana hermosa" epistle.^[84] Written to Lucinda in absentia, it is a lengthy exhibition of weepy sentimentality. The poem had already prompted Góngora to assign Lope the nickname of "yegüero llorón" (crybaby mare-keeper).

In a similar manner, Oriana's sonnet (Appendix 47) can be interpreted on one level as a crushing criticism of Camila Lucinda. The idea that Dulcinea (Lucinda) made Don Quixote (Lope) "venturoso" is charged with sexual significance, as is Oriana's desire to "goz[ar] los gustos sin escote." The statement that Dulcinea escaped chastely from her courteous knight can also be interpreted as a supremely ironic statement about Lope's sentimental misadventures with Luján. Oriana's wish to exchange London for Dulcinea's hamlet recalls Micaela de Luján's plebeian origins. The serrana hermosa was, in fact, born in a small and insignificant Manchegan town.

Lope had also reincarnated Lucinda as Angélica and himself as Orlando in La hermosura de Angélica (1602). Cervantes has fun with Lope's attempt to emulate Ariosto in Orlando Furioso's sonnet to Don Quixote (Appendix 49). He slyly makes evident that the poem refers to Lope in the first quatrain: "Si no eres par, tampoco le has tenido; / que par pudieras ser entre mil pares, / ni puede haberle donde tú te hallares, / invito vencedor, jamás vencido." The "peerless" knight is, of course, the same one who is "aut unicus aut peregrinus." In the tercets Cervantes maliciously mocks the repeated comparisons Lope made of his affair with Lucinda and the story of Orlando and Angélica.^[85]

Lope established a correlation between the legendary couple and the great love that also drove him to madness, despair, and misfortune. Especially pointed are the mentions of "decoro," "proezas," and "fama." Lope's amorous exploits were, indeed, famous, as was his considerable lack of decorum in matters of the heart.

In this same vein, Don Belianís's claim that "fui diestro, fui valiente, fui arrogante; / mil agravios vengué, cien mil deshice. . . . Hazañas di a la fama que eternice; / fui comedido y regalado amante;" (Appendix 46) are appropriate for a man of Lope's vanity. The Fénix eternalized his own amorous hazañas ; the proof that he was a comedido y regalado amante can be read in his poetry. In fact, this entire sonnet can easily be conceived as having been written by and about Lope. This is especially true given the final verse where, ironically enough, he must admit to envying Don Quixote's (Cervantes's) superior deeds (literature).

In the final words of his encomium (Appendix 50), the Caballero del Febo says Don Quixote has made Dulcinea "famosa, honesta y sabia" in the eyes of the world. The line recreates verse 1,418 of Garcilaso's Second Eclogue: "dulce, pura, hermosa, sabia, honesta" (sweet, pure, beautiful, wise, honest). But in addition there is terrible sarcasm contained in Cervantes's adaptation of the verse: the word "honesta" when Lope and Luján were public adulterers, and "sabia" when Lucinda was a known illiterate.^[86] In this poem Lope's motto surfaces once again when the knight says he loved Claridiana "por milagro único y raro." In a like manner, Amadís prophesies that the author of Don Quixote's exploits will be "al mundo, único y solo" (Appendix 45). The connection between these expressions and Lope would have been painfully obvious at the time.

Soriano believes that the Quixote poems also mock Alonso de Castillo Solórzano. Besides being Lope's friend, this poet often served as his secretary at academies presided over by the more famous bard. This bears upon the identity of the académicos de la Argamasilla. On this covert level, Cervantes is ridiculing both Lope and his assistant as officers of an absurdly pretentious academy. Castillo was also tremendously bald, thus the mention of the "calvatrueno" in Monicongo's sonnet (Appendix 53) was an additional torment.

Because of the close personal relationship that existed between Lope and Castillo, Soriano feels that Sancho (who is called escudero, alcagüete, and mayordomo in the poems) is a mask for the latter. In addition, any mention of amo and escudero can be interpreted as allusive to the two friends. Because of this, Burlador's sonnet (Appendix 56) is filled with malicious intent. The escudero Sancho is constantly insulted as being foolish. His dueño is no better off; by association he is as manso as his mount Rocinante. Both master and squire are ultimately denounced as asses. Another insinuation is contained in Solisdán's sonnet to Don Quixote (Appendix 51). Here the mention of a possible desaguisado committed by Dulcinea could easily refer to a rupture in one of Lope's love affairs caused in some way by Castillo, the mal alcagüete .

It is in the dialogue between Babieca and Rocinante (Appendix 52), however, where the allusions to Lope and Castillo Solórzano are most complex. This sonnet has already been discussed as part of the burla equina tradition. On its personal, underground level, the poem is a satire of Lope and his escudero-mayordomo Castillo. The latter is the target hidden behind the mask of Babieca, and the former is represented by Rocinante. On this personal level the malicious mention of paja is highly suggestive.

We know by his many poems to and about Lucinda that Lope's long affair with Micaela de Luján had its ups and downs. He often complains of her disdain and of his jealousy, and hints to a possible betrayal on the part of Lucinda in La hermosura de Angélica . In Canto V he speaks of Lucinda's many suitors, adding "pero ignoro / quién fuera de tus méritos Medoro [but I know not / what Medoro enjoyed your merits]." Soriano feels Góngora was using this material to ridicule Lope in his ballad "Desde Sansueña a París."^[87] In this erotic satirical poem a certain Berenguela "da a un paje / lo que a tantos amos niega [grants to a page / what she denies to so many masters]" while Dudón (a famous thirteenth-century French doctor) comments "Basta, señores, que andamos / tras la paja muchas bestias [Enough, gentlemen / for we are many beasts in pursuit of fodder]." Thus Góngora wickedly links paja (meaning both "straw" and "sexual relations") and paje in a poem whose underground

topic can be traced to Orlando's (Lope's) difficulties with Angélica (Camila Lucinda) as a result of the intromission of Medoro (the unidentified paje ).

In chapter 1 of Part Two of the novel, Don Quixote also asserts that Angélica was "una doncella destraída, andariega y algo antojadiza" who "despreció mil señores, mil valientes y mil discretos, y contentóse con un pajecillo barbilucio [a giddy damsel, flighty and somewhat wanton. . . . She treated with scorn a thousand gentlemen, men of valor and wisdom, and took up with a smooth-faced sprig of a page]." The knight goes on to say how "un famoso poeta andaluz lloró y cantó sus lágrimas [a famous Andalusian poet has lamented and sung her tears]" (Luis Barahona de Soto's Las lágrimas de Angélica ), and "otro famoso y único poeta castellano cantó su hermosura [another famous and rare poet, a Castilian, has sung her beauty]" (Lope's La hermosura de Angélica ). In this way Cervantes neatly joins the story of Angélica's dalliance with the pagecillo barbilucio to the "famoso y único castellano" (aut unicus aut peregrinus ) who sung her beauty.

Given this background, the equine dialogue takes on another meaning through the wordplay on the terms paja and paje . In addition, we should remember that the Donoso Entreverado's verses also contain another veiled allusion to this same situation. Rocinante tells how Lazarillo (another paje ) stole the blind man's (Lope's) wine (the source of his pleasure) with a paja . And finally, the second tercet of the sonnet is the ultimate blow, where the amo and escudero are declared "tan rocines como Rocinante."

Cervantes's burlas, if somewhat obscure today, were certainly not so at the time. Both Lope and Castillo were perfectly conscious of the snide insinuations. As a result, Lope wrote his sonetada "Pues nunca de la Biblia digo lé—," (Appendix 61) and Castillo Solórzano his sonnet epitaph "Al caballo Babieca, aludiendo a un necio" (Appendix 62).^[88] Lope's sonnet also responds to the sonnet "Hermano Lope, bórrame el soné[to]" (Appendix 63). Although this last poem has been attributed to both Góngora (by Foulché-Delbosc and Orozco Díaz) and Cervantes (Pellicer and Entrambasaguas), it seems most likely to be a product of Cervantes or at least of the Academia de Ochoa. The sonnet is tailed, a type of composition Góngora used only

very rarely.^[89] It would also be Góngora's sole extant cabo roto sonnet. Biruté Ciplijauskaité, the editor of Góngora's complete sonnets, also doubts Góngora's authorship. Cervantes, in contrast, did write both versos de cabo roto and tailed sonnets.^[90] But the inventor of cabo roto verse was probably Alonso Alvarez de Soria, an enemy of Lope and card-carrying member of the Academia de Ochoa.^[91] Thus, although no attribution can be definitively proved, the sonnet seems closer to Cervantes than to Góngora. Be that as it may, Lope obviously thought that Cervantes was its author. Line one of his sonetada ("Pues nunca de la Biblia digo lé—") is a reaction and response to Cervantes's line 4 ("pues nunca de la Biblia dices le—").

The sonetada attributed to Lope includes the standard elements of this type of invective. He starts by calling Cervantes "co-" and "cu-": coco (bogyman) and the indispensible cuco (cuerno or cornudo ). The term frisón comes from the burla equina tradition. Frisians were very large, corpulent, and heavy-footed beasts generally used for pulling carriages. The insult probably does have some basis in fact, since in his prologue to the Novelas ejemplares Cervantes describes himself as "algo cargado de espaldas, y no muy ligero de pies [somewhat stooped in the shoulders and not very light-footed]." The same can be said of verse 7 when Lope says "Hablaste, buey; pero dijiste mú ." He is probably alluding to Cervantes's stutter. The second and third stanzas malign the old soldier's crippled hand and participation at Lepanto, as well as his age—a potrilla being an old man who considers himself young. Avellaneda will use these same insults in his apocryphal Quixote, causing Cervantes to complain in the prologue to Part Two of his novel:

Lo que no he podido dejar de sentir es que me note de viejo y de manco, como si hubiera sido en mi mano haber detenido el tiempo, que no pasase por mí, o si mi manquedad hubiera nacido en alguna taberna, sino en la más alta ocasión que vieron los siglos pasados, los presentes, ni esperan ver los venideros.

[What I cannot help resenting is that he charges me with being old and one-handed, as if it had been in my power to hinder time's passage, or as if the loss of my hand had occurred in some tavern and not on the grandest occasion the past or present has seen or the future can hope to see.]

Because the last two stanzas are a total defamation of Don Quixote, this poem could very well be the "soneto malo, desmayado, sin garbo ni agudeza alguna, diciendo mal de Don Quijote [the bad, insipid sonnet, totally lacking in charm and wit, criticizing Don Quixote ]" that Cervantes received in a letter con porte while in Valladolid. He recounts the anecdote in the Adjunta del Parnaso .

Castillo's sonnet (Appendix 62) is an epitafio jocoso that contains another burla equina : he also calls Cervantes a caballo frisón . At the same time Cervantes is a ciclán in terms of talent. This word is used for animals having only one testicle. Once again, the link to the false Quixote is patent in that Castillo accuses Cervantes of being known and despised as a fool. Avellaneda similarly says in his prologue that Cervantes is so lacking in friends that he had to invent his own laudatory sonnets to Don Quixote . Finally, Babieca (Castillo) is revindicated as an honorable steed while Cervantes is reviled as a nag.

It has been seen that the Quixote poems function and can be interpreted on the level of sonetadas . They attest to and illustrate the problematic literary relations and rivalries that blossomed at the end of the sixteenth to the beginning of the seventeenth century. What separates the Quixote sonnets from the other poems discussed in this chapter is their subtlety, artfulness, and innate guile. Rather than blatant ad hominem satire, they depend on ambiguous innuendo and double meanings to make their mark. However, we must also admit that Cervantes was capable—as were Lope, Góngora, and Quevedo—of the kind of rude poetry rarely published or analyzed. Indeed, this would probably be the last thing the poets themselves would want for such verse. Nevertheless, by studying it we learn more of the authors' character and attitude toward literature. Such poetry ultimately helps illuminate the darker corners of a world gone by.

Comicity of the Quixote Sonnets

The Quixote poems represent a further development of the linguistic, stylistic, and comedic characteristics present in Cervantes's independent burlesque sonnets. They are, in fact, simi-

lar to the earlier verse in many ways; in others, for example, in context, they are substantially different. The independent sonnets were probably written to be recited before a public. This public could be anonymous, as the group who heard Cervantes declaim his sonnet on Philip II's tomb in the Seville cathedral. But it is quite likely that the majority of the independent sonnets were composed to be recited at an academic session or other such literary tertulia .

The Quixote sonnets, on the contrary, were destined from the start for publication, as were the Entretenida poems. The Quixote verses operate within a given novelistic framework, and are shaped to a large extent by the book's parodic function. Because of this they are true burlesque works; they ultimately mock the literary tradition of serious verse. The independent sonnets are much closer to satire; their main targets are political and social rather than literary. As a result of their imposed context, the Quixote sonnets are much more "literary." They are perhaps less superficially accessible while just as profound in significance. Their concerns are those of the literary world: criticism, parody, poetics. At the same time they are extremely personal in their invective.

The Quixote sonnets' comicity is based on the skillful integration of three comic currents. First, the humanistic, classical vein of humor conveyed by Erasmus, classical satire, and the literature of madness. This is reflected in Cervantes's parody of the romance of chivalry, his presentation of folly through the use of irony and paradox, and satire of literary and social customs such as encomiastic verse and the institution of literary academies. Second is the broadly comic strain of liberating laughter whose immediate source is the popular tradition. This is reflected in buffoonish and carnivalesque elements such as the burlesque ridicule and abuse to which Don Quixote, Sancho, and Dulcinea are subjected; the burla equina and the burla manchega ; masquerade and playacting; absurd burlesque inversions; and linguistic nonsense such as fabla . The final current is that of personal invective within the framework of the sonetada : sarcasm, "in jokes," insults, vulgarity, and obscene innuendo.

Each type of comicity is present in the individual sonnets.

And they, in turn, represent a compact corpus of the Cervantine humor to be developed within the body of Don Quixote . The types of comicity parallel to an extent the poems' various levels of meaning discussed here (as a reflection of current literary practices, as a microcosm of the novel, and as a vehicle for personal invective). Just as the different levels of meaning are perfectly interwoven and overlap in all the sonnets, the various types of comicity also overlap. The sonnets can be read and interpreted on many levels and "laughed at" in as many ways. This very complexity, this intellectualization and expansion of the comic, is what distinguishes the Cervantine poetic comicity embodied by these works.

The models for Cervantes's parody have already been discussed: encomiastic verse, love poetry, the burlesque epitaph, the academic vejamen, the comedia nueva . I have also analyzed the individual stylistic imprints the various "authors" of the Quixote sonnets leave on the verse. However, despite this variety in narrative style, the poems are all unmistakably Cervantine. The elements that distinguish our author's style are characteristic of all his humorous work, prose or verse: irony; ambiguity; polysemy; multiple linguistic levels; and a unique combination of the classical and popular comic traditions and madness.

In terms of comic style, tone, and language, the general characteristic of all the Quixote sonnets, especially the encomiums, is their high burlesque flavor. All of the laudatory poems share a highly rhetorical, pedantic air that is a ludicrous mismatch with their comical subject. For example, Caprichoso's sonnet is farcically pompous with its Latinisms "soberbio" and "tremola," its absurd classical allusions, and its ridiculous comparison of "la alta Mancha" with Greece and Gaul. Generally mock-heroic in tone, lofty and exquisitely dramatic at the beginning, each sonnet is immediately deflated by the introduction of highly ironic elements: Don Belianís's resounding salute "¡Oh, gran Quijote!"; Gandalín's flamboyant address to Sancho, "Salve, varón famoso"; Babieca's wry comment to Rocinante, "Metafísico estáis"; and his companion's priceless bit of equine antiphilosophy, "Es que no como."

These ambiguous innuendos contained within the expressions of praise make for a double burlesque. Both the situations

and heroes of the romances of chivalry as well as those of Don Quixote are ridiculed. In this way the burlesque reflects within to the novel and without upon the "writers" of the sonnets. This can be seen, for example, when Oriana exclaims to Dulcinea: "¡Oh, quién tan castamente se escapara / del señor Amadís, como tú hiciste / del comedido hidalgo don Quijote!" Her words mock the chasteness of the knight who, whether by necessity or by nature, was excessively "comedido" in sexual terms, and in addition comment ironically on Oriana's own sensuality.

The tone of the epitaphs, however, is both insolent and scathing. This is appropriate for the tradition of the academic vejamen to which these poems belong. It is also typical of the sonetada . The comicity of these epitaphs lies in the absurd presumption and the vulgarity of the eulogizers. This, in turn, is a reflection upon their counterparts in the world outside the novel.

The language used in the sonnets ranges from the elevated, to the ridiculous, to the base. The sublime yet bombastic metaphorical language borrowed from the classical-philosophical tradition ("en sombra, en humo, en sueño," "el rubio Apolo") sits alongside the absurd ("la musa más horrenda y más discreta, / que grabó versos en broncínea plancha," "follones cautivos y raheces"), the insulting ("buen hombre," "calvatrueno," "Esta que veis de rostro amondongado"), and the downright vulgar ("os juro y certifico," "paja"). Indeed, Cervantes draws abundantly from the lower linguistic registers: from the rustic "azada," "hoz," and "alforjas" to the unmentionable "asno" and "jumento," the erotic "paja," and the insulting "calvatrueno," "Esta," and "buen hombre." The use of such varied yet related lexicon (related in its base "unpoeticality") is the natural touchstone of burlesque poetry.

More noteworthy is Cervantes's use of ambiguous terms that can be intepreted on several linguistic levels and in as many ways; an outstanding example of this is the word "cofradías." The Quixote sonnets contain many more such ambiguous terms: "trato," "decoro," "fama," "varón," "alcagüete," "comedido hidalgo." This ambiguity that characterizes all Cervantine literature operates not only on the supertextual hermeneutic level, but also on the infratextual, morphological level of language.

For example, the resonances of the expression "godo Quijote" are multiple and equivocal. To call Don Quixote a Visigoth is patently absurd. The idea that the Goths constituted the essence of Spanish nobility was but a myth. Nevertheless, the myth was powerful enough to lead many Spaniards to attempt to trace their lineage back to those early Christians and to pre-Islamic Spain. Godo connoted nobility, purity of blood, a Germanic, warlike, and therefore valiant nature.

All these qualities are subsequently undermined by the name "Quixote." As we know, the knight invents his own name, based on the root of his "real" surname plus the suffix -ote . This suffix is, of course, derogatory and ridiculous (monigote, marquesote, grandote ). And the entire mystique surrounding the idea of name, of spotless lineage, is undermined by the fact that we are not exactly sure what Alonso Quijano's surname was: Quijano, Quijana, Quejana, Quesada? Finally, by juxtaposing "godo" and "Quixote," Cervantes is not only poking fun at the impoverished hidalgo classes with their absurd pretensions to nobility, but he is also ridiculing the Goticist myth and all its presuppositions of a legendary Spain untainted by Semitic blood and values.

Although the anonymous sonetadas cannot be linked in all certainty to Cervantes, at least as sole author, any discussion of his comedic style must include them. Precisely because they hide behind the shield of anonymity, they are the most crude and insulting personal invective. Blasphemy, obscenity, and scatology are the hallmarks of this verse. Rather than use ironic double entendres, this type of poetry prefers the outright affront. It systematically employs the lowest possible register and the vilest language. All linguistic subtlety is sacrificed for the gross insult and in the end not much can be said about such verse as "Cágome en vos, en él y en sus poesías."

The comedic style and language Cervantes uses in his burlesque sonnets are determined by the context of the poetry. The independent sonnets deal with political and social realities; hence the abundance of expressions from germanesca and other specialized lexicon. Each poem presents, to a degree, a microcosm of the age and its circumstance. The Quixote sonnets are, instead, a microcosm of the literary world both inside and out-

side the novel. Yet all the sonnets are ironic, ambiguous, and multilayered. The words hide a deeper reality, a more profound meaning than is evident on the surface.

In this vein it has been said that "la función de la literatura no es la de explicar y aclarar sino la de disimular y ocultar [the function of literature is not to explain and clarify but to feign and conceal]."^[92] This process of occultation entails two linguistic-semantic levels: one is the deep significance of the words on the page; the other is the surface representation of this deep meaning that is altered and manipulated. In this regard the words and expressions Cervantes uses are the building blocks of a system of symbolization that, through manipulation of the surface structure (language), often disguises the deep structure (meaning) of his poetry. Only by exploring this symbolic level of language, by discovering all the collateral and connotative meanings of the lexicon, can we hope to recover the profound significance of Cervantes's verse.

Conclusion

The burlesque sonnet has been an effective, efficient, and extremely popular vehicle for comicity since its invention in thirteenth-century Tuscany. From that time up through the Italian Renaissance it served primarily as a parodic corrective to the sweet love and metaphysical sonnets of the Stilnovist and Petrarchan schools. Rather than expressing the sublime intimacies of the human soul, the burlesque sonnet mocked such feelings to exalt life's more earthy side: physical love, food and drink, and the pursuit of material wealth. It also established itself as a preferred medium for political and humanistic satire, for obscene and nonsense verse, for adoxography, and for personal invective.

Cervantes respected and admired this brief, rigidly structured (and hence difficult) form: two thirds of his extant poems are sonnets. He is the first Spanish poet to break with the previous Italian burlesque sonnet tradition characterized by rather violent invective and satire, by gratuitous vulgarity and frivolous themes designed to capture an easy laugh. Instead he turns to humor—the self-conscious expression of humanistic folly—to produce reflective, complex, and exemplary verse. Never one to slavishly follow inherited norms, he either rejects or adapts to his own purposes the stock topics inherited from the Italian tradition.

Cervantes's early sonnets add new vigor and intellectual depth to the burlesque. They parody certain kinds of literature (the comedia nueva ); they satirize political and social institutions (by exposing the defects of Spain's power structure and mocking several of its human types: the valentón, the false hermit, the soldier); and they air the national obsessions (appearances, ostentation, arrogance, hypocrisy) that characterize Golden Age Spain. Our author abandons the gratuitous obscenity of the Italian tradition in favor of a covert eroticism that always serves a critical, exemplary purpose. Never strident or bitter, Cervantes repudiates cruel satire to adopt more compassionate

humor in pointing out our complex, paradoxical, and quintessentially human (imperfect but vital) nature and our follies.

The burlesque sonnets that frame Part One of Don Quixote develop further both the humor and the satire of the independent sonnets. They contain a skillful combination of several types of comicity, all perfectly interwoven and reconciled in each sonnet. These comic modes correspond, in turn, to the poems' various levels of meaning: as a reflection of current literary practices, as a microcosm of the novel, and as a vehicle for personal invective.

In the Quixote sonnets Cervantes exploits Erasmian irony, ambiguity, and paradox in joining his novel to the current of humor exemplified by the literature of madness. The buffoonesque structure provided by the sonnet framework has important hermeneutic implications for Don Quixote . The sonnets do, in fact, contain the same humor that is the cornerstone of the novel. And it is a humor based on madness. As ultimate author of both the sonnets and the novel, Cervantes has transformed himself into the court fool whose function within society is to criticize and punish the ills of the "nobility," whether this nobility be social (the power structure) or literary (Lope de Vega). The humor of Don Quixote is fundamentally serious, but it is still fun. The novel is, indeed, a "funny book," but its humor has a profound and liberating significance.

An undercurrent of invective flows just below the surface of many Cervantine sonnets. This type of comicity is full of ironic insults and sarcasm, double entendres, and erotic innuendo. It provides a level of personal meaning from which Cervantes plays practical jokes on his contemporaries. Such personal satire comes to the fore in the group sonetadas written against Lope de Vega by Cervantes and his friends. These poems reveal a Cervantes who is much more human than the figure generally placed high atop the Renaissance literary pedestal. In them we find a man both willing and extremely capable of venting less-than-exalted sentiments. At the same time, we see his proficiency at a modality of Golden Age "fool" literature designed not only to castigate a victim but, more importantly, to entertain an audience in the know.

Cervantes is an accomplished burlesque sonneteer. He bril-

liantly manipulates style, tone, and language to create well-designed, well-executed poems. Obscure only when purposefully so, Cervantes's verse is lucid yet profound with the multiple levels of meaning that result in great part from the linguistic polysemy. His burlesque poetry abounds in linguistic variety, incorporating words and expressions from all registers, from the highest to the lowest.

Our poet uses both high (mock-heroic) and low burlesque. High burlesque is the ironic praise lavished upon Don Quixote and Sancho in the Quixote encomiums; low are the vulgar apostrophes that undermine the seriousness of Felipe II's tomb in Seville. And he even creates an additional modality of burlesque. In La Entretenida Cervantes sacrifices some of his own quite beautiful love sonnets to parody. In a perfect synthesis of the comic and the serious, the lovely and the grotesque, we find the ironic expression of Cervantine humor. And, finally, irony is the hallmark of all Cervantine burlesque verse. Only its complex ambiguities can capture the absurdities as well as the multifarious personality of the age and the place.

Cervantes's principal contribution to the burlesque tradition is humor: the self-conscious expression of madness through the use of irony and paradox. Humor brings about the intellectualization and subsequent legitimization of the comic mode of poetry. This ultimately frees it from its traditional marginal status and facilitates the great explosion of burlesque and satire we see in Spain's Baroque generation.

These words touched on only one small area of Cervantine poetry. These brief sonnets are few in quantity, but splendid in quality. They contain a whole world of significance. Many more such poetic worlds remain to be explored. Cervantes was and still is Spain's greatest prose humorist; his burlesque sonnets are worthy poetic counterparts. It is time that we recognize, as did his beloved knight, that in poetry as well as in prose, "Decir gracias y escribir donaires es de grandes ingenios [To give expression to humor and write in a strain of graceful pleasantry is the gift of great geniuses]."

Appendix

1

Rustico di Filippo                                                        (Sonnet XIV)^[1]

     Quando Dio messer Messerin fece
ben si credette far gran maraviglia;
ch'uccello e bestia ed uom ne sodisfece,
ch'a ciascheduna natura s'appiglia.
     Ché nel gozzo anigrottol contraffece,
e ne le ren giraffa m'assomiglia,
ed uom sembia, secondo che si dece,
ne la piagente sua cèra vermiglia.
     Ancor risembra corbo nel cantare,
ed è diritta bestia nel savere,
ed uomo è somigliato al vestimento.
     Quando Dio il fece, poco avea che fare,
ma volle dimostrar lo suo potere;
si strana cosa fare ebbe in talento.

     [When God made Mister Messerin
He thought He was making a great marvel indeed,
so that bird and beast and man were pleased
that He had taken a piece of each one's nature.
     Because in the neck the duck was copied,
and in the back he's like the giraffe,
and a man he seems, as is fitting,
in his pleasing red complexion.
     Furthermore, he sings just like the crow,
and is a perfect beast in learning,
but is made to look like a man in clothing.
     When God made him, He hadn't much to do,
but wished to demonstrate His power;
it amused Him to make so odd a thing.]
                                              (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

2

Rustico di Filippo                                                  (Sonnet XIII)^[2]

     Una bestiuola ho vista molto fèra,
armata forte d'una nuova guerra:
a cui risiede sí la cervelliera,
che del legnaggio par di Salinguerra.
     Se 'nsin lo mento avesse la gorgiera,
conquisterebbe il mar, non che la terra;
e chi paventa e dótta sua visèra,
al mio parer, non è folle néd erra.
     Laida la cèra e periglioso ha 'l piglio,
e burfa spesso a guisa di leone;
torrebbe 'l tinto a cui desse di piglio.
     E gli occhi ardenti ha via piú, che leone;
de' suoi nemici assai mi maraviglio,
sed e' non muoion sol di pensagione.

     [A ferocious little animal I saw,
armored strongly for a novel war:
his helmet was set in such a way
that he seemed in lineage a Salinguerra.
     If his gorget came to his chin,
he would conquer the sea and land as well;
and whoever is scared by his visor,
in my opinion, is neither crazy nor mistaken.
     Ugly his mien and dangerous his bearing,
and he snorts often like a lion;
he would make pale any man he struck.
     And his fiery eyes dart farther than the lion's;
I shouldn't wonder if his enemies
died by merely thinking of him.]
                                         (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

3

Rustico di Filippo                                                  (Sonnet XI)^[3]

     Oi dolce mio marito Aldobrandino,
rimanda ormai il farso suo a Pilletto:
ch'egli è tanto cortese fanto e fino,

che creder non déi ciò che te n'è detto.
     E non star tra la gente a capo chino,
ché non se' bozza, e fòtene disdetto;
ma, sí come amorevole vicino,
con noi venne a dormir nel nostro letto.
     Rimanda il farso ormai, piú nol tenere,
ché mai non ci verrá oltre tua voglia,
poi che n'ha conosciuto il tuo volere.
     Nel nostro letto giá mai non si spoglia!
Tu non dovei gridare, anzi tacere:
ch'a me non fece cosa, ond'io mi doglia.

     [Oh my sweet husband Aldobrandino,
send straightaway his doublet to Pilletto;
for he's such a fine and courteous young man,
you must not believe what you're told about him.
     And don't stand among people with bent head,
because you're not betrayed, I say you're not;
but, just like a loving neighbor,
he came to sleep with us in our bed.
     Send back his doublet now, hold off no longer,
for he will never see us unless you wish,
since he has learned what you desire.
     In our bed he will never more undress;
you need not yell, but just keep quiet.
for he did nothing with me which I regret.]
                                           (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

4

Cecco Angiolieri                                                    (Sonnet XXII)^[4]

     —Becchina mia! —Cecco, nol ti confesso.
—Ed i' son tu'. —E cotesto disdico.
—I'sarò altrui. —Non vi dò un fico.
—Torto mi fai. —E tu mi manda 'l messo.
     —Sì, maccherella. —Ell'avrà 'l capo fesso.
—Chi gliele fenderae? —Ciò ti dico.
—Se' così niffa? —Sì, contra 'l nimico.
—Non tocc'a me. —Anzi, pur tu se' desso.
     —E tu t'ascondi. —E tu va' col malanno.

—Tu non vorresti. —Perché non vorrìa?
—Ché se' pietosa. —Non di te, uguanno!
     —Se foss' un altro? —Cavere'l d'affanno.
—Mal ti conobbi! —Or non di' tu bugia.
—Non me ne poss'atar. —Abbieti 'l dannol!

     [—Becchina mine! —Cecco, I don't admit it.
—But I am yours. —And that I deny.
—I shall be another's. —I don't care a fig.
—You do me wrong. —Send for a bailiff.
     —Yes, a procuress. —She'll have her skull broken.
—Who'll break it for her? —That I'll tell you.
—Are you so fastidious? —Yes, toward my enemy.
—That doesn't concern me. —But you're the very one.
     —You deceive yourself. —And may the Devil take you.
—You wouldn't want that. —Why shouldn't I want it?
—Because you feel pity. —Not for you, this year!
     —If I were another? —I'd hardly discover it.
—How little I knew you! —Now you're not lying.
—I can't help myself. —So much the worse for you!]
                                                         (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

5

Cecco Angiolieri                                             (Sonnet LXXXVII)^[5]

     Tre cose solamente mi so 'n grado,
le quali posso non ben men fornire:
ciò è la donna, la taverna e 'l dado;
queste mi fanno 'l cuor lieto sentire.
     Ma sì me le conven usar di rado,
ché la mie borsa mi mett'al mentire;
e quando mi sovvien, tutto mi sbrado,
ch'i' perdo per moneta 'l mie disire.
     E dico: —Dato li sia d'una lancia!
Ciò a mi' padre, che mi tien sì magro,
che tornare' senza logro di Francia.
     Trarl'un denai' di man serìa più agro,
la man di pasqua che si dà la mancia,
che far pigliar la gru ad un bozzagro.

     [Three things only cause me to rejoice,
and these I cannot come by easily;
to wit: the tavern, women, and the dice;
these things make my heart beat gladly.
     But I am thus constrained to use them rarely,
because my purse makes me them deny;
and when I think of this I shriek with anger,
since my desires are lost through penury.
     And say I: may he be stricken by a lance;
that is, my father who keeps me so lean.
Then without a lure I would come back from France.
     It would be harder from his hand to draw a coin
on Easter morn when other folk give largess,
than with a mousing hawk to take a crane.]
                                                   (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

6

Cecco Angiolieri                                             (Sonnet LXXXVI)^[6]

     S'i' fosse foco, arderei 'l mondo;
s'i' fosse vento, lo tempesterei;
s'i' fosse acqua, i' l'annegherei;
s'i' fosse Dio, mandereil'en profondo;
     s'i' fosse papa, sare' allor giocondo,
ché tutti cristïani imbrigherei;
si'i' fosse 'mperator, sa' che farei?
A tutti mozzarei lo capo a tondo.
     S'i' fosse morte, andarei da mio padre;
s'i' fosse vita, fuggirei da lui:
similemente farìa da mi' madre.
     S'i' fosse Cecco, com'i' sono e fui,
torrei le donne giovani e leggiadre;
e vecchie e laide lasserei altrui.

     [If I were fire, the world I would burn;
if I were wind, I would blow it away;
if I were water, I would make it drown;
if I were God, I'd send it deep below.
     If I were Pope, I would be happy, too,

because all Christians I would torment;
if I were Emperor, you know what I would do?
I would cut off everybody's head, all round.
     If I were Death, after my father I would go;
if I were Life, away from him I'd flee;
and I'd act the same way to my mother.
     If I were Cecco, as I am and was,
I'd take the women who were young and pretty;
the old and ugly I would leave to others.]
                                           (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

7

Cecco Angiolieri                                                       (Sonnet CII)^[7]

     Dante Alighier, s'i' so bon begolardo,
tu mi tien' bene la lancia a le reni;
s'eo desno con altrui, e tu vi ceni;
s'eo mordo 'l grasso, e tu ne sugi 'l lardo;
     s'eo cimo 'l panno, e tu vi freghi 'l cardo:
s'eo so discorso, e tu poco raffreni;
s'eo gentileggio, e tu misser t'avveni;
s'eo so fatto romano, e tu lombardo.
     Sì che, laudato Deo, rimproverare
poco pò l'uno l'altro di noi due:
sventura o poco senno cel fa fare.
     E se di questo vòi dicere piùe,
Dante Alighier, i' t'averò a stancare,
ch'eo so lo pungiglion, e tu se' 'l bue.

     [Dante Alighieri, if I'm a gossiping buffoon,
you hold the lance firmly at my back;
if I dine with another, you have supper there;
if I bite the fat, you suck its bacon;
     if I cut the cloth, you teazle its nap;
if I can gossip, you can hardly refrain;
if I pose as noble, you become a gentleman;
if I become a Roman, you are a Lombard.
     So that, praise God, each of us
can somewhat scold the other;
misfortune or little sense makes us do it.

     And if you want to argue more about this,
Dante Alighieri, I'll affirm until you're tired
that I am the goad, and you are the ox.]
                                       (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

8

Folgore da San Gemignano                                        (Sonnet II)^[8]

                                       De gennaio

     I' doto voi, nel mese di gennaio,
corte con fochi di salette accese,
camer'e letta d'ogni bello arnese,
lenzuoi di seta e copertoi di vaio,
     tregèa, confetti e mescere a razzaio,
vestiti di doagio e di rascese:
e 'n questo modo stare a le difese,
mova scirocco, garbino e rovaio.
     Uscir di for alcuna volta il giorno,
gittando de la neve bella e bianca
a le donzelle che staran da torno;
     e quando fosse la compagna stanca,
a questa corte facciasi ritorno
e si riposi la brigata franca.

     [In the month of January I'll give you
festive courts with fires of straw aburning,
bedrooms and beds with all fine furnishing,
silken sheets and coverlets of fur;
     sweatmeats, sugared nuts, piquant wine,
Douai cloth and Rashkan serge for clothing;
and thus yourself you'll be defending,
when Sirocco, South West and North winds blow.
     Trips outside often in the day
to toss the snow, beautiful and white,
at the young girls standing all around;
     and when the company shall tire
may they return to the gathering,
and let rest come to this noble band.]
                                        (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

9

Cenne da la Chitarra                                             (Sonnet II)^[9]

                            Di gennaio

     Io vi doto, nel mese di gennaio,
corti con fumo al modo montanese;
letta qual ha nel mar il genovese;
acqua con vento che non cali maio;
     povertà di fanciulle a colmo staio;
da ber, aceto forte galavrese,
e stare come ribaldo in arnese,
con panni rotti senza alcun denaio.
     Ancor vi do così fatto soggiorno:
con una veglia nera, vizza e ranca,
catun gittando de la neve a torno,
     appresso voi seder in una banca;
e rismirando quel suo viso adorno,
così riposi la brigata manca.

     [In the month of January I'll give you,
smoky courts like mountain huts;
a bed like the Genoese have at sea;
rain with wind that never gets warm.
     An absolute scarcity of young girls;
strong vinegar from Calabria to drink;
and to dress like a poor beggar
in ragged clothes, without a penny.
     I also give you a sojourn like this:
with an old woman, dark, withered, and lame,
each of you tossing snow in turn,
     she sitting next to you on a bench;
and staring at her painted face,
so will the miserable band take its rest.]
                                   (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

10

Antonio Pucci                                                               (Sonnet XII)^[10]

   Deh, fammi una canzon, fammi un sonetto
Mi dice alcun c'ha la memoria scema;
e pargli pur che datami la tema
Io ne debba cavare un gran diletto.
   Ma e' non sa ben bene il mio difetto,
Nè quanto il mio dormir per lui si scema:
Chè prima che le rime del cor prema,
Do cento, e cento, volte per lo letto;
   Poi lo scrivo tre volte alle mie spese,
Però che prima corregger lo voglio
Che 'l mandi fuora tra gente palese.
   Ma d' una cosa tra l' altre mi doglio,
Ch' i non trovai ancora un sì cortese,
Che mi dicesse—tie' il danar del foglio.
                 Alcuna volta soglio
Essere a bere un quartuccio menato,
E pare ancora a lor soprappagato.

   [Come, make me a song, make me a sonnet,
Someone with poor memory says to me;
And he thinks, having given me the theme,
I should discover there a great delight.
   But he doesn't really know of my shortcoming,
Nor how much through him my sleep is lessened;
Because before I can squeeze poems from my heart,
I give a hundred plus a hundred turns in bed.
   Then I write it three times at my expense,
Because I want to correct it before
I make it manifest to men.
   But one thing among others gives me grief:
I have not yet found a man so courteous
Who'll say—take this money for your paper.
                 But I am sometimes accustomed
To be taken to drink a measure,
And to them it still seems I'm overpaid.]
                                               (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

11

Franco Sacchetti                                             (Sonnet CCXXII)^[11]

   Nasi cornuti e visi digrignati,
nibbi arzagoghi e balle di sermenti
cercavan d'Ipocrate gli argomenti
per mettere in molticcio trenta frati.
   Mostravasi la luna a' tralunati,
che strusse giá due cavalier godenti;
di truffa in buffa e' venian da Sorenti
lanterne e gufi con fruson castrati.
   Quando mi misi a navicar montagne
passando Commo e Bergamo e 'l Mar rosso,
dove Ercole ed Anteo, ancor ne piagne,
   alor trovai a Fiesole Minosso
con pale con marroni e con castagne,
che fuor d'Abruzzi rimondava il fosso,
               quando Cariodosso
gridava forte: —O Gian de' Repetissi,
ritruova Bacco con l'Apocalissi.—

   [Horned noses and grimacing faces,
outlandish kites and bales of vineshoots
were looking for Hippocrates' arguments
to put thirty monks in tanning vats.
   The moon was appearing to wild staring eyes,
and already destroyed two gay cavaliers;
from Truffia and Buffia and from Sorentum came
lanterns and owls with castrated finches.
   When I set out to navigate mountains
passing Como and Bergamo and the Red Sea,
where Hercules and Antaeus still grieve,
   I found Minos then at Fiesole
with shovels full of marrons and chestnuts,
and he was clearing the ditch outside Abruzzi,
                when Cariodosso
shouted loudly: "Oh, John of the Repetisse,
discovers Bacchus with the Apocalypse."]
                                            (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

12

Il Burchiello^[12]

   Cimici, e pulci, con molti pidocchi
Ebbi nel letto, e al viso zanzale;
In buona fè, ch'io mi condussi a tale;
Che 'n tutta notte non chiusi mai occhi;
   Pugnevan le lenzuola come brocchi,
I'chiamai l'oste, ma poco mi vale;
E dissigli vien quà se te ne cale
Col lume in mano, e fa ch'apra due occhi;
   Un topo, ch'io avea sotto l'orecchio
Forte rodea la paglia del saccone,
Dal lato manco mi tossiva un vecchio;
   E giù da piede piangeva un garzone,
Qual' Animal m'appuzza; qual morsecchio:
Dal lato ritto russava un montone:
              Onde per tal cagione
Perdetti il sonno, e tutto sbalordito
Con gran sete sbucai, quasi finito.

   [Bedbugs and fleas with numbers of lice
I had in the bed, and mosquitoes at my face;
In good faith, I was brought to such a pass
That the whole night I never closed my eyes.
   The sheets were stinging like spikes;
I called the Host, but little good it did me;
I said to him: Come here, if you care at all,
with light in hand, and open both your eyes.
   A mouse, which I had beneath my ear,
was loudly gnawing the mattress straw;
On my left an old man was coughing;
   And below at the foot a lad was weeping,
What animal infects me, what has nibbled?
On my right a sheepskin is snoring.
                  And so for such reasons
I lost my sleep, and completely stupefied
I emerged with great thirst, almost done for.]
                                  (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

13

Il Burchiello^[13]

   Andando a uccellare una stagione
Di mezza notte in sul levar la stella,
Una chiocciola presi tapinella,
Iscorticaila, e diedila a un Lione;
   E della pelle feci un padiglione
Sotto 'l qual alloggiai Cammilla bella,
Vendei le corna, e pagai la gabella,
Ch'era rimaso pegno il mio Falcone:
   I Fiorentini, il Duca, e'Veniziani
Compraron l'interame di tal fiera
Per levarlo dinanzi a tanti cani.
   E 'l Re de'Persi ha fatto una bandiera
Di maestri di stacci, e di magnani,
E di scappuccini arma una galera.
                E perch'ella non pera,
Di mele cotte provvede la poppa,
E per padron vi manda Frate Stoppa.

   [Going birding one time
From midnight until the rising star,
I caught a wretched little snail,
shelled it and gave it to a Lion;
   And from its skin I made a pavilion
Under which I lodged fair Camilla;
I sold the horns, and paid the tax,
For my falcon had been left in pawn.
   The Florentines, the Duke and the Venetians
Bought the entrails of that wild beast
To dangle before all those hounds.
   And the King of the Persians has made a flag
Of sieve masters and coppersmiths,
And arms a galley with hoodless monks.
                  And so that it will not perish,
He provisions the stern with cooked apples,
And for its captain sends Friar Stoppa.]
                                     (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

14

Il Burchiello^[14]

   La Poesia combatte col Rasojo,
E spesso hanno per me di gran quistioni;
Ella dicendo a lui, per che cagioni
Mi cavi il mio Burchiel dello scrittojo?
   E lui ringhiera fa del colatojo,
E va in bigoncia a dir le sue ragioni;
E comincia: Io ti prego mi perdoni
Donna, s'alquanto nel parlar ti nojo:
   S'i'non fuss'io, e l'acqua, e 'l ranno caldo,
Burchiel si rimarrebbe in sul colore
D'un moccolin di cera di smeraldo:
   Ed ella a lui: Tu sei in grand'errore,
D'un tal disio porta il suo petto caldo,
Ch'egli non ha 'n sì vil bassezza il cuore:
                Ed io: non più romore,
Che non ci corra la secchia e'l bacino;
Ma chi meglio mi viol, mi paghi il vino.

    [Poetry is fighting with the Razor,
And they often have big disputes about me;
She saying to him: What are your reasons
For taking my Burchiello from his desk?
   And he makes a tribune of the strainer,
And mounts the rostrum to give his reasons;
He begins: I beg you to forgive me,
Lady, if I anyway annoy you in my speech.
   If it weren't for me, water and hot lye,
Burchiel would remain the color
Of a small emerald green wax taper.
   And she replies: You are mistaken,
His warm breast is fired by such ambition
That with base poverty his heart has no concern.
                And I say: No more noise;
There's no need to bring in pail and basin;
But let whoever loves me more buy my wine.]
                                         (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

15

Il Pistoia                                                (Sonnet XL)^[15]

   Più di cent' anni imaginò Natura
di farmi più, quanto puoté, diforme;
fatte e disfatte più di mille forme,
in fin tolse il dissegno alla paura.
   Gli occhi mi fece e la bocca aventura,
come fa chi, scrivendo, sogna o dorme:
non è ad alcun il mio viso conforme,
nè in triangol, nè in tondo, nè in misura.
   Il petto fu, dove le spalle, posto,
da la cintura, in giù non son dua dita,
il naso è cum la punta al mento accosto.
   Son dritto come va in arbor vita,
l'un piè guarda settembre e l' altro agosto,
la faccia è da la Notte colorita.
              Quando serà finita,
la mia figura, in cima a una bacchetta,
pigliarà più uccei che una civetta!

   [Nature thought for more than a hundred years
about making me as much deformed as possible;
she made and unmade a thousand shapes and more,
and took the design finally from Fear.
   My eyes and mouth she made haphazardly,
as one who dreams or sleeps while writing;
my face does not conform to anything,
not to triangle, circle, or in size.
   My chest was placed where the shoulders are,
from my belt down measures hardly two fingers,
the tip of my nose approaches close my chin.
   I am as straight as a vine climbs a tree,
one foot looks at September, the other August,
my face takes its color from the night.
               When it is finished with,
my figure, placed atop a stick,
will catch more birds than would an owl.]
                                             (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

16

Il Pistoia                                                 (Sonnet CIII)^[16]

   Figliuola, non andar senza belletto
chè tu ei pur negretta, fra le genti;
apri la bocca, ch'io te netti i denti,
tìrate un po' le tette più sul petto;
   mettevi sopra quel bianco veletto,
fregati su pel viso questi unguenti;
i tuoi capilli assai son rilucenti,
assettagli pur ben in sul ciuffetto.
   Lassa la coffia e pigha la velera,
metteti la collana paregina,
e tòi la vesta di veluto nera.
   Lascia star, figlia mia, la carmesina,
chè a le nozze di notte è sempre cera,
ogni bel panno tutto se amastina.
               Tu pari una regina!
Quando sta sera ti trovi alla festa,
balestra a chi te piace, e stati honesta.
              —Guarda che donna è questa
che nulla vanità del mondo lascia
per mostrare alla figlia esser bagascia!
               Di tal vitii la fascia
la pazza matre: sì che alle lor voglie
sciano far becchi chi le tuol per moglie!

   [Young daughter, don't go without makeup
among people, for your skin is rather dark;
open your mouth so I can clean your teeth;
push your breasts up a little higher;
   Put over them this thin white veil,
spread these ointments on your face;
your hair is shining enough,
but comb it well above the locks in front.
   Leave the cap and fasten the gold veil band,
put on the Parisian necklace,
and take the black velvet dress.
   Leave the crimson gown here,
because at night weddings there's always wax,
and every good garment is spoiled.

        You look like a queen!
When evening comes, go to the party,
dance with whom you please, but stay honest.
        —Note what kind of woman is this
who neglects no worldly vanity
to teach her daughter how to be a whore!
        The crazy mother wraps her around
with such vices, that at will
they can cuckold any man who takes her for wife!]
                                                (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

17

Francesco Berni                               (Sonnet XXIII)^[17]

                      Sonetto alla sua Donna

   Chiome d'argento fino, irte e attorte
Senz'arte intorno ad un bel viso d'oro;
Fronte crespa, u' mirando io mi scoloro,
Dove spunta i suoi strali Amor e Morte;
   Occhi di perle vaghi, luci torte
Da ogni obietto diseguale a loro;
Ciglie di neve, e quelle, ond'io m'accoro,
Dita e man dolcemente grosse e corte;
   Labra di latte, bocca ampia celeste;
Denti d'ebeno rari e pellegrini;
Inaudita ineffabile armonia;
   Costumi altèri e gravi: a voi, divini
Servi d'Amor, palese fo che queste
Son le bellezze della donna mia.

   [Locks of pure silver, shaggy and twisted
Artlessly around a fine yellow face;
Wrinkled brow, gazing at which I pale,
Where Love and Death blunt their darts;
   Eyes of bleary pearls, lights
Twisted by every object that's beneath their level;
Eyelashes of snow, and when I hasten thither,
Those fingers and hands softly fat and short;

   Lips white as milk, mouth full and blue;
Ebony teeth, few and wandering;
Unheard of unspeakable harmony;
    Dress stately and heavy; to you, divine
Servants of Love, I make plain that
These are the beauties of my lady.]
                                             (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

18

Francesco Berni                                       (Sonnet XVIII)^[18]

                       Sonetto di Ser Cecco
                  [Francesco Benci e la corte]

   Ser Cecco non può star senza la corte,
E la corte non può senza ser Cecco;
E ser Cecco ha bisogno della corte,
E la corte ha bisogno de ser Cecco.
  Chi vol saper che cosa sia ser Cecco
Pensi e contempli che cosa è la corte:
Questo ser Cecco somiglia la corte,
E questa corte somiglia ser Cecco.
   E tanto tempo viverà la corte
Quanto sarà la vita di ser Cecco,
Perché è tut'uno ser Cecco e la corte.
   Quando un riscontra per la via ser Cecco
Pensi di riscontrar anco la corte,
Perché ambi dui son la corte e ser Cecco.
                 Dio ci guardi ser Cecco;
Che se mor per disgrazia della corte,
È ruvinato ser Cecco e la corte,
                  Ma da poi la sua morte,
Arassi almen questa consolazione,
Che nel suo loco rimarrà Trifone.

   [Lord Cecco cannot live without his Court,
And the Court cannot exist without Lord Cecco;
And Lord Cecco needs the Court,
And the Court needs Lord Cecco.

   If you wish to know what is Lord Cecco,
Think and contemplate what is the Court;
for this court is like Lord Cecco,
And Lord Cecco is like this court.
   And as long as the Court has life
So long will be Lord Cecco's life,
For they are one, Lord Cecco and the Court.
   When on the road you meet Lord Cecco,
Think you also are meeting the Court,
Because each is the Court and Lord Cecco.
               May God preserve for us Lord Cecco,
For if he dies through mishap to the Court,
Both are ruined, Lord Cecco and the Court.
                But when death has stopped him short,
at least you'll have this consolation,
that in his place Trifone will live on.]
                                        (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

19

Francesco Berni                                    (Sonnet XVII)^[19]

   Sonetto sopra la Barba di Domenico d'Ancona

   Qual fia già mai cosí crudel persona
Che non pianghi a caldi occhi e spron battuti,
Impiendo il ciel di pianti e di sternuti,
La barba di Domenico d'Ancona?
   Qual cosa fia già mai sí bella e buona
Che invidia o tempo o morte in mal non muti,
O chi contra di lor fia che l'aiuti,
Poi che la man d'un uom non li perdona?
   Or hai dato, barbier, l'ultimo crollo
Ad una barba la piú singulare
Che mai fusse descritta o in verso o in prosa;
   Almen gli avessi tu tagliato il collo,
Piú tosto che guastar sí bella cosa;
Che si saria potuta imbalsimare,
                E fra le cose rare
Poner sopra ad un uscio in prospettiva,
Per mantener l'imagine sua diva.

               Ma pur almen si scriva
Questa disgrazia di color oscuro,
Ad uso d'epitafio, in qualche muro:
               "Ahi, caso orrendo e duro!
Ghiace qui delle barbe la corona,
Che fu già di Domenico d'Ancona".

   [Will there ever be a man so cruel
Who would not mourn with hot eyes desperately,
Filling the heavens with his tears and sneezes,
The beard of Domenico D'Ancona?
   Will there ever be a thing so fine and handsome
That envy, time or death does not destroy,
Or any man who'd not bring aid against them,
For the hand of man would not forgive them?
   Now have you given, Barber, the fatal blow
To a beard that was the most distinctive
Ever to be described in verse or prose.
   At least you could have cut his throat
Rather than destroy so fine a thing;
For it could have been embalmed,
               And among rare unusual things
Set above a doorway in perspective,
To perpetuate its image, so sublime.
               But at least let this
Dark misfortune be recorded
As an epitaph on some wall or other:
               "Alas, what hard and dreadful case is this!
Here lies the king of beards,
That once belonged to Domenico D'Ancona."]
                                            (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

20

Francesco Berni                              (Sonnet XXIV)^[20]

                     Sonetto contra la Moglie

  Cancheri, e beccafichi magri arrosto,
E magnar carne salsa senza here;
Essere stracco e non poter sedere,

Aver il fuoco appresso e 'l vin discosto;
   Riscuoter a bell'agio e pagar tosto,
E dar ad altri per dover avere;
Esser ad una festa e non vedere,
E de gennar sudar come di agosto;
  Aver un sassolin nella scarpetta,
Et una pulce drento ad una calza,
Che vadi in su in giú per istaffetta;
  Una mano imbrattata ed una netta;
Una gamba calzata ed una scalza;
Esser fatto aspettar ed aver fretta;
          Chi piú n'ha piú ne metta,
E conti tutti i dispetti e le doglie:
Ché la peggior di tutte è l'aver moglie.

   [Vexations: roasted birds small and thin,
Eating salted meat without a drink;
Being tired out, and unable to sit,
Having the fire close, and wine far away.
   Being paid with long delay, and paying at once,
Giving to others from duty of possession;
Being at a party without being able to see,
And sweating in January as if it were August;
   Having a small stone in the shoe,
And a flea inside a sock,
That goes back and forth like a courier;
   One hand dirty and one clean;
One leg in a shoe, the other bare;
Having to wait while being in a hurry;
           Whoever has more complaints may add more;
And add up all annoyances and pains;
Then the worst of all is to have a wife.]
                                                 (Muriel Kittel, trans.)

21

Diego Hurtado de Mendoza                              (Sonnet II)^[21]

     ¡Quien de tantos burdeles ha escapado
Y tantas puterías ha corrido,
Que le traiga á las manos de Cupido,

Al cabo y á la postre, su pecado!
     Más querría un incordio en cada lado
Y en la parte contraria un escupido,
Que verme viejo, loco, entretenido
Del viento, y en el aire enamorado.
     Comencé este camino de temprano,
Sin estar libre una hora de contienda,
Y todo lo recojo agora en suma.
     Rapaz tiñoso, ten queda la mano,
Que te daré de azotes con la venda,
Y pelarte he las alas pluma á pluma.

     [He who from so many brothels has escaped
And frequented so much whoredom,
Finally into Cupid's hands
Brings at last his sin!
     I would rather have a bubo on either side
And spittle on the opposite end,
Than see me old and mad, a guest
Of the wind, in love with air.
     I early began to take this path,
Not free from struggle for an hour,
And the total reckoning I pay now.
     Wretched boy, restrain your hand,
Or I shall whip you with your blindfold,
And pluck your wings feather by feather.]

22

Diego Hurtado de Mendoza                              (Sonnet III)^[22]

     Señora, la del arco y las saetas,
Que anda siempre cazando en despoblado,
Dígame por su vida: ¿No ha topado
Quien la meta las manos en las tetas?
     Andando entre las selvas más secretas,
Corriendo tras algun corzo ó venado:
¿No ha habido algun pastor desvergonzado
Que le enseñase el son de las gambetas?
     Hará unos milagrones y asquecillos,
Diciendo que á una diosa consagrada

Nadie se atreverá, siendo tan casta;
     Allá para sus Ninfas eso basta;
Mas acá para el vulgo, por Dios, nada,
Que quien quiera se pasa dos gritillos.

     [Madam, you with the bow and arrows,
Who are always out hunting in the wild,
Tell me, on your life, has no man ever
Brushed his hands across your teats?
     Roaming the hiddenmost forests,
Pursuing a deer or a stag,
Has there been no impudent shepherd
To teach you the bare-legged cross step?
     You may make a fuss and turn up your nose,
Saying that no one, with such a famous,
Such a chaste goddess, would so dare.
     Over there for your nymphs that may be enough,
But here, for common folk, by God it's nothing,
For anyone can go a bit too far.]

23

Diego Hurtado de Mendoza                              (Sonnet XII)^[23]

     Preciábase una dama de parlera,
Y mucho más de grande apodadora,
Y encontrando un galan así á deshora,
Sin conocerle ni saber quéin era,
     Le dijo, en vet su talle y su manera:
"Parecéis á San Pedro", y á la hora
Rióse muy de gana la señora,
Como si al propio aquel apodo fuera.
     Volvió el galan, y vió que no era fea,
Y en el punto que allí se ve quien sabe,
Le respondió con un gentil aviso:
     "Mi reina, aunque San Pedro yo no sea,
A lo menos aquí traigo la llave
Con que le podré abrir su paraíso".

     [A certain lady prided herself on her chatter,
And even more on being a great nicknamer,

And meeting a young fellow unexpectedly,
Not knowing him or even who he was,
     She told him, seeing his fine figure and air:
"You resemble Saint Peter," and then
broke into a most hearty laugh,
As if that nickname were truly his.
     The young man glanced back and found her not ugly,
And seeing a dame well versed in certain arts,
He answered her with these gallant words:
     "My Lady, although St. Peter I may not be,
At least I have here the key,
That will unlock your paradise."]

24

Diego Hurtado de Mendoza                              (Sonnet XIII)^[24]

     Dentro de un santo templo un hombre honrado
Con grande devocion rezando estaba;
Sus ojos hechos fuentes, enviaba
Mil suspiros del pecho apasionado.
     Despues que por gran rato hubo besado
Las religiosas cuentas que llevaba,
Con ellas el buen hombre se tocaba
Los ojos, boca, sienes y costado.
     Creció la devocion, y pretendiendo
Besar el suelo al fin, porque creia
Que mayor humildad en esto encierra,
     Lugar pide á una vieja; ella, volviendo
El salvo-honor le muestra, y le decia:
"Besad aquí, Señor, que todo es tierra".

     [Inside a sacred temple an honest man
With great devotion was praying one day,
His eyes wellsprings as he dispatched
A thousand sighs from his passionate breast.
     After kissing for a great while
The holy beads which tightly he grasped,
With them the good man tapped
His eyes, mouth, temples, and side.
     His devotion grew and grew until finally,

He attempted to kiss the ground,
Believing the greatest humility is in this.
     He asked room of an old lady and she
Turned her back to show him her behind,
Saying, "Kiss here, Sir, for 'tis all earth."]

25

Diego Hurtado de Mendoza                              (Sonnet 1)^[25]

                      A una vieja que se tenía por hermosa

     Teneys, señora Aldonza, tres treynta años,
tres cabellos no mas, y un solo diente,
los pechos de zigarra propriamente,
en que ay telas de arañas y de araños.
     En vuestras sayas, tocas, y otros paños
no ay tantas rugas como en vuestra frente;
la boca es desgarrada y tan valiente,
que dos puertos de mar no son tamaños.
     En cantar pareceys mosquito, o rana,
la zanca es be boñiga, o de finado,
la vista es de lechuza a la mañana.
     Oleys como a pescado remojado,
de cabra es vuestra espalda, tan galana
como de pato flaco bien pelado.
     Este es vuestro traslado;
de todo quanto oys no os falta cosa:
dezid que os falta para ser hermosa.

     [You have, Mistress Aldonza, three times thirty years,
three strands of hair, no more, and just one tooth,
breasts more fitting for a grasshopper,
where spiderwebs and scratches abound.
     On your skirts, toques, and dresses are found
less wrinkles, to be sure, than on your brow;
your mouth is rent asunder and so brave,
that two seaports cannot compete in size.
     Your song resembles the mosquito's or the frog's,
your shank is a real turd, or like a dead man's,
your eyesight is like an early morning owl's.

     You smell like pickled herring,
your back befits a goat and is as graceful
as a skinny and well-plucked duck.
     This is your portrait;
of all you hear you lack nothing:
pray tell what you lack to be a beauty.]

26

Diego Hurtado de Mendoza^[26]                Consejos de Don Diego

     Hijo mio, no te engañes; séme exento;
Y ya que quieras bien, no te me enlaces;
Sé, si pudieras, de seiscientas haces;
Ten amores, no amor, que es aspaviento;
     A esta dama y á aquella dá contento,
No te rindas, que es cosa de rapaces.
Si alguno te dijere que mal haces,
Atapa tus orejas, y hablen ciento.
     Créeme, que no hay placer que se le iguale
Al sabor de almagrar y echar á extremo;
Aunque cueste la burla bien lo vale
     Andar en alta mar á vela y remo,
A pié enjuto, pescando cuanto sale,
Sin tener que decir temo ó no temo.
     Séme un Polifemo
En llamar á Mandinga Galatea,
Hermosa Fénix á la que es más fea;
     En ciento te me emplea;
Empréstales un rato tus alhajas.
Todas son unas en las partes bajas.
     No se te dé dos pajas,
Acomete, que no es Virginia viva,
La que este mundo ultraja por esquiva;
     Y á la que vieres diva
En su altiveza, síguela la traza,
Que es fiera que cualquier mastin la caza;
     Y en ciento te embaraza,
Y ten en una puesto el pensamiento,

Y acude allí y luégo ve á otro puesto,
     Que el mundo se hace desto
Uno de los negocios que sufren el martelo,
Que para bestias no les falta un pelo.
     Y porque temo
Que has de hacer de tu hacienda malbarato,
Gástala con recato,
     Y haz a todas un plato
Y un millón de millones de promesas,
Y entra con un sencillo y dos represas.

     [My son, don't be a fool, keep your freedom;
Since you love well, don't tie the knot.
Have, if you can, six hundred faces,
Seek loves, not love, that's too much fuss.
     To this lady and to that, give satisfaction
But don't give in, that's just for foolish boys.
If someone tells you that you do wrong,
Cover your ears and let hundreds talk.
     Believe me, there is no greater pleasure
Than to draw blood and defame to the extreme;
Even if the trick costs much, it's worth it.
     Roam the high seas under sail and oar,
Keep your feet dry and fish all you may,
Without having to say I'm afraid or not.
     Be for your father a Polyphemus,
Calling dark Mandinga, Galatea,
Beautiful Phoenix, the most ugly.
     Ply your skills on a hundred for me,
Lend them your jewels for a while.
They are all the same below the waist.
     Give not two straws for any,
Attack, for there is no Virginia alive,
To offend this world with her disdain.
     And the one who acts a diva,
In her haughtiness follow her plan,
The game is fiercer than any mastiff.
     Busy yourself with a hundred,
But have only one in your thoughts.
Attend to one there and then go elsewhere,
     For the world is made like this:
One person is the scourge of those who suffer,
They are only a hair away from the beasts.

     And because I fear
You will squander your fortune,
Spend it with caution, I say;
     Set a plate for all
With a million million promises,
And enter with a single and two dams.]

27

Diego Ramírez Pagán^[27]                                                   De burlas

     Suegra, cuerpo de Diez con quien os hizo,
¿porque soys para mí tan mal mirada?
un Tigre queréys ser, siendo affamada
por una Madalena, no es postizo.
     Veysme andar encogido como herizo
durmiendo en el sereno sin fraçada,
y a la hija tenéys tan mal criada
que nuestro casamiento se deshizo.
     Dalde mejor criança, persuadilde
no me encornude, y solo como galgo
no me haga dormir, guarde las sienes.
     Y de la dote no me falte tilde,
si no jurola de hijo dalgo
que tengo que pegar con vuestros bienes.

     [Mother-in-law, by God's body, how did He fashion you,
to make you so disliked by me?
You want to be a tiger, while you're known
as a Magdalen, and that's the truth.
     You see me walk shrunken in like a hedgehog,
sleeping without a blanket in the night air,
and your daughter you have so badly brought up
that our marriage has fallen apart.
     Raise her better, persuade her
not to cuckold me, nor make me sleep alone
like a dog, let her protect my temples.
     And let the dowry not be short one penny;
If not, I swear as a gentleman,
I shall carry off your goods.]

28

Baltasar del Alcázar                         (Sonnet XIV)^[28]

     Cabellos crespos, breves, cristalinos,
Frente que de miralla turba y mata,
Cejas cuyo valor vence á la plata
Y el alabastro y nieve hace indignos,
     Ojos de perlas, blandos y benignos,
Nariz que á cualquier otra desbarata,
Boca, sin fin alegre al que la trata,
Dientes donosos, raros, peregrinos,
     Trepado cuello digno de respeto,
Manos conformes al trepado cuello,
Pecho profundo y tierno sin defecto,
     Melindroso ademán, dulce y discreto . . .
Si lo que vemos público es tan bello,
¡Contemplad, amadores, lo secreto!

     [Short, kinky, crystalline locks,
A forehead the sight of which confuses and kills,
Eyebrows exceeding silver in worth,
Putting alabaster and snow to shame;
     Eyes of pearl, soft and benign,
A nose that frustrates any other,
A mouth, always welcoming whomever calls,
Fine, few, and wandering teeth,
     Wattled neck, worthy of respect,
Hands wattled to match the neck,
Deep breast, soft and faultless,
     A fastidious look, sweet and discrete . . .
If what we see publicly is so fair,
Contemplate, lovers, the secret part!]

29

Baltasar del Alcázar                         (Sonnet VIII)^[29]

     Adiós, crueles ojos; yo me acojo
A los piadosos ojos de Costanza,
Que prometen certísima esperanza

De alegre fin á mi pasado enojo.
     Dos años he seguido vuestro antojo,
Lleno de una leal desconfianza;
Por acá se me ofrece el mar bonanza,
El viento á popa, el dulce puerto al ojo.
     Bien sabe Amor cuán duramente llevo
Dejaros, ojos; mas, ó yo estoy ciego,
O vuestra esquividad no tiene enmienda.
     Y así, acuerdo mudarme á barrio nuevo;
No hallándome bien, me vuelvo luego,
Si entretanto la casa no se arrienda.

     [Farewell, cruel eyes, I shall take refuge
In Costanza's compassionate eyes,
For they promise most certain hopes
Of a happy ending to my past vexation.
     For two years I have followed your whims,
Filled with loyal distrust;
Here the seas offer me fair weather,
To sail before the wind, a sweet port in sight.
     Love well knows, dear eyes, how hard it is
To leave you, but either I am blind,
Or your disdain has no redress.
     And so, I resolve to go elsewhere;
If happiness I do not find, I shall return,
If in the meantime the house has not been let.]

30

Baltasar del Alcázar                         (Sonnet XV)^[30]

                            Contra un Mal Soneto

     —Al soneto, vecinos, al malvado,
Al sacrílego, al loco, al sedicioso,
Revolvedor de caldos, mentiroso
Afrentoso al Señor que lo ha criado,
     Atalde bien los pies, como el taimado
No juegue dellos, pues será forzoso
Que el sosiego del mundo y el reposo
Vuelva en un triste y miserable estado.

     Quemalde vivo: muera esta zizaña,
Y sus cenizas Euro las derrame
Donde perezcan al rigor del cielo.—
     Esto dijo el honor de nuestra España
Viendo un soneto de discurso infame;
Pero valióle poco su buen celo.

     [—To the sonnet, neighbors, to the evil-doer,
To the profaner, the madman, the rebel,
The troublemaker and liar
Who is an insult to his creator.
     Tie his feet well, don't let the crafty one
Play with them, for he shall transform
The world's tranquility and repose,
Into a sad and miserable state.
     Burn him alive: death to this mischief-maker,
And may the East Wind carry his ashes
Where they shall perish under harsh skies.—
     This is what the honor of our Spain said
On seeing a sonnet of slanderous speech,
But his zeal was of little effect.]

31

Juan de Salinas y Castro                         (Sonnet 94)^[31]

                    Metáfora de un buboso

     ¿Qué son confuso, qué rumor tremendo
de armas francesas oigo, en  coyuntura
tan de dolor, y en la tiniebla oscura
templados parches,  militar estruendo?
     ¿Qué cóncavos volcanes escupiendo
flamantes globos miro?, ¿qué espesura
de negros humos infernal figura?
¡Formidable espectáculo y horrendo!
     Por más que afectas, Musa, entronizarte,
metiendo en arma el universo todo
con estilo grandíloco y valiente,
     Más de Mercurio y Vénus que de Marte
hallo en tu descripción, y la acomodo
a cierto joven gálico doliente.

     [What confused music, what tremendous sound
of French arms do I hear, at such a painful
juncture, and in the gloomy darkness,
what well-tuned bands, what military clamor?
     What concave volcanoes spitting
flashing spheres do I see? What density
of black smoke, what infernal figure?
Huge and hideous spectacle!
     However much you try to exalt yourself, oh Muse,
calling the entire universe to arms
in grandiloquent and valiant style,
     I find more of Mercury and Venus than of Mars
in your description, and match it
to a certain ailing Gallic youth.]

32

Miguel de Cervantes                          (Sonnet 170)^[32]

              Al Doctor Francisco Díaz, Tratado de
                 las Enfermedades de los Riñones

     Tú, que con nuevo y sin igual decoro
tantos remedios para un mai ordenas,
bien puedes esperar destas arenas
del sacro Tajo, las que son de oro.
     Y el lauro que se debe al que un tesoro
halla de ciencia con tan ricas venas,
de raro advertimiento y salud llenas
contento y risa del enfermo lloro.
     Que por tu industria una deshecha piedra
mil mármoles, mil bronces a tu fama
dará, sin invidiosas competencias.
     Daráte el cielo palma, el suelo hiedra,
pues el uno y el otro ya te llama
espíritu de Apolo en ambas ciencias.

     [You, who with fresh and matchless modesty
prescribe for one ill so many remedies,
may well hope to benefit from these sands,
these golden sands of the sacred Tagus.

     And the laurels due to him who does discover
a scientific treasure so richly veined,
you fill with health and rare acclaim,
happiness and laughter of the sick I mourn.
     Through your skill a shattered stone will add
a thousand marble statues to your fame,
and a thousand bronzes, with no jealous rivalry.
     To you Heaven shall award the palm,
and Earth the ivy, as each proclaim you now
the spirit of Apollo in both their sciences.]

33

Miguel de Cervantes                         (Sonnet 179)^[33]

                   A Lope de Vega en su Dragontea

     Yace, en la parte que es mejor de España
una apacible y siempre verde  Vega,
a quien Apolo su favor no niega,
pues con las aguas de Helicón la baña.
     Júpiter, labrador por giande hazaña,
su ciencia toda en cultivarla entrega.
Cilenio alegre en ella se sosiega;
Minerva eternamente la acompaña.
     Las Musas su Parnaso en ella han hecho;
Venus, honesta, en ella aumenta y cría
la santa multitud de los amores.
     Y así con gusto y general provecho,
nuevos frutos ofrece cada día
de ángeles, de armas, santos y pastores.

     In the best part of Spain there lies
a gentle meadow evergreen,
to whom Apollo no favor does deny,
for he bathes her with Helicon's waters.
     Jupiter, the plowman of great exploits,
applies his whole knowledge to her cultivation.
There, happy Mercury takes his repose;
Minerva forever keeps her company.
     The Muses have made in her their Parnassus;

there honest Venus begets and nourishes
the saintly multitude of her loves.
     And thus with delight and general favor,
new fruits she offers every day
of angels, of arms, of saints and shepherds.]

34

Miguel de Cervantes                         (Sonnet 188)^[34]

                                A Un Ermitaño

     Maestro era de esgrima Campuzano,
de espada y daga diestro a maravilla,
rebanaba narices en Castilla,
y siempre le quedaba el brazo sano.
     Quiso pasarse a Indias un verano,
y vino con Montalvo el de Sevilla;
cojo quedó de un pie de la rencilla,
tuerto de un ojo, manco de una mano.
     Vínose a recoger a aquesta ermita
con su palo en la mano, y su rosario,
y su ballesta de matar pardales.
     Y con su Madalena, que le quita
mil canas, está hecho un San Hilario.
¡Ved cómo nacen bienes de los males!

     [A fencing master was Campuzano,
of wondrous skill with sword and dagger,
he sliced off many a Castilian nose,
while keeping his own arm sound.
     He wanted to sail for the Indies one summer
and tangled with Montalvo of Seville;
lame in one leg he was left from the quarrel,
blind in one eye and missing a hand.
     He came to retire to this hermitage then,
with his staff in his hand and his rosary,
along with a snare for shooting sparrows.
     And with his Magdalen also, who dispels
all his cares, he's become a Saint Hilary now.
See how good things are born from misfortune!]

35

Miguel de Cervantes                         (Sonnet 192)^[35]

                    A Un Valentón Metido a Pordiosero

     Un valentón de espátula y greguesco,
que a la muerte mil vidas sacrifica,
cansado del oficio de la pica,
mas no del ejercicio picaresco;
     retorciendo el mostacho soldadesco,
por ver que ya su bolsa le repica,
a un corrillo llegó de gente rica,
yen el nombre de Dios pidió refresco.
     Den voacedes, por Dios, a mi pobreza,
les dice: donde no, por ocho santos
que haré lo que hacer suelo sin tardanza.
     Mas uno que a sacar la espada empieza,
¿con quién habla, le dijo, el tiracantos?
Si limosna no alcanza,
     ¿qué es lo que suele hacer en tal querella?
Respondió el bravonel: Irme sin ella.

     [A braggart with a blade, dressed in wide breeches,
who offers up to death a thousand lives,
tired of the pikeman's occupation,
but not of the picaresque life,
     twisting his soldierly moustaches,
aware of the goading of his purse,
approached a group of rich folk
and in the name of God asked refreshment.
     For God's sake, your honors, pity my poverty,
he said; if not, by eight saints,
I shall follow my custom without delay.
     And one man, starting to unsheath his sword,
said: whom does this wretch think he's addressing?
If you get no alms,
     what is your custom then?
The boaster replied: To leave without any.]

36

Miguel de Cervantes                         (Sonnet 176)^[36]

             A la Entrada del Duque de Medina en Cádiz

     Vimos en julio otra semana santa
atestada de ciertas cofradías
que los soldados llaman compañías,
de quien el vulgo, y no el inglés, se espanta.

     Hubo de plumas muchedumbre tanta
que, en menos de catorce o quince días,
volaron sus pigmeos y Golías,
y cayó su edificio por la planta.

     Bramó el Becerro, y púsoles en sarta,
tronó la tierra, escurecióse el cielo,
amenazando una total ruina;

     y, al cabo, en Cádiz, con mesura harta,
ido ya el conde, sin ningún recelo,
triunfando entró el gran Duque de Medina.

     [In July we saw another Holy Week,
crammed with throngs of certain brotherhoods
that the soldiery call companies,
and that terrify common folk, but not the English.

     There was such a great flock of plumes
that in fourteen or fifteen days or less
they all flew away, both giants and pygmies,
and heir operation fell to the ground.

     The bullock bellowed and marshaled them in line;
the earth shook, and the sky became dark,
threatening total ruin;

     and, finally, into Cadiz, with perfect dignity,
the count already departed, fearlessly,
triumphantly, entered the great Duke of Medina.]

37

Miguel de Cervantes                         (Sonnet 177)^[37]

                   Al Túmulo del Rey Felipe II en Sevilla

     "¡Voto a Dios, que me espanta esta grandeza
y que diera un doblón por describilla!;
porque ¿a quién no suspende y maravilla
esta máquina insigne, esta braveza?
     ¡Por Jesucristo vivo! Cada pieza
vale más que un millón, y que es mancilla
que esto no dure un siglo, ¡oh, gran Sevilla!,
Roma triunfante en ánimo y riqueza!
     Apostaré que la ánima del muerto,
por gozar este sitio, hoy ha dejado
el cielo, de que goza eternamente."
     Esto oyó un valentón y dijo: "Es cierto
lo que dice voacé, seor soldado,
y quien dijere lo contrario, miente."
     Y luego, encontinente,
caló el chapeo, requirió la espada,
miró al soslayo, fuese, y no hubo nada.

     ["I swear to God, I'm astonished by this grandeur,
and I'd give a doubloon if I could describe it!
For who is not filled with wonder, or does not marvel
at this splendor, at this magnificent invention?
     By the living Christ! Each part is worth
more than a million, and 'tis a disgrace
if it does not last a century. Oh great Seville,
Rome triumphant in spirit and in riches!
     I'll wager that, to enjoy this spot,
the dead man's spirit has today abandoned
Heaven, where he rests eternally."
     A braggart heard this and spoke out next:
"What you say, sir soldier, is true,
and who says otherwise does lie."
     And then straightaway
he put on his hat, brandished his sword,
sand with a sidelong glance, stole off.]

38

Miguel de Cervantes                                 (Sonnet 193)^[38]

 De Otro Valentón, sobre el Túmulo de Felipe II

     "Voacé, mi sor soldado, ¿qué se admira?
¿No ve que el muerto fue persona honrada
y que para su túmulo era nada
del rey de éxito la soberbia epira?
     ¡Cuerpo de Dios con él! Ponga la mira
en que la misma muerte está admirada
de ver que a parte tanto levantada
había llegado el tiro de su vira.
     ¡Voto a Dios que le espantan cuatro hachos,
y de bayeta un vil tapiz le escalda,
y un rey muerto no le hace maravilla!"
     Esto dijo, torciendo los mostachos
y alzando del sombrero la ancha falda,
un valentón a otro de Sevilla.

     ["You, sir, you, my good soldier, why marvel?
Don't you see the dead man was highly honored,
and that for his tomb this sumptuous pyre
is as nothing for a king so fortunate?
     God's body, man! Give your attention
to the fact that Death herself is astounded
to see what exalted mark
her arrow's flight has reached.
     I swear to God, four candles astonish you,
and a wretched baize cloth chafes you, too,
yet a dead king for you holds no wonder!
     Thus spoke one Sevillian boaster
to another, twisting his mustachios,
and tipping his wide-brimmed hat.]

39

Miguel de Cervantes,  La Entretenida^[39]

Ocaña :     Que de un lacá la fuerza poderó,
            hecha a machamartí con el trabá,
            de una fregó le rinda el estropá,
            es de los cie no vista maldició.
               Amor el ar en sus pulgares to,
            sacó una flé de su pulí carcá,
            encaró al co, y diome una flechá,
            que el alma to y el corazón me do.
               Así rendí, forzado estoy a cre
            cualquier mentí de aquesta helada pu,
            que blandamén me satisface y hie.
               ¡Oh de Cupí la antigua fuerza y du,
            cuánto en el ros de una fregona pue,
            y más si la sopil se muestra cru!

               [The fact that a lackey's robust strength,
            which through labor has grown in might,
            can by the mop of a kitchen maid be tamed
            is an extraordinary curse from above.
               Taking his bow in his fingers, Love
            plucked from his burnished quiver a dart,
            took aim at my breast and wounded me there,
            claiming my soul and enslaving my heart.
                So having surrendered, any lie I'm bound
            to believe that's told by this frozen hussy,
            who both satisfies gently and does me wound.
                Oh, how Cupid's power, age old and hardy,
            can make a kitchen maid's face fair and round,
            and more so if the wench acts cruelly!]

40

Miguel de Cervantes,  La Entretenida^[40]

Torrente:        Pluguiera a Dios que nunca aquí viniera;
                  o, ya que vine aquí, que nunca amara;
                  o, ya que amé, que amor se me mostrara,
                  de acero no, sino de blanda cera.
                      O que de aquesta fregonil guerrera,
                  de los dos soles de su hermosa cara,
                  no tan agudas flechas me arrojara,
                  o menos linda y más humana fuera.
                      Estas sí son borrascas no fingidas,
                  de quien no espero verdadera calma,
                  sino naufragios de más duro aprieto.
                      ¡Oh, tú, reparador de nuestras vidas,
                  Amor, cura las ansias de mi alma,
                  que no pueden caber en un soneto!
D. Antonio:      A no set tan perfecto,
                  primo, vuestro designio, yo hiciera
                  que por otra persona se cumpliera.

                       [I wish to God that I had never come here,
                  or, since I came, that I had never loved,
                  or, since I loved, that love had been to me
                  of soft wax fashioned, not of hardened steel.
                      Or that this warrior wench
                  had not pierced me with such sharp arrows
                  shot from the twin suns of her lovely face,
                  or that less fair and more tender she would be.
                      These are not feigned storms, no,
                  from whom I expect no true calm,
                  but shipwrecks in the most dire straits.
                      Oh you, restorer of our lives,
                  Love, cure these torments of my soul
                  that cannot be contained within a sonnet!
                      Were your design less perfect,
                  cousin, I would arrange
                  that for another it be fulfilled.]

41

Miguel de Cervantes,  La Entretenida^[41]

D. Antonio:      ¡Ay dura, ay importuna, ay triste ausencia!
                    ¡Cuán lejos debió estar de conocerte
                    el que al furor de la invencible muerte
                    igualó tu poder y tu violencia!
                       Que, cuando con mayor rigor sentencia,
                    ¿qué puede más su limitada suerte
                    que deshacer la liga y nudo fuerte
                    que a cuerpo y alma tiene inconveniencia?
                        Tu duro alfanje a mayor mal se extiende,
                    pues un espíritu en dos mitades parte.
                    ¡Oh milagros de amor, que nadie entiende!
                        Que, del lugar de do mi alma parte,
                    dejando su mitad con quien la enciende,
                    consigo traiga la más frágil parte.

                        [Oh cruel, importunate, and grievous absence!
                    How far from your acquaintance must have been
                    he who to the furor of invincible death
                    likened your power and your violence.
                       When Death condemns with harshest sentence,
                    what more can his restricted fate achieve
                    than loose the bond and powerful knot
                    that holds the soul to body's inconvenience?
                       But your cruel scimitar to greater wrong extends,
                    for it divides a spirit in two parts.
                    Oh, miracles of love, that no man understands!
                        May my soul from that place whence it departs,
                    leaving one half with her who inflames it,
                    bring with it the more fragile part.]

42

Miguel de Cervantes,  La Entretenida^[42]

D. Antonio:      En la sazón del erizado invierno,
                   desnudo el árbol de su flor y fruto,
                   cambia en un pardo desabrido luto
                   las esmeraldas del vestido tierno.

                       Mas, aunque vuela el tiempo casi eterno,
                   vuelve a cobrar el general tributo,
                   y al árbol seco, y de su humor enjuto,
                   halla con muestras de verdor interno.
                      Torna el pasado tiempo al mismo instante
                   y punto que pasó: que no lo arrasa
                   todo, pues tiemplan su rigor los cielos.
                      Pero no le sucede así al amante,
                   que habrá de perecer si una vez pasa
                   por él la infernal rabia de los celos.

                      [In the season of bristling winter,
                   the tree, bare of flower and fruit,
                   exchanges for mourning, drab and bitter,
                   the emeralds of its youthful coat.
                      Yet, even though time flies eternal,
                   it collects again its universal tribute,
                   and in the withered tree, dry of sap,
                   discovers signs of inner verdure.
                      Past time returns to the self-same point
                   and instant that went by: it ravages not all,
                   for Heaven tempers its severity.
                      Not so it happens to the lover,
                   whose certain destiny it is to die,
                   once touched by the infernal rage of jealousy.]

43

Miguel de Cervantes,  La Entretenida^[43]

Cardenio:      Vuela mi estrecha y débil esperanza
                 con flacas alas, y, aunque sube el vuelo
                 a la alta cumbre del hermoso cielo,
                 jamás el punto que pretende alcanza.
                    Yo vengo a ser perfecta semejanza
                 de aquel mancebo que de Creta el suelo
                 dejó, y, contrario de su padre al celo,
                 a la región del cielo se abalanza.
                    Caerán mis atrevidos pensamientos,
                 del amoroso incendio derretidos,
                 en el mar del temor turbado y frío;
                    pero no llevarán cursos violentos,

                 del tiempo y de la muerte prevenidos,
                 al lugar del olvido el nombre mío.

                    [My hope, faint and slim, flies
                 on slender wings, and though its flight will soar
                  to the lofty heights of the beateous sky,
                  never will it reach the point desired.
                     And I display perfect similarity
                  to that youth who left the soil of Crete,
                  and against his father's zeal,
                  rushed thoughtlessly toward the sky.
                     My daring thoughts will fall,
                  melted by the fires of love,
                  to the cold and troubled sea of fear.
                     But, forewarned by death and time,
                  on violent paths they shall not bear
                  my name into oblivion's clime.]

44

Miguel de Cervantes,  La Entretenida^[44]

D. Ambrosio:      Por ti, virgen hermosa, esparce ufano,
                      contra el rigor con que amenaza el Cielo,
                      entre los surcos del labrado suelo,
                      el pobre labrador el rico grano.
                         Por ti surca las aguas del mar cano
                      el mercader en débil leño a vuelo;
                      y, en el rigor del sol como del yelo,
                      pisa alegre el soldado el risco y llano.
                         Por ti infinitas veces, ya perdida
                      la fuerza del que busca y del que ruega,
                      se cobra y se promete la vitoria.
                         Por ti, báculo fuerte de la vida,
                      tal vez se aspira a lo imposible, y llega
                      el deseo a las puertas de la gloria.
                         ¡O esperanza notoria,
                      amiga de alentar los desmayados,
                      aunque estén en miserias sepultados!

                         [For you, fair virgin, the poor farmer
                      under the rigor of menacing skies,
                      between the furrows of well-tilled soil,
                      proudly scatters the golden grain.
                         For you, the merchant plows the silvery seas
                      in a frail and fleeting bark;
                      and amid the rigors of sun and ice,
                      the happy soldier treads peak and plain.
                         For you, innumerable times, the lost
                      strength of those who search and beg,
                      is won again, promising victory.
                         For you, stout staff of life,
                      we perhaps aspire to the impossible,
                      and our desire reaches the gates of glory.
                         Oh, notorious hope,
                      friend who inspires the disheartened,
                      although they be in misery entombed.]

45

Miguel de Cervantes^[45]

           Amadís de Gaula a Don Quijote de la Mancha

     Tú, que imitaste la llorosa vida
que tuve ausente y desdeñado sobre
el gran ribazo de la Peña Pobre,
de alegre a penitencia reducida,
     tú, a quien los ojos dieron la bebida
de abundante licor, aunque salobre,
y alzándote la plata, estaño y cobre,
te dio la tierra en tierra la comida,
     vive seguro de que eternamente,
en tanto, al menos, que en la cuarta esfera,
sus caballos aguije el rubio Apolo,
     tendrás claro renombre de valiente;
tu patria será en todas la primera;
tu sabio autor, al mundo único y solo.

     [Thou that didst imitate that life of mine,
When I in lonely sadness on the great

Rock Peña Pobre sat disconsolate,
In self-imposèd penance there to pine;
     Thou, whose only drink the bitter brine
Of thine own tears, and who without a plate
Of silver, copper, tin, in lowly state
Off the bare earth and on earth's fruits didst dine;
     Live thou, of thine eternal glory sure.
So long as on the round of that fourth sphere
The bright Apollo shall his coursers steer,
     In thy renown thou shalt remain secure,
Thy country's name in story shall endure,
And thy sage author stand without a peer.]

46

Miguel de Cervantes^[46]

                           Don Belianís de Grecia
                       a Don Quijote de la Mancha

     Rompí, corté, abollé, y dije y hice
más que en el orbe caballero andante;
ui diestro, fui valiente, fui arrogante;
mil agravios vengué, cien mil deshice.
     Hazañas di a la Fama que eternice;
fui comedido y regalado amante;
fue enano para mí todo gigante
y al duelo en cualquier punto satisfice.
     Tuve a mis pies postrada la Fortuna,
y trajo del copete mi cordura
a la calva Ocasión al estricote.
     Mas, aunque sobre el cuerno de la luna
siempre se vio encumbrada mi ventura,
tus proezas envidio, ¡oh gran Quijote!

     [In slashing, hewing, cleaving, word and deed,
I was the foremost knight of chivalry,
Stout, bold, expert, as e'er the world did see;
Thousands from the oppressor's wrong I freed;
     Great were my feats, eternal fame their meed;
In love I proved my truth and loyalty;

The hugest giant seemed a dwarf to me;
Ever to knighthood's laws gave I good heed.
     My mastery the Goddess Fortune owned,
And even Chance, submitting to control,
Grasped by the forelock, yielded to my will.
     Yet, though above yon hornèd moon enthroned
My fortune seems to sit, Quixote, still
Envy of thy achievements fills my soul.]

47

Miguel de Cervantes^[47]

                   La Señora Oriana a Dulcinea del Toboso

     ¡Oh, quién tuviera, hermosa Dulcinea,
por más comodidad y más reposo,
a Miraflores puesto en el Toboso,
y trocara sus Londres con tu aldea!
     ¡Oh, quién de tus deseos y librea
alma y cuerpo adornara, y del famoso
caballero que hiciste venturoso
mirara alguna desigual pelea!
     ¡Oh, quién tan castamente se escapara
del señor Amadís como tú hiciste
del comedido hidalgo don Quijote!
     Que así envidiada fuera, y no envidiara,
y fuera alegre el tiempo que fue triste,
y gozara los gustos sin escote.

     [Oh, fairest Dulcinea, could it be!—
It is a pleasant fancy to suppose so—
That Miraflores changed to El Toboso,
And London's town to that which shelters thee!
     Oh, could mine but acquire that livery
Of countless charms thy mind and body show so!
Or him, now famous grown—thou mad'st him grow so—
Thy knight, in some dread combat could I see!
     Oh, would I had resisted Amadís

By exercise of such coy chastity
As led thee Don Quixote to dismiss!
     Then would my heavy sorrow turn to joy;
None would I envy, all would envy me,
And happiness be mine without alloy.]

48

Miguel de Cervantes^[48]

Gandalín, Escudero de Amadís de Gaula, a Sancho Panza,
                        Escudero de Don Quijote

     Salve, varón famoso, a quien Fortuna,
cuando en el trato escuderil te puso,
tan blanda y cuerdamente lo dispuso,
que lo pasaste sin desgracia alguna.
     Ya la azada o la hoz poco repugna
al andante ejercicio; ya está en uso
la llaneza escudera, con que acuso
al soberbio que intenta, hollar la luna.
     Envidio a tu jumento y a tu nombre,
y a tus alforjas igualmente envidio,
que mostraron tu cuerda providencia.
     Salve otra vez, ¡oh Sancho!, tan buen hombre,
que a solo tú nuestro español Ovidio,
con buzcorona te hace reverencia.

     [All hail, illustrious man! Fortune, when she
Bound thee apprentice to the squirely trade,
Her care and tenderness of thee displayed,
Shaping thy course from misadventure free.
     No longer now doth proud knight-errantry
Regard with scorn the sickle and the spade;
Of towering arrogance less count is made
Than of plain esquire-like simplicity.
     I envy thee thy Dapple, and thy name,
And those packsaddles thou wast wont to stuff
With comforts that thy providence proclaim.
     Excellent Sancho! hail to thee again!
To thee alone the Ovid of our Spain
Does homage with the rustic kiss and cuff.]

49

Miguel de Cervantes^[49]

Orlando Furioso a Don Quijote de la Mancha

     Si no eres par, tampoco le has tenido:
que par pudieras ser entre mil pares;
ni puede haberle donde tú te hallares,
invito vencedor, jamás vencido.
     Orlando soy, Quijote, que, perdido
por Angélica, vi remotos mares,
ofreciendo a la Fama en sus altares
aquel valor que respetó el olvido.
     No puedo ser tu igual; que este decoro
se debe a tus proezas y a tu fama,
puesto que, como yo, perdiste el seso.
     Mas serlo has mío, si al soberbio moro
y cita fiero domas, que hoy nos llama,
iguales en amor, con mal suceso.

     [If thou art not a Peer, peer thou hast none;
Among a thousand Peers thou art a peer;
Nor is there room for one when thou art near,
Unvanquished victor, great unconquered one!
     Orlando, by Angelica undone,
Am I; o'er distant seas condemned to steer,
And to Fame's altars as an offering bear
Valor respected by Oblivion.
     I cannot be thy rival, for thy fame
And prowess rise above all rivalry,
Albeit both bereft of wits we go.
     But, though the Scythian or the Moor to tame
Was not thy lot, still thou dost rival me:
Love binds us in a fellowship of woe.]

50

Miguel de Cervantes^[50]

          El Caballero del Febo a Don Quijote de la Mancha

     A vuestra espada, no igualó la mía,
Febo español, curioso cortesano,
ni a la alta gloria de valor mi mano,
que rayo fue do nace y muere el día.
     Imperios desprecié; la monarquía
que me ofreció el Oriente rojo en vano
dejé, por ver el rostro soberano
de Claridiana, aurora hermosa mía.
     Améla por milagro único y raro,
y, ausente en su desgracia, el propio infierno
temió mi brazo, que domó su rabia.
     Mas vos, godo Quijote, ilustre y claro,
por Dulcinea sois al mundo eterno,
y ella, por vos, famosa, honesta y sabia.

     [My sword was not to be compared with thine
Phoebus of Spain, marvel of courtesy,
Nor with thy famous arm this hand of mine
That smote from east to west as lightnings fly.
     I scorned all empire, and that monarchy
The rosy east held out did I resign
For one glance of Claridiana's eye,
The bright Aurora for whose love I pine.
     A miracle of constancy my love;
And banished by her ruthless cruelty,
This arm had might the rage of Hell to tame.
     But, Gothic Quixote, happier thou dost prove, For
thou dost live in Dulcinea's name,
And famous, honored, wise, she lives in thee.]

51

Miguel de Cervantes^[51]

              De Solisdán a Don Quijote de la Mancha

     Maguer, señor Quijote, que sandeces
vos tengan el cerbelo derrumbado,
nunca seréis de alguno reprochado
por home de obras viles y soeces.
     Serán vuesas fazañas los joeces,
pues tuertos desfaciendo habéis andado,
siendo vegadas mil apaleado
por follones cautivos y raheces.
     Y si la vuesa linda Dulcinea
desaguisado contra vos comete,
ni a vuesas cuitas muestra buen talante,
     en tal desmán, vueso conorte sea
que Sancho Panza fue mal alcagüete,
necio él, dura ella, y vos no amante.

     [Your fantasies, Quixote, it is true,
That crazy brain of yours have quite upset,
But aught of base or mean hath never yet
Been charged by any in reproach to you.
     Your deeds are open proof in all men's view;
For you went forth injustice to abate,
And for your pains sore drubbings did you get
From many a rascally and ruffian crew.
     If fairest Dulcinea, your heart's queen,
Be unrelenting in her cruelty,
If still your woe be powerless to move her,
     In such hard case your comfort let it be
That Sancho was a sorry go-between:
A booby he, hard-hearted she, and you no lover.]

52

Miguel de Cervantes^[52]

               Diálogo entre Babieca y Rocinante

B :     ¿Cómo estáis, Rocinante, tan delgado?
R : Porque nunca se come, y se trabaja.
B : Pues ¿qué es de la cebada y de la paja?
R : No me deja mi amo ni un bocado.
B :     Andá, señor, que estáis muy mal criado,
           pues vuestra lengua de asno al amo ultraja.
R : Asno se es de la cuna a la mortaja.
              ¿Queréislo ver? Miraldo enamorado.
B :     ¿Es necedad amar?
R :     No es gran prudencia.
B : Metafísico estáis.
R : Es que no como.
B : Quejaos del escudero.
R : No es bastante.
                    ¿Cómo me he de quejar en mi dolencia,
                si el amo y escudero o mayordomo
                son tan rocines como Rocinante?

[B :    "How comes it, Rocinante, you're so lean?"
R : "I'm underfed, with overwork I'm worn."
B : "But what becomes of all the hay and corn?"
R : "My master gives me none; he's much too mean."
B :     "Come, come, you show ill-breeding, sir, I ween;
          'Tis like an ass your master thus to scorn."
R : "He  is an ass, will die an ass, an ass was born;
                Why, he's in love; what's plainer to be seen?"
B :     "To be in love is folly?"
R :     "No great sense."
B : "You're metaphysical."
R : "From want of food."
B : "Rail at the squire, then."
R : "Why, what's the good?
              I might indeed complain of him, I grant ye,
          But, squire or master, where's the difference?
          They're both as sorry hacks as Rocinante."]

53

Miguel de Cervantes^[53]

Los académicos de la Argamasilla, lugar de la Mancha,
en vida y muerte del valeroso don Quijote de la Mancha,

                             Hoc Scripserunt
        El Monicongo, Académico de la Argamasilla,
                   a la Sepultura de Don Quijote

                                    Epitafio

     El calvatrueno que adornó a la Mancha
de más despojos que Jasón de Creta,
el jüicio que tuvo la veleta
aguda donde fuera mejor ancha,
     el brazo que su fuerza tanto ensancha,
que llegó del Catay hasta Gaeta,
la musa más horrenda y más discreta
que grabó versos en broncínea plancha,
     el que a cola dejó los Amadises,
y en muy poquito a Galaores tuvo,
estribando en su amor y bizarría,
     el que hizo callar los Belianises,
aquel que en Rocinante errando anduvo,
yace debajo desta losa fría.

     [The scatterbrain that gave La Mancha more
Rich spoils than Jason's; who a point so keen
Had to his wit, and happier far had been
If his wit's weathercock a blunter bore;
     The arm renowned far as Gaeta's shore,
Cathay, and all the lands that lie between;
The muse discreet and terrible in mien
As ever wrote on brass in days of yore;
     He who surpassed the Amadíses all,
And who as naught the Galaors accounted,
Supported by his love and gallantry:
     Who made the Belianíses sing small,
And sought renown on Rocinante mounted;
Here, underneath this cold stone, doth he lie.]

54

Miguel de Cervantes^[54]

          Del Paniaguado, Académico de la Argamasilla,
                       In Laudem Dulcineae del Toboso

     Esta que veis de rostro amondongado,
alta de pechos y ademán brïoso,
es Dulcinea, reina del Toboso,
de quien fue el gran Quijote aficionado.
     Pisó por ella el uno y otro lado
de la gran Sierra Negra, y el famoso
campo de Montïel, hasta el herboso
llano de Aranjuez, a pie y cansado.
     Culpa de Rocinante. ¡Oh dura estrella!,
que esta manchega dama, y este invito
andante caballero, en tiernos años,
     ella dejó, muriendo, de ser bella;
y él, aunque queda en mármores escrito,
no pudo huir de amor, iras y engaños.

     [She, whose full features may be here descried,
High-bosomed, with a bearing of disdain,
Is Dulcinea, she for whom in vain
The great Quixote of La Mancha sighed.
     For her, Toboso's queen, from side to side
He traversed the grim sierra, the champaign
Of Aranjuez, and Montiel's famous plain
On Rocinante, oft a weary ride.
     Malignant planets, cruel destiny,
Pursued them both, the fair Manchegan dame
And the unconquered star of chivalry.
     Nor youth nor beauty saved her from the claim
Of death; he paid love's bitter penalty,
And left the marble to preserve his name.]

55

Miguel de Cervantes^[55]

               Del Caprichoso, Discretísimo Académico
               de la Argamasilla, en Loor de Rocinante,
                  Caballo de Don Quijote de la Mancha

     En el soberbio trono diamantino
que con sangrientas plantas huella Marte,
frenético el Manchego su estandarte
tremola con esfuerzo peregrino.
     Cuelga las armas y el acero fino
con que destroza, asuela, raja y parte:
¡Nuevas proezas!, pero inventa el arte
un nuevo estilo al nuevo paladino.
     Y si de su Amadís se precia Gaula,
por cuyos bravos descendientes Grecia
triunfó mil veces, y su fama ensancha,
     hoy a Quijote le corona el aula
do Belona preside, y dél se precia,
más que Grecia ni Gaula, la alta Mancha.
     Nunca sus glorias el olvido mancha,
pues hasta Rocinante, en ser gallardo,
excede a Brilladoro y a Bayardo.

     [On that proud throne of diamantine sheen,
Which the blood-reeking feet of Mars degrade,
The mad Manchegan's banner now hath been
By him in all its bravery displayed.
     There hath he hung his arms and trenchant blade
Wherewith, achieving deeds till now unseen,
He slays, lays low, cleaves, hews; but art hath made
A novel style for our new paladin.
     If Amadís be the proud boast of Gaul,
If by his progeny the fame of Greece
Through all the regions of the earth be spread,
     Quixote crowned in grim Bellona's hall
Today exalts La Mancha over these,
And above Greece or Gaul she holds her head.
     Nor ends his glory here, for his good steed

Doth Brigliador and Bayard far exceed;
As mettled steeds compared with Rocinante,
The reputation they have won is scanty.]

56

Miguel de Cervantes^[56]

Del Burlador, Académico Argamasillesco, a Sancho Panza

     Sancho Panza es aquéste, en cuerpo chico,
pero grande en valor, ¡milagro estraño!
Escudero el más simple y sin engaño
que tuvo el mundo, os juro y certifico.
     De ser conde, no estuvo en un tantico,
si no se conjuraran en su daño
insolencias y agravios del tacaño
siglo, que aun no perdonan a un borrico.
     Sobre él anduvo—con perdón se miente—
este manso escudero, tras el manso
caballo Rocinante y tras su dueño.
     ¡Oh vanas esperanzas de la gente!
¡Cómo pasáis con prometer descanso,
y al fin paráis en sombra, en humo, en sueño!

     [The worthy Sancho Panza here you see;
A great soul once was in that body small,
Nor was there squire upon this earthly ball
So plain and simple, or of guile so free.
     Within an ace of being Count was he,
And would have been but for the spite and gall
Of this vile age, mean and illiberal,
That cannot even let a donkey be.
     For mounted on an ass (excuse the word),
By Rocinante's side this gentle squire
Was wont his wandering master to attend.
     Delusive hopes, that lure the common herd
With promises of ease, the heart's desire,
In shadows, dreams, and smoke ye always end.]

57

Anonymous (La Academia de Ochoa)^[57]

     —Lope dicen que vino. —No es posible.
—¡Vive Dios, que pasó por donde asisto!
—No lo puedo creer. —¡Por Jesucristo,
Que no os miento!—Callad, que es imposible.
     —¡Por el Hijo de Dios, que sois terrible!
—Digo que es chanza. —Andad, que voto á Cristo
Que entró por Macarena. —¿Quién lo ha visto?
—Yo le vide. —No hay tal; que es invisible.
     —¿Invisible, Martín? Eso es engaño,
Porque Lope de Vega es hombre, y hombre
Como yo, como vos y Diego Díaz.
     —¿Es grande? —Sí, será de mi tamaño.
—Si no es tan grande, pues, como es su nombre,
Cágome en vos, en él y en sus poesías.

     [—They say Lope has come. —That's not possible.
—I swear in God's name he passed me by!
—I can't believe it. —Jesus Christ,
I'm not lying! —Be quiet, I say it's impossible.
     —In the name of Jesus, you're terrible!
—I say it's a joke. —Away with you, I swear by Christ
he entered through Macarena. —Who has seen him?
—I saw him. —That cannot be for he's invisible.
     —Invisible, Martín? —It's all a trick,
Because Lope de Vega is a man, a man
like me, like you, and like Diego Díaz.
     —Is he very big? —Yes, about my size.
—Well, then, if he's not as big as his name,
I shit on you, on him, and on his poems.]

58

Anonymous (La Academia de Ochoa)^[58]

     Después que viste Amor jubón de raso,
Valón de gorgolán y terciopelo
Ha caído de arriba el dios de Delo

Y el Interés se c[aga] en el Parnaso.
     Boscán, Petrarca, Ariosto, Arcila, el Taso,
Comen por artificio de J[u]anelo,
Y empeña en un bodego el herreruelo
Por dos postas de vaca Garcilaso.
     Pegaso lleva haldas al molino
Y aquellas nueve hipocritas, ó Musas,
Han fundado un burdel en Lombardía.
     Si no buscas ¡oh Lope! otro camino,
De ser mozo de golpe no te excusas,
Pues está desta suerte la poesía.

     [Now that Love dresses in a satin doublet,
Silk and velvet breeches,
The god of Delos has fallen from above
And interest shits on Parnassus.
     Boscán, Petrarch, Ariosto, Ercilla, and
Tasso eat by way of a device of Juanelo,
And Garcilaso pawns his cape in a tavern
For two lonely slices of beef.
     Pegasus carries sacks to the mill
And those nine hypocrites, or Muses,
Have founded a brothel in Lombardy.
     If you do not seek, oh Lope, a different road,
You'll end up spinning verse at whoredom's door,
poetry is in, you see, such a state.]

59

Anonymous (La Academia de Ochoa)^[59]

     —¿Quién es este pastor que de Castilla
Al sacro Betis muda sus ovejas,
Esparciendo á los aires tristes quejas,
En busca de su ausente pastorcilla?
     ¿Quién ha venido en busca de la orilla
Del Betis, que otra vez de sus orejas
Apartó con la mano las guedejas
Para escuchar los cisnes de Sevilla?
     ¿Quién es aqueste que, con tardo paso,
El coro de las Musas trae inquieto

Y á las incultas selvas nuestras llega?
     —Si del Tibre deciende, será el Tasso;
Sanázaro, si baja del Tebeto;
Y si de Manzanares viene, es Vega.

     [Who is this shepherd who leads his flocks
from Castile to Betis's sacred waters,
scattering to the wind his sad laments,
searching for his wandering shepherdess?
     Who has come seeking Betis's shores,
he who in earlier times
swept his locks behind his ears
to listen to the swans of Seville?
     Who is this who, with tardy step,
has upset the Muses' chorus
and arrived at our uncultured forests?
     —If he descends from the Tiber, it must be Tasso;
Sanazaro if he comes down from the Tebeto;
and if from the Manzanares he comes, he is Vega.]

60

Anonymous (La. Academia de Ochoa)^[60]

     Vengas, Lope, con bien, Vega apacible.
—¿Quién es Vega? —Un sujeto con llaneza.
—¿Qué es llaneza? —Lo opuesto de aspereza.
—¿Quién hace los opuestos? —Lo invencible.
     —¿Quién ha hecho invencibles? —Lo imposible.
—¿Quién ha visto imposibles? —La pobreza.
—¿Qué es pobreza? —Retrato de vileza;
     Menos que nada y más que lo insufrible.
     —El nada ¿qué es? —Será lo que no es algo.
—¿Qué es algo? —Sólo Dios, por maravilla.
—¿No es nada este soneto? —No, ni aun llega.
     —¿En efeto, que hay nada? —Y en Sevilla.
—¿Sereis el nada vos? —Punto más valgo.
—El nada ¿quién es, pues? —Lope de Vega.

     [Welcome, Lope, gentle Vega.
—Who is Vega? —A plain subject.

—What is plain? —The opposite of harsh.
—Who makes the opposites? —The invincible.
     —Who has made the invincible? —The impossible.
—Who has seen the impossible? —Poverty.
—What is poverty? —A portrait of infamy;
     less than nothing and more than the insufferable.
     —What is nothing? —It must be what is not something.
—What is something? —Only God, by a miracle.
—Is this sonnet nothing? —No, not even close.
     —Then there really is a nothing? —And in Seville.
—Are you the nothing? —I'm worth a little more.
—Who, then, is nothing? —Lope de Vega.]

61

Lope de Vega?^[61]

     Pues nunca de la Biblia digo lé—,
Ni sé si eres, Cervantes, có ni cú—,
Sólo digo que es Lope Apolo, y tú
Frisón de su carroza y puerco en pie.
     Para que no escribieras, orden fué
Del cielo que mancases en Corfú;
Hablaste, buey; pero dijiste mú.
¡Oh, mala quijotada que te dé!
     ¡Honra a Lope, potrilla, o guay de tí!
Que es sol, y, si se enoja, lloverá;
Y ese tu Don Quijote  baladí
     De culo en culo por el mundo va
Vendiendo especias y azafrán romí,
Y al fin en muladares parará.

     [Since I never read the Bible, Cervantes,
I don't know if you're a spook or wear the horn,
I only say that Lope is Apollo, and you,
A cart-horse for his carriage, a two-legged swine.
     So that you should not write, Heaven
ordered your hand be crippled in Corfu;
you spoke, oh ox, but all you said was moo.
Oh, may you receive a quixotic blow!
     Honor Lope, old-timer, or woe is you!

He is the sun, and if angered, it will rain,
and your trifling old  Don Quixote
     roams the world from backside to backside,
selling spices and bastard saffron,
and on the dung heap will finally end.]

62

Alonso de Castillo Solórzano^[62]

          Al Caballo Babieca, Aludiendo a un Necio
                                   Epitafio

     Aquí yace Babieca el Alazán,
a diferencia de otro que es Frisón.
Mereció por caballo de opinión
el gran sepulcro que a sus huesos dan.
     Mas tú que en el talento eres Ciclán,
conocido por necio a trascartón,
tu Establo puede ser tu Panteón,
ahorrando de cera y sacristán.
     Babieca su carrera pasó bien;
tú de trote la llevas hasta el fin,
avergonzado del común desdén.
     Raciones igualando el celemín,
pot caballo a Babieca honrado ven
los que te menosprecian por rocín.

     [Here lies Babieca the chestnut steed,
unlike another who is a Frisian.
He earned as a horse of grand repute
the great tomb where his bones now repose.
     But you, with just one ball's worth of talent,
a fool who loses while playing a trump,
your stable can be your pantheon,
to save on candle wax and sacristan.
     Babieca completed his race well;
you carry along to the end at a trot,
ashamed of common disdain.
     In rations of equal measure,
Babieca is honored as a horse
by those who despise you as a nag.]

63

Miguel de Cervantes?^[63]

                           Contra Lope de Vega

     Hermano Lope, bórrame el soné-
de versos de Ariosto y Garcilá-
y la Biblia no tomes en la má-
pues nunca de la Biblia dices lé-
     También me borrarás la  Drangonté -
y un librillo que llaman del  Arcá -
con todo el  comediaje y epitá -
y pot ser mora quemarás a  Angé -
     Sabe Dios mi intención con  San Isí ;-
mas puesto se me va por lo devó-
bórrame en su lugar el  Peregrí -
     Y en cuatro lenguas no me escribas co-
que supuesto que escribes boberí-
lo vendrán a entender cuatro nació-:
     Ni acabes de escribir la  Jerusá -
bástale a la cuitada su trabá-.

     [Brother Lope, scratch from your sonnet
all verses of Ariosto and Garcilaso
and since you say you never read it,
don't take the Bible in your hand.
     Strike for me also your  Dragontea,
and a little book they call the  Arcadia,
along with all the melodrama and epitaphs,
and burn the Angélica  as a Moor.
     God knows my intention with  San Isidro,
but because it's so devout I'll let it go,
and in its place rub out the  Peregrino .
     And don't write me a thing in four languages,
for even though what you write is foolishness,
four nations will manage to understand it.
     And don't bother finishing the  Jerusalén,
the poor thing's already had enough work.]

Notes

Introduction

1— The Burlesque Sonnet Tradition in Italy

2— The Pre-Cervantine Burlesque Sonnet in Spain

3— Cervantes and Humor

4— Cervantes's Burlesque Sonnets Independent of Don Quixote

5— The Burlesque Sonnets in Don Quixote

Appendix

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Index

A

Academia de Arguijo, 158

Academia de la Argamasilla, 147 -156, 162 , 226 -228

Academia de Ochoa, 84 , 157 -158, 164 -165;

criticism of Lope de Vega in, 158 ;

valentones in, 158 .

Poems:

"Después que viste Amor jubón de raso," 158 , 229 -230;

"—Lope dicen que vino. —No es posible," 158 , 229 ;

"—¿Quién es este pastor que de Castilla," 158 , 230 -231;

"Vengas, Lope, con bien, Vega apacible," 158 , 231 -232

Academies. See Literary academies

Accademia degli Intronati, 153

Accademia degli Umoristi, 72

Accademia dei Vignaiuoli, 30 -31

Accademia della Crusca, 153

Acuña, Hernando de, 41

Adoxography, 48 -49, 172 ;

in Cervantes, 123

Alamanni, Antonio, 23

Alcázar, Baltasar del, 57 -64.

Poems:

"Adiós, crueles ojos; yo me acojo," 61 , 202 -203;

"Cabellos crespos, breves, cristalinos," 58 -59, 202 ;

"Contra un mal soneto," 61 , 64 , 203 -204

Aldana, Francisco de, 41

Aleandro, Girolamo, 72

Alemán, Mateo, 158 ;

Guzmán de Alfarache,91 -92, 93

Alvarez de Soria, Alonso, 158 , 165

Angiolieri, Cecco, 10 -16.

Poems:

"—Becchina mia! —Cecco, nol ti confesso," 11 , 177 -178;

"Dante Alighier, Cecco, 'l tu' serv'e amico," 15 ;

"Dante Alighier, s'i' so ben begolardo," 15 , 180 -181;

"Lassar vo' lo trovare di Becchina," 15 ;

"S'i' fosse foco, arderei 'l mondo," 12 -13, 179 -180;

"Tre cose solamente mi so 'n grado," 12 , 178 -179

Anti-Petrarchism, 123 , 172 ;

in Alcázar, 59 , 61 ;

in Cervantes, 116 , 123 ;

in Hurtado de Mendoza, 44 , 47

La Arcadia (Lope de Vega), 160

Aretino, Pietro, 31 , 39

Arguijo, Juan de, 158

B

Bakhtin, Mikhail, 1 , 134 , 135

Barahona de Soto, Luis, 42 , 56 , 164

Bataillon, Marcel, 78

Bellincioni, Bernardo, 23 , 26

Bembo, Pietro, 35

Berni, Francesco, 30 -39, 42 ;

Dialogo contra i poeti,32 -35.

Poems:

"Capitolo al Cardinale Ippolito de' Medici," 38 ;

"Capitolo dell' Orinale," 38 ;

"Dal più profondo e tenebroso centro," 28 ;

"Fate a modo de un vostro servidore," 32 ;

"Il papa non fa altro che mangiare," 32 ;

"Maestro Guazzalletto medico," 29 ;

"Sonetto alla sua Donna," 35 , 58 -59, 190 -191;

"Sonetto contra la moglie," 37 , 193 -194;

"Sonetto di Ser Cecco," 35 -36, 191 -192;

"Sonetto sopra la Barba di Domenico d'Ancona," 36 , 192 -193;

"Sonetto sopra la mula dell' Alcionio," 37 ;

"Sul tristo impantanamento a Malalbergo," 36 ;

"Un papato composto di rispetti," 32

Billingsgate, 106

Boscán, Juan, 41

Burchiello (Domenico di Giovanni), 22 -25, 96 .

Poems:

"Andando a uccellare una stagione," 24 -25, 186 ;

"Cimici, e pulci, con molti pidocchi," 23 , 185 ;

"La Poesia combatte col Rasojo," 25 , 187 ;