"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.