Illustrating El Cid, 1498 to Today 9780773557611

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Illustrating El Cid, 1498 to Today

LAUREN BECK

Illustrating

El Cid

1498 to Today

mcgill-queen’s university press montreal & kingston

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london

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chicago

© McGill-Queen’s University Press 2019 isbn isbn isbn isbn

978-0-7735-5725-3 (cloth) 978-0-7735-5726-0 (paper) 978-0-7735-5761-1 (epdf) 978-0-7735-5762-8 (epub)

Legal deposit second quarter 2019 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Awards to Scholarly Publications Program, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. Funding was also received from Mount Allison University.

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays. Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Title: Illustrating El Cid : 1498 to today / Lauren Beck. Names: Beck, Lauren, author. Description: Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190054956 | Canadiana (ebook) 2019005543X | isbn 9780773557253 (hardcover) | isbn 9780773557260 (softcover) | isbn 9780773557611 (pdf) | isbn 9780773557628 (epub) Subjects: lcsh: Cid, approximately 1043-1099—Art. | lcsh: Cid, approximately 1043-1099—In literature. | lcsh: National characteristics, Spanish, in art. | lcsh: National characteristics, Spanish, in literature. | lcsh: Masculinity in art. | lcsh: Masculinity in literature. Classification: lcc dp103.7.c53 b43 2019 | ddc 946/.02092—dc23

Contents Illustrations • vii Acknowledgments • xiii Prologue • xv Introduction: Toward a Chronology for the Cidian Corpus

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1 Portraying the Cid and His Enemies: The Matamoros Effect

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2 Exertions of Masculinity and the Roles of Men

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3 Visions of Femininity and the Roles of Women

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4 Orientalization and the Revisioning of the Medieval Period 5 Political Uses of the Cid in Text and Image

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6 Foreign Transformations of and Influences on the Cidian Corpus Notes • 195 Bibliography • 215 Index • 241

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Illustrations

p l ates 1 “Como os reis veherom ao prazo da batalha que foy antre Martym Gomez e Rodrigo de Vyvar sobre Callafforra [How the monarchs came for the battle that occurred between Martín Gómez and Rodrigo de Vivar in Calahorra].” Crónica Geral de Espanha, 1344; illustrated in the early fifteenth century. acl, ms Azul 1, fol. 189r. 2 Santiago de Matamoros in battle. Illumination in Transcripción do nomeamento como cabaleiro e fillodalgo a D. Gonzalo de Hellín e ó seu irmán Jua del Castillo, c. 1454. Museo de las Peregrinaciones y de Santiago, Galicia, d-635. Ministerio de Educación, Cultura y Deporte. 3 The Cid in battle. María Teresa León, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar. El Cid Campeador. Habana: Editorial Arte y Literatura 2010, book cover. 4 The Cid defeating the Count of Carrión. Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch. Romancero pintoresco. Madrid: Alhambra y Compañía 1848, facing 54. 5 The Cid before a lion, in Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco. Madrid: Imprenta de Alhambra y Compañía 1848, facing 50. 6 The Cid gestures upward, in Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco. Madrid: Imprenta de Alhambra y Compañía 1848, facing 44. 7 The Oath of Saint Gadea. El Cid Campeador. Valencia: Ediciones Gaisa 1962, between 16 and 17.

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8 The Cid leaving his family, illustrated by Rogelio Quintana, in Francisco Alejo, Cantar de Mío Cid. Madrid: Castalia 2010, 21. 9 Elvira and Sol tied to trees, in Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco. Madrid: Imprenta de Alhambra y Compañía 1848, facing 52. 10 Muslims bow before the king, in Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco. Madrid: Alhambra y Compañía 1848, facing 61. 11 A Muslim warrior. Esteban Rodríguez Serrano, El Cid Campeador. Madrid: El Rompecabezas 2007, 114. 12 A horseshoe-shaped doorway, from Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco. Madrid: Imprenta de Alhambra y Compañía 1848, following title page. 13 Cover art, from Jorge Cots Navarro, El Cid Campeador. Valencia: Ediciones Gaisa 1962. 14 Jimena and her captor. El Cid, la leyenda. Madrid: Ediciones Gaviota 2003, 52. 15 Al-Mutamin. El Cid, la leyenda. Madrid: Ediciones Gaviota 2003, 45. 16 The Cid demands vengeance, illustrated by Rogelio Quintana, in Francisco Alejo, Cantar de Mío Cid. Madrid: Castalia 2010, 108. 17 Title page in Adelbert von Keller, Romancero del Cid. Stuttgart: Liesching y Comp. 1840. 18 Title page in Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco. Ed. José Ramón Benedicto. Madrid: Imprenta de Alhambra y Compañía 1848.

f i gu r es 0.1 A stylized initial from Crónica de Castilla, fifteenth century. bne, ms/830, fol. 2r. • 13 0.2 A page in Poema de mío Cid, early fourteenth century. bne, vitr/7/17, fol. 31r, verses 1485–93. • 14 0.3 A reader’s sketch found on a page in Crónica de los reyes de Castilla, fifteenth century. bne, ms/1396, fol. 102v. • 18 1.1 “Cómo Rodrigo de bivar fue en romeria a Santiago i de la gra[cia] que dios le dio en el campo.” Coronica del Rey Don Fernando, fifteenth century. bne, ms/1810, fol. 4r. • 28

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1.2 The Cid portrayed in Diego de Valera’s Crónica de España. Zaragoza: Paulo Burus 1493, fol. 59r. • 29 1.3 Frontispiece of Coronica del çid ruy diaz. Seville: Tres Compañeros Alemanes, 1498, chapter 6. Reproduced in R. Foulché-Delbosc, ed., “Suma de las cosas marauillosas (Coronica del Çid Ruy Diaz. Sevilla 1498),” Revue Hispanique 20 (1909): 317. • 31 1.4 Title page of Cronica del muy esforçado cauallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador. Seville: Jacobo Cromberger and Juan Cromberger, 22 November 1525. • 32 1.5 The Cid in battle, in Cronica del muy noble y esforçado y siempre vitorioso Cid ruy diez Campeador. Burgos: Fadrique Alemán de Basilea 1512, fol. 102r. • 36 1.6 Santiago de Matamoros, in Copilación delos establecimientos dela orden dela cauallería de Santiago del Espada. Seville: Johannes Pegnitzer 1502. Biblioteca de Catalunya, Barcelona, Res. 490, fol. 2v. • 39 1.7 Title page of Crónica del famoso i invencible cauallero Cid Ruy Diaz campeador. Medina del Campo: Juan María da Terranova and Jacome de Liarcari 1552. • 43 1.8 “An Old Engraving,” in El cantar de mío Cid y el Romancero del Cid. Paris: Sociedad de ediciones Louis-Michaud, c. 1910, facing the title page. • 45 1.9 Title page of Summa de las coronicas del muy valeroso y esforçado cauallero castellano el Cid Ruy diaz de Bivar, ahora nueuamente sacada de las Coronicas generales de España. Alcalá de Henares: Casa de Sebastian Martínez 1567. • 47 2.1 The Cid’s body at the Monasterio de San Pedro Cardeña. Crónica. Seville: Tres Compañeros Alemanes 1498, chapter 6. Reproduced in R. Foulché-Delbosc, ed., “Suma de las cosas marauillosas (Coronica del çid Ruy Diaz. Sevilla 1498),” Revue Hispanique 20 (1909): 425. • 62 2.2 La Marche dressing as a knight, from El caballero determinado traducido de lengua francesa en castellana por Hernando de Acuña, sixteenth century. bne, ms/1475, fol. 11r. • 72 3.1 The infantes of the Count of Carrión beat their wives, from the 1525 Cromberger edition, chapter XL, n/p. • 91 3.2 Lucrecia raped by Sextus, in Boccaccio, De las mujeres ilustres. Zaragoza: Paulo Hurus 1494, fol. 53r. • 93

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3.3 Jimena seeks to avenge the death of her father, in El Cid. Barcelona: Imprenta de D. Antonio Bergnes y Compañía 1842, 17. • 104 3.4 The Cid and Jimena on their wedding day. Manuel Milà y Fontanals, Romancero del Cid. Barcelona: Biblioteca Arte y Letras 1884, 51. • 108 3.5 Jimena and Rodrigo. Estanislao de Cosca Vayo, La conquista de Valencia por el Cid. Novela histórica original. Valencia: Imprenta de Mompre 1831, tome 2, facing title page. • 109 4.1 The Cid in battle. Coronica del çid ruy diaz. Seville: Tres Compañeros Alemanes 1498, chapter 6. Reproduced in R. FoulchéDelbosc, ed., “Suma de las cosas marauillosas (Coronica del Çid Ruy Diaz. Sevilla 1498),” Revue Hispanique 20 (1909): 334. • 118 4.2 The Cid in battle. Coronica del muy esforçado i inuencible cauallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador delas Españas. Toledo: Miguel de Eguia 1526, frontispiece. • 119 4.3 The Cid in battle. Joseph Pereira Bayam, Historia verdadeira do famosissimo Heróe, e invencivel Cavalleiro Hespanhol Rodrigo Dias de Bivar. Lisbon: Francisco da Silva 1734; reprinted in 1751, following title page. • 121 4.4 The Cid in battle, in Adelbert von Keller, Romancero del Cid. Stuttgart: A. Liesching y Compañía 1840, title page. • 122 5.1 After the Cid’s death. María Teresa León, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, el Cid Campeador. Burgos: Ediciones Gran Vía 2007, 180. • 143 5.2 The back cover of El Cid. Madrid: Ministerio de Educación Nacional 1962. • 157 5.3 The prayer room in Cordoba’s mosque. Ramón Menéndez Pidal, La España del Cid. Madrid: Plutarco 1929, tome 1, 115. • 160 6.1 Frontispiece of Der Cid: Nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen durch Johan Gottfried von Herder, published in the third volume of Johann Gottfried von Herder’s sämmtliche Werke: zur schönen Literature und Kunst. Vienna: C. Haas’schen Buchhandlung 1813. • 175 6.2 Gabriel visits the Cid, in Der Cid: Nach spanischen Romanzen besungen durch J.G. von Herder. Vienna: C. Kaulfuss and C. Armbruster 1817, title page. • 177 6.3 Title page of Der Cid: Nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen durch J.G. von Herder mit Randzeichnungen von Eugen Neureuther.

Illustrations

6.4 6.5 6.6

6.7

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Stuttgart and Tubingen: Verlag der J.G. Cottaschen Buchhandlung 1838. • 183 Jimena before the king, in Manuel Milá y Fontanals, Romancero selecto del Cid. Barcelona: Biblioteca Arte y Letras 1884, 39. • 185 The Oath of Santa Gadea in Herder’s Der Cid (1838), 128. • 187 Jimena demands revenge, in George Dennis, The Cid: A Short Chronicle Founded on the Early Poetry of Spain. London: Charles Knight and Co. 1845, 40. • 189 An episode from the novelized story of the Cid’s life, in Manuel Fernández y González, Cid Rodrigo de Vivar. Novela histórica original. Madrid: Urbano Manini 1875, tome 2, plate 3, between 222 and 223. • 192

Acknowledgments

This book grows out of an article I published in 2016, “Illustrating the Cid and His Enemies in Print: The Matamoros Effect,” in Image & Narrative, and some of its material appears in chapters 1 and 2. Research for the book was supported by a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (Canada) Insight Development Grant, the Crake Foundation, and the Marjorie Young Bell Faculty Fund (Mount Allison University). The costs for any image digitization and reproductions have been borne by Mount Allison University and the Canada Research Chair program. I express sincere thanks for the insights offered by the peer reviewers and the efforts of my editor, Richard Ratzlaff, for making the book as strong as possible. I also acknowledge the assistance provided by several student research assistants who compiled illustrations from five centuries’ worth of editions: Rénelle John, Tessa Morris, Hala Nader, and Aya Al-Salchi. Finally, credit is always due my supportive husband, Rob LeBlanc, who understands my impulse to spend our weekends working away on projects such as this one.

Prologue

The early age of printing inherited from medieval manuscripts a poem of 1207 as well as assorted chronicles featuring Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar (1043–1099), popularly known as “El Cid” (from the Arabic Sidi, for Lord). By then, like Arthur of England and Charlemagne of France, the Cid had become one of Spain’s legendary and often romanticized figures. He joined a cohort of national heroes who fought against what was seen as the encroachment of evil, in his case leading incursions into Muslim Spain while reclaiming territory alongside other Spanish Catholics. Less idealized portrayals of the Cid expose him as a ruthless mercenary who, to accomplish his objectives, collaborated with Christians and Muslims in turn.1 Much scholarship has focused on the medieval sources of the Cid’s story, pursuing inquiries of an historical, linguistic, and literary nature. Few studies, however, have investigated the visual complement to the cidian corpus. And scholars who have endeavoured to do so have not examined the breadth of this record sequentially and across the centuries in order to comprehend the visual evolution of the Cid alongside that of his historical and literary self, from a medieval legend to a post-medieval national hero. This book addresses the vacuum in the scholarship on Spain’s epic hero by identifying and studying the illustrations that appeared in over five centuries of Spanish-language editions of the Crónica popular del Cid, the Crónica particular del Cid, and the Poema de mío Cid. These three works compose the arterial branches of the cidian corpus, many of which also contain a biography of his life. A fourth branch to which we will also refer contains usually fictional works about the Cid or particular aspects of his

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Prologue

legend, such as Las hijas del Cid and Las mocedades del Cid. The latter titles descended from two principal sources, Crónica de Castilla and Cantar de Rodrigo (or Poema de las mocedades de Rodrigo), which increased in popularity in the seventeenth century through the theatrical works of Guillén de Castro (1569–1631) and Pierre Corneille (1606–1684) and reasserted themselves again in nineteenth-century novels. Twentieth- and twenty-firstcentury versions of the Cid’s narrative intended for non-academic audiences tend to combine all of these traditions to varying degrees in terms of both form and content. Delving into modern (1800–1980) and contemporary (1980–today) representations drawn from recently published editions provides a rich context for understanding the considerable evolution that has affected this visual and textual repertoire, as well as illuminating how some aspects of it have indeed remained the same. In the modern period, early examples of the cidian corpus became hybridized versions that, once illustrated, demonstrate the phenomenon of transmediality, whereby the Cid’s story is manifested across multiple media and genres in a way that transcends any one particular or stable narrative.2 After the chronology of the corpus’s illustration history is framed in this book’s introduction, we can begin to trace the transformation of certain components as well as the fixity of others. A transhistorical, critical approach will demonstrate, for instance, that after the sixteenth century the representation of the Cid’s enemies became increasingly caricatured, whereas the earliest images barely distinguished a soldier from his foe and relied upon generic visual language that communicated scenes depicting war. Perhaps this trend is explained by the evolving audience for his story: rather than the general audience of the early modern period, the most commonly produced books containing illustrations today are for children and readers of comic books or graphic novels. The use of caricature in modern and contemporary book illustration created another generic environment within which readers understood conflict and war. In place of shields or swords, however, readers encounter symbols for Islam which they subsequently interpret as symbols for war. These essentialisms extend, as well, to the representation of and power accorded to gender and sex. A final phenomenon that emerges from these centuries of book illustration is the relatively modern orientalization of the Cid’s physique and persona using symbols and modalities previously reserved for the representation of Islam.

Prologue

xvii

This book explores, and organizes, overarching themes conveyed by centuries of book illustration. The Cid’s adventures long helped to educate men and boys, and today they play the same role for small children of both genders. The illustration cycles originally designed for the Cid’s epic were adopted by books of chivalry and works of history to represent fictional or actual kings and other men of power. The representation of good and evil changes over time and we become conscious of this evolution by studying illustrated components, such as colour, race, religion, and material objects, for their symbolic values. The roles of sex, femininity, and masculinity acquire considerable profundity as the centuries progress and go through periods of restrained morality. Even the twentieth-century dictator General Franco made use of cidian literary and visual references in order to enhance the appeal of his regime, undercut the power of the monarchy, and defend his right to rule. He used the cidian narrative not only as a tool for unifying the country but also as a civilizing discourse meant to model masculine ideals that supported rather than interfered with his own political program.3 This book, then, fills a gap in scholarship on the cidian corpus while its transhistorical, critical approach allows scholars to consider, for the first time, several narrative frames of reference extracted from editions published in different periods. It also includes the first bibliography comprising all of the illustrated editions published in Spanish to the modern period. Given the shift in cidian illustration over the centuries as well as changes in the work’s audience, tracing the transformation of the corpus’s visual form is an endeavour that will expose as well as contrast contemporary visualizations against historical antecedents.

Illustrating El Cid, 1498 to Today

Introduction Toward a Chronology for the Cidian Corpus

El Cid has been positioned by historians, literary scholars, and Hollywood, as well as politicians and other individuals in positions of power, as a central figure in Spanish culture and history. This legendary and romanticized character is usually depicted helping to secure the reconquest of Spain from Muslims. The textual tradition that emerges around his life in the medieval period is complicated, as are the ways that fiction and non-fiction intertwine throughout these foundations of the cidian legend. The Cid’s exploits became the topic of songs that subsequently gave rise to the poem, created in 1207, of which a fourteenth-century manuscript survives. References to the Cid also emerge in chronicles, particularly in the thirteenth century, such as Estoria de España. Both of these textual groups that today comprise fiction and non-fiction became the basis of the published and widely circulated variants of the Cid’s story. Today, popular poetry is included in the category of fiction, whereas in the medieval period this textual form had several important purposes, including the dissemination of information. The barriers separating fiction from non-fiction are porous and subject to movement over the centuries. Both the poem and the chronicles remain much indebted to the juglares (roaming musicians and sharers of news) who popularized the Cid’s accomplishments and his exploits in the century following his death in 1099, and whose tales gave rise to a Latin-language poem produced during the final years of his life or shortly after his death. The manuscript of that poem, titled Carmen Campidoctoris, is now conserved at the Bibliothèque nationale de France with the signature “Latin 5132.”1 The first Spanishlanguage version of the poem, composed by Per Abbat in the year 1207, now exists only as a fourteenth-century copy and resides in the collections

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Illustrating El Cid

of the Biblioteca Nacional de España. Biographies of the Cid also circulated in prose, including Historia Roderici (early twelfth century), Historia Najerense (c. 1160), Chronicon Mundi (c. 1236), De Rebus Hispaniae by Jiménez de Rada (mid-thirteenth century), and a text composed by the monks of the Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña in the mid-thirteenth century, often referred to as the Leyenda de Cardeña, which was presented in 1272 by the abbot of Cardeña to King Alfonso X and his court. The last became incorporated into the alphonsine chronicle produced in this period, known as either Primera crónica general or Estoria de España.2 These works helped to idealize and reshape the Cid into a heroic prototype whose embodiment of moral and political correctness could teach other men how to comport themselves, a practice that reflects the alphonsine (thirteenth-century) and post-alphonsine (fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, also referred to as neo-alphonsine) traditions based on Alfonso el Sabio’s thirteenth-century models.3 The cidian tradition in prose also grows out of a third category of alphonsine historiography that emerged during the early modern period, one characterized by texts, known generally as the mocedades, that referred to the Cid’s childhood, marriage, and early adventures and that were encapsulated specifically in the c. 1360 poem Mocedades de Rodrigo, now conserved at the Bibliothèque nationale de France.4 This widened biographical frame for the Cid’s life greatly influenced later versions of the medievalera poem and deepened an extensive mythology concerning his life, death, and burial. These episodes initially inspired Renaissance-period and later works derived from the earlier, comparatively less known or circulated material about the Cid’s life.5 To be examined in due course, the medieval sources for the cidian corpus were invariably illustrated in the early modern period, and the manuscript depictions likely influenced in some limited way their published successors. Certainly, by 1498, the Cid’s legend had acquired a visual component that referenced these textual antecedents. Over time, however, the nature of the illustrations and the characters appearing in the cidian canon, including the hero himself as well as his wife and daughters, his supporters and enemies, and the kings and nobility involved alongside him in the project of conquest and reconquest, have undergone considerable transformation. Representations of this cultural figure are steeped in symbolism familiar to most Spanish citizens who encountered the Cid during their early education. From a modern, nationalistic perspective, the Cid’s legend has been used by politicians to forge a “collective consciousness,” in the words

Introduction

5

of Michel Foucault, that uses this epic narrative “to refresh its memory”6 concerning national identity as well as foster a collective sense of history. The illustrations for the Cid’s narrative therefore function, as Martha W. Driver argues, as “projections of cultural consciousness.”7 As will be shown later in this book, the values associated with the Cid and the reception of the text as a nationalistic narrative can be viewed through the lens of Jesús Martín-Barbero’s critique of cultural hegemony whereby subordinate classes choose to embrace or adopt the values of the dominant classes, the composition of which changes throughout time.8 The powerful and wealthy upper classes during the medieval period included the nobility and their staff, as well as clerics, and, as Spain’s economy grew more prosperous in the early modern period, this stratum of society expanded to include merchants and other elements of the bourgeoisie, who also became the target audiences of publishers. Viewed in this way, published literary output can be linked to the values and desires of the clientele at which that output was aimed. In the modern period, however, the dominant classes become democratized and exposed to the institutions of education and governance, in which they were participants, and publishers swiftly responded to emerging markets accordingly. Book illustration as a new, mass-produced media eventually became more affordable to these broadening audiences. This accessibility transformed the way in which Spaniards interacted with the Cid. From another perspective, the development of a well-established visual tradition alongside the Cid’s textual existence gave visibility to readers’ own social experiences, since to some degree readers’ experiences were meant to reflect the ones modelled on the page. The repetition of the images, themes, and, to some extent, values studied throughout the present book testifies to the use of media – in our case book illustration – to provide, in Michael Marsden’s view, “a series of common, shared experiences and images which have become part of the collective shared traditions of society.”9 Throughout the nineteenth century we see a change in the composition of the dominant social groups, which came to include, alongside a noble or wealthy elite, the modern middle class. This change is visible in book illustration, which, unlike the text, enjoyed great elasticity over the centuries and thus could respond well to changes in values and audiences, a notable example of the latter being the nation-rebuilding project of the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries undertaken in Spain after the loss of its colonies. At the same time, and as we explain in the final chapter, this attempt to establish a collective identity celebrates and aspires to values associated with the Cid’s

Illustrating El Cid

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character. Authors, readers, viewers, publishers, booksellers, book marketers, and politicians subsequently projected these values, including strength and a measured sense of justice, virtue and spiritual rectitude, decisiveness and fairness, obedience and leadership, and honour and nobility, to both the domestic and public spheres. Owing to its varying forms as poem and chronicle, as well the diverse range of titles ascribed to the main branches of the cidian corpus, scholarship on the subject can be confusing in its focus on variations and nuances, and to date no comprehensive bibliography of the illustrated editions has been compiled. 10 This book, besides providing such a bibliography, addresses the lack of critical analysis of the visual representation of the Cid over time, and especially the importance and consequences of changes to the images and icons associated with him and his exploits. In general, we can characterize the illustration history of the cidian corpus as one that highlights warfare as well as violence to differing degrees, and in some ways the Cid as a warrior became associated with religious and regal contexts that do not exist in all periods of illustration.11 Classic studies on the subject of Spanish book illustration range from James P.R. Lyell’s Early Book Illustration in Spain (1926) to Gonzalo Menéndez Pidal’s La España del siglo XII, leída en imágenes (1986). Recent attempts to understand the illustration history through a critical lens, either by period or transhistorically, have yielded important works of scholarship entirely devoted to the visual component of canonical pieces of literature, but they are few and far between; two that stand out are John Esten Keller and Richard P. Kinkade, Iconography in Medieval Spanish Literature (1984), and Rachel Schmidt, Critical Images: The Canonization of Don Quixote through Illustrated Editions of the Eighteenth Century (1999). The present book relies on these and similar titles to build a foundation for future scholarship on one of Spain’s most canonical pieces of literature. In order to achieve this end, we will first consider the textual foundation that later gave rise to the legend of the Cid.

m ed ie va l a n tece dent s The intention of this overview is to point to the foundational texts and images created in the medieval period that eventually inspired the first printed and illustrated edition of the Cid’s adventures in prose. Admittedly, this is not a complete overview, since such an effort would require

Introduction

7

its own monograph. Rather, we focus on the comingling of fiction and non-fiction in these early manuscript copies (a pattern that continues in later centuries), texts that together comprise the origins of the first published, illustrated edition of the Cid’s story in 1498. The origins of the cidian literary corpus have been well documented as well as debated, particularly over the last century when Per Abbat’s poem developed into a fundamental contribution to the Spanish literary canon.12 An overview of these medieval texts will also offer insight into the medieval illustration practices associated with the possible sources for the 1498 edition, thereby illuminating their influence on early modern illustrators. In general, none of the medieval manuscripts included illustration parallel to the text. The absence of an authentic visual paratext in the medieval period has led contemporary scholars to seek some unusual remedies in the form of borrowing visualizations of war and conflict from other medieval works originally depicting, for instance, biblical events or episodes in the history of the Crusades. An example of this practice can be found on the cover of José Luis Olaizola’s historical work El Cid, el último héroe (1992), for which a battle scene was borrowed from a thirteenth-century Spanish Bible. The book also includes a series of plates that are descriptive of the medieval period; none of them, however, contains any authentic portrayal of the Cid or his deeds. Other authors borrow book illustrations, paintings, and sculpture from the early modern and modern periods – some of which pertain directly to the Cid or represent battle scenes between two generic figures. With the exception of the examples discussed later in this introduction, no illustration of the Cid dating from the medieval period is known to exist. The contemporary writer’s need to provide – and perhaps the modern reader’s demand for – visual context has resulted in the inclusion of surrogate visual material extracted from non-cidian medieval-era texts. Visual context for the Cid’s life has increasingly become a desired component of how his story is read, studied, and understood. With this observation in mind, let us turn to the medieval antecedents of the first published illustrated edition of 1498. As Richard Fletcher aptly observes of the medieval period, “the surviving written sources which bear upon the life of Rodrigo Díaz may be comfortably read in the space of a day.”13 Knowing which medieval works ultimately contributed to the illustrated edition of 1498 provides us with important starting points for understanding how the book’s illustrator approached the task of visualizing this set of characters and

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Illustrating El Cid

events for the first time. In the early modern period, these illustrations became so popular that Fletcher credits them in part with keeping “the Cid firmly in the consciousness of Spaniards at home or scattered about their far-flung empire.”14 Despite this popularity, because medieval visual portrayals of the Cid were rare, early illustrators relied upon textual characterizations of him. The first group of medieval texts of interest to us do not contain illustrations. Carmen Campidoctoris is the earliest narrative of the Cid’s life, composed in Latin hexametric verse by an unknown but educated poet either during the final years of the Cid’s life or shortly after his death in 1099.15 Designed as a hagiographic rather than historical work, it followed not the epic tradition but the lyrical one with the purpose of celebrating the Cid and his exploits in song. As L.P. Harvey concludes, the lyrical tradition idealized and helped celebrate military accomplishments on the frontier, and thus the laudatory tone of Carmen Campidoctoris fits appropriately within the context of the poem’s creation as well as the poem’s form.16 These early verses characterize the hero as nobiliori and provide us with the geographical extent of his travels: “Del más noble linaje descendiente, / mayor que el cual no se hallará en Castilla, / saben Sevilla y de Ebro la ribera / quién es Rodrigo (v. 21–4) [Of the most noble lineage descended / no better could be found in Castile / and everyone knows in Seville and the Ebro River / who Rodrigo is].”17 This quality of nobleness is one that today refers more to a person’s character than to his bloodline, a lexicographic evolution that would affect the moral or virtuous characterzsation of the Cid in this same period as he transitioned from being a person of noble birth and lineage to one demonstrating moral nobility as a role model and mentor in a post-medieval context. We will focus on this quality of nobility in order to understand the medieval development of the text as well as its protagonist. The author of the early-twelfth-century Historia Roderici appears to have heard these lyrical verses (the Cid was a “nobilissimi ac bellatoris uiri prosapiam / ex maioribus Castelle [noble and valiant man of good lineage / from the best of Castile]”),18 which demonstrates the penetration of the Cid’s exploits into the oral culture of the period as well as the consistency with which he was being described shortly prior to or following his death. A contemporaneous compendium of history documenting the creation of the world up to the middle of the twelfth century, Historia Najerense (c. 1160), contains similar phrasing but appears to be less in-

Introduction

9

fluenced by the aforementioned two narratives (the Cid was “de nobilioribus Castelle [of Castilian fame]”).19 Similarly, the Chronicon Mundi by Lucas of Tuy (c. 1236) provides glimpses of the Cid alongside a history of the world and astronomical tables and diagrams. The Cid’s story or parts of it therefore circulated as peripheral material inserted into much longer accounts that related the history of the world or that included, in the example of Lucas of Tuy, other subject matter. The nobility of the Cid as a historical personage continued to develop after the poem was crafted by Per Abbat in 1207. A second early-thirteenthcentury work, De Rebus Hispaniae, also known as Historia de los hechos de España, Historia gótica, and its subsequently updated version, Crónica del toledano, written by Rodrigo Jiménez de Rada (also known as El Toledano, c. 1170–1247), exemplifies the type of chronicle found in several manuscript copies whose contents vary depending on when they were produced and on how one text influenced others. The original chronicle, which details the life of the Cid within the scheme of Spanish history up to about 1243, later is revised to account for historical events and personages that postdate de Rada’s life and yet he remains its primary author. The practice of co-creating chronicles but attributing authorship to one individual destabilizes the contemporary relationship between text and author. The multiplicity of these medieval-era texts and the practice of revising and adding to them in later periods problematizes any attempt to identify the author of a work. Similarly, many chronicles knit together several textual sources and so can be viewed as more than one solitary text. One fifteenth-century manuscript located at the Universidad de Sevilla (A 331/143), which was translated into Spanish by the bishop of Burgos, Gonzalo de la Hinojosa, carries the title Crónica de España and is attributed to de Rada. The complexities of medieval chronicling cannot be addressed here, but the textual trajectories underpinning De Rebus Hispaniae cannot be underemphasized. It became the basis for subsequent alphonsine works such as Estoria de España and copies existed under various titles, which in later centuries were used for post-alphonsine versions of alphonsine chonicles such as Crónica de España, which is the Catalunyan version of the De Rebus Hispaniae attributed either to the thirteenth-century translator Pere Ribera de Peripinyà or, because De Rebus Hispaniae was one of the foundational texts for the next generation of chronicle, to de Rada. Thus, multiple hands intervened in and authored these chronicles over time, a fact that makes it difficult for scholars to neatly separate, and for institutions to accurately

10

Illustrating El Cid

describe and catalogue, these manuscripts. An example of these challenges can be found in the aforementioned fifteenth-century copy and translation of de Rada’s earlier chronicle located in Seville, which includes events up to about the year 1430. In short, chronicles such as these should be viewed as living documents whose contents, far from being static, could be updated or changed in various ways. During the thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, several chronicles about the history of Spain or its constituent kingdoms summarized or made extensive reference to the Cid, his life, and adventures.20 Some of them (Crónica de los reyes de Castilla and Estoria de España) devote sections to the cidian narrative, and, in the view of Diego Catalán, the former chronicle “became cidian,”21 maturing into what later became a new genre of chronicle that mixed legend with historical summary.22 These legendary chronicles were copied and distributed in manuscript book form, and by the end of the fifteenth century they formed the basis of incunabula works, one of which became the oldest-known illustrated print edition of the Cid’s chronicle. In terms of the portrayal of the Cid in the fifteenth-century manuscript copy of de Rada’s thirteenth-century chronicle, the Cid’s nobility remains a central component. The author explains that “solo Ruy Diaz el canpeador se puso a tomar la jura al Rey don Alonso y por aq’lla Razon como quiera que el çid Ruy diaz fuese noble nunca lo amo yamas el Rey don Alonso [only Ruy Diaz the Campeador took the oath to King Alonso and for that reason, as he wanted the Cid Ruy Diaz to be noble, the king Alonso never loved him].”23 Chapter-length episodes, such as the one described in the heading introducing the 155th chapter of the chronicle, provide detailed accounts of the Cid’s interaction with other kings: “Como el çid Ruy díaz gano a valençia e vencio al Rey de aragon cual Rey moro que se llamava bucar [How the Cid Ruy Diaz won Valencia and defeated the King of Aragon and the Moorish King named Bucar].”24 One of the recurring characteristics of such chronicles is a documented list of exchanges between kings and nobles, which in this case also involves the Cid, while anchoring his legend to the leadership and power networks of Spain’s regional past. In another copy from this same period, the author informs us that “Ruy diaz era mal quisto del Rey don Alfonsso et etcholo de tierra [Ruy Diaz was not loved by King Alfonso and he exiled him from the land],” and then spends about a page detailing his background and the marriages of his daughters to Ramiro de Navarra and to the Count of

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Barcelona.25 The chronicles set out noble relationships and lineages in explicit terms as a means of documenting the past through the transactions of powerful men and sometimes women. The information relayed by these works varies from one copy to another; for example, some copies of the text just quoted choose to provide more details concerning the Cid’s life or particular battles. With each copy or version, moreover, new hands intervened with updated or additional perspectives and opinions on the importance of the Cid and his adventures. The burgeoning detail about the Cid may be symptomatic of readers’ hunger to learn more about the protagonist, thus generating a cycle of supply and demand that eventually resulted in a considerable body of work. With this intervention of multiple hands came the lengthening of the text that pertained to the Cid and the emergence of episodic, chapterlength narratives entirely devoted to specific events such as the taking of Valencia or the marriages of the Cid’s daughters, as the example of de Rada’s chronicle demonstrates. Various chronicles employed these techniques in their summaries of the Cid’s exploits, much in the same way that Jiménez de Rada’s work did, although some – such as Juan Fernández de Heredia’s Grant Coronica – do not appear to pay much attention to the Cid. 26 These parts of the Cid’s life slowly became substantially lengthened once again to encapsulate several chapters, as evidenced by the fifteenth-century copy of Crónica de Castilla, first completed in 1295. The importance of the Cid’s narrative is highlighted at the beginning of this work: “En este tiempo se levantaba Rodrigo de Bivar. Era mancebo mucho essforçado en armas y de buenas costumbres [in this time came Rodrigo de Vivar. A young boy very valiant in arms and of good habits].” 27 Verbalized portraits such as this one were increasingly refining the Cid’s characterological profile so that his masculine goodness became as important, if not more so, than his lineage, which foreshadows the way his character and story would be viewed and used in subsequent centuries. By the end of the fifteenth century, the Cid’s story dominated the contents of considerable sections of history books and relayed detailed information concerning his exploits. Other visual aspects of the medieval corpus bear noting. The narrative style evolved to include dialogue, which today we mark with visual queues in the form of punctuation and spacing in order to separate this form of expression from prose but which in the medieval period was not indicated except through verbal variance. We also find dialogue featured more

12

Illustrating El Cid

prominently in works of fiction than in non-fiction. In this respect, the voice of the narrator changed in the text to assume the vocalizations of the various historical personages in the story according to the medieval convention. This dialogue lacks the diacritical and narrative direction that allows the modern reader to understand where dialogue begins and ends and who is speaking. In the chapter dedicated to the Cid’s oath to King Alonso contained in the Crónica de Castilla, the narrator refers to him as “mio çid,” but in the next sentence the narrator suddenly inserts another voice without any transition other than a colon: “Dixo Alonso: Amigos, pues vos todos me reçebistes por Señor et me ortogastes que me dariades cibdades i castillos [Alonso said: Friends, you all receive me as your Majesty and you agreed to give me your cities and castles].”28 The contents of the chapter titles traditionally related the deeds of kings, a practice that also extended in this period to the Cid, and to his exploits alone, placing him in the same league as kings worthy of having their histories recorded. Clearly, these headings provided the reader with an optical cue – a chapter heading usually written in red ink or featuring an enlarged initial – to permit the identification of the Cid’s narrative (Fig. 0.1). As will be seen in the next chapter, visual cues such as this were eventually augmented by early engravings, which functioned as call-outs that separated one chapter from another. In contrast to the earlier Crónica de España, copied and updated in the fifteenth century but based on a thirteenth-century text, in which the story of Cid’s taking of Valencia became worthy of a separate chapter, the Crónica de Castilla provides even more in-depth coverage of his conquest of Valencia across several chapters. An entire chapter relates how, from the city he had just conquered, “el çid su presente al Rey don Alfonso i enbio por doña Ximena su mugger [the Cid sent his present to King Alfonso and summoned his wife from Ximena].”29 As will be argued in the remainder of this book, the episodes that received the greatest attention were ones that highlighted the Cid’s goodness in either birth or character. We can view the increasingly visible presence of the Cid in textual sources as forecasting which episodes were to be illustrated with engravings in the first published edition of 1498. Some of these chronicles also offered extraneous material, such as, for instance, the Cid’s final will and testament, which knits together the legend of the man with the historiographical documentation of his life.30 This in-depth, extraneous material is not found in chronicles before the fifteenth century and it resembles certain

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Figure 0.1 A stylized initial from Crónica de Castilla, fifteenth century.

details provided in the poem. In a way, the two cidian branches begin to resemble one another in content during this century, even though the poem itself had not yet circulated and could not have influenced the content of the chronicles except through the oral history shared by all three branches of the cidian corpus. The early Latin-language poems and chronicles attempted to convey historical narratives to the medieval reader or listener. Over time certain characteristics achieved a permanence that becomes ever clearer in the

14

Illustrating El Cid

Figure 0.2 A page in Poema de mío Cid, early fourteenth century.

Spanish-language cohort of texts of the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries. All but one of these subsequent texts, Fletcher determines, “have been infected by the growth of legend about him,”31 which reveals a scholarly divide that cleaves historical inquiry or the reconstruction of the Cid’s life away from a literary investigation that seeks to understand the evolution of his legend in textual form. Both of these scholarly endeavours become affected by the fact that most medieval texts do not exist in a fixed, original state as a princeps text, but rather in copies,32 which burdens the scribe and his transfer of words from one page to another with the ultimate determination of accuracy, however conceived and defined. We can only speculate about the possibility that originally illustrated medieval texts lost some visual dimension after emerging from the scribe’s workshop. The copying process certainly allowed for the opposite to occur: the insertion of what today we would consider fictional or non-fictional details into, and their deletion from, the chronicles and poems concerning the Cid’s life and activities. One of the earliest works that celebrated the Cid’s legend as opposed to his life is the Spanish-language poem composed by Per Abbat in the early thirteenth century and for which we have an unillustrated, fourteenthcentury manuscript remaining. Scholars have nonetheless noted that some

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sketches contained within the manuscript, on the page where the Cid asks his servant, Abengalvón, to retrieve his wife and daughters and bring them to Valencia, resemble the heads of two girls, which have been subsequently related to the narrative on that page concerning the Cid’s daughters (Fig. 0.2). When these illustrations became part of the manuscript cannot be determined, but, in the unlikely event that they date from the period of the manuscript’s creation, they would compose the earliest illustrations in the corpus. Medieval manuscript producers clearly valued illustration less than the text as a vehicle for knowledge. The textual as opposed to illustrated transmission of information enjoyed wider dispersion and elasticity in a period of parallel oral transference. In any event, these drawings do not appear to have influenced early print illustrations of the Cid’s daughters, a topic we will study later in this book, nor do they resemble fossilized illustration cycles that later developed and with which the doodling post-medieval reader may have been familiar. Interestingly, the poem itself refers not to a noble Cid but rather to his noble behaviour; and, as we will discuss in chapter 2, the association of the Cid’s beard with the quality of nobility conceptually displaces the historiographical interest in his lineage in the medieval period and instead symbolizes a character trait that achieved an important fixity of representation. One could achieve nobility without royal blood and the Cid embodied this possibility. It is this democratized, everyman version of the hero that appealed and continues to appeal to a broad audience, and the same prototype can be found in Per Abbat’s poem and related romances.33 We can observe that the chronicles’ treatment of nobility differed from that of the poem and its associated romances in the thirteenth century. This adjustment in how nobility was viewed and interpreted became leveraged by clerical and subsequently secular authorities seeking to employ the Cid as a model to be emulated for Christian audiences. At the same time that the quality of nobility was evolving during the late medieval period, the cult of the Cid rose in popularity, partly fuelled by the monks of Cardeña who laid claim to his legend as well as remains while making use of these remains as vehicles for defining Christian behaviour.34 The monastery of Cardeña became responsible for one of the most-circulated versions of the Cid’s story in the early days of the printing press. It is while the Cid’s narrative was expanding substantially, lengthening what had become a core component within chronicles purporting to provide a history of Spain, that the printing press arrived, appearing first in Segovia

16

Illustrating El Cid

in 1472, Seville and Barcelona in 1472–73, Zaragoza in 1475, Salamanca in 1480, Burgos in 1485, and Toledo in 1486. One of the first authors of these lengthier cidian narratives contained within printed historical chronicles was Diego de Valera, whose work, published first in Seville by Alfonso del Puerto in 1482, featured a significant section devoted to the Cid and was reprinted several times (Burgos: Fadrique de Basilea 1487; Salamanca: Tip. de Nebrija 1493; and Zaragoza: Paulo Burus 1493). In the second Salamanca edition (1499), twenty-two of its seventy-seven folios were dedicated to the Cid’s story35 in a work that purported to relate the history of Spain. The Crónica de España was gradually becoming the Crónica del Cid, which in many ways emerged as a narrative symbolic of empire and later nationhood but also of the individual’s potential to achieve greatness in the face of considerable obstacles. With this critical and popular interest in the Cid, it is not surprising that works entirely dedicated to his story and signalled by appropriate titles emerged at the dawn of the early modern period. At the same time, authors of history books deflated the sections of text previously devoted to the Cid and paid scant attention to him relative to the history of Spain and its people after the medieval period because a stream of texts devoted to the Cid had emerged at last and readers could consult them in order to explore his story in detail.36 The emergence of books devoted to the Cid resulted in the opportunity to revise history by removing him from chronicles where he had previously been featured. This effacement of the Cid from works devoted to establishing the historical record allowed for the possibility that the Cid’s legend could be viewed as something other than history. With the textual chronology established, we can acknowledge that these source texts for what later developed on the printing presses of Spain in and after the year 1482 went for the most part without any significant and original visual repertoire. Medieval illustrations of secular texts such as those involving the Arthurian Lancelot or in our case the Cid were usually executed by unknown artists and furthermore were drawn from stock images and motifs that were applied to the narrative indiscriminately. As Martha W. Driver observes: “Scenes of mêlée, of siege, of meeting and departure, of procession, of court ceremony, are dotted about the manuscripts, more, it seems, with the intention of providing visual relief and variety, or of punctuating the narrative in a visually convenient way, than of providing a visual commentary on or interpretation of the narrative.” 37 Some illustrations in medieval-era texts relate minor scenes rather than important

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narrative sequences and cannot be relied upon as somehow parallel in importance to the textual contents of the page; other illustrations provide only marginal commentary on the text.38 Paying an illustrator and illuminator to adorn a manuscript with images also significantly increased the cost of the volume. The inclusion of illustrations in medieval manuscripts and books, in the view of Elizabeth Salter and Derek Pearsall, nonetheless increased the value of the final product and could entice a buyer to complete the purchase, “while for the reader they provide a resting point for the eye, or a pleasant substitute for reading the text.”39 Rather than a mechanism to draw the reader into the text, they conclude that these illustrations could also be viewed as a place to pause during the act of reading. Furthermore, some of the doodles or sketches that were presumably added to manuscript texts by the hand of a reader reinforce the intersection of image as a place of rest while reading (or not reading, as it were). The aforementioned sketch of the Cid’s daughters testifies to this practice, as does another illustration of the Cid dressed in armour that appears in a chapter dedicated to his taking of Valencia contained in a fifteenth-century copy of Crónica de los reyes de Castilla (Fig. 0.3). Like the chronicles themselves, the intervening hands of individuals decades and centuries removed from the text’s genesis leave their traces throughout these medieval documents in both textual and visual form. Arguably, this dissonant chronology between when the text was produced and when it became illustrated becomes a permanent feature of the cidian corpus: illustrations were added to the text after its production, rather than the text being created for or in concert with the illustrations.

t h e cid i an c orp us in prin t The Crónica popular was published fourteen times from 1498 to 1600, six times between 1604 and 1627, and a few more times over the following two centuries. Its text was inspired by the Diego Valera edition, titled Crónica abreviada (Seville: Alonso del Puerto 1482), to which Tres Compañeros Alemanes added illustrations and a frontispiece in 1498.40 Two versions of the Cid’s chronicle were produced in that year, but only one was published (Seville: Tres Compañeros Alemanes). The other one was a transcription prepared by Francisco de Arce in Toledo and titled Chronica Ruydias de rebus gestis in Castellae regno, now contained in the Vatican Library (Vat. Lat. 4798); it was not illustrated.41 The only known

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Illustrating El Cid

Figure 0.3 A reader’s sketch found on a page in Crónica de los reyes de Castilla, fifteenth century.

copy of the former edition that did contain illustrations now resides at the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek in Vienna.42 Similarly entitled Coronica del çid Ruy Diaz and known as the princeps edition for the Crónica popular series, its stamped title page is complemented by twelve other woodcuts interspersed throughout the text that illustrate key moments in the story that would also become illustrated in subsequent editions. As Carmen Hernández Valcárcel notes in her study concerning the illustration of incunabula works, these woodblock illustrations tended to be positioned at the beginning of an episode or chapter – “Generally the artist relied on a unique image, selecting the most significant moment from the narrative which also coincided with the ending”43 – although some images are sequential or represent more than one moment in the story, or, in the case of the 1498 Seville edition, were repeated in different yet similar moments. These early woodcuts helped to organize space on the page and increased the reader’s access to the text much the same way as chapter headings functioned in both the medieval and early modern periods.44

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This particular version of 1498, published in Seville, is the first of the three branches pertaining to the cidian corpus to appear as a stand-alone edition entirely devoted to the Cid, and its text and illustrations became influential.45 Despite Per Abbat’s versified creation penned in the medieval period, the poem itself did not circulate until centuries later, which makes the Valera-inspired prose version published at Seville the first to enjoy a broader readership. The chronicle’s title across the twenty or so editions produced in the early modern period varied from Crónica and Libro to Summa and Historia, which foreshadows the destabilization of the prose version of the Cid’s adventures46 which would eventually be surpassed in popularity by the poem. A similar destabilization has been traced with respect to titles such as Fernando de Rojas’s Celestina (invariably titled Comedia, Tragicomedia, Libro, and so on), which was published in 1499 (Burgos: Fadrique Basilea) and also enjoyed great circulation and popularity. Following the publication of the first illustrated edition of the Crónica popular in 1498, the first edition of the Crónica particular was released at Burgos in 1512 by the same printing house that published Celestina in 1499. Six editions of this chronicle circulated in the sixteenth century, demonstrating that it enjoyed less popularity compared to the Crónica popular, published, as already noted, in fourteen editions that same century. The differences between these two chronicles – the former enjoyed many more editions over the early centuries of print – relates as much to length as to content. The Crónica particular tended to include more illustrated frontispieces as well as numerous addenda, including a genealogy of the Cid, poetry about his exploits, and an epitaph dedicated to the hero, whereas the Crónica popular tended to omit much of this material and was shorter in overall length and therefore cheaper to produce. The former chronicle, importantly, was financed by the monastery of Cardeña and contained an admixture of historical context and legend of the sort that tends to reflect the characterization of our hero proffered in the poem, all of which dominates modern and contemporary cidian editions. The poem became the last of the branches to be published. Copied from the fourteenth-century manuscript, itself a copy of the early thirteenthcentury poem and now residing at the Biblioteca Nacional de España, it was again copied and published by Juan Ruiz de Ulibarri at Burgos in 1596.47 The second edition of the poem did not emerge until Tomás Sánchez’s 1779 edition published within his Colección de poesías castellanas anteriores al siglo XV.48 In contrast to the chronicle, which developed

20

Illustrating El Cid

from several textual histories of the constituent kingdoms of Spain and of the world and later matured into a stand-alone text entirely devoted to the Cid, the poem began as a stand-alone text from the outset and versions of it became incorporated in poetry anthologies such as the one published by Sánchez in the late eighteenth century. After the nineteenth century, readers preferred the poem to the chronicle, an inversion of taste that deserves further consideration, especially since, until the 1779 edition, in the estimation of Ramón Menéndez Pidal, it had been “totally ignored.”49 One of the reasons why the Cid’s poem may have been ignored before this period, and why he was absent from history books as well as early modern literature treatises once his adventures emerged as independent, stand-alone works of non-fiction prose, is that readers in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries preferred either classical works or contemporary creations.50 Medieval epics did not fit into either of these general categories, and partly fictitious or legendary chronicles eventually expunged from history books did not exactly correspond to novels or caballerías either. During this same period, literary figures such as Cervantes in Don Quixote and Gracián in El Criticón,51 as well as historians, began to express doubts about the veracity of the Cid’s exploits, which undercut the utility of his story as a didactic tool to demonstrate ideal human behaviour or to educate the reader about the history of Spain. Gracián also conceived of cidian heroism, exhibited through traits such as bravery, justice, nobility, and wisdom, as lost to the past, such that seventeenth-century leadership in Spain first had to address the country’s faults and before those traits might take centre stage once again – a view that spoke to the decline of the Hapsburg monarchy as much as to Spain’s change of fortunes.52 This attitude is revealed in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century commentary on the Cid, but it gradually fell out of favour as historians and literary scholars re-evaluated the medieval roots of contemporary culture and reflected on the connection between language, literature, and the origins of nationhood.53 Today the poem is a didactic tool used in elementary and high school curricula throughout the Spanish-speaking world, as well as in university classrooms across the globe. Debate about the poem’s historicity has been displaced by a new appreciation of its literary value and its importance as a specimen of linguistic history.54 Late-eighteenth- and nineteenth-century interest in the poem reflected the influence of German philology, which helped to facilitate the rediscovery of Spain’s literary past, first in Germany

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and then in Spain itself. This movement led to the publication of numerous works from the medieval period and the Golden Age of the sixteenth to seventeenth centuries.55 Hence, Sánchez’s 1779 edition of the poem focused on medieval poetry to a degree not seen before. A second phenomenon noted in the nineteenth century involved the reformation of poetry using the vehicle of prose,56 which again gave rise to the intervention of new voices into the text, as well as new narrative threads previously not explored in depth within the poem. Some of these creative inventions developed to become their own stand-alone works,57 as in the case of Las hijas del Cid y los Infantes de Carrión by Juan de Alba (Madrid: Vicente Lalama 1846), which fused together cidian characters and events with entirely new, fictional content. Similarly, the interest expressed by early-twentieth-century scholars in the poem resulted in an intense period of research and literary critique. In one such book dedicated to the pursuit of inquiries relating to the poem, Alan Deyermond chronicles the rise of cidian scholarship during the twentieth century, culminating in Menéndez Pidal’s paleographic extraction of the poem which resulted in the first modern, scholarly edition as well as a concordance and list of vocabulary.58 This reassertion of the historical value of the cidian corpus, and particularly the poem, as literature in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries later ensured that every student educated in Spanish became familiar with the Cid’s name and exploits. Once again, he became a model – this time of the epic genre – to be studied, and works about him have been held up as examples of the first literature to be produced in the Spanish language.

il l us t rat i o n, i m ag e , a n d ic o nic i ty Despite the now iconic status of the poem in the Spanish literary canon, the illustration of the cidian corpus ironically remains a relatively unexplored area.59 Few scholars have studied the illustration history of this epic tradition; important exceptions include Carlos Alvar, Fernando Gómez Redondo, and Georges Martín, Juan Manuel Cacho Blecua, Diego Catalán, and José Manuel Lucía Megías, whose works, treating particular epochs of illustration rather transhistorical trends, will be commented upon throughout this book.60 Other scholars have somehow addressed ekphrastically the aesthetics of the visual while completely ignoring the book illustration accompanying the text, perhaps in part because the Cid had

22

Illustrating El Cid

become iconic in textual form.61 Contemporary scholars have increasingly looked at medieval book illustration and endeavoured to understand the influence these illustrations exerted upon the text as well as the reader’s reception of and interaction with the text’s visual component.62 Celebrated Hispanist Alan Deyermond acknowledged that the influence of the Cid on visual art “has scarcely begun,” sentiments echoed by Stephen Gilman.63 A study of editions published over the last five centuries reveals that small groups of images were either created specifically for a new edition of the chronicle, or were borrowed from elsewhere, a practice deemed appropriate owing to overlapping subjects. Other groups of images composed stable pictorial representations of the cidian narrative, such that most editions published over the past five hundred years contain an illustration of the Cid upon a funerary table and a depiction of the Cid’s daughters stripped naked and abused by their husbands. With this relative fixity of representation, which resulted from the repetition of images over several editions of the chronicles, a cidian identity visually became attached to the text. The overlapping of images borrowed from non-cidian texts exposes another issue, as Lucía Megías observes, because “the front covers of the Crónicas del Cid began to look like those that adorned fictional chivarlresque novels,”64 literally redressing the Cid in the clothes of chivalry in the early modern period. The interchangeable use of images designed for a fictional genre lends, in one sense, a quality of literary drama to the historical description of the Cid. In another sense, this interchangeable quality embellishes fictional literature with a semblance of historical authority. The organization of these illustrations is therefore one avenue of inquiry: like the Cid’s narrative as it emerged from the medieval chronicles, the components of illustrations held symbolic value that crossed literary genres and spaces.65 A similar conflation between the genres of the chivalresque novel and the historical chronicle has also been noted by Cacho Blecua in terms of the title language for the Crónica particular and popular. The Velorado edition (Burgos, 1512) includes three versions of the title printed between the cover, colophon, and table, and the Barrera edition (Seville, 1546) adds new adjectives to it: Chronica particular del Cid (1512) became Crónica del muy valeroso e invencible Cavallero el Cid, otherwise called esforçado caballero el Cid. These adjectives had been previously used in chivalresque novel titles. Esforçado appeared in the titles of Tristán de Leonís (Valladolid: Juan de

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Burgos 1501) and Amadís de Gaula (Zaragoza: Jorge Coci 1508), whereas valeroso and invencible appeared in Tirante el Blanco (Valladolid: Diego de Gumiel 1511) and Esplandián (Seville: Jacobo Cromberger and Juan Cromberger 1526).66 Like the title, as explored in the next chapter, the illustration history of the cidian chronicle in this period overlaps with that of the chivalresque genre and reflects a deliberate move on the part of publishers to reuse images as well as title language from already successful books in order to attract once again the gaze of a potential reader. To what degree should we consider the cidian corpus and canon a franchise developed by publishers using the newest technologies as a mechanism to drive supply and demand while also broadening readership through adjustments in the contents of individual editions for specific audiences?67 From another perspective, how did the cidian corpus become part of the project of national-identity formation, as well as as a marketing tool used by politicians in their quest for power? And, finally, how does the franchising of the cidian corpus reflect similar strategies employed for genres such as the chivalresque as a means of expanding the market for works of fiction? As we will see, it appears that the phenomenon of illustration associated with the chivalresque genre originates in earlier works such as the 1498 Seville edition. We have documented examples in which chivalresque books replicated images created for the cidian corpus that were later employed elsewhere, therefore indicating that the modality for chivalresque illustration was based on the cidian corpus and its textual foundations. The bimodal use of the same images lays bare, on the one hand, the desire on the part of the editors of the libros de caballerías to enhance the prestige associated with their books by borrowing from the endowments of contemporaneous chronicles, particularly in this period when the veracity of chronicles was of paramount importance and later featured in novels such as Don Quixote. The editors of chronicles, on the other hand, fashioned their work somewhat after caballerías in order to enjoy some of their commercial appeal and success.68 In later periods, the importance of book illustration in children’s literature cannot be underestimated, since most of a child’s visual attention is given to illustration and publishers today are keenly aware of the need to make their books visually appealing.69 In the case of the Cid, the codification of the image whose target audience is children becomes the principal source of the narrative. It informs the reader about the contents of the

24

Illustrating El Cid

text before she has read a single page. Binary sets of symbols organized in order to distinguish protagonist from antagonist usually employ ethnocentric biases favouring certain religions, world views, cultures, languages, and races over others.70 The white hero in this sense inscribes the eminence of Eurocentric power and culture over the culture, religion, and ethnicity of the Cid’s Muslim foe,71 while the confrontation between good and evil likely pushes the reader to align her own conceptual understanding of the world with that of the protagonist and to reject that of the antagonist. Inscribing more than race, gender, and cultural background, these powerful binaries create alliances between the page and the person who turns it. Like the title page of the 1498 edition, the front cover of the 2010 edition studied in chapter 1 relies upon binaries involving colour, spatial relationships, and symbols in order to communicate to the reader the sorts of conflict to be found within the book. Yet these illustrations are not just for children; they convey messages that are accessible to readers of all ages and reflect strategies employed by artists in comic-book illustrations of the Cid’s epic narrative as well.72 As J.S. Bratton observes, fiction and educational environments become important vehicles for transmitting ideology as well as nationalist constructs, generating a collective sense of identity. When governments and religious institutions access and influence children both in and outside of the classroom, the favouring of certain ideologies over others instills particular sets of values within children who later become the next generation of leaders and decision makers.73 Viewed in this way, book illustration geared at children is fundamentally ideological and influenced by social and political agendas of the day. Because these factors change over time, they allow us to observe the surprising and inverse effects of expected binaries: How is the Muslim enemy distinguished from an orientalized Cid in works of the last two hundred years or so where illustrators adorned the Cid with symbols otherwise descriptive of Islam? How has this visual modification been balanced so that the reader can still distinguish between good and evil? In the post-Islamic and perhaps post-national era of Bourbon rule in Spain, the phenomena of resemblance and repetition are responsible for connecting, in Foucault’s words, otherwise “defined unities as individuals, oeuvres, notions, or theories.”74 How, then, did Spain’s national hero grow to resemble the country’s greatest historical foe? If resemblance and repetition can be conceived as anchors that weighed down the material – and in our

Introduction

25

case, visual – signification of history, the orientalization of the Cid communicated antiquity and historical importance, while the exoticism and otherness of orientalism developed into a binary that displayed the hero to the nation while cleaving him away from the masses as its celebrated and singular protagonist.75 This dual nature of an orientalized Cid exists only in the epic hero’s visualization, and at the same time this representation is overshadowed by the hyper-masculine and chivalresque tropology explored in chapter 2. The extent to which the appeal of and strategy for marketing the Cid’s adventures in prose or verse changed over the centuries in an attempt to capture the attention of new readers is a question addressed in the final chapter of this book.

b ibl i og ra p hic ins t ru me nts for c id ia n i ll ustr ati on The final section of this book attempts to provide a complete bibliography of the published illustrated editions of the cidian corpus. In doing so, it relies in part on previous works, including Jesús Álvarez Álvarez, Proyecto de una bibliografía cidiana (Burgos: Abadía de Cardeña 1952); Donna Sutton, The Cid: A Tentative Biography to January 1969 (Santiago de Chile: Instituto de Filología de la Universidad de Chile 1970); José Luis Portillo Muñoz, La ilustración gráfica de los incunables sevillanos, 1470– 1500 (Seville: Diputación de Sevilla 1980); and Carlos Alvar, Fernando Gómez Redondo, and Georges Martin, eds., El Cid: de la material épica a las crónicas caballerescas. IX Centenario de la muerte del Cid (Alcalá de Henares: Universidad de Alcalá 1999). One of the challenges in compiling a cidian bibliography, aside from the need to consult and confirm the nature of the illustrations contained in each edition, has been a general lack of focus afforded to book illustration in scholarship prior to the twenty-first century. This inattention has resulted in inconsistent efforts to capture the extent of the illustrations associated with the cidian corpus in bibliographic works. It is hoped that the bibliography contained here will offer future scholars a solid foundation for their own inquiries into the visual corpus attached to the Cid.

1 Portraying the Cid and His Enemies: The Matamoros Effect

Shorter versions of the legend of the Cid commence with him as a powerful knight being exiled from Burgos by the king, and longer ones append childhood adventures and trials as he grew into an upstanding and valiant man. Nearly all versions mention his wife, Jimena, and their two daughters, Elvira and Sol, as well as the Cid’s many successful incursions into Muslim Spain. As recounted in these narratives, which likely refract more than reflect history, the Cid was eventually redeemed in the king’s eyes and welcomed back into his realm. Most stories conclude, of course, with the Cid’s death in 1099. Illustrations of the Cid at particular stages of his life grew to iconize the hero and his epic adventures. Early ones quickly became tethered to scenes of battle and conflict and then were grafted onto other visual traditions by the nineteenth century. His enemies, who will be explored in more detail in chapter 4, also change alongside him and the implications of these changes upon illustrated texts destined for an increasingly younger audience in the twentieth century must be considered. The purpose and value of book illustration evolved, too, from a tool for selling books and attracting new readerships into a cultural product that superseded the importance of text itself in the modern period. The author of Vidas de los españoles celebres (Madrid: Calpe 1922), for instance, laments that “los retratos de nuestros varones ilustres, publicados con tanta magnificencia por la Imprenta Real, han sido dirigidos a diferente fin. En aquella obra la estampa es lo principal, y el breve sumario que la acompaña es lo accesorio [the portraits of our illustrious men, published with such magnificence by the Imprenta Real, have a different purpose. In that work the engraving is the most important component and the brief summary that accompanies it is its

Portraying the Cid and His Enemies

27

accessory].”1 Another consideration is how the Cid’s legend intertwined with that of a second legendary figure, Santiago de Matamoros (St James the Moor-killer), and became appropriated by twentieth-century Spanish politicians as a means of rebranding themselves after the Spanish Civil War and of teaching young boys moral behaviour; these last two topics will be explored in chapters 2 and 5. The present chapter traces several centuries’ worth of portrayals of the Cid in order to understand how the protagonist tended to be visualized. We will also examine his entanglement with Spain’s patron saint, while outlining some of the most consequential themes to be addressed in the balance of this book.

t he ea rli e st po rt ra it s Even before it became illustrated, the Cid’s story stood out upon the medieval page for its use of visual cues to attract the reader’s gaze. By the fifteenth century, the account of his exploits in twelfth- and thirteenthcentury chronicles otherwise devoted to the history of Spain was succeeded by the lengthening of the text that pertained to the Cid and the emergence of episodic, chapter-length narratives. The contents of chapter titles, which in the same chronicles related the deeds of kings, extended in this period to the Cid – a mark of his status as someone now worthy of having his history raised out of the country’s wider historical frame and examined in detail. These headings, written in red ink or indicated by an enlarged initial, enabled the medieval reader to locate the Cid’s narrative more easily (Fig. 1.1). The use of red ink to highlight descriptive chapter headings attracts the reader’s eye much as an illustration might capture the essence of a page or a chapter’s contents: both the chapter heading and the illustration serve some indexical function for the longer component to which they are appended. Elsewhere, and perhaps most strikingly in the Bible, red colouring isolated important areas of the text. Christ’s words in the medieval and early modern periods were raised off the page and distinguished from otherwise inky-black text by the colour red. This reminds us that the medieval scribe, book compiler, and reader relied upon colour as a vehicle to organize text hierarchically on the page and facilitate comprehension. While not unique to the chapters devoted in these medieval history books to the Cid’s exploits – many chapter titles were written in red or sometimes in green and blue ink – the practice became one of the first visual cues

Figure 1.1 “Cómo Rodrigo de bivar fue en romeria a Santiago i de la gra[cia] que dios le dio en el campo.” Coronica del Rey Don Fernando, fifteenth century.

alongside enlarged initials that attracted readers’ eyes to the Cid on the page, one that pre-empted the act of reading with that of gazing. Other than the marginalia noted in this book’s introduction, and with one exception to be explored in due course, it was not until the age of the printing press that the Cid’s tale became illustrated, in this case, in the form of woodcut engravings. By the end of the fifteenth century, the medieval history books that contained increasingly lengthier segments of text devoted to the Cid formed the basis of Diego de Valera’s often-reprinted Crónica de España. The 1493 Burus edition of Valera’s book contains the first printed, though not the oldest, illustration of the Cid (Fig. 1.2, Plate 1). It seems natural, given the importance of the chapter headings and

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29

Figure 1.2 The Cid portrayed in Diego de Valera’s Crónica de España.

the consequential assignment of red ink to them in the medieval period, that the first printed portrait of our hero would be placed immediately following the chapter heading in which he is introduced as a historical figure in this chronicle of Spanish history. Despite the textual importance of Valera’s version, the 1498 edition printed in Seville was the first one entirely devoted to the Cid and published as a stand-alone text after shedding the component containing the history of Spain and elaborating upon the Cid-focused parts of Valera’s chronicle. It also became one of the most influential illustrated editions of the Cid’s narrative. Many of its illustrations were recycled at different points in the text. Importantly, they were designed specifically for the Cid’s

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Illustrating El Cid

story and not, as was common practice, borrowed from a previously published book, although, as we will see, this set of illustrations inspired later ones that book makers utilized in distinct, non-cidian contexts. One of these contexts involves the libros de caballerías, chivalresque novels, which were modelled after historical chronicles. They fused together history and fictional drama with a sense of adventure. Illustrations slid from one book to the other because the subjects that they illustrated were similar: knights in battle, kings making decisions, or the conquest of towns and cities. For instance, the frontispiece for the 1498 Seville edition, which portrays an armour-encased Cid, sword raised and departing from a doorway en route to battle, is the same engraving later used on the frontispiece of Estoria del noble cavallero el Conde Fernán González con la muerte de los siete infantes de Lara (Toledo: Hagenbach 1511) (Fig. 1.3). Some groups of images compose stable pictorial representations of the cidian narrative and develop an iconicity, such that most versions published over the past five hundred years contain an illustration of the Cid dominating his Muslim foe. The 1511 volume was devoted to Fernán González (c. 930–c. 970), who also received notable mentions in the same histories and chronicles that had celebrated the Cid over the preceding centuries. His story existed, like that of the Cid, in both medieval prose and verse, and the aforementioned volume also situates the legendary tales to follow throughout the book firmly within the tradition of the medieval chronicle: “[Aquí comiēça una historia breve sacada de las sumas delas coronicas de España q[ue] hizo el noble y esforçado cauallero el co[nde] Ferna[n] Gonçalez [Here begins a brief history taken from the great chronicles of Spain that made the noble and valiant knight Count Fernán González known to all].”2 The authority of the medieval chronicle as a source of information became one way through which the early modern author and publisher affirmed the value of the book and its contents: early moderns looked to the past for an enhanced understanding of their present, which then became a marketable quality exploited by publishers and was one of the reasons for which the cidian chronicle remained so popular in the sixteenth century. The success of this first edition published in 1498 as well as its visual accompaniment encouraged Jacobo and Juan Cromberger to produce a second edition in 1525 (Fig. 1.4). They employed, however, a new set of plates that exhibit some key changes to the original engraving: the monk, being a resident of the Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña, who sees off

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Figure 1.3 Frontispiece of Coronica del çid ruy diaz.

the Cid, has been replaced by a dog, and the monastery more closely resembles a castle. Both of these modifications may highlight the artist or publisher’s disengagement with Catholic references, on the one hand, or with the Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña, on the other. The Cid’s visor is also open and the reader can see his face, whereas in the 1498 edition his face is entirely covered by the helmet. The emergence of a face later allows for the Cid to connect personally with the reader. These modifications may also reflect the gradual shift away from the view of the Cid as a role model of Catholic comportment, as opposed to his modelling

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Illustrating El Cid

Figure 1.4 Title page of Cronica del muy esforçado cauallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador.

ideal masculine behaviour in varying situations and contexts, which was one of the fundamental themes explored in chivalresque fiction. The third difference between the 1498 title page and the 1525 one that emulated it is the title language, which evolved from Coronica del çid ruy diaz to Cronica del muy esforçado cavallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador. This lengthened title and the same complement of illustrations reappeared in the third and fourth editions, published in 1533 and again in 1541 by Juan Cromberger, despite the fact that new plates were employed for the text (which was copied from the Toledo 1526 edition in which a distinct set of images was used).3 These four editions of the Cid’s chronicle printed in Seville exhibited significant variations and deviations from each other, but all contained the same series of illustrations with only slight modifications to the one used on the title page. The Cid’s chronicle acquired from the outset a visual stability in print that endured for centuries.

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Book publishers promoted the visual adornment of the Cid’s narrative, which new technologies for book production made possible and the demands exerted by an increasingly sophisticated readership had accelerated. Even so, the production of new engravings increased the cost of the book and for this reason it was not uncommon to recycle engravings in more than one work rather than commission new ones.4 The same titlepage engraving used in the 1541 edition of the Cid’s adventures, for example, later formed part of an illustration cycle for the chivalresque novel Palmerín de Inglaterra (Toledo, 1547–48), itself a Portuguese text penned by Francisco de Moraes Cabral (c. 1500–72) that was translated into Spanish in order to satisfy readers’ thirst for chivalresque fiction. The late medieval period’s series of redacted chronicles that significantly expanded upon the Cid’s life and adventures had culminated by the early sixteenth century and exhibited many of the same characteristics that authors sought to include in their inventions of chivalresque fiction. Publishers, moreover, deliberately included illustrations created and intended for works of historical non-fiction within books of chivalry, which is an ironic practice with respect to the illustration of the Cid’s narrative because it contains a mix of legend contextualized by historical circumstances. The propensity on the part of the publishers of works of historical nonfiction to discover means of tapping into the commercial appeal and success of chivalresque novels dovetailed with their objective of seeking out common applications for an image so as to reduce the cost of producing the volume. The cross-marketing of these otherwise distinct genres of text to new target readerships has its roots in the medieval illumination workshop in which religious iconography was constantly being transferred to secular contexts.5 It is precisely this technique of grafting one visual context upon another that resulted in a boom in Cid editions and related materials in the early modern period, a phenomenon that was repeated with the rise of cinema in the twentieth century. The albums of photographs linking the scenes featuring Hollywood actors to the scenes most emblematic of the Cid’s legend,6 shortly before and after the release of the 1961 film starring Charlton Heston as the Cid and Sophia Loren as his wife, Jimena, were complemented by several editions of the Cid’s story that displayed these actors on the front cover. Modern publishers used the beauty and talents of film stars, rather than the contents of chivalresque novels, as vehicles for marketing and selling printed materials.

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Illustrating El Cid

This environment of book illustration and production in the early modern period cultivated suitable conditions for the deliberate association of the Cid’s medieval exploits with the ninth-century activities of another personage, Santiago de Matamoros. As we will see, the intensification of their relationship became an important means of modelling ideal masculine and Christian behaviour for a broader readership that made use of historical contexts to demonstrate the fulfillment of those ideals in the persons of the Cid and Spain’s patron saint, St James.

t he cid ’ s e n e mi e s a nd t he mata mo ros ef fect The close connection between Matamoros and the Cid, and the binaries in which both participated when they faced Muslims and Islam, is detected in recent versions such as the 1990 Madrid edition (Ediciones S.M.) designed for young readers ten years of age and older. This book includes an image of the Cid and his compatriots shouting powerfully during a battle at Alcocer, his sword extending across the page, and its use of italics draws the reader’s attention to the warriors’ battle cries: “Los moros gritan: ¡Mahoma!, ¡Santiago!, la cristiandad [The Moors shout: Mahommad!, the Christians: Santiago!].”7 The stories of the Cid and Santiago the disciple appear to have textual origins that overlap in medieval chronicles and that then made their way into the visual realm of the published page. A fifteenth-century manuscript chronicle foreshadows the intertwining of two otherwise distinct personages in a chapter that tells of “cómo Rodrigo de bivar fue en romeria a Santiago i de la gra[cia] que dios le dio en el campo [how Rodrigo de Vivar went on pilgrimage to Santiago and of the grace that God showed him in the countryside].”8 This particular page contains only text configured into two columns and the chapter description is provided in red ink. Early printing was a costly enterprise and publishers deliberately printed books that emulated the aesthetic and structural qualities of their manuscript counterparts, an observation we have already noted with respect to the use of colour as well as the placement of illustrations next to the chapter headings.9 The simultaneous popularity of the Cid and Santiago also provided a rich opportunity for book producers to capitalize on the tastes of readers. By converting the Cid into a pilgrim along this celebrated route, the fifteenth-century author characterizes the Cid as a Santiago devotee. The young Cid’s devotion to Santiago is planted well before the fifteenth

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century in Crónica de Castilla (1295) and the Mocedades de Rodrigo (c. 1360), but it is not until the fifteenth century that the importance of the relationship gains visibility in the form of a separate chapter heading. The two figures become once again visually aligned in the 1512 edition of Crónica (Burgos: Fadrique Alemán de Basilea). In this edition, the editor included an image that explicitly associated the Cid with Santiago de Matamoros (Fig. 1.5).10 St James, also known as James the Great, is believed to be responsible for the Iberian Peninsula’s conversion to Christianity. Following the dispersio apostolorum, this disciple of Jesus set out to spread Christianity in Spain and Portugal. Once he failed in his mission on Spain’s east coast, he made his way back to Judea where he was martyred. His body was then placed in a boat and returned to Spain, arriving this time on the northwestern coast and coming to rest in Compostela, Galicia. His body reportedly performed miracles that led to the conversion of the queen and many of her people, a development that then resonated throughout the peninsula to the extent that he became recognized as Spain’s patron saint. The reported appearance of Santiago on a ninth-century Spanish battlefield at the Battle of Clavijo (844) deepened his consequence as a protonational symbol. According to legend, at that battle he proceeded to slay the Muslim enemy who, in iconic illustrations, lies shattered beneath the hooves of his horse (see Plate 2). Both credited with bringing Spaniards to the light of Christianity and protecting them from the non-Christian conquerors of their land, St James came to enjoy even greater importance when his remains were rediscovered shortly after the Battle of Clavijo. This lent a physical dimension to the Matamoros mythology and fuelled the St James cult. All of these circumstances contributed to the practices of pilgrimage that developed in the centuries that followed, the most famous of which is a route named for this saint, the Camino de Santiago. His popularity ensured that a painting or sculpture representing Santiago appears in most churches throughout the land today. The figure of Santiago is immediately recognizable to the Spanish viewer without much in the way of textual explication, which is why the visual characterization of the Cid using the Matamoros meme in the 1512 edition requires further consideration. The prologue of the 1512 edition is dedicated to Prince Fernando (1503– 64), son of Juana and Felipe and brother of Carlos I. The dedication was a means of reminding Fernando about the legendary and great deeds

Figure 1.5 The Cid in battle, in Cronica del muy noble y esforçado y siempre vitorioso Cid ruy diez Campeador.

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committed by the Cid, further affirming that the Cid had become a worthy model that kings and princes emulated. These vocalizations of monarchical models echo the period’s interest in the need for strategically intelligent leadership, the most famous example being Machiavelli’s Il Principe (written in 1513 and published nearly two decades later). The publication of the 1512 cidian edition was supported by “don Juan de velorado abbad desta casa de sant pedro de Cardeña de la orden i congregacion de Sant Benito, que la [cronica] hiziesse imprimir [don Juan de Velorado, abbot of the Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña of the order and congregation of Saint Benedict, who had this chronicle printed].” The Santiago-inspired image of the Cid on horseback slaying Moors is located at the conclusion of the story, which is followed by a genealogy of “Cid Ruy Diaz Ca[m]peador.” The image it presents contrasts with the 1498 edition, where the combat takes place not on horseback but on the ground.. Unlike other woodcut engravings, in part because they betrayed the limitations of that technology in terms of the crispness and quality of the printed image, this one was reproduced later in the century – well after the routine use of copperplate engraving – in Chronica del famoso caballero Cid Ruy Diez Campeador (Burgos: Imprimeria de Philippe de Iunta y Juan Baptista Varesio 1593), fol. 278.11 The evident lack of success of the Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña’s version compared to the 1498 edition, which was firmly rooted in the Crónica de Castilla and the Crónica de España, could be blamed on the failure to develop a commercial vision on the part of Varesio: recycled woodcuts in an age of copperplate technology would not open the purses of an increasingly sophisticated target readership, and neither would inserting images at the back of the book rather than toward the front where the client is most likely to encounter them prior to purchasing the work.12 Its lack of success could also point to a surprising disenchantment with religious ideals that became manifested textually, but not necessarily visually, throughout the sixteenth century and alongside the development of humanism and alternatives to rigid Catholicism. Nonetheless, it is this particular illustration and the components that influenced it that gained a fixed place in most illustrated editions within the cidian corpus. The model for the Matamoros posture dates from the medieval period and was used exclusively to depict Santiago de Matamoros until it became deployed in this new context in 1512, although similar configurations that replace the Muslim enemy with some other one appear in books of chivalry, such as La historia delos nobles caualleros Oliveros de Castilla

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Illustrating El Cid

y artus dalgarbe (Burgos: Fadrique Basilea 1499), chapter XIX (recycled in Juan de Junta’s title page of this book published at Burgos in 1554), and in cycles of religious painting devoted to St George and St Michael slaying the dragon and devil respectively. On comparing the illuminated illustration with its printed successor (Figs. 1.6 and 1.7), one notices immediately that the two contain the same referents – a horse reared up in the heat of battle, an armour-clad soldier upon a saddle strapped to the horse’s body, a sword raised above his shoulders, and beneath the horse’s hooves the proof of the protagonists’ power and effectiveness in battle: slain and mangled Muslims, their arms, turbans, and dismembered limbs scattered about the ground. A significant and key difference between the two images, however, is the substitution of Santiago’s halo for the Cid’s helmet. The 1512 illustration may also have a printed antecedent in the representation and title-page configuration used for an edition of Tirante el Blanco. Los cinco libros del esforçado i invencible cauallero Tirante el Blanco (Valladolid: Diego de Gumiel 1511) the previous year. While this edition lacks the fallen enemy, it does include his broken weapons under the horse’s hooves.13 This appropriation of the Matamoros meme itself becomes recycled when a unique engraving featuring the siege of a city in the Toledo edition of 1526 was utilized years later to serve as the titlepage illustration for Francisco Xérez’s chronicle about his time in the Americas, Conquista del Perú (Salamanca: Juan de Junta 1547). Interestingly, the title of the 1526 edition seems conscious of Spain’s burgeoning empire: Coronica del muy esforçado i invencible cavallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador de las Españas. In this context, the Cid’s effectiveness in battle becomes manifest across the Atlantic in Spain’s recently expanded imperial landscape. The use of an image created for the Cid’s chronicle deepens the linkage between the chronicle and chivalresque genres while expanding the context from the history of Spain to include the history of its colonies. At the same time, the ideal of the Cid as a protagonist within the frame of the country’s patron saint maintains the mythology of the two defenders of national interests as the country’s respective historical and spiritual saviours. The same configuration and posture for Santiago noted in medieval manuscript culture endured in the age of print. The visual fusion of the patron saint with the Cid seems complete, as the illustration of Santiago for Copilación delos establecimientos dela orden dela cauallería de Santiago del Espada (Seville: Johannes Pegnitzer 1502) attests (Fig. 1.6).

Figure 1.6 Santiago de Matamoros, in Copilación delos establecimientos dela orden dela cauallería de Santiago del Espada.

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Illustrating El Cid

Santiago de Matamoros has been labelled by an early modern reader “Santiago Patrón,” which provides insight into the popular perception of him as the slayer of Muslims. Moreover, one cannot escape, in each of these three last illustrations, the gaze of one of the fallen Muslims under the hooves of Santiago-Cid’s horse, which is turned upward at the hero in search of some form of mercy. This act of seeking mercy from the protagonist affirms one of the qualities exhibited by the Cid at the same time that it constructs the enemy as weakened and defeated. Reflecting back on the shared illustration history of the Cid’s narrative and books of chivalry, and in light of the adoption of a Matamoros posture in visualizing the Cid’s adventures, it is natural that Santiago would also be appropriated in order to illustrate fictional books detailing the adventures of medieval-era knights who shared the same enemies, Muslims, in common with the Cid and Santiago. The same illustration, originally created for a book devoted to the Order of Santiago and published in 1502, was utilized two decades later to adorn the frontispiece of Palmerín de Oliva. Libro del famoso i muy esforçado cauallero Palmerín de Oliva i de sus gra[n]des fechos (Seville: Juan Varela 1525), one of a series of chivalresque novels that responded to demand inspired by the popularity of Amadís de Gaula. This confluence of applications for the same visual material exhibits the cultural, political, and social values of the early modern period.14 At the same time, the hybridity of these contexts for the Matamoros meme, which are both secular and religious, foreshadows the increasing value that that early moderns attached to the power and authority of men who may not be of noble birth nor fulfill the role of spiritual leader. In fact, over time the Cid acquires a saintliness that seems directly related to the Matamoros meme. The image of Santiago also has become immortalized in painting and other forms of illustration.15 This visualization situates the legend of the Cid within the same narrative frame that readers would quickly identify as belonging to Santiago,16 one that portrays both the Cid and Santiago as country-saving, Muslim-dominating heroes who serve as models for reader and spectator alike. Centuries later, an iconic image exhibiting the Matamoros posture can be found in virtually all illustrated editions of the Cid’s adventures and, unlike the text, the representation of his enemy likewise grows toward caricature, as in an image of 2010 (see Plate 3). The legend of Santiago’s descent upon the battlefield during the early years of the reconquest, seated upon his white steed while securing the

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safety and triumph of Spanish Catholics, became transposed to the Cid’s effectiveness in battle. Despite being published more than five hundred years apart, the 1502 and 2010 illustrations communicate a verticality that maintains both heroes hovering above their common enemy. The use of light in the newest one reinforces the Cid’s divinely supported mandate in a way that was comparatively undeveloped in the early modern engravings, perhaps in part because techniques for engraving had yet to reach the pinnacle achieved centuries later when light could be represented with greater depth and dimension. In the 1502 illustration, Santiago bears a halo around his head, a component that the illustrator of the 2010 title page replicated, in contrast to the 1512 illustration in which a helmet symbolically differentiated the saint from the warrior. In more recent editions the referents of saintliness and divinity appear to have asserted an even more explicit role in the Cid’s visualization. The identification of the Muslim enemy in this last example also has become easily enabled by essentialist symbolism that includes the crescent moon and costume, as well as the confrontation of lightness with darkness. This quality of saintliness was one that the funders of the 1512 edition advocated. Indeed, not unlike St James and according to legend, the Cid’s relics also became endowed with legendary properties after his death. In one case, the opening of his coffin at Cardeña where his remains were kept was credited with bringing much-needed rain to the region. In the sixteenth century King Felipe II attempted to have him canonized.17 While the effort ultimately failed, it nonetheless demonstrates the sixteenthcentury perception of the Cid as a figure worthy of beautification, which may explain some of the underlying similarity he shares with St James as a defender of Christian interests both spiritual and terrestrial. With this Matamoros posture, the Cid’s enemies found themselves under the hooves of his horse and vertically dominated, unlike the 1498 and 1526 editions of the Cid’s story where the confrontation was of a more equal nature, occurring on the ground. The Cid was characterized within his story as measured, just, and fair, and his superlative abilities on the battlefield lent themselves to comparison with those divinely inspired ones attributed to Santiago. Once the two are fused together, it becomes difficult to determine if a representation portrays Santiago or the Cid. For example, in the painting The Cid Armed upon Horseback (1831), José Castelaro y Perea depicts the Cid being knighted in a church and in the background the artist has positioned a sculpture displayed in many

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Illustrating El Cid

Spanish churches, a Santiago warrior statue upon a pedestal.18 Yet it is not clear if the subject of the sculpture is the one found in virtually all churches – Santiago de Matamoros – or if it relates to the future of the man in the foreground – the Cid – being knighted. The generic appropriation of the Matamoros meme by illustrators of non-Santiago subjects demonstrates that they interpreted these heroic and saintly qualities as also belonging to certain individuals in positions of power, such as lawmakers and kings in battle, although without the fallen enemy underneath the horse’s hooves.19 This second posture, inspired by the Matamoros one but sanitized of violent engagement in a moment of war, has two varieties. The first relates to the Cid on horseback trotting along a road (as in the 1498, 1512, 1525, 1533, 1541, and 1553 editions of his chronicle), an image adopted for the second edition of Lisuarte de Grecia. El septimo libro de Amadis en el que se trata de los grandes fechos en armas de Lisuarte de Grecia (Seville: Jacobo and Juan Cromberger 1525) and an edition of Amadís de Gaula titled Los q[ua]tro libros de Amadis de Gaula nueuamente imp[re]ssos i hystoriados (Seville: Juan Cromberger 1531). The second version of this posture also features the horse and its rider, with the horse rearing up either because it is about to encounter an enemy or because its rider has suddenly told it to stop. This image first appeared in El marqués de Pescara’s own Libro primero de la historia de don Hernando de Ávalos, Marqués de Pescara (Valencia: Diego Gumiel 1515) and then resurfaced in Bernardo de Vargas’s Spanish translation of Los quatro libros del valeroso Cavallero Don Girongilio de Tracia (Seville: Jacobo Cromberger 1545), book 1, fol. LXVIIv, and on the title page of Amadís de Gaula (Medina del Campo: Juan de Villaquirán and Pedro de Castro 1545). It was later reproduced in Cronica del famoso i inuencible cauallero Cid Ruy Diaz campeador (Medina del Campo: Juan María da Terranova and Jacome de Liarcari 1552) (Fig. 1.7). The Cid’s dress – armour, boots with spurs, a sword or spear, and great plumes extending from his helmet – typically contains the same referents wherever this posture appears. Illustrators of books of chivalry quickly adopted the engraving published in 1552, as the frontispiece of an edition of Amadís de Grecia. El novena libro de Amadis de Gaula (Medina del Campo: Francisco del Canto 1564) attests. And, more generally, books of chivalry have included a Santiago-inspired engraving minus the fallen enemy since the early sixteenth century, which perhaps reflects the frequent encounter with Muslim antagonists described in these books.20 The

Figure 1.7 Title page of Crónica del famoso i invencible cauallero Cid Ruy Diaz campeador.

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Illustrating El Cid

proliferate use of the posture suggests that a common ideal held by historical, religious, and chivalresque books was that of dominating Muslims. From another perspective, the posture emphasizes the potency and orthodoxy of the Christian man, which then reverberates in the deeds of figures such as the Cid and Santiago as well as in those of kings and the heroes of the books of chivalry. The variety of these imitations exposes other qualities possessed by the Cid that can be gleaned through study of his chivalresque imitators. Editors and illustrators enforced these connections when they borrowed them in order to portray other protagonists. The frontispiece of the Crónica de Juan II (Seville: Andreas de Burgos 1543) featured a soldier who possessed all the regality one might expect of a king and could easily adorn the cover of the Cid’s chronicle. This same engraving was appropriated by the editor of the c. 1910 Paris edition of the Cid’s poem and romances when he included it in slightly modified form in order to give a visual dimension to the story (Fig. 1.8). For the contemporary reader, the use of engravings based on one created nearly four centuries before lends an antiquated and perhaps medievalseeming quality to the Cid. Indeed, the editor of the 1910 volume labelled his image of the Cid “un grabado antiguo [an old engraving].” As we will explore in chapter 4, the assertion of a medieval-seeming skein in modern book illustrations becomes a significant means through which Spain was reified both within and without its borders. An example of an image created originally for a distinct text and appropriated for another is the one that Camilo José Cela borrowed from Libro del muy esforcado e inuencible Cauallero de la Fortuna propiamente llamado don Claribante (Valencia: Joan Viñao 1519, fol. 39v) for the title page of his versified version of El Cantar de Mío Cid (Palma de Mallorca: Real Academia Española 1957). Neither of these images originally illustrated the Cid but were appropriated in the twentieth century, partly as a means of including the visual material demanded by either the publisher or his readers while lending some added sense of aesthetic authenticity to the volume. An examination of editions of both the Cid’s adventures and books of chivalry published within the last century or so reveals that this practice is not only widespread but also has gained permanence. The image of the Cid mounted on a horse in the moment of rearing, this time with the gaze of both horse and rider meeting that of the reader, was taken from the first edition of Amadís de Gaula (Zaragoza: Jorge Coçi 1508). It appeared

Figure 1.8 “An Old Engraving,” in El cantar de mío Cid y el Romancero del Cid.

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Illustrating El Cid

elsewhere, as in the 1545 edition of Don Florando (Lisbon: German Gallarde 1545) and a 1547 edition of Palmerín de Inglaterra (Toledo: Casa de Fernando de Santa Catherine 1547). It was later included on the frontispiece of Summa de las coronicas del muy valeroso y esforçado cauallero castellano el Cid Ruy diaz de Bivar (Alcalá de Henares: Sebastian Martínez 1567) (Fig. 1.9). The same engraving recently adorned the cover of editions of Felix Magno (Alcalá de Henares: Centro de Estudios Cervantinos 2001) and Palmerín de Inglaterra (Alcalá de Henares: Centro de Estudios Cervantinos 2006), and in both cases it had been used in previous editions of those titles as well. The depiction of the Cid in Fig. 1.7, moreover, came to illustrate Febo el Troyano (Barcelona: Pedro Malo 1576 and Alcalá de Henares: Centro de Estudios Cervantinos 2003 and 2005). It can therefore be concluded that versions of the same iconographic stencil have been used over the last five centuries to represent the legendary and historical figure of the Cid as well as the fictitious characters contained in books of chivalry. This compendium of images is indebted to the medieval visualization of Santiago de Matamoros, evidence that some contemporary illustrations have not managed to escape the tendency to include saintly referents into the Cid’s representation and characterization. Illustrators also substituted the Cid’s Muslim foe for other enemies while making use of the Matamoros posture. One nineteenth-century illustration, subtitled “Los Condes de Carrión vencidos en duelo [The Counts of Carrión Defeated in Battle],” portrays Diego and Fernando, sons (infantes) of the Count of Carrión who married the Cid’s daughters, Elvira and Sol, in the moment of falling under the hooves of the Cid’s horse (see Plate 4). Earlier, there had been an incident involving a lion that had escaped from its cage and was loose in the Cid’s castle. Rather than defend the Cid against the lion, the infantes were overcome by cowardice and they left the Cid to his own devices. Afterward, they felt embarrassed and determined to seek revenge against the Cid, who had reproached them for their cowardice, by beating and abandoning his daughters in the countryside. The Cid eventually apprehended the infantes and, in later editions, he challenged them to a duel, and this image also foreshadows that the daughters would find more suitable matches with the infantes de Navarra.21 The illustration contains many of the same referents that we would expect of the Cid’s fallen enemy, including the contrast of light for

Figure 1.9 Title page of Summa de las coronicas del muy valeroso y esforçado cauallero castellano el Cid Ruy diaz de Bivar, ahora nueuamente sacada de las Coronicas generales de España.

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Illustrating El Cid

the Cid and his horse and darkness for the infante and his horse depicted in the foreground. Other episodes involving non-Muslim opponents also have attracted the Matamoros meme, including one scene in a 1941 edition in which the death of Count of Lozano at the hands of the Cid features the latter man hovering on horseback above the fallen Lozano.22 In another edition published the following year, the reference to Matamoros is deepened after the Cid’s death to foreshadow his return on the battlefield in aid of Christian soldiers. The illustration depicts the Cid on horseback, sword raised and dressed in armour; he is preceded by his entourage, some of whom hold flaming torches, others banners, as they make their way out of the illustrated scene and into its margins. As the facing page explains, it was this appearance of the Cid after his death upon the field of battle that, in conjunction with the Christian chants that went with it, scared off “los sarracenos, temorosos del ataque del Cid [the Saracens, fearful of the Cid’s attack].” The narrator completes this transcendence of the Cid as a divine intercessor when he relates that their battle cry became “’¡Santiago por Castilla y Rodrigo Díaz del Vivar [Santiago for Castile and Rodrigo Díaz del Vivar]!’”23 The Santiago-inspired engraving lacking the fallen enemy was published in Espejo de caballerías (Seville: Juan Cromberger 1533) and appeared in later editions of the same text (i.e. Medina del Campo: Francisco del Canto 1583; Zaragoza: Juan de Lanaja y Quartanet 1617; and Zaragoza: Pedro Cabarte 1617 and 1623). It demonstrates a second linkage that tethers older editions to modern ones using the connections that the Cid’s narrative shares with the chivalresque genre. These connections allow us to reflect on the importance of the Matamoros meme to the readership exposed to it. A 1942 edition of the Cid’s adventures in prose formed part of a series of publications titled “The Mirror of Spanish Knights.” Caballeros (knights) also signifies gentlemen, just as the word chivalrous today remains associated with a certain range of masculine comportment, suggesting that, by extension, the reader should model his own behaviour after that of these virtuous heroes. The editor’s note to his young reader defines the Cid as “prototipo del caballero Cristiano, del valor, de la leatad y la nobleza, despertaran, en el alma de muchos, ecos y afanes de emular [a prototype for the Christian gentleman whose valour, loyalty, and nobility will awaken in the souls of many the determination to emulate him].”24 Possessing these qualities rather than those exhibited by his enemies, a young caballero would, like both Santiago de Matamoros and

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the Cid, proceed bravely into battle, not flee or lack courage. The cover illustration for this edition portrays the Cid leaning forward in order to thrust his sword into his opponent, and, like Santiago de Matamoros, he hovers over his enemy with victory assured. The turbaned victim ducks and tries to shield himself with his hand, while his own shield goes flying through the air and his scimitar lies at his feet; he seeks some mercy in the face of what will surely befall him next. This cowardice and fearfulness are two traits communicated about this enemy and with which the Cid, as demonstrated by his record of confronting issues swiftly and directly, is contrasted. The hybridized image of a supernatural Moor-killing epic hero had grown increasingly exaggerated after the seventeenth century, as had his enemy, which in turn intensified the symbolic representation of national values.25 In novelized renditions of the Cid’s conquest of Valencia, crescent moons reach into the skies on spires that crown the city on title-page illustrations, evidently an attempt to portray the Muslim city before its fall to the Cid (Madrid: Manuel Martín 1767; Valencia: Mompre 1831). Unlike the cross as an indicator of a church, the crescent moon was not an architectural symbol adopted by Spanish Muslims until the contemporary period; nor would skinny, Gothic spires have been typical of the architecture found within Valencia before its fall to the Cid. Other editions feature the Cid’s enemies wearing impossibly large turbans (Cordoba: Rafael García Rodríguez 1804) or donning shields bearing the crescent moon (Lisbon: Francisco da Silva 1751), or replace the turban with Turkish headdress topped with crescent moons whose owners are depicted in the moment of falling under the hooves of the Cid’s horse (Stuttgart: Liesching 1840). Contemporary editions intended for children (Madrid: El Rompecabezas 2008; Madrid: Editorial Castalia 2010; Burgos: Miribind 2011) organize all of these symbols into binary sets of representations – the Cid’s soldiers come to battle aided by cats and are foregrounded with the colour white, whereas their Muslim opponents arrive with dogs and are foregrounded by darker colours – that readers understand as opposites. These sets of binaries composed of symbols that ultimately distinguish between good and evil26 depend upon the recognition of stereotyped and caricatured Western representations of Islam in order to communicate evilness. This subject and the machinery of orientalism will be explored in greater depth in chapter 4. For now, it suffices to say that the exaggeration of the Cid as a powerful, masculine role model in visual contexts dovetailed with a

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Illustrating El Cid

denigration of the enemy that he shared in common with the protagonists of books of chivalry. Over the centuries, the textual representation of the Cid underwent considerable changes as it evolved from an oral history or legend into a versified epic considered in later times one of Spain’s earliest literary masterpieces, and into both fictional and non-fictional prose forms as well as some theatrical adaptations. From the illustration history of this corpus, a visualization of the Cid as a potent hero has emerged. In the next chapter we will examine the representation and role of masculinity in both the text and its illustrations.

2 Exertions of Masculinity and the Roles of Men

The poem of 1207, which begins in medias res because the first pages have been lost, portrays our hero acting in a manner that would be considered, according to stereotype and centuries of expectations that have governed and moulded gendered behaviour, uncharacteristic of the Cid’s conduct in other parts and versions of the story: “De los sus ojos tan fuertemente llorando / tornaua la cabera, estaua los catando [As tears streamed from his eyes / he turned his head and stared at them].” At that moment, the Cid has just been exiled from his homeland, Castile. He weeps over the royal sentence that will tear him away from his land, wife, and young daughters. In doing so he reveals the primary, gendered roles played by the hero as a man: father, husband, knight, and, in different ways, nobleman. In this chapter, we will explore the ways in which the Cid exemplifies and fulfills masculine ideals, and the means through which those ideals are visually articulated in different periods. First, however, we will examine the connection between book illustration and medieval-era masculinity.

d e l i ne at i ng t he m asc ul i ne i n t he h is tory of bo ok i l lus t rat i o n The medieval period has been reinvented at several points in history, bringing along with it the assertion and representation of other constructs such as masculinity, which leaves some scholars concerned about the uses and adaptations of those medieval models, particularly in new media. Examples of new media exist in most epochs and force us to reconceptualize and adapt our visual and cultural heritages to fill the revolutionary crevasses

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Illustrating El Cid

and dimensions offered by novel forms and ways of consuming information. Just as mass-produced book illustration became a technology of culture in the early modern period, so too did film in the twentieth century, both of which came to endow medieval-era texts with new content created through innovations in form. The exercise of adapting this content from one form of media to another provides us with important insight into how this transformation occurred in the past and may continue to affect contemporary manifestations of the cidian corpus. This question of media transformation becomes complicated by the contribution of a thematized masculinity as a key ingredient to the constant reinvention of medievalism. Medievalism has now stabilized conceptually to encompass a codified set of qualities, practices, textures, values, and forms that become reasserted in innovative ways by post-medievals. In their preface to The Medieval Hero on Screen, the editors state that the genre of medieval film includes a range of themes and characters relating to the Middle Ages, but also to “spaghetti westerns, science fiction movies, neogothic films, and even Hong Kong action cinema ... In order to appeal to a contemporary audience, film must reinvent the Middle Ages and create in the medieval hero a hodgepodge of traits derived from a mixed understanding of what is medieval and of traits we value in the heroes of postmillennial Western culture.”1 One can detect a medieval-seeming quality in works that are set in the future as well as in the past, that take place outside of Europe or on the frontier of battle witnessed by Charlemagne and the Cid, which begs the question: What characteristics and roles associated with medieval heroes and by extension medieval masculinity are atemporal and detected in a transhistorical cohort of representation such as the cidian corpus and venerable science-fiction series like Star Trek? Martha W. Driver concludes that contemporary issues and themes are often portrayed using a medieval frame or context. Somehow, the medieval has become a Western cultural mode of representation utilized to communicate values, mores, social etiquette, and the order of all things. When the Cid is used as a role model to examplify good behaviour in the modern period, the creators of the book identify and attempt to address a contemporary issue – the need to educate boys in such a way that they become good men – while reaching back to some medieval ideal for that behaviour. This medieval skein changes from one period to another. Driver examples the idealized images contained in illuminated Books of Hours, with their

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surrealistically vibrant and crisp colours – even for the clothing of peasants: “The images are charming and sanitized, similar to the scrubbed version of historical films produced in Hollywood in the 1940s and 1950s.”2 Both book illustration and film, then, have undergone epochal transformation. But the similarity does not stop there, since neo-medieval context is evident in both media as well. In the case of film, for example, consider the poster featuring Laurence Olivier as Henry V and his prospective bride for the film Henry V produced in 1945. Each actor wears period-specific dress and poses within an architectural frame separated by columns on a tiled floor that gives way to an expanse of illusionary countryside sprawling behind the false wall imposed by the columns that frame them. The scene could easily adorn a fifteenth-century Book of Hours and was, with no little irony, reproduced in black and white for Driver’s volume of essays. The Book of Hours served as the medieval context needed to tell the story of a fifteenth-century king who was portrayed by Shakespeare in his 1600 play. The problem with this representation is that, in Shakespeare’s time, illustration had increased in complexity and no longer consisted of sequences of frames housed on a single page accompanying the text. Had Shakespeare lent visuality to his work on paper, the illustration would have been organized quite differently because technologies and techniques for illustration had abandoned the practices used by the medieval creators of the Book of Hours. Twentieth-century creators of that scene featuring Olivier appropriated a form of medieval representation and anchored it to a cinematic product based on an early modern play that subsequently became captured as a two-dimensional poster. In doing so, the creators reinforce the faraway sensibility associated with the subject matter of the historical film and the spectator is asked to draw upon her visual literacy to comprehend Olivier’s medievalized presentation through the codified masculine ideals that come with this frame. To deepen this comparison between film and illustration, one observes that film produced in later periods strove to achieve greater authenticity than its cinematic ancestors, to fit within some spectrum of historicity that also engaged the attention of viewers. This observation evidently applies to book illustrators of the mass-produced page in the early modern period, when images – like film in the mid-twentieth century – were for the first time being consumed on a grand scale: everything was acquiring a visual simulacrum enabled by technological innovation that was intended to enhance the appeal and marketability of the work to an early modern

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Illustrating El Cid

consumer. The increased availability of visual representation after the introduction of the printing press created a spectrum of viewers becoming educated in what the world around them looked like, even the far-off places that they would never visit. Viewers and illustrators, like the creators of cinematic media today, possessed a consciousness or “memory storehouse”3 that served as a foundation for their own interpretations and offerings of images. They remained aware of past visual contexts and drew inspiration from them. This continuum of visuality may be partly responsible for the neo-medievalism of the modern era and arguably has continued to activate and reactivate the ideals associated with medievalism, which subsequently have become tethered to a range of symbols and incorporated into new yet unrelated forms and subject matters. A synopsis of book-illustration practices in the age of the printing press provides additional context for the increasing importance accorded to the visual dimension that reflected the gender norms observed by the culture and society that produced it. The first illustrated book printed in Spain was not authored by a Spaniard nor written in Spanish. It was titled Fasciculus Temporum and written by Velmer Rolewinck (Seville: Bartolomé Segura and Alfonso del Puerto de Sevilla 1480); the first book that used illustrations not from imported plates was Los trabajos de Hércules by Enrique de Villena (Zamora: Antonio de Centenera 1483).4 These illustrations, as we saw in chapter 1, have enjoyed considerable longevity. The first printed portrait of the Cid from 1493 was reproduced on the title page of Jerónimo Zurita’s Los cinco libros primeros de la primera parte de los anales de la Corona de Aragón (Zaragoza: Jorge Coci 1562), in which some of the Cid’s more notable exploits – including the taking of Valencia – are enumerated. The human subjects of these illustrations were almost always male, which means that an increase in the number of illustrated books resulted in giving men greater visibility in representation. The European encounter with the Americas in the early modern period, furthermore, drove book illustration in two significant directions and ensured that the world was becoming increasingly accessible to the gaze of readers – the representation of the fabulous and fantastic, much of which had historical antecedents that were medieval in nature, and scientific representation based on rational, scholarly sources.5 A move toward specificity in illustration had begun and it was not until the late sixteenth century that illustrated portraiture capturing the likenesses of specific individuals other than kings or important religious figures began to appear.6

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This sixteenth-century engagement with what Tom Conley terms the “topography of the face” evidences the confluence of increasing technological development and technique in illustration, the rise of an individualistic ethos not restricted to the noble classes alone, and the entrenchment of the cultures of spectatorship and display.7 A conscious effort was made in the 1600s to lower the price of books and to increase their quality and endowments – including illustrations – in order to attract less affluent readers. Copperplate engraving of images also became a process that was distinct from the printing of text, which meant that the two processes needed to be coordinated in order to situate an image on the page with text below, above, or facing it.8 This endeavour led to the production of excellently prepared books using the most current technology and means of display as well the effervescent characteristic of Baroque styling. The wealthy consumer paid for those refinements. More specifically, two distinct audiences crystallized in this period with economic consequence to booksellers: the aristocracy, their staff, as well as the church and its staff; and the rest of the reading public who possessed the means to invest in the enhancement of the home library. The Baroque practice of adorning portadas and title pages with symbols, allegories, emblems, and portraits in tribute to the subject or patron also signified a turn away from narrative elements more intrinsically associated with the contents of the book itself, as had been customary during the previous century. This trend, which reflected developments in painting, betrayed a preference for visual elements that floated above the subject matter of the book as adornments to its content.9 A second noticeable change, particularly for the cidian corpus, was a decrease in the quantity of illustrated books – as well as the number of illustrations that they contained – in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. As few as 5 per cent of printed books contained illustrations beyond the typographic adornments and illustrated initials that remained common throughout the early modern period. This division in the market related to the purchasing power of the reading public, few members of whom could afford anything beyond the most technologically basic of printed material. Foreshadowed no doubt by the illustration phenomenon of the Cid, which transformed him into a man to be modelled rather than a monarch to be admired, seventeenth-century portraiture by the likes of Zurbarán and Velázquez extended to the extoling of the king’s servants and political advisers, as well as to their own patrons and important

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religious individuals. This practice in turn illuminated the multifaceted roles being exercised by men throughout society in visual form. Political power in this period, exemplified by the likes of the dukes of Olivares who ruled the empire in lieu of the attentions of Spain’s seventeenth-century Hapsburg kings, could be exercised by non-monarchs, which destabilized the historical portrait of authority and allowed others to wield it as the Cid did. The endorsement of the monarchy – but not necessarily that of the king, even if it came in his name – in conjunction with illustration could help sustain the consequence of the individual portrayed in the image as financial proof and prestigious indication of that power.10 Both the painted and engraved image promoted access to the illustrated subject in a way that was once limited to the private, aristocratic or religious, sphere. As portraits of important men were transferred to the mass-produced page, the reader consumed them without having to leave the comforts of his home and certainly without acquiring the necessary privilege to pass through the halls of some nobleman’s abode to encounter a painting. Beyond becoming known by one’s name, an individual could see his importance and brand enhanced by his likeness, which, upon being circulated in mass-produced form, made him recognizable in more than one medium. It is in this liminal space that men as readers would become increasingly exposed to the masculine visualized. In the eighteenth century, book illustration and engraving became recognized disciplines at the Real Academia de San Fernando, where the subject and practice emerged as a course of study. As such, the quality of images greatly increased, in part influenced by French illustrations that, alongside the content of other Enlightenment-era works, had infiltrated Spain’s literati. Other academies in Valencia and Barcelona offered similar courses. Popular illustration in the eighteenth century, which tended to be made using older technologies such as woodblock engraving that allowed for the material to be produced and purchased more inexpensively, revealed an increasing trend toward specificity which, in our case, reintensified the relationship between the image of the Cid and the textually related description of him.11 Readers and viewers were developing a taste for social and cultural description, in addition to religious, historical, and fantastic content. This interest eventually gave way to artistic movements such as costumbrismo (the representation of traditional aspects of Spanish culture, particularly in painting) and became responsible for deepening our knowledge of the textual and visual language we use in order to con-

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struct and understand visual contexts. Such was the expectation that some visual component would accompany the text that one early-nineteenthcentury publisher inserted a note to his readers in his book of cidian romances, addressed to “los Españoles,” in which he justified the exclusion of engraved images as a means of keeping the final cost to the reader as low as possible.12 One example of the role of illustration in popular contexts in the nineteenth century was the place of costumbres (customs and traditions) and usos amorosos (practices for romantic relationships) in a new leisure industry, of which men formed a central part. Several factors, including an expanding marketplace that allowed for a variety of luxuries or basic goods according to the clientele’s purse strings, the development of gallantry and, in its turn, coquetry, and an increasingly complex visualization of the interaction of the sexes, initiated changes in the comportment of both men and women.13 The demand for costumbrist frames also created a demand for portrayals of the Cid as someone more than a knight or servant of the king. Nineteenth-century illustrations depicted him as a husband and father, too, with a range of facial expressions that could also influence the reader’s own. In contrast, before the nineteenth century, the Cid was invariably illustrated pursuing the objectives of a knight or fulfilling the expectations of the Matamoros meme, but not playing any other masculine role that textually defines him. The illustration of the cidian corpus began as an early modern technological endowment of the printing industry, one that coalesced with a second innovation: the first epistemological ordering of the history and culture that we now characterize as medieval. When illustrations of the Cid from different periods are systematically studied, the viewer negotiates the skein of medievalness layered upon these events and personages. The extra-textual components studied later in this chapter communicate medievalness, whether temporal, social, or cultural, and reveal the construction of the medieval used in the period in which the illustration was produced. The medieval skein will be different in the eighteenth century than it is in the twenty-first century. In the view of Juan Carrete Parrondo, Fernando Checa Creamdes, and Valeriano Bozal, the sixteenth century exhibited “una recuperación consciente del pasado medieval desde el punto de vista de las historias de los reyes [a conscious recuperation of the medieval past from the point of view of chronicles about kings],”14 adding to those old manuscripts modern images that possessed a capacity

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for detail: text and image from a technological and temporal perspective had become de-synchronized. Alongside these early modern technological developments emerged historical ones that included the final phase of the reconquest of Spain as well as the reform movements that bubbled in its wake. Spanish monarchs ranging from Fernando and Isabel to Felipe II appropriated a medieval past as a means of achieving national unification.15 By reasserting Spain’s Visigoth heritage as a referential framework, believers could remind themselves of the wisdom of Catholicism, which appeared to them far greater than anything on offer at the temples and mosques of other faiths, including those related to the reform movements. Catholic symbols were inherently part of representing medievalism in the early modern period, which may help to explain the impact of the Matamoros meme on the cidian corpus, but this approach lost its power in later centuries. The decreasing importance of the Catholic Church in the modern era, and a turn away from international conflicts waged explicitly for religious differences, resulted in a de-emphasis of the religious component of the medieval, whereas in the past this association was deemed central. Mass-produced information helped to disseminate medieval-era models of masculinity, a practice that certainly abounded in the pre-modern era. Thirteenth-century Alphonsine scribes used the Roman emperor Trajan as a model for authority and leadership. In Estoria de España, Trajan was considered “muy franque et muy compannon a sus amigos, et amo mucho los caualleros, et fue muy manso contra los cibdadanos, et muy franque en soltar los pechos a las cibdades [a very liberal and good companion of his friends, a man who deeply loved his knights, was very merciful with his citizens, and showed great honesty in collecting tributes from the cities].”16 Trajan thus became a prototype after whom rulers and men should model their own behaviour, and it is no accident that the Cid himself would resemble this model. The example of Trajan also demonstrates how a Roman-era figure became appropriated in a subsequent period and utilized as a role model for medieval contemporaries. A similar approach was taken in sixteenth-century books of chivalry that epitomize some of the earliest attempts to represent the medieval era and its role models, and ultimately the popularity of this genre sustained a Spanish desire for illustrated accounts of the Cid’s own adventures. As demonstrated in chapter 1, the two cycles of illustrations developed together and flourished in both fictional and non-fictional texts relating to history or to fantasy

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steeped in medievalism. Demand for these books that inscribed the medieval as a part of Spanish cultural identity was fierce. After the sixteenth century, illustration for those texts fell out of vogue in the eighteenth century but rapidly increased once again in popularity in the modern era. One reason behind this return to popularity is that the reassertion of medievalism became the foundation for a code of living among nineteenth-century gentlemen. Men were seen, in Jeffrey Richards’s assessment, as “the embodiment of the virtues of bravery, loyalty, courtesy, generosity, duty, modesty, purity and passion,” which became expectations for ideal behaviour that were then performed, exposing these models to a broader community that included the popular and lower classes as well as the upper echelons of society.17 These revived codes of masculinity replaced an early modern sports-based ethic, characterized as a macho masculinity that valued physical and sexual strength as well as physical prowess, tests of endurance that included how much alcohol one could imbibe, and activities associated with certain qualities of manliness, such as cock-fighting and other types of sports-related combat. A rejection of one model in favour of a revived, refashioned medieval one also set the lower class apart. The latter’s proclivity toward a more basic, crude masculinity contrasted with the seemingly more refined manliness of the upper classes, whose comportment was also imitated by the bourgeoning middle class that began to develop in Spain in the nineteenth century. It was during this transformation that the qualities of the Cid in his capacity as father and husband achieved a greater prominence in the cidian corpus. As Frans De Bruyn notes, eighteenth- and nineteenth-century medieval chivalric ideals collectively were “recognized as a vital, progressive system of manners that had shaped modern Europe,” and in this way they were looked upon as an authoritative system of behaviour whose past successes would ensure future ones.18 The appropriation of medieval masculinity also fused together with a Christian model that was influential before the twenty-first century, one that sought prototypes in biblical sources, namely in Christ, and that engendered comparisons of the Cid to Santiago, so that morality and fellowship in any context became regulated by chivalrous behaviour. This type of behaviour could be exhibited by secular as well as clerical men, and by civilians as well as soldiers. The revival of the chivalrous man lasted until the 1960s for various reasons and can easily be detected in the products of popular culture – Charlton Heston’s representation of the

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Cid in film among them – after which social change including the rise of feminism challenged the very masculine ideals that had been valued for so long. The ensuing crisis of masculinity was accompanied by the decreasing importance of Christianity in the Western world, which allowed moderns to reconsider the makeup of their society in a way that had not been possible for centuries. One of the results of this transformation was a devaluation of the chivalric ideal and a reappraisal of the macho masculine one. The new heroes – evidenced in film and other cultural products since the 1960s – are no longer concerned with religious ideals and models and, interestingly, many attempts at medieval simulacra in film avoid the involvement of Christianity and rather assert some pagan, magic, or religious Other as informing the actions of and values exhibited by male characters and pseudo-masculine female ones.19 Certainly, more recent illustrations of the Cid avoid explicit religious representation in favour of other modes of communicating right and wrong, in stark contrast to the same representations generated by nineteenth-century artists, which tended to abound with religious symbolism. The viewer today, informed as she is about these visual languages, comprehends the past and present modes as layered, medieval skeins. She sees the interchangeability of the nineteenth-century religious model and the present-day pagan one that occupies the same space and performs the same function.20 Most importantly, she can relate the construction of medieval masculinity in the nineteenth century to that of her immediate present, which inscribes those ideals as ones toward which she and the men around her can strive. As will be argued in the next chapter, the stability of medieval masculinity across the centuries clashes with the relative instability of medieval femininity, whose ideals no longer provide a set of goals toward which modern-day women necessarily strive. The dissonance of these gendered archetypes undergird some of the most significant cultural, social, and gender-based issues of our time. The neo-medieval reification of masculinity and the subjectivity of the Cid as a man to be emulated can be understood in terms of the symbols that illustrators used to signify the hero and to make his superior masculinity known to the spectator. Also of importance is the means through which he is explicitly portrayed as a role model for boys and men alike, but never for girls and women, who nonetheless form part of the target audiences for the cidian corpus as daughters and at some point as wives and mothers.

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th e m as cu l in e an d its ti mel es s sy m bol s : t hro ne s , be a rds, a nd swo rds Since medieval times, the deeds of the Cid have been raised out of Spain’s national history and character in a way that is primarily reserved for male monarchs. At the dawn of the early modern period, representations of monarchs developed in important ways that became inscribed as bookillustration convention. As we have seen, the image of a king or of our epic hero could be recycled in books of varying and distinct content, which indicates the significantly emblematic and referential value that these illustrations possessed.21 An illustration of a king seated upon a throne, for instance, associates qualities of regality with the items and objects that signify him, and, vice versa, the throne, crown, and sceptre embody the man as king. These material objects also point to the powers that characterize kings – the meting out of justice, the making of laws, the fostering of knowledge, physical strength, and ability in battle – as well as ideas of nobility, heroism, dynastic lineage, and divine appointment. Many of these concepts and qualities were asserted in the first illustration to portray the Cid enthroned. Included in the 1498 Seville edition, the illustration illuminates a miracle that was believed to have occurred ten years following the hero’s death (Fig. 2.1). The late-fifteenth-century engraving portrays a Jewish man who happens upon the enthroned remains of the Cid that resided in the monastery of Cardeña (the reason for their presence in a Catholic place of worship remains unclear). He decides to tug on the Cid’s beard, which awakens the Cid from his mortal slumber. Like other versions that follow in its footsteps, and reminiscent of the Matamoros meme, the illustration emphasizes the height of the Cid, whose enemy cowers beneath him with his arms flailing. The two men also differ in terms of the language of masculinity used to characterize them. The Cid, his dark beard long and full compared to the Jew’s trimmed and short beard, is about to unsheathe his weapon against his unarmed opponent, and in fact the latter man subsequently swoons and faints from fear. Church staff later happen upon his body and he awakes after water is thrown on him and immediately converts to Christianity. This scene leads to a number of conclusions. First, with the inclusion of royal referents such as a throne and a crown in the image, the qualities for enthroned men became transposed upon the likeness of men who were

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Figure 2.1 The Cid’s body at the Monasterio de San Pedro Cardeña. Crónica.

not kings, which made it possible for a non-royal protagonist in history or literature to exert certain offices and fulfill functions previously reserved for the king. Codifying the Cid as regal also invites the spectator to view him with the regard due to a king, and this in part is the lesson that the episode imparts. Portraying the Cid seated on a throne in several editions is a means of depicting his overlordship of the city of Valencia, and the enthronement of him in the monastery echoes this same image of authority as a Christian man and defender of the faith. Just as Valencia came

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under his control, so does he induce the Jew to join the Christian community. Remarkably, the scene does not change much over the centuries, although, with the technological improvements to book illustration, artists included particular details that reinforce our reading of the scene, including a cross positioned on top of the Cid’s throne, a Cid with a white rather than dark beard,22 and, in one case, the presence of angels attending to the plants that frame the scene.23 While some modern editions go so far as to include a picture of Christ converting non-believers as a visual accompaniment to this episode,24 most recent editions de-emphasize this religious quality, omitting the ghostly activities of the Cid as well as his death.25 It is also consequential that the Cid is almost always the only man who sits on a throne within the illustrated corpus. The king, given the character flaw he demonstrated by not trusting and misjudging the Cid, is usually depicted standing and, in that way, bereft of kingly powers or of a key symbol of monarchical potency. An important symbol of masculinity, and one that women could not themselves cultivate, was the beard.26 Most illustrations of kings Sancho and Alfonso portray them bearded and certainly in the medieval chronicles in which the Cid appears the kings mentioned alongside him are also bearded.27 References to their fine beards occur textually and, in illustrated manuscripts, visually. This practice continued in the early modern period as a means of emphasizing masculine and imperial strength as opposed to the weaknesses of their opponents. Illustrations of the Spanish conquest of the Americas, for example, always depict Europeans with facial hair and Indigenous peoples as clean-shaven.28 The feminization of Indigenous bodies extended as well to the characterization of colonial territories and territories-to-be, which early modern historians described using adjectives such as temperate, fertile, and abundant, inscribing effeminacy upon the landscape of the overseas imperium while maintaining the reach of masculine power over the colonies.29 Much scholarship has explored the significance of the Cid’s beard as a symbol of his increasing potency and wisdom in the textual dimension of the cidian corpus. As he aged, gained experience and the respect of important people, acquired territory and an army, and ultimately grew overall in consequence, his beard lengthened and became thicker, and, particularly in the poem, he touched it frequently. The beard becomes a key textual signifier of the Cid. Illustrators, having read the text, ensured that this symbol also became an important part of the overall cycle of illustration to which they were contributing.

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Juan Carlos Conde, echoing Mikhail Bakhtin, concedes that the cultural subtext behind the beard as a sign of virility and power, as well as a physical sign of sadness and age, is one that delimited the spatial form of the hero in the text, visibly characterizing him according to the meaning of the beard.30 The fullness of the beard indicates the man’s age and prosperity whereas its whiteness foretells his coming death; the absence of the beard communicates the hero’s youth. Interestingly, it is often after he has courted and married Jimena, and therefore consummated their marriage, that the man becomes visibly endowed with a beard,31 which associates the beard and the erect penis as two symbols of masculine virility. As we can infer from the incident of the Cid awakening from the dead to mete out the Jew’s punishment, it was an insult to pull on a man’s beard, consecrating the beard along with genitalia to the realm of private spaces.32 A second example of this behaviour can be found in the chronicles and the first cantar of the poem when the Cid plucks out some of his enemy’s beard as a means of exacting an emasculating punishment emblematic of castration. Indeed, in this particular case, the Cid and García Ordóñez trade insults about each other’s beards before the latter loses his to the Cid, who has in the process usurped a higher-ranking individual of his wealth and power.33 The Cid, who from then on became known as el campeador, proceeded to seize the possessions of García Ordóñez and those of his men, and then redistributed them to the Arabs that they had wronged, taking the initiative to right the injustice brought about by Ordóñez’s actions. The violence of this episode has never been illustrated, which perhaps speaks to its significance as an example of contested masculinities. In the poem, the Cid swears not to trim his beard when Alfonso subsequently exiles him. He also boasts that the beard would become so fine that Muslims and Christians alike would talk about it. The more powerful he becomes, moreover, the longer the beard grows, and the spectator can document its growth in nearly every illustrated edition. Modern illustrators capture these moments with increasing complexity. A 1934 edition features a portrait of the hero, presumably in exile, from the chest up and wearing a metal helmet and white tunic trimmed with a red pattern, both reminiscent of the colours of Castile, on the front cover. He gazes off into the distance, his dark and full beard tucked into his armour.34 The beard becomes a symbol of virility, and textually – particularly in the poem – the Cid frequently strokes it, especially in the third

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cantar. Michael J. Horswell observes that “the Cid will often take the beard in his hands as he speaks to his vassals, as if he were swearing on a sacred relic.”35 The spiritual symbolism of the beard is a second consideration because the Cid routinely strokes his whiskers when taking oaths. In this way, Horswell argues, “the Cid’s masculinity is performed through the iteration of this gendered gesture, a phantasmagoric sign that recalls the biblical oaths sworn by the beard. By invoking this scriptural image, the Cid’s oaths take on greater importance, and his manliness is affirmed through this symbol of biblical masculinity.”36 His enemies, in contrast, typically exhibit less remarkable beards or are clean-shaven, and they inhabit a place of immorality or lack a sense of spirituality or spiritual rectitude. One such example, explored below, involves the sons of the Count of Carrión; a second, the Jews Raquel and Vidas, who are rather enemies of the faith than of the Cid himself. When visualized, these four men have shaggy hair and slight beards, usually coming to a harsh point at the chin, as opposed to the Cid’s rounded and flowing beard.37 The beard becomes a means through which the viewer can detect the Cid’s stage of life and predict which episodes in his story have occurred. Also, because the beard is a symbol of masculine power, the clear message is that the young reader, who uses this text as a coming-of-age device in the modern period, will one day be capable of growing his own beard and, by extension, of fulfilling some of the same roles performed by the hero. The symbolism that communicated the Cid’s masculine potency also became enshrined, both literally and figuratively, beyond the beard; this power resonates within the display of the Cid’s body, as well as that of his wife and the people who were close to them, and particularly through his things. The most evident of masculine materialities are his swords, named Tizona and Colada, one of the chests that he deploys to fool Raquel and Vidas into giving him the coin required to sustain his armies upon being exiled from Burgos, and the tomb containing his horse, Babieca. They became part of a reliquary preserved at the Monasterio de San Pedro Cardeña. According to legend, the reliquary attracted pilgrims as soon as three years following the Cid’s death in 1099.38 These objects, many of which were later moved and reside today at the Museo de Burgos and that city’s cathedral, compose staples within the canon of illustration attached to the Cid’s story. Many books – even scholarly and critical ones – about the Cid contain illustrations and sometimes photographs of the Cid’s coffin, swords, and chests. Their

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positioning as historical artifacts disrupts the broadly accepted fictional nature of the Cid and his legend while helping to document the value of the man and his deeds to Spanish culture throughout time. The swords in particular acquire greater importance in modern editions. All children know their names; indeed, Violeta Monreal published a children’s story in 2006 that frames the Cid’s adventures around his two swords.39 Replicas can be acquired in several shops in and around Burgos as well as in many other Spanish towns and cities. These symbols became commodified because they had enabled the Cid to achieve victory over the enemy and so fulfill the ideal of fatherhood. The swords also evolved into signifiers of his daughters’ honour, which by extension reflected upon his honour, when he made them part of their dowries on their marriages to the sons of the Count of Carrión. The symbolism shared between the sword and phallus likewise converts these objects of desire pursued by pilgrims and tourists into symbols of power and rectitude made evident by the presence of daughters and wives. The custodianship of the daughters, as well as the swords, was thus transferred from the father to their husbands. Cidian materiality grows ever more complex when we consider the intersections of his legend with that of Santiago because both mythologies gave rise to a commodified form of tourism in both religious and secular markets. The Camino de Santiago is one of the most important and popular pilgrimages in the Christian world. The faithful converge on the Cathedral at Santiago de Compostela in order to be in the presence of relics believed to have belonged to, touched the life of, or provide proof of the legendary deeds of Spain’s patron saint. It is no accident that the Cid’s personal effects became used similarly by the monks at Cardeña during the same period in which Santiago’s own pilgrimage was spiking in popularity, and that the Cid’s route would eventually cross paths with the one taken by Santiago’s pilgrims.40 The Camino de Santiago passes through Burgos and before that city’s cathedral, which means that today many of its pilgrims also take in the Cid’s relics. When one walks straight into the cathedral through the door used by tourists, moreover, the direction takes one to the cordoned-off burial plaque beneath which the Cid’s remains are supposed to be found. The connection between Santiago and the Cid was likely a deliberate invention crafted by the Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña, which possessed its own legend that bears exploring in light of the subject of masculinity. Two centuries before the Cid died, two hundred or more of

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Cardeña’s own monks martyred themselves in order to save the monastery from Muslim attackers. They entrusted their bodies to God and made the ultimate sacrifice for the territory upon which the monastery stood, which in turn related to the wider field of reconquest taking place throughout the Iberian Peninsula in the tenth century. The monks had at hand a model for their actions that had emerged in recent decades, since Santiago had supposedly fought alongside the old Christians of Visigoth heritage at Clavijo in the ninth century. The monastery also possessed its own legend that helped to distinguish it from others. Dating to the sixth century, the legend recounts the founding of the monastery by a Visigoth prince. This connection between the era of Visigoth rule on the peninsula, on the one hand, and the intervention of Santiago at Clavijo as a warrior model of spirituality and saviour of the Christian soldiers who contended with the Muslim invaders, on the other, converted the monks into some ancestral order of Visigoth brethren entrusted with a faith that had remained unsullied by the Arab invasion. The increasing consequence of blood purity and spiritual background would coalesce into a complex cultural dynamic during the medieval period and dominate the social order of things during the centuries that followed. Cardeña’s monks participated as martyr-warriors within this paradigm and the impact of the monastery’s subsequent investment in the Cid’s legend cannot be underestimated. Tying the foundation of Cardeña to a pre-Arab period became one means of legitimizing both the faith and the authority of the monastery. In an echo of the legend of the Battle of Clavijo, where the intercession of Santiago secured success for Christian warriors, the monks who were inspired by their God similarly defended the faith and its physical manifestation and proof of it – the monastery.41 The incorporation of the Cid into this increasingly complex relationship between Santiago and Cardeña in the early to mid-medieval period deepens this symbolism in a secular way. The Cid identified the monastery as one of the desired benefactors of his success and material life. These three entities – Santiago, the two hundred martyred monks, and the Cid – share in common the attribute of service to a higher authority and order. It is this quality of service that becomes one of the enduring characteristics of the Cid and an ideal toward which young readers can strive. The symbol held in common between these temporally distinct contexts is that of the sword used to defend the monastery, the faith, and the people of Spain. Soldiers in the medieval period often used two blades –

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one carried on the horse and the other on the soldier’s person, belted to his waist. Peons, however, fought with one sword, which makes the use of two swords a means of distinguishing the higher class of the soldier.42 The Cid’s swords, Tizona and Colada, became more than a physical symbol of his class and power in battle, however; they also embodied the transference of his daughters from his own care to that of their betrothed. Not unlike the movement of goods from the parents’ household to that of their daughters’ husbands, and given the physical and legal transaction performed by fathers who gave daughters in marriage to men, the Cid wielded these two objects of military potency just as he wielded two testaments to his sexual potency, Elvira and Sol. Many illustrators make a point of displaying the possession of these objects by the sons of the Count of Carrión. In a 2008 edition, the infantes are featured thrusting the swords upward; the text facing the illustration describes their plan to abandon their wives, despite all that the Cid had given them, which included having placed “en sus cobardes manos sus más preciadas joyas: las espadas Tizona y Colada [in their cowardly hands the most precious of jewels: his swords Tizona and Colada].”43 After the sons betrayed their wives and their actions were avenged by the women’s father, the swords – like Elvira and Sol – were returned to the Cid. When marriages dissolved as a result of divorce or annulment, men lost the use of the dowry as well as the wife, both of which had to be surrendered. Another edition, published in 2008, reinforces this connection between the daughters and the swords as possessions of the Cid. The chapter titled “El Cid reclama lo suyo [The Cid reclaims what belongs to him]” contains an illustration of the downtrodden infantes without their swords.44 Stripped of their ability to demonstrate both military and sexual potency, the infantes are left emasculated and politically impotent; without wives, they could not legitimately demonstrate their sexual potency and capacity to reproduce. One of the issues that arises when these modern editions maintain and explore the symbolism of the two swords in this fashion is that the objectification of the daughters, which was acceptable during the medieval period, prevails in coming-of-age narratives intended for the Spanish youth of today. These young audiences will little understand the complexities of the dowry and arras process (the dowry was the property given by the woman to the man, the latter was the property given by the man to the woman). They would, no doubt, comprehend the pairing of the daughters

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and the swords, and the mutual transaction and return of both, thus securing the objectification of both the daughters and the swords as common symbols of the masculinity of the hero as well as that of the young reader. Other examples of the symbolism afforded to these swords include a mythical excommunication of the Cid in Rome, an episode popularized in the romances, for which one illustrator in 1848 portrayed the Cid’s sword and the pope’s bacculus, or staff, as emblems for these characters. The illustration depicts the pope’s staff and the Cid’s weapon entwined while the text relates the latter’s absolution for his deeds in the name of his faith.45 Evidently, these objects by themselves were thought sufficient to reify the characters involved in this romance. The same edition later includes a powerful illustration of the Cid confronting the lion that had escaped from its cage (see Plate 5). Cowering and unarmed in the background is one of the infantes, who chose to hide from the lion rather than confront it before it attacked his sleeping father-in-law. The illustrator foreshadows their loss of the swords later in the story because neither of the them is depicted as armed and thus prepared to defend the family home. He emphasizes the phallic nature of the sword partly in terms of its placement on the Cid’s person but also by its shape, and by extension its power, as an armature and sign of masculinity. A more recent edition emphasizes the infantes’ cowardice during this episode with the inclusion of an illustration in which the Cid, facing the reader, points boldly at one of his daughter’s husbands, who hides behind a curtain, an image that entreats the reader to appreciate this man’s weakness and to contrast it with the strength and bravery of the Cid.46 The use of these masculinist symbols in book illustration is another consideration, one that will allow us to understand how deliberate their deployment is. One difficulty with early mass-produced illustration was that of quality control, both in form and content. The desire to provide aesthetically pleasing images as well as authentic ones moved several artists to create manuals for painting and drawing. These manuals encompassed books of emblems designed to serve as templates for commonly illustrated objects, flora and fauna, and people. They provided form and technique for what the artists surely knew by sight but struggled to represent in the two-dimensional space of an illustration or canvas. Artists also produced treatises in which advice about authenticity and accuracy was provided to the next generation of illustrators and painters. These essays increasingly incorporated the need to associate values, qualities,

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strengths, and weaknesses with the illustrated subject. One instance of this practice provides important insight into the identification and construction of masculinity in book illustration. On the eve or just following the death of Felipe II, expectations concerning the accurate representation of kings attracted the focus of an anonymously authored manuscript included within a grouping of the king’s papers, titled Traça y orden para la composicion de la historia del cathólico rey don Felipe el segundo y apuntamiento de materias por sus años desde 1527 a 1593 dispuesta en forma de tablas cronologicas y explicacion de su desarrollo (1598).47 The document provides observations and instructions concerning how kings should be illustrated within the context of the printed chronicle that detailed their activities and accomplishments. In this case, the author had crafted a specific set of instructions concerning the content and structure of any chronicle about Felipe II’s life. The document provides rare insight into the reception and interpretation of illustrations during the period. It also provides an annual summary of the king’s activities as a guide for chroniclers. Within the section devoted to the structure of the chronicle, the author relates that se deue retratar Su Mag. declarando literalmente así su real phisionomía de su rostro y cuerpo, como sus grandes virtudes y acciones interiores y exteriores, lo más apurado y sustancial que ser pueda. Luego, se debe poner su retrato y compostura el más al natural que fuera posible, cortando en cobre por hombre de mucha inteligencia de la arte, para que como ahora en nuestro siglo sea en los venideros mejor cognocida su real persona, como es razón, y no menos por que leemos con más amor y atención las historias de los Reyes y Príncipes que conocemos personalmente, o por retratos [one must draw his Majesty, making clear the true physiognomy of his face and body, describing his great virtues and accomplishments here and abroad, in the most brief and fundamental way possible. Then, one must make the drawing and his composure as natural as possible, engraving it in copper by a man talented in that art, so that as now in our century his royal person will be in the coming ones even better known, and truthfully rendered, and not less loved because we read the chronicles of the Kings and Princes that we know personally, or by portraits].48

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In light of the expectations of this period, a sixteenth-century Spanish translation of Olivier de la Marche’s Le Chevalier délibéré, written in 1483 but broadly disseminated the following century, is of great interest because it was intended to instruct Carlos V, to whom it is dedicated, in the comportment of knights in pursuit of a quest. Titled El caballero determinado, the work was illustrated by a Spanish artist who associated specific characteristics with knightly activities by inscribing descriptions upon parts of the illustration.49 This text also helps us understand how early moderns interpreted images and objects and assigned emotional, cultural, and social values to them. Narrated from the perspective of the knight, who refers to himself as “el autor,” the first-hand account of la Marche’s experience as a knight strengthens his authority as a source of information concerning knighthood and any quests or pilgrimages he undertook. La Marche defines the objects that we would typically associate with a knight’s dress while depicting the author literally enrobing himself with these symbols of masculinity (Fig. 2.2). Facing this image are some verses that elaborate upon the words that the artist incorporated into the visualization of a “cavallero andante”: Mi cauallo era Querer y mi arnes hize Templar de una agua q[ue] era Poder mi escudo fue de Esperar por firme Permaneçer Era mi lança labrada de Auentura, y fabricada de una obra marauillosa y por no faltarme cosa de Coraje era mi espada [My horse was Desire and my harness was forged from waters of Power my shield was Hope and my stance Remain My lance was forged from Adventure, and made from marvellous craftsmanship and to not leave anything out from Courage was my sword].50

Figure 2.2 La Marche dressing as a knight, from El caballero determinado traducido de lengua francesa en castellana por Hernando de Acuña, sixteenth century.

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These definitions of the accoutrements of knighthood effectively associate purpose and value with the material object whose practical function of protection, in the case of the shield and sword, becomes further endowed by the properties of hope and courage, respectively. As the knight raises the shield, he hopes that it deflects the blows of his assailants and allows him to live another day, and, as he readies his sword, he must draw closer to his enemy in order to use it effectively – an act that requires courage. The allegory deepens later in the book as la Marche describes the plight of an aging knight whose character is named “Edad,” or age; the artist labels his sword “dias demasiados,” literally “too many days.”51 The artist and author alike had to rely upon the reader’s knowledge of knights, their quests, and tales of pilgrimage. They presumed that he would recognize the utensils of knighthood in the quest for redemption.52 These last two texts and their illustrations provide important insight both into how illustrations were used and into the values associated with the material objects we have identified as the Cid’s armature of masculinity.

mod e l l i ng mas cu l in it y i n t ext a n d i mage Vern Bullough describes a triad that could define masculinity in the medieval period: the need to impregnate women, the requirement then to protect the individuals who depended upon the men, and the necessity of providing for one’s family. Failing to attend to these areas of masculine responsibility and identity could result in a binary opposition steeped in the suggestion of feminine weakness. Women could economically and socially improve their position in society by accepting some of these male roles, but the same cannot be said for men who embraced feminine roles: “Failure to perform … was a threat not only to a man’s maleness but to society.”53 The performance aspect of medieval masculinity evidently related to one’s ability to wield a sword and to protect those in his midst, such as family or one’s king. In terms of sexual impotence, the threat described by Bullough consisted of the inability to continue the bloodline and propagate the species. In an applied sense, the unwillingness of the sons of the Count of Carrión to pursue the lion in order to protect a slumbering Cid epitomizes their failure to perform masculinity. Impotence possesses behavioural and social dimensions in the cidian corpus. A key quality of medieval masculinity is the act of service. Unlike other noble heroes of this epoch who have been exiled, the Cid does not rebel

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or seek vengeance for the punishment levied against him by the king. Rather, while in exile, he remains firm in his loyalty to the monarch. As Irene Zaderenko concludes, “es evidente que el poeta quería que su héroe tuviera no solo cualidades guerreras, sino también virtudes tales como lealtad, moderación y generosidad [it is evident that the poet wanted his hero to have not only warrior qualities, but also virtues such as loyalty, moderation, and generosity].”54 As a model for Spanish men, the Cid exhibited a sort of Roman-era gravitas that hailed from Spain’s first Golden Age, one that finds its foundations in medieval-era models based on Trajan. Zaderenko explains that the components of this quality included “la dignidad, la serenidad, cierto estoicismo, la prudencia y el buen sentido al tomar decisions, pero también incluye el tacto y la consideración en las relaciones con otras personas, especialmente con los más débiles [dignity, serenity, a certain stoicism, prudence, good decision making, but also tact and a consideration for other peoples’ relationships, especially for those who are weaker].”55 These same traits, which together comprise a cidian ethos, reflect important principles found in the Rule of Saint Benedict, which was followed at the Monasterio de Pedro de Cardeña. As a consequence, the Cid’s behaviour and conduct conform to Benedictine teachings.56 Given this monastery’s involvement with developing and circulating the legend of the Cid, we cannot avoid the conclusion that the version of the Cid related in Cardeña-inspired texts was intended to set out a role model for men and boys. Kings also served in the capacity of role model. Male monarchs ideally exhibited the qualities noted above, as well as friendship and benevolence toward their subjects. They treated subjects moderately and considerately in exchange for their respect and reverence. Even though the Cid was not a king, the historical and fictional documentation of his life that describes his ascendance to the role of lord of cities such as Valencia clearly defines him as a suitable and capable ruler. Some illustrations portray him being welcomed to that city by its Muslim population. In one representative example contained in the 2007 Barcelona (edebé) edition, a Muslim woman in the foreground, whose otherness is communicated only by the vestige of a headband, throws flower petals into the air while the Cid and his men victoriously raise their spears and swords in the background.57 Another illustration juxtaposes this moment of the Cid entering Valencia with the image of a man raising a cross above his head in celebration of his coming while, by his side, a woman wearing a niqab raises her hand

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in the air in praise of the Cid.58 The Cid’s reputation as a benevolent ruler repeatedly invested with the trust and allegiance of others, both Christian and Muslim, later expands to encompass his childhood development in the mocedades as well as his personal relationships with his daughters and wife. Judgment is another quality that good rulers should exercise and that readers recognize when it is lacking. Citing the circumstances that gave rise to the accusation of betrayal levied at the Cid and his first expulsion from his domains by Sancho when the knight failed to convince the king’s sister Urraca to surrender her kingdom in Estoria de Espana, Antonella Liuzzo Scorpo concludes that “the royal decision was the first of a series of mistakes which brought about the king’s fall and, ultimately, his death. His errors of judgment demonstrated both his lack of wisdom and his inability to select worthy candidates to access his close circle.”59 It was during this process of expelling the Cid, for instance, that Sancho accepted the allegiance of Vellido Dolfos, who later proved himself to be a traitor that the Cid sought to punish. Recognizing the error in Sancho’s judgment, and suspecting his brother of being involved with his demise, the Cid at first refused to pledge allegiance to his successor, Alfonso, because the new king appeared to lack the leadership qualities that were expected in the period. The Cid’s narrative in this way exemplifies good and poor role models through the relationships of the characters themselves. Religious devotees also fulfilled a model of masculinity that at first glance might not seem apparent but bears on the influence of the Matamoros meme. Priests and monks, despite being exposed as boys to varieties of masculinity that they would later be forced to eschew – models based on military and sexual prowess – fulfilled masculine ideals in other ways. Putting aside the possibility that they took wives or companions, and reared children, according to the common-law practices of the medieval period, these men could exercise ecclesiastical masculinity in the field of spiritual battle by absolving sins and providing last rites. The two hundred warrior monks of Cardeña who martyred themselves in the face of an onslaught of Muslim invaders exemplify this archetype. These men walked the thin line between being masculine and acting masculine, which later became an ideal that society valued. Instead of acting lustfully, they overcame sexual desire and governed their male sexuality rather than allowed it to govern them. This “battle for chastity” allowed the monks to exert masculinity in a way that in some respects paralleled the military prowess long-considered a masculine ideal. The Cid while

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away from his wife did not seek out the company of women, nor did he rape the women who constituted part of the bounty won through war. Celibacy should not come easily but rather present some degree of difficulty and challenge.60 One pertinent example elucidates this model. Benedictine monk Francisco de Berganza (1663–1738) resided at Cardeña and prepared Las Antigüedades de España. He was also one of Spain’s first medievalists and was perfectly situated to tend to the flames of the Cid’s legend.61 He helped to inscribe the written word as a masculine weapon with which to defend the weakened or abused – in this case, he was concerned about how historians and writers had in the past doubted the veracity of the Cid’s adventures. Berganza took up the sword of his pen in order to defend the memory of the Cid’s accomplishments and contributions: Las hazañas del Marte Burgalès el Cid Campeador con ser tan ciertas, por el excesso, y ventaja, que hazen à las de otros Heroes, se han puesto à peligro de no ser creìdas. El principal intento, con que me determinè à tomar la pluma, para escrivir las victorias del Campeador, no fuè tanto por dàr noticia de los maavillosos sucessos de su invicto brazo, pueso son tan sabidos, quanto para averiguar la verdad, y declarar algunas dudas, y dificultades, que han movido algunos Modernos. Bien quisiera tener tan discreta pluma, para defender la fama del Campeador, como tuvo este Cavallero valerosa espada, para tirunfar de los enemigos de la verdad Evangelica. El deseo del acierto es grande: y assi en defensa de los hechos prodigiosos de nuestro grande Burgalès procurarè esforçarme quanto pudiere, para aclarar la Historia, que ha mas de seiscientos años que se escriviò: porque en estos dos últimos siglos, en que se començò à abusar tanto de la critica, y à faltar al respeto, que merece la antigüedad, algunos Historiadres con tanta satisfacion, como si huvieran sido testigos de vista, y se hubieran hallado en campaña con el Cid, con demasiada acrimonia pasan à censurar, y hazer risa de sus victorias. [The deeds of the Mars of Burgos, the Cid Campeador, being so certain compared to the exaggerations told about other Heroes, find themselves in danger of not being believed. The first purpose for which I determined it necessary to take up the pen, to write about the victories of the Campeador, was not so much to share the marvellous doings of his undefeated arm, as they are so well known;

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rather, in order to prove the truth and declare any doubts and difficulties that have bothered Moderns. Also, I would like my pen to be modest in its defence of the Campeador’s fame, as this knight had a valorous sword with which he triumphed over the enemies of the true Faith. The desire for the truth is great: and so, in defence of the prodigious deeds of our great one of Burgos, I will manage to force myself where necessary to clarify the History that was written more than 700 years ago. Because in these last two centuries, in which the criticism has become abusive and lacks the respect that antiquity deserves, some Historians, as if they had been eyewitnesses and had found themselves on the battlefield with the Cid, censure and make fun of his victories with excessive acrimony and self-satisfaction.]62 Whether secular or religious, templates for ideal masculine behaviour abounded in the medieval period and men resubscribed to them in later centuries. Berganza’s defence of the Cid using the written word evidently extends to anybody who would defend the cidian narrative. Indeed, there is an opportunity for the young reader to convert himself into a hero and defender of the same masculinist ideals. As Berganza demonstrates with his complaints against fellow historians and literary figures, the enemy need not be Muslim or noble; he could also be Christian. The Cid often encountered Catholic opponents whose deeds demonstrated a lack of good character, but the description of such incidents is more recent and often augmented with fictional textual details as well as dialogue. In these tales, his encounter with Christian foes almost always involves some contest of masculinity. The first of two exemplary episodes of this type is the Cid’s confrontation with an ambassador from Aragon over a territorial dispute between two kings. This episode and its variants did not appear in the medieval poem but rather surfaced in a group of prequel writings relating to the childhood of our hero that emerged later in the medieval period, and that was greatly embellished thereafter by Guillen de Castro and Pierre Corneille in the seventeenth century. In fact, the oldest-known illustration of the Cid represents him killing the ambassador (see Plate 1). The ambassador exhibits behaviour to be avoided by the young reader. Often named Martín Gómez, he loses his head to the Cid after entering into a war of words with him in an attempt to distract him. Near the end of the confrontation in the 1934 edition (Cáceres: Editorial Sánchez

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Rodrigo), Gómez teases the Cid about his betrothed and homeland, to which the Cid – before he strikes the final blow – responds: “Eres, Martín, buen caballero y así lo declaro; pero lo que acabas de decir no sienta bien a un hombre valeroso. El combate en que estamos empeñados librarse ha con los brazos y no con la lengua [You are, Martín, a good knight and I admit that. But what you have just said does not suit a valorous man. This combat should be won with our arms and not with our tongues].”63 The illustration accompanying this exchange, in which the Cid lifts Gómez’s bloody head aloft, depicts the consequences that befall unsportsmanlike comportment while reinforcing the connection between masculine physicality and appropriate behaviour, in addition to the importance of exercising good judgment. This lesson about conducting oneself with chivalry toward one’s fellow man comes during a time in which macho masculinity was viewed less favourably as a model for male comportment. The increased popularity of this episode, therefore, evidently relates to the culture’s reflection upon moral weakness such as that exhibited by the ambassador, as opposed to the spiritual weakness that the early modern reader would have associated with Muslims. The decreasing importance of religion in modern times may in part explain why there has been less interest in illustrating this episode. In the context of a didactic body of literature intended for children in twentieth-century editions, this model requires greater consideration. Spain has long been a country deeply divided along socio-economic and political lines, and its Civil War (1936–39) concluded with the inauguration of Francisco Franco’s dictatorship (1939–75). Like the Catholic kings before him, Franco sought to unify the nation while consolidating his own position as leader through various means, one of which was literature. The 1955 edition of the romancero, the cover for which depicted the Cid trampling the Muslim enemy, was dedicated to “his excellency Generalisimo Franco, commander of Spain, One, Great and Free!”64 This dedication aligned the Cid, whose incursions into Muslim Spain were viewed as achievements for Catholic Spain, with Franco, whose efforts toward national unification were bolstered by his military triumphs. In this sense, Franco could be viewed as a legendary figure and his socialist and communist enemies as opponents not unlike medieval Muslims. This second group was exiled from their homes and cities in early modern Spain or otherwise forced to convert to Catholicism, just as, in modern times, the

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losers of the Civil War left, were exiled or imprisoned, or integrated themselves into Franco’s Spain. A second editor of another edition published in the same year extends this analogy of a medieval Spain divided along Christian and Muslim lines: “Our beloved Spain has split in two … and Burgos once again has become the head of the kingdom,” just as it was in the Cid’s time. The editor continues that in Burgos “the head of the Nation and of the Armies was proclaimed … and he traces his victory from here.”65 Franco, like the Cid, left behind a loyal Burgos when both set out on their respective conquests, and both of them would come to Valencia. Valencia fell to the Cid in 1094 and nine centuries later, as one of the last cities standing against Franco’s forces in 1939, it was captured again. These comparisons were deliberately engineered by the Franco government, which grafted onto the dictator an assortment of masculine ideals from an era considered to be a key foundation for Spanish tradition and heritage. The Ministry of Education published its edition of the Cid’s story in 1962 (Madrid: Ministerio de Educación Nacional), the same year in which a stamp collection featuring the Cid also circulated. This edition portrays our hero on the cover, but rather than the typical arms of Castile and León worn by the Cid, we instead encounter the Spanish coat of arms of Franco’s time, modified with a banner across the top that reads “One, Free [and] Great,” as well as the symbol for Franco’s party, the Falange, at the bottom. Our final episode, the Oath of Santa Gadea (Jura de Santa Gadea), involves the king who exiled the Cid for the second time from Burgos and from Christian territory, Alfonso of León. After Sancho was murdered, the dead king’s loyal servants swore an oath to their new sovereign. Like the episode involving the confrontation between the Cid and Martín Gómez, this proof of the Cid’s loyalty to his new king grew in consequence within modern editions, where, in return for his allegiance, the Cid asks his new king to swear that he had not murdered his own brother, Sancho. The episode encourages the individual to exercise judgment and a sense of fairness rather than uncritically assent to the decisions of a higher, but not necessarily just, authority. Above all, it emphasizes the importance of a man’s service to his country. Early modern versions of the Cid’s character did not doubt the king’s justness and honesty, since these were characteristics of a chivalrous individual. But in later times, when such authority

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became subject to scrutiny, the Cid’s position vis-à-vis his king underwent a reinterpretation, as did the medieval ideal of masculinity, as demonstrated by the Madrid (Hartzenbusch, 1848) edition (see Plate 6). The illustration remarkably maintains the power dynamics of verticality and, for the first time, the Cid appears to physically dominate his king, whose head is bowed in an act of spiritual subservience. Accentuating the potency of the vertical are the soldiers who witness the proceedings, all of whom look upward to the heavens at the moment when the oath takes place, guided there by the Cid’s own pointing finger. This episode had never been visualized prior to the modern period. The earliest illustrations of the oath developed when a distrust of the monarchy prevailed and gave way to the Carlist wars of the nineteenth century. The text that formed the basis for this edition of the Cid’s adventures was widely copied and reproduced, and with it the episode gained permanence within the visual material accompanying the narrative. For example, the 1934 edition (Cáceres: Editorial Sánchez Rodrigo) – published just prior to the Civil War, which was partly fuelled by the struggle between monarchist and republican factions – portrays the Cid interrogating the new king about his past conduct and refusing to pledge allegiance to him because he suspects that Alfonso had killed his own brother. Moral fibre is once again at the heart of the scene, because, after the Cid finally reaches for Alfonso’s hand in order to show his allegiance, the latter retracts it and instead exiles the warrior from his territory. Then the Cid defiantly responds: “Que me place de buen grado, / por ser la cosa primera / que mandas en tu reinado. / Tú me destierras por uno [año], / yo me destierro por cuatro [It suits me that / the first thing / you do as king in this realm / is to exile me for a year, / I will exile myself for four!”66 This defiance on the part of the Cid, as well as the cue to the reader to view the king as his antagonist, carries forward two decades to the 1954 edition (Barcelona: Ediciones G.P.) in which the Cid threatens to kill the king should he be lying about not having assassinated his own brother. This illustration features the king pointing toward the door, indicating that the Cid should leave. The prose accompanying this illustration repeatedly refers the young reader to and cites from the medieval poem about the Cid, and for this reason its narrative structure contains a dialogue between two characters unrelated to the Cid’s story named Father Luis and his student Eusebio. With respect to this scene, which does not

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form part of the chronology set out in the poem because the Cid is already going into exile when it begins, Father Luis complements the boy: “Es Usted tan buen poeta como historiador, don Eusebio [You Sir are as good a poet as you are a historian, Master Eusebio].” To this the young man replies: “Ni poeta, ni historiador, Padre … Pero mi memoria guarda estos versos del romance porque hay en ellos toda la fuera heroica de aquellos hombres que le daban al rey el respeto que merecía, pero no más [Neither poet or historian, Father … but I put these verses for safekeeping in my memory because they show how these men did all that was heroic for their king, but nothing more].”67 The young reader is meant to understand that it would not have been heroic for the Cid to follow the new king blindly. This particular edition also affirms the continued existence of an earlier connection we established between monastic masculinity – in this case, Father Luis fulfills a teacher- or father-like role for the young student – and the performance of masculinity in order to realize the pedagogical objectives involved in modelling appropriate behaviour for boys and men. Another edition, issued in 1962 (Valencia: Editorial Aitana), provides a similar scene, but with one important change. Rather than the king pointing the Cid toward the exit, it is the Cid who makes his promise to kill the king with his finger extended toward him, leaving the king astounded by his actions.68 A competing edition issued the same year (Valencia: Ediciones Gaisa) portrays the Cid holding the king’s hand down upon the Bible while resting his other hand on the hilt of his sword, as the threat conveyed by the text lingers over the scene (see Plate 7). This version of the Cid’s story seems to radiate from anti-monarchist sources active just before the Civil War, and perhaps from Serafin Rincón’s painting of this scene in 1862, which would become photographically reproduced and published in books about the Cid early in the twentieth century.69 It can be found in the emblematic ceramic painting representing Burgos at a monument in Seville that celebrated all of the provinces and cities for the Ibero-American Expo of 1929. At the same time, the illustration characterizes the Cid as dominating the king in a way that recalls the Matamoros meme, and beyond this physicality, it would be his sense of justness and morality that defines him, and by extension the young reader, as the superior individual. Few editions in more recent decades, including the 2003 Madrid (Ediciones Gaviota) edition, depict the anger expressed by the Cid at this moment. In

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one recent illustration, however, the Cid is portrayed on a staircase raising an angry finger upward toward his king who stands proudly above him.70 Arguably, this shift in representation is directly related to the increasingly younger audience of illustrated books about the Cid produced in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. To what degree does the inverted power dynamic that positions the king, despite his moral corruptness, above the Cid relate to the desire to ensure that the young readers of this edition respect the authority of those who care for them? The subject requires further consideration, particularly given the gendered issues that arise when masculine power continues to dominate Western forms of leadership, whether political, commercial, or intellectual. Throughout this chapter we have explored models and symbols of masculinity as a medieval ideal and considered how they evolved in later times. In the next chapter, we will examine the representation of women in the cidian corpus.

3 Visions of Femininity and the Roles of Women

The 1207 poem and the subsequent chronicles and romances featuring the Cid depart from other epic literature by affording narrative consequence to women, both in terms of their characterization and in terms of the number of episodes that directly involve them. Certainly, the Cid’s story focuses on his life and experiences, but there are a few exceptions – and, significantly enough, these exceptions relate to women. Indeed, some of the scenes and adventures with a prominent female presence compose the most significant episodes within the entire cidian narrative. The important place of women in the cidian romances compared to the Chanson de Roland and other French romances is also notable, especially in light of the influence that the French lyrical tradition had on the form and content of the cidian poem.1 As we have seen, the epic hero is a chivalrous figure who interacts with women within the confines of a masculine world. The representation of women therefore tends to be constricted by this masculine frame. To a certain degree, within the illustration corpus concerning the Cid, the involvement of women is foreshadowed by the 1207 poem, which depicts the Cid in tears while contemplating the emptiness of his family’s abode. An excellent illustration of the Cid parting from his family on his way into exile, complete with tears shed by all family members and a mouse that prays for the family’s welfare and circumstances, can be found in the 2010 Madrid (Castalia) edition (see Plate 8). Those tears affirm the importance of the three women who make up the Cid’s family in the 1207 poem: his wife, Jimena, and their two daughters, Elvira and Sol. In fact, according to the historical record, the daughters’ names were Cristina and María. The son, Diego, is rarely noted or visualized

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anywhere in the corpus, which in itself points to the mentality of generations of authors, editors, and illustrators who decided to place and maintain a spotlight on the Cid’s daughters rather than on his son. The invisibility of Diego is likely explained by the daughters’ contribution to the plot as a means of making manifest the Cid’s masculinity in ways that could not be performed by his son, as we will see. It is in this light that we can consider Jill Ross’s conclusion that “the bodies of women function as the arena in which the parameters of linguistic authority and culturally coded gender roles are both tested and reified.”2 Thomas Caldin furthermore observes that women, rather than being merely supportive characters to male protagonists within the epic genre, instead become “the means by which the basic transactions on which patriarchy is based are revealed as regulatory structures reliant on the desire of transactors to be effective.”3 When viewed in this way, women are not in any way prominent characters in the epic tradition, yet they nonetheless play a significant role in defining a patriarchal world that evidently includes women. Taking this conclusion one step further, the construct of femininity produces, transacts, regulates, and thus reifies the construct of masculinity on several levels. These observations apply not only to textual representations but also to the visualization of the women, and in surprising ways. Scholarship about women within the history of book illustration remains an area in need of critical attention. Many scholars who examine this subject focus on more recent decades whereas others engage in discussions of masculine visualizations created in many periods, as we observed in the last chapter.4 Still others explore a category of images devoted to men only; indeed, nowhere in the scholarship on cidian illustration have women been discussed.5 Quite simply, then, we need to reassess scholarship on gender within the history of book illustration and seek to fill in these gaps. In this chapter, we will contribute to that goal by exploring the representation of women and grapple with illustrated constructions of femininity and the feminine throughout the cidian corpus as well as in parallel visual contexts found elsewhere throughout the last few centuries. One of our most significant critical purposes is to engage with the transformation of women relative to the transhistorical stability of medieval masculinity, particularly in the modern era. The bifurcated masculinity traced throughout the last chapter may arguably owe itself to the fact that the poem as well as many of its contemporaneous medieval historical sources do not really fit into one literary

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or historical genre. The reason for this lack of fit, in the opinion of Clara Pascual-Argente, may be women: “While masculine epic identity is formed in relation to other men, romances construct masculinity through their male characters’ relationships with women, giving rise to competing models of masculinity.”6 Similarly, the chronicles shared certain gendered relationships with books of chivalry that created a privileged space for the women who nurtured or provided an amorous conquest for the hero, thereby aligning works of fiction and non-fiction, and verse and prose, as vehicles that informed readers about feminist and masculinist epistemologies of their time. This confluence of factors in the modern and contemporary periods destabilizes the masculinist focus of the epic and asserts a place and role for women, though, at the same time, women remain marginal figures in book illustration, if not in text: they remain under-represented in this corpus, little studied as illustrated subjects by scholars, and simplistically characterized as one-dimensional characters by scholars and readers alike. A failure to focus on women in any context may well alienate modernday women, who now comprise at least half of the readership and potential consumer base for cidian literature. And so the question is: How is the cidian narrative made appealing to young girls and women today? Or, to put it another way, how does the narrative continue to be positioned as a masculinist one destined for non-female audiences? The flimsiness of the feminine in a medieval epic that would later be used as a utensil for educating children requires further consideration, whereas the otherness of women in a narrative primarily concerned with masculinist ideals and models of behaviour does enjoy a wealth of scholarly attention, as will be shown. The weakness of women underlies a series of linkages that connect the masculine and the feminine, the Occident and the Orient, and the barbaric and the monstrous.7 These binaries persist in literature and illustration created after the medieval period and allow constructs including the feminized Arab enemy to develop alongside, and serve as a justification for the presence of, the masculine Christian warrior. The feminine belittles the masculine illustrated subject at the same time that it maintains women as less-than components of the image-narrative, keeping them weaker, less rational, dumber, and more fearful than the male archetypes who look after them. We will return to the use of gender as a device for othering and orientalizing in the next chapter and instead explore in the coming pages the construction of the feminine relative to the masculine.

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While women may appear relatively powerless in the Cid’s narrative, as the submissive and agreeable personages of Jimena and her daughters appear to demonstrate, medieval practices for forming households and families did sometimes accord significant power to women. It was through them that goods, livestock, and property were accumulated via the dowry process and these material possessions signalled political and social alliances between families, particularly in the upper echelons of society. Spanish inheritance laws of the time forced men to rely upon women who held positions of power.8 We learn from the letter of arras, a form of transaction that is little studied compared to the feminine dowry, that the Cid exchanged considerable wealth for Jimena. He relates that he gave her various haciendas and villas “con todas sus tierras, viñas, árboles, prados, fuentes, dehesas, molinos, con sus entradas, y salidas [with all of their lands, vineyards, trees, meadows, streams, pastures, mills, and entrances and exits].”9 In the second half of the document we hear Jimena’s voice: she agrees that, in the event of the Cid’s death and only should she determine to remarry, she “pierde el derecho á todos los bienes [loses the right to those possessions]” that the Cid had given her and would pass them on to their children. Jimena also agrees that the Cid may have use of the possessions she gives him in marriage – otherwise known as the dowry – until he dies, after which they would be inherited by their children. Included among her possessions are demonstrations of her own material wealth and consequence: “villas, oro, plata, heredades, cavallerias, armas y alhajas de casa [villas, gold, silver, inheritances, horses, weapons, and household wealth].” The agreement was made, states the Cid, on 29 July 1074, “por el decoro de vuestra hermosura, y pacto de matrimonio virginal [on account of your beauty and on condition of your virginity].”10 This same transaction occurred between the Cid’s daughters and their spouses, although, unlike their parents, the documentation involving them has not survived the test of time. The parents of the betrothed each contributed material wealth in addition to whatever the children had accumulated on their own by the time of marriage. Medieval marriage was at its core an economic transaction with social reverberations and, for either gender, presented the possibility of socio-economic ascendance.11 Virginity, which was evidently commodified to some degree though the dowry process, constituted a material influence wielded by women and never by men; in the latter case, virginity could not command material wealth and was therefore economically worthless.12 As we will see later, Jimena did

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exert considerable influence over the material life of the Cid; indeed, she ruled Valencia for three years following his death and defended it against attack during that period. Curiously, at no point do illustrators capture Jimena, Elvira, or Sol as powerful or confident, despite the rise of feminism in the twentieth century. No illustration exhibits the wealth of these women or the authority they would have exercised over men as heirs to and managers of noble estates. It appears that authors and artists nearly excise the authority of women from their creations before and during the modern period.13 To demonstrate the problem created by the failure of illustration to reflect women more accurately, both in the medieval period and in the reader’s contemporary world – despite the presence of a temporally appropriate version of medieval masculinity within the same editions – we will examine in-depth the episode known as the Afrenta de Corpes.

t h e af r e n ta de c o r p es a nd t he dawn of e ro t i c bo ok i llu st rat ion José Manuel Lucía Megías argues that the repeated use of certain images across the cidian corpus, and the regularity with which certain episodes were illustrated over others, demonstrates the editors’ belief that those were the episodes that most interested their readers.14 Book publishers needed to attract the gaze of their consumers, who likely already knew the narrative and legend surrounding the Cid. Illustrations in this way become an important endowment to a text that was in itself not new to the reader. The repeated creation of illustrations portraying the most popular scenes also resulted in a fixity of representation which ensured that the visualization of certain episodes endured far longer than the copyright on these editions. Popular scenes such as the Afrenta de Corpes episode acquired an emblematic importance that allowed the reader to understand the narrative context of the illustration without even reading the text. It can be argued that illustrators, having become familiar with how past artists dealt with certain episodes, felt compelled to constrain their own representations by recycling the same visual images, which in turn contributed to the fixity of certain illustrations throughout the centuries. The most intriguing illustration cycle, particularly in terms of how illustrators have dealt with its more delicate details, portrays the episode in which the infantes of the Count of Carrión, Diego and Fernando, attack

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their wives. They subsequently abandon the Cid’s daughters in their severely wounded state, consigning them to a slow death in the woods at Corpes as a means of avenging their own dishonour in connection with their inability to defend the Cid when he was under attack by an escaped lion. The reader is exposed to their plans to exact this revenge well before the two couples arrive in Corpes, and other earlier moments in the text construe the husbands as militarily impotent cowards not only for evading the lion and leaving the Cid to capture it by himself but also for having failed to perform well in battle. The Corpes scene represents the pair of assailants at the height of their dishonour, when they disgrace not only themselves as individuals but also their family name. The reader witnesses Diego and Fernando committing a crazed act of vengeance against a man through the medium of his daughters’ bodies. As Luis Galván observes, honour in the cidian poem becomes something that is won at the cost of somebody else; that is, the honour of one individual correlates to the dishonour of an opponent, and dishonour demands an act of revenge.15 It is this relationship between revenge, honour, and dishonour that fuels the infantes’ motivations in this episode. In order to effect their plan, they request permission from the Cid to remove their wives from Valencia to their estates in Carrión. Along the road to their destination, the party of travellers stops for the night in a wood where the scene of violence unfolds the following morning. In a few editions, the reader encounters illustrations of this episode, which includes the setting up of their camp in the woods. At the time, the two couples appear in love, and we know from the text that they have sexual intercourse at Corpes. Some scholars have argued that the lovemaking that occurs the night before the attack may have been the act of consummating their marriages.16 Most consummations of this nature, however, occurred prior to the legal joining of the two individuals in marriage, so it seems unlikely that this particular instance served that purpose. Besides, the Cid subsequently pursues reparations for the infantes’ actions, as if the marriages had been consummated some time before the incident at Corpes. The abandonment of women after marrying them and certainly after taking their virginity and accepting but not returning the dowry given to the spouse could be challenged in court,17 which is what the Cid later decides to do. Toward the end of the cidian narrative, Diego and Fernando are forced to surrender their father-in-law’s swords and other wealth to the

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Cid in recompense, literally returning their daughters’ dowries and liberating them to remarry once again. The most common illustrations of this episode portray the women either being beaten or having been abandoned following the lashings. The fourth image that less frequently joins these last two is that of Félez Muñoz, their cousin and one of the Cid’s closest allies, who finds them before they perish from exposure and from their wounds, and carries them away to safety. The frequency with which these four moments pertaining to the Corpes scene were illustrated highlights, as Lucía Megías has argued, the popularity of this particular episode. The reader learns in the preceding segment of the plot that the infantes had planned to abandon Elvira and Sol, and their husbands explain clearly how they felt dishonoured by the events involving the escaped lion and a subsequent inability to fight as expected in battle. The reader realizes, when the husbands make love to their wives for this last time, that the act is a treacherous one, akin to some form of sexual violence. Diego and Fernando further reveal their loathsome characters by cruelly telling their wives, before administering the lash, what is about to befall them, conduct that Colin Smith and Roger Walker view as “torment-by-talk … a profoundly sadistic trait on whose implications (e.g. for sexual deviancy) we need not dwell here.”18 These scholars’ reluctance to delve more deeply into this subject likely reflects persistent social unease in the face of sexual violence and sadism. It is also clear that the infantes dishonestly used these women for sexual purposes before disposing of them afterward, which makes the reader complicit as a bystander to this violence in interesting ways. As Renato Barahona observes with respect to the occurrence of domestic sexual violence in early modern Spain, such violence tended to occur after courtship and in close proximity to sexual intercourse. Rather than the cidian narrative and its accompanying illustrations, however, Barahona draws on legal documents to support his observation. The evidence he cites originates from authorities who participated in trials of men accused of spousal abuse. Their descriptions of the nature of the crimes are schematic and generic, rather than explicit accounts of the violence alleged to have occurred.19 Evidently, the sanitization or under-reporting of the details of sexual assault is not a phenomenon reserved for literary texts such as Per Abbat’s poem, a fact that points to a widely shared frame of mind in the society of the time. What is remarkable about the

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illustration cycle of the attack at Corpes is the degree to which this sexual violence is exhibited and made explicit to the reader in visual form. Its earliest iterations may compose some of the first pornographic images to circulate in Spain. There is a certain relationship between pornography and the illustration of the Cid’s daughters attacked by their husbands that rests upon the domination of men over women (and sometimes other men), which creates a sexual hierarchy of power and politics that is fundamentally undergirded by the act of sex.20 The earliest attempts to illustrate this scene include the representation of the women’s genitalia, which had just been used by their husbands for sexual pleasure, and the image of the men themselves looming over the women with their birch rod and metal grommet-studded strap in hand as a spatial indication of their dominance (Fig. 3.1). These details in Cromberger’s first edition of 1525 were based closely on that of the 1498 edition which featured the women similarly positioned but tied to trees, naked but with their labia not detailed, and one of the husbands appears to be a monk who wears a cord around his waist.21 Cromberger’s artist also emphasizes the domination of one daughter by her husband, who holds both of her wrists fast in his hand. Importantly, both the 1498 and 1525 engravings may compose the earliest attempts to include a completely unclothed woman in an illustrated narrative published in Spain. It was during this same period that the publishing industry was dealing with pornography on a scale not seen before, in a market driven by the tastes and needs of its primarily male clientele. Excluded from emblem books, the illustrator – aside from his own personal experience with women – had few illustrated models for female genitalia in 1525 and certainly in 1498 when the first, somewhat less explicit illustration of this scene was published. Medieval illustrators and painters rarely paid attention to secular female subjects in their works, but the advent of the printing press was accompanied by a deluge of new material that for the first time visualized women in provocative ways and on a massive scale. The principal models for illustrating women in woodblock engravings can be found in classical texts edited by early publishers and illustrators who were confronted with the need to represent popular, ancient books that included among them the lusty fictions of Ovid. The Metamorphoses featured episodes containing scenes of temptation, desire, and even rape, along with carousing characters in varied states of nakedness and intoxication, all of which provided the illustrator with a series of unique challenges.

Figure 3.1 The infantes of the Count of Carrión beat their wives, from the 1525 Cromberger edition.

Gray Floyd argues that the reception of those texts as erotic material crossed genres and also infiltrated early medical and scientific literature in a way that was symptomatic of “the subtle but purposeful exploitation of sexual material in literary and medical discourses of the day for its pornographic and promotional appeal, affording thereby a radicalization of the misogynist issues … Renaissance antifeminism finally loses the playfulness of its rhetorical coefficient and takes on a darker hue as its arguments are transformed into fantasies of a different kind, with the sensual pleasure of the sexually curious reader firmly in mind.”22 Massproduced books and prints containing salacious illustrations found, in their comparatively less circulated form, analogues in paintings by Titian, whose erotic works were part of curtained-off collections held by the king, Felipe II, which he shared with special guests of his own choosing. In this way, the Renaissance enjoyed a revival of the erotic and, argues

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Paula Findlen, “representational strategies that we might characterize as voyeuristic.”23 Findlen’s observation reminds us that the act of gazing was one that publishers could commodify with the right object of desire. Artists pulled on these past traditions in order to create a visual dimension for material that was not classical in nature. Aretino, for instance, drew inspiration from how Boccaccio’s works like De claris mulieribus and Ovid’s Metamorphoses had been illustrated, in what most critics agree is the first published illustrated pornographic text of our time detailing sexual positions, I modi (1524). A glimpse at these contemporary models reveals the eroticism of the Cromberger image and its antecedent from 1498 compared to other book illustrations featuring nude or semi-nude women. Boccaccio’s work about notorious women was published in Spanish in 1494 and accompanied by illustrations depicting subjects that ranged from the sin of Eve to the errors of Jocasta and those of her son Oedipus. It portrays not only women victimized or behaving badly but also the punishments that may befall them, and in this way it provides a rich background against which to understand the illustration cycle created for the Afrenta de Corpes episode. At the same time, these images offer context for the inclusion of both naked and punished women in early book illustration. The first of these boccaccian episodes visualizes Lucrecia in bed at the moment in which her attacker, Sextus, pulls back the sheet to reveal her naked body (Fig. 3.2). The illustrator depicts Lucrecia covering her breasts with her hands rather than using her limbs to fend off her attacker. Her actions demonstrate that, despite her fear, restoring her modesty by covering herself was more important to her than physically defending her person against the attack; or is this how the artist desired us to view the scene? A second example involves Venus, who is depicted in an episode relating to Rome’s most chaste woman, Suplicia. Unclothed, Venus emerges from the water covering her genitals with her hand.24 In 1528 Jacobo Cromberger published an edition of this text that featured Venus nude with a length of cloth covering her genitals on its cover. 25 Nowhere else in his published canon did Cromberger include an image of a completely unclothed woman. Evidently, artists in these illustrations chose to clothe women with some veil of modesty, but, at the same time, these boccaccian and ovidian episodes later inspired comparatively explicit books detailing sexual acts ranging from flogging and voyeurism to threesomes and lesbian relationships, some of which – like Aloisiae Sigeae Satyra Sotadica26 – became illustrated in the

Figure 3.2 Lucrecia raped by Sextus, in Boccaccio, De las mujeres ilustres.

seventeenth century and eventually ended up on both the Spanish and papal indices of prohibited books.27 Underlying the birth of modern-day pornography in this period is the act of looking, and it was upon this act that publishers were trying to capitalize. Not only did they include illustrations as an enhancement of works such as the Cid’s chronicle that the reader would have already read or known well, but they also used illustrations of an erotic and titillating nature to turn the heads of book buyers. The viewer of the Cromberger image in which the wives’ beating is depicted has his gaze captured by the contents of the image, converting the women into sexualized objects both in the image and in the text that precedes it. The gaze implies voyeurism and an objectified construct to be displayed by the artist and publisher, and to be seen by the male reader-viewer. These acts of displaying and gazing inscribe both the creator and the viewer of the image within the confines of the activities being represented in the illustration, activities based on the transaction between purveyor and client. While we have no first-hand accounts of how early modern viewers encountered these illustrations, it is not a stretch to highlight their potential role in provoking some aroused response. Andrew Taylor has catalogued

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examples of medieval and early modern readers marking passages that contain sexually explicit content. His research provides some insight into the reader’s gaze as well as interest in erotica. Interestingly, little in the way of objection to this visual content can be found prior to the modern period.28 The involvement of the voyeur allows the reader, on the one hand, to engage with and even participate in the pornography before him, perhaps eliciting a physical, psychic, or emotional response. On the other hand, the opportunity to fulfill a masculine ideal is set out for the reader (how would the Cid have responded to this scene?), and the reader is supposed to apprehend the problematic treatment of the daughters and understand appropriate courses of action (how would the reader treat his own wife, once he marries?). At the same time, the reader is exposed to the violent sexual actions taken by the infantes against the bodies and minds of these women all the while being expected to realize that treating women thusly is dishonourable. The reception of texts and images that contain elements of erotic sadism by readers in any period is to a degree addressed by studies such as the one by Andrew Taylor in which he seeks ways of identifying popular passages and images based on how the book had been used. As Adrienne Laskier Martín concludes, this subject is too-little studied by Hispanists and has even been looked down upon in recent decades as distasteful.29 The decision noted above on the part of Smith and Walker not to explore the sexual deviancy of the infantes in their assessment of whether or not they had intended to kill their wives exemplifies the problem in scholarship on this topic. Certainly, erotic texts appear to have attracted more attention from authorities than images of a similar kind, at least until the seventeenth century, when illustrations of a scandalous or lascivious nature, including paintings, became more common. Also, as one list of prohibited items published in 1640 informs us, sexually explicit engravings, seals, metals, sortijas (rings), cuentas (beads), crosses, images, and portraits “y otras cosas de este género [and other things of this nature]” were banned in public places such as streets, plazas, or even common areas within buildings.30 Illustrations and text describing sex acts and positions quickly became tethered to political and religious subversion as a form of social commentary by the seventeenth century.31 Early illustrations of the Corpes episode, therefore, appeared during a relatively unregulated period in the history of publishing when images in particular went unnoticed by authorities.

Plate 1 “Como os reis veherom ao prazo da batalha que foy antre Martym Gomez e Rodrigo de Vyvar sobre Callafforra [How the monarchs came for the battle that occurred between Martín Gómez and Rodrigo de Vivar in Calahorra].” Crónica Geral de Espanha, 1344; illustrated in the early fifteenth century.

Plate 2 Santiago de Matamoros in battle. Illumination in Transcripción do nomeamento como cabaleiro e fillodalgo a D. Gonzalo de Hellín e ó seu irmán Jua del Castillo, c. 1454.

Plate 3 The Cid in battle. María Teresa León, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar. El Cid Campeador.

Plate 4 The Cid defeating the Count of Carrión. Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch. Romancero pintoresco.

Plate 5 The Cid before a lion, in Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco.

Plate 6 The Cid gestures upward, in Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco.

Plate 7 The Oath of Saint Gadea. El Cid Campeador.

Plate 8 The Cid leaving his family, illustrated by Rogelio Quintana, in Francisco Alejo, Cantar de Mío Cid.

Plate 9 Elvira and Sol tied to trees, in Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco o colección de nuestros mejores romances antiguos.

Plate 10 Muslims bow before the king, in Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco.

Plate 11 A Muslim warrior. Esteban Rodríguez Serrano, El Cid Campeador.

Plate 12 A horseshoe-shaped doorway, from Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco.

Plate 13 Cover art, from Jorge Cots Navarro, El Cid Campeador.

Plate 14 Jimena and her captor. El Cid, la leyenda.

Plate 15 Al-Mutamin. El Cid, la leyenda.

Plate 16 The Cid demands vengeance, illustrated by Rogelio Quintana, in Francisco Alejo, Cantar de Mío Cid.

Plate 17 Title page in Adelbert von Keller, Romancero del Cid.

Plate 18 Title page in Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco.

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The sadistic nature of the attack, moreover, mixes with the eroticism of the circumstances and intimately relates to the two primary motivations that inspire the infantes’ actions: first, they experience a connection between violence and lust that can be characterized as sadism; second, the two men attempt to recover a sense of honour that they had lost during the episode involving the escaped lion. The forum for this recuperation would be the bodies of Elvira and Sol. As Jill Ross has observed, “the Afrenta is their attempt to reinscribe the shameful stains of cowardice and effeminacy on the bodies of women so as to reassert control over their own virility.”32 Throughout this episode they make use of women’s bodies as a landscape for reifying their masculinity through the exertion of their physical and sexual prowess. This connection between potency of both a physical and sexual nature cannot be forgotten when critically engaging with this episode, particularly with respect to the implications of their actions for the Cid’s daughters. Models for this sadistic act – that is, an action intended to cause pain – can be found in the culture of ancient Rome, whose society in some ways was driven by slaves and sexual desire, both of which required a structured hierarchy of power and male domination epitomized by the gladiatorial contest. Sexual sadism continued in the medieval period and women and less powerful men were its chief recipients. It was meted out or presided over by men who occupied higher positions in society and were thus in a social, sexual, and legal position to dominate others without retribution.33 Women could be beaten and flogged in this manner, but only under certain circumstances. In one Spanish town, a sixteenthcentury Christian woman who lived among non-Christians and subsequently gave birth to a child of mixed blood was not only considered a bad woman but also expelled after being flogged for her transgression of social expectations and lack of cultural self-confinement.34 Being found to be a witch, or adulterer, could result in flogging or lashes.35 In these scenarios, a crime or sin perpetrated by the woman has taken place, whereas in the Afrenta de Corpes episode involving the Cid’s daughters, their punishment symbolizes the infantes’ dishonour but in no way indicates that the young women contributed to the circumstances that gave rise to that dishonour. Therefore, it is widely accepted that the attack was an unjustified one relative to the norms for beating women in the period. Images of flogging and whipping can be found in Roman art, and while many scholars look to the Marquis de Sade’s illustrated books published

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in the eighteenth century as the first philosophical justification for sexual sadism, there are several earlier examples. Flagellation and whipping as sexual acts were almost always connected to their use as punishment. In the medieval period they were used as penance for sin, and, within the domestic sphere, husbands often administered the same treatment to their wives because doing so was believed to increase fertility.36 Connected with this subject of fertility is the silhouette of the daughters in the 1498 and 1525 images, which portray their rounded bellies. In illustrations of this period, this shape did not indicate pregnancy; rather, it signified fertility and the ability to become pregnant. In light of these practices, the modern representation of flogging as a form of erotica has become conditioned by the neo-medievalism of the nineteenth century as well as by the construction of the medieval period as a distinct epoch. One cannot escape the distinctly medieval tinge to texts and images that involve flogging in a pornographic context created since the nineteenth century and certainly today.37 Aside from flogging, the Cid’s daughters did not consent to participate in the act of sadism enacted against them and they were deceived by their husbands when they consented to sexual relations. Some scholars view this violent betrayal as a form of mortal eroticism. Georges Bataille presses the subject further, arguing that beating to the point of delivering certain death was an erotic act, not play acting, that had real consequences. Using Albrecht Dürer’s Lucrecia, where Lucrecia has a sword raised against her own breast, and the same artist’s Death of Orpheus, in which the subject is flogged to death, as examples, Bataille argues that eroticism and sadism had become linked by the dawn of the early modern period, so that “death – the vision of death as all-powerful, a terrifying death – nonetheless draws us toward [it as] an enchantment laden with all the terrors of witchcraft.”38 A sort of “frenzied sadism” characterizes, in Bataille’s view, the eroticism of the sixteenth century. The word “frenzy” certainly captures the infantes’ actions in this scene, for they immediately depart after being satisfied that the women had been thoroughly beaten so badly that they would undoubtedly succumb to their injuries following their departure. As George Ryley Scott has concluded in his history of corporeal punishment, cruelty breeds lust, and we can look to other contemporaneous texts and documentation for evidence of this relationship.39 Examples of lusty killings have been documented in fifteenth-century France. One of these involved a man who pursued, abused, and murdered hundreds

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of children. He later confessed that he had been inspired by the orgies described in certain Roman texts and that he had experienced considerable sexual gratification while committing his crimes.40 The connection between flogging and desire was clearly made in Fernando de Rojas’s Celestina (1499), a fictional narrative that nonetheless demonstrates the mentality of the period. The soldier Centurio exchanges the promise to deliver a deadly beating to Calisto for the affections of the prostitute Areúsa, invoking the symbolism of the sword encountered in the last chapter, which would become his weapon of choice. Centurio, who is also her pimp, views sexual pleasure with Areúsa as a reward for flogging Calisto, but he also aligns the sword and the erect penis in their mutual acts of domination. The improvement of the sexual services she provides, which is another desired outcome of Centurio’s actions, also signifies financial reward for Centurio and confirms Areúsa’s utility to him as a moneygenerating object and commodity. The tone of the conversation, which involves her sister Elicia, also a prostitute, demonstrates the values associated with flogging and both women’s disgust with the practice: centurio. The [methods of torture] I use these days, the ones I do best, are floggings with my sword, on the back, leaving no blood, or a pummeling with the hilt, or a crafty drubbing across the chest, which I leave punctured like a sieve, or a reverse slashing, or a mortal thrust. Or I just cudgel my victim to give my sword a rest. elicia. Do not, please, go further; so flog him, so he be punished and not killed. centurio. I swear by the holy body of the litany, it is no more in my right arm to give a flogging without killing than it is for the sun to stop circling the heavens. areúsa. Sister, let us not make piteous complaint. Let him do whatever he wishes, kill him whatever way he would like. May Melibea weep as you have done, Sister. Let us leave it to him. Centurio, give a good account of what we entrusted to you. We will be happy with any death. See that he does not escape without some payment for his error. centurio. God forgive him, if some how he gets away from me. I am left grateful, my señora, that something, though small, has presented itself by which you may realize what I know to do for your love.

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areúsa. May God give you a good right hand on your sword, and I commend you to him, for we are going. centurio. And may he guide you and give you more patience with yours.41 A second literary example offers a visual context for the morbidly erotic in the theatrical representation of the comedy: Vélez de Guevara’s La serrana de la Vera (1613). One of the main characters – a masculinized woman by the name of Gila – is tied to a post naked and pierced through with arrows in a final act of penetration occasioned by her domination by men. The kind of stage demanded by the play must have transformed it into a provocative venue for the seventeenth-century spectator, but erotic transgressions involving women, transvestites, and men were commonplace in other theatrical productions as well.42 Adrienne Laskier Martín observes that “we can only imagine the effect, then, when a veritable star of the stage appeared half-naked, showing her legs, with her hair loose, her breasts pierced through and bleeding, in a pose that probably imitated that of Christ on the cross.”43 Similar feelings must have been experienced by early modern readers of the cidian corpus that contained illustrations such as the one included in Cromberger’s 1525 edition. A new generation of readers exercised their pornographic imaginations, which had developed from textual encounters with the erotic, and they were finally being rewarded with engraved visualizations of the scenes that they had for so long conjured from the page in their mind’s eye alone. The sexual politics of the gaze, which had enabled the early modern viewer to cast his eyes upon the naked bodies of the Cid’s daughters as sexualized beings as well as victims of their husband’s misogyny, also force the reader-viewer to take a stand in favour of or against the actions of the infantes, to be titillated or disgusted with the illustration held between his hands. The reader becomes voyeuristically complicit; his access to the scene becomes a privileged position from which he views these intimate moments and crimes against the daughters of the country’s most famous hero, which is one of the reasons the scene required more modesty. At the same time, the reader exercises his objectifying male gaze as he recognizes the curvatures of the women’s breasts, the folds of their labia, and perhaps the realism of the actions being taken by the husbands.44 Whether he finds the episode acceptable or not, he nonetheless consumes the women as objects on display and to be seen.

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Despite this sizzling start to the episode in print, the representation of the Afrenta de Corpes episode becomes both textually and visually conservative as time goes on. By moving toward a more conservative representation of this scene, the story relieves the viewer of many of the decisions that, in the end, prevent him from engaging as deeply with the themes explored in the episode. After the sixteenth century, this episode would not be illustrated for over two hundred years, and when it does return to the cidian corpus, the illustrators’ approaches have changed remarkably. The 1848 edition provides an excellent example of how nineteenth-century illustrators accomplished the sanitization of the episode through distance (see Plate 9). Evidently, the artist has employed a wide frame that makes room for depth, creating a sense of emptiness that perhaps echoes what the women felt following their husbands’ betrayal. Their pallor glows in the scene, but the artist has covered their genitals in a most awkward and unrealistic fashion; they also do not appear to be injured. The use of distance as a device that mitigates the violence of the scene was deployed in the Madrid 2012 (Ediciones and Escultura Histórica) edition as well. In this case, the illustrator locates the women in the background and places a stag lapping water from a pond in the foreground.45 Another device involves Baroque streams of rippling silk that the artist uses to cover the wives’ naked bodies, whereas another nineteenth-century illustrator deployed branches of vegetation to conceal their genitalia and again leaves them otherwise seemingly unharmed. This same illustration was reproduced in a subsequent romancero published in 1998.46 Furthermore, it is in the nineteenth century that thoroughly illustrated editions began to appear without an image of the Afrenta de Corpes scene47 and some modern editions – notably the Madrid 1986 (Europa-Ediexport) and Madrid 2007 (El Rompecabezas) editions – omit this scene altogether or gloss over the episode by focusing on Elvira and Sol being recovered by their cousin.48 This last edition features no women whatsoever among its several illustrations, all of which contain men. When the episode appears in more recent editions, it has clearly been adapted for a juvenile audience, which considerably affects its visualization, and the women have been transformed into girls. The Madrid 2008 (Anaya) and Madrid 2010 (Castalia) editions feature the wives embracing one another; in the former, they are tied together to a tree, and in the latter, they lean against the tree for support rather than being tied to it. In both

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editions, their clothes are somewhat ripped but otherwise intact. In the 2008 edition, they remain uninjured, whereas in the 2010 edition a couple of red streaks symbolize their mistreatment at the hands of their husbands. It is important to note that the infantes do not tend to appear in the illustration of this scene in more recent decades, which embodies another form of distance utilized by illustrators in the modern period to sanitize the episode for a juvenile audience. Significantly, the language also becomes more conservative. In the former edition, the two couples and their travelling party simply spend the night (“allí pasan la noche”) in the woods.49 Rather than see them make love to their wives – “abrazando a sus mujeres, les demostraron su amor [embracing their wives, they showed them their love” – the young reader of the 2010 edition must interpret the word demostrar. While reflective of the original phrasing of the poem, in a modern context the phrase denotes a means of showing affection, leaving the reader likely unaware of the sexual relations that had taken place.50 While the accompanying illustration of the 2010 edition does not portray the streams of blood, mangled flesh, or blood-stained clothes as related in the text, it does reveal the facial expressions of the women in a relatively new way. For the first time, the reader is visually confronted by the wives’ anguish, a state that contrasts with the textually expressed calm and acceptance with which the daughters appear to experience the cruel acts befalling them in the poem. Viewing their body language, the reader, perhaps for the first time, comprehends how scared they are, which deepens the lesson he is learning about the mistreatment of women and the costs associated with abuse. Domestic abuse remains one of Spain’s most significant social problems today and the need to address this issue could have influenced the artist’s choices. Curiously, however, the editors of both of these editions redact the text so that the theme remains textually untreated. It is also significant that no illustration portrays the daughters’ scars, despite the severity of the beating with straps containing metal grommets. Surely the beating left them with life-long damage to their faces and bodies, a fact confirmed at the trial of the infantes in the poem (lines 3357–9).51 When the Cid’s daughters appear in later illustrations, usually for the purpose of their new marriages to the princes of Aragón and Navarra, the memory of this abuse has been effaced from their bodies and certainly from that of the reader-viewer. Apparently, marriage does heal old wounds.

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One more recent version of this episode reveals a significant issue with the conservatism with which the scene has been masked. The Barcelona 1914 (Casa Editorial Araluce) edition relates that the infantes dismissed their travelling party because “deseaban descansar en amorosa plática con sus esposas [they wanted to rest in loving conversation with their wives].”52 The facing illustration portrays Elvira and Sol tied to trees, fully clothed, with hardly detectable splotches of blood on their backs. A later edition, which was published “con censura eclesiástica” during the period of Franco’s rule, similarly depicts the women abused and abandoned by their husband, yet they remain fully clothed.53 The Barcelona 2008 (edebé) edition also does not describe how the infantes sexually used their wives before beating them; rather, it states that “fingían querer mucho a sus mujeres para que todos lo viesen y nadie sospechara nada [they pretended to love their wives a lot so that everybody would see them and nobody would suspect a thing].”54 The modern reader no longer comprehends the psychological and sexual difficulties incurred by the infantes’ actions. Instead, the focus is on the infantes’ untrustworthiness, as manifested in their deceit of the other men with whom they were travelling. Effectively, the gendered crime that occurs in these modern editions becomes one that can befall any human being – dishonesty – rather than the sexual and domestic abuse of women. Unlike most editions, this last one features three illustrations: the first one, set before the attack, where the women cower together, clothed, by a tree; a second that depicts the outcome of the attack with Elvira and Sol lying flat on the ground, their white clothes stained with pinkish-coloured blood, and a blue butterfly resting on the toes of one of them; and a third that portrays their rescue at the hands of their cousin.55 The butterfly, like the presence of a stag drinking water in the foreground of the 2012 Madrid edition, becomes a calming device designed to convey a sense of tranquility, one that contrasts with the violent and emotionally charged scene related by the text. It also bears noting that the episode concludes with a wishful call for their father’s intervention. For example, Stephen Clissold, in his scholarly summary of the cidian narrative based on the poem, the chronicles, and other extraneous sources, relates that “Diego and Fernando then stripped them of their furs and silken mantles and left them naked save for their shifts and silken skirts. They then seized their heavy thongs of leather with spurs on them ... The Heirs of Carrión set about their work, flaying them mercilessly with the sharp

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spurs and heavy thongs of leather, cutting through shifts and tender flesh, and staining their silken skirts with fresh blood. Ah, what agony is theirs! If only the Cid Campeador might now appear!”56 Certain textual details relating to the Afrenta de Corpes episode have never been illustrated, despite their importance in revealing the characters of the Cid’s daughters and in demonstrating how they sought to emulate the Cid’s values and codes of ethical behaviour. The response of the daughters to the abuse inflicted by the infantes highlights their honour in both a feminine and masculine way. Having stopped to camp for the night, the two couples appear in love until the morning when the infantes carry out their plans. Their betrayal contrasts with the dignity asserted by the women, who request an honourable death by the sword in the form of decapitation rather than have their bodies mangled by the lash. 57 Sol even informs the infantes about the illegality of their actions, promising in the poem that “si algún ultraje nos viene se manchará vuestro honor [if some affront comes to us it will stain your honour].”58 The poet, as scholars have observed elsewhere, characterizes the pair of women as martyrs who undeservingly suffered a horrible fate, but did so stoically. Only the earliest illustrations of the episode portray any of this tranquil resignation – the 1525 Cromberger image, for example, depicts the women with their heads bowed. The visualization of this scene otherwise never fails to represent the women as defenceless and broken examples of the human species, emotionally distraught and victimized by their husbands, who cruelly left them for dead. The texts of modern editions have found other ways of strengthening the characters of Elvira and Sol, however. The 2007 Burgos (Ediciones Gran Vía) edition returns to the episode involving the lion. After it is back in its cage, the two couples find themselves together in Valencia when the daughters discover what happened. Elvira, while looking piously at her husband, listens to her sister ask her husband, Fernando, “Marido, si el león os perseguía, ¿por qué no me llamasteis a mí? [Husband, if the lion was chasing you, why did you not you call me?]”59 This dialogue shames the men for being less valiant than their wives. While in one way it is important that a female character’s assertiveness, confidence, and strength are realized, in another way this development comes at the expense of using femaleness as a form of insult designed to emasculate, in the eyes of the reader, the infantes. Even more surprising is that modern illustrators have failed to assert the strength of Sol’s personality and voice

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throughout the Afrenta de Corpes episode. Rather, the editors and illustrators alike have chosen to stress, with images of naked or clothed, abused or not abused, women, the qualities of submissiveness, weakness, and defencelessness – despite textual evidence within the poem and chronicles of the women’s considerable strength.

ji m en a b oth ways Notwithstanding references to the Virgin Mary and the Cid’s daughters, Jimena is the only woman to be featured as a character in the cidian textual corpus. Her spousal role leads her to spend part of her time in spiritual devotion, seeking the protection of God, who, she believes, controls her husband’s fate. As Martha W. Driver notes for the medieval and early modern periods, the archetype of a woman praying invoked Marian imagery because the Virgin had become enshrined as a model of womanhood.60 The prayer she recites for the safe return of the Cid in the poem became raised out of the text and featured in the front matter of the 1914 Barcelona (Casa Editorial Araluce) edition that was prepared for children. An illustration of Jimena, her face bathed in light as she beseeches God’s intervention above her, is featured in the chapter detailing his departure from the monastery.61 As both mother and wife, Jimena uniquely serves as a common role model for both sexes – women can become her while men can seek out and marry her. She also tends to be the most illustrated of the three women featured in the cidian corpus, who, aside from Jimena herself, include Elvira and Sol. Unlike her daughters, the character of Jimena evolves over the centuries and this development can be detected in how she and the Cid come to be wed, which was precipitated by the episode involving the Count of Gormaz examined in the last chapter. This episode embodies the confrontation of good and evil that was so common in the mocedades. It begins with the count’s attack on the Cid’s father, who was too old to defend his own honour. A young Cid, appearing to be the underdog in the ensuing contest between him and Gormaz, demonstrates his superior ability both in battle and in defending his father’s honour by killing the count. Proving himself to be not only a good son but also a strong, potent man, he strips Gormaz of his own power and literally life. He then takes Gormaz’s daughter as his wife, which also signals his appropriation, through the dowry process, of part of the household that had belonged to the man he has just vanquished.

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Figure 3.3 Jimena seeks to avenge the death of her father, in El Cid.

Although some versions do not recognize Jimena as Gormaz’s daughter because her last name was Díaz, the episode becomes a commonly encountered one in the lore surrounding the Cid in modern editions, whose illustrators typically idealize the love between the Cid and Jimena. Yet, in visual form, Jimena has not figured in the events surrounding the episode until more recently. In light of the circumstances that resulted in the death of her own father, illustrators portray Jimena as either rejecting her future husband or joyously loving him. The 1956 Zaragoza (Editorial Ebro) edition captures the moment in which Jimena rejects the Cid for his involvement in the death of her father. In the illustration, the Cid lowers himself on bended knee and offers her his dagger. The caption, borrowed from their exchange, exemplifies the way through which the sword – albeit a blade diminished in length compared to Tizona and Colada – could also become wielded by women: “Sólo quiero / que en oyendo lo que digo / respondas con este azero [I only want / that having listened to what I have to say / you respond with this steel].”62 He cedes his dagger in order to allow her to determine their destiny and as a symbol of his subordination to her will by allowing her to avenge the death of her father with her own hands. While some versions of the mocedades subsequently depict Jimena as willing to marry the Cid, other editions insert a lengthy section that

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focuses instead on her hatred of him and her act of demanding that the king avenge her father’s death. The 1842 edition in particular captures this moment in a way that would be copied in later editions (Fig. 3.3). The image of Jimena demanding justice for her father’s death quickly becomes a staple in nineteenth-century illustration. This particular illustration inspired a painting by Ángel Lizcano, which, along with others like it, endowed Jimena’s character with an aggression that had not been seen before in terms of her visualization.63 Surely this evolution in the modern period foreshadows the ascendance of women as equals of men and entities capable of applying to authorities for the swift remediation of wrongs done to them. Both in text and image, the nineteenth-century Jimena embodies the qualities of assertiveness and aggression while also demonstrating and becoming known for her nurturing and Christian qualities as a wife and, to a lesser degree, mother (this second role receives much less attention in the corpus). In the cycle of text and image, Jimena does in the end agree to marry the Cid but only because she recognizes that somebody needs to provide and watch out for her interests; or in contrast – as the Zaragoza 1956 edition argues – her love for the Cid was strong enough to overcome the fact that he had killed her father. The increasing importance of Jimena’s consent, and in particular the necessity for her to express clearly a desire to marry the Cid, testifies to the modern observance of women’s wishes concerning marriage. Following the conclusion of the Council of Trent in the sixteenth century, moreover, the explicit consent of both betrothed had become required by the church prior to their entering into marriage. For this reason, it is not surprising to see the process by which Jimena provides this consent examined in greater detail throughout the centuries that follow. From another perspective, the roots of the practice of documented consent are easily detected in the dowry process in the medieval period: the assent of women or, in their stead, the consent of their parents had been recorded for centuries and was a legally required component of the dowry process. The 1207 poem also reminds us that the king, in lieu of the father, was the one who makes this match and that marriages could be economic, political, and social vehicles of power rather than expressions of individual will. It is the king who determines that Elvira and Sol will marry the sons of the Count of Carrión, not their father. By the modern period, the individual’s desire for the marriage takes prominence over the king or father’s authority to make matches, which signifies the decreasing power of the

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monarchy and patriarchy in all things and the ascendance of individual free will. The shift in how the matter of Jimena’s consent is obtained and the prominence with which it becomes featured in the nineteenth century in both text and image is symptomatic, therefore, of a wider pattern of social change taking place in the modern period. The Zaragoza 1956 edition, which was intended for the classroom, captures this reality in one of the essay questions posed to the young reader at the conclusion of the volume. Of the six questions, two of them relate to Jimena’s character, which demonstrates a developing interest in the representation of women in literature while revealing how this scene was reframed by the mid-twentieth century following the first wave of feminism and preceding the second. The final question asks the student to describe the “estratagema empleada por el monarca para poner de manifiesto el amor de Jimena en contraposición con sus demandas de justicia y venganza por la muerte del Conde Lozano [strategy employed by the monarch in order to use Jimena’s love to counter her demands for justice and vengeance for the death of Count Lozano].”64 Rather than be expected to marry, Jimena must choose the Cid, and illustrators hungrily attempted to capture this dramatic transition from hate to love. From another perspective, the question put to the student subordinates that love and free will to the machinations of a male monarch’s ability to strategize in order to effectuate a desired outcome. That outcome, evidently, is one that the reader himself likely desired as well or knew would occur, which associates the insertion of strategy with masculine power and domination –qualities desired by the young reader – and thereby reinforces the connection between women and love through their propensity to be guided by male influence. Other illustrations produced in the nineteenth century depict Jimena refusing the Cid’s attentions in the period that follows the death of her father as he courts her with the hopes of regaining her favour. Courtship at this time, as we discovered in the last chapter, was inspired by a reinvigorated sense of medieval chivalric ideals. This modern sense of chivalry romanticizes the courtship between the Cid and Jimena in a number of nineteenth-century illustrations. In one of these attempts to woo Jimena, he jumps up to her balcony and kisses her, whereas in another he is shown trotting by her balcony, extending a dove in her direction for her amusement, while she tries to ignore his chivalry, appearing emotional yet dispassionate.65 The Cid pursued Jimena publicly in this way for a period,

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as was the convention in nineteenth-century Spain, where medieval courtship rituals enjoyed a renaissance.66 Evidently, with time, the Cid manages to overcome Jimena’s anger and vengefulness, which is one of the purposes of the pursuit in the first place: to exemplify the masculine domination of women that, once accomplished, is viewed as a conquest akin to military victory. Jimena’s reaction to becoming the object of the Cid’s conquest is mixed. The 1842 edition portrays a sullen Jimena on her wedding day rather than the two lovers we saw in previous illustrations.67 In a subsequent illustration, the Cid reminds us of the potency of the sword and his success in conquering her heart as he thrusts the weapon into the air while the couple take their wedding vows before the priest (Fig. 3.4). Interestingly, almost no modern edition features an illustration of their marriage, perhaps because the institution has waned in popularity to some degree or is no longer a stage in life that requires such explicit modelling for the young reader. It is only when the Cid is about to leave his family – a scene redolent of passionate love – that the reader comprehends the complexity of this relationship and marriage. Despite Jimena’s transformation from the Cid’s intended wife to the woman who rejects the knight’s affections, then becoming either a willing or begrudging betrothed and finally a loving spouse, it is not uncommon that only one version of Jimena appears in any given edition – the miserable lover and orphan or the passionate yet dutiful wife. The title page for the 1831 edition, which recounts the Cid’s taking of Valencia, depicts Jimena running toward her husband, both of whom spread their arms in desperate anticipation of the ensuing embrace, and the textual description relates the lovers’ hunger to be reunited once again after a considerable time apart during the Cid’s exile (Fig. 3.5). The tension between these two extremes in illustration reveals two completely distinct and contrasting versions of the Cid’s wife. Certainly, Jimena and Rodrigo’s relationship was not a typical one in the medieval period, nor was monogamous coupling the norm as a Christian practice during the Cid’s lifetime. Non-nobles struggled to adopt monogamy and the church invested considerable efforts into convincing couples to conform to its social expectations. By the tenth century, its efforts had paid off, which allowed authorities to turn a critical eye toward the activities of priests who took wives or concubines in the two centuries that followed.68 In this light, the Cid and Jimena’s relationship

Figure 3.4 The Cid and Jimena on their wedding day. Manuel Milà y Fontanals, Romancero del Cid.

Figure 3.5 Jimena and Rodrigo. Estanislao de Cosca Vayo, La conquista de Valencia por el Cid. Novela histórica original.

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is an unusual model because not only do they, according to the custom of the time, enter into marriage and fulfill Christian ideals of monogamy, but they also usually appear in text and image to love each other as well. In this way, they serve as an example of matrimonial promise for those who follow. Love having more consequence to modern audiences, illustrators naturally paid it greater attention than their early modern predecessors for whom love as a theme or marital objective was less important of a subject to be visualized. Society’s new interest in love led illustrators to explore key events in the timeline of Cid and Jimena’s marriage with some consistency. The 1840 edition of the romances, for example, features a title page adorned with several illustrations of distinct episodes expanded upon in the verses that follow, including one of the Cid asking for Jimena’s hand in marriage and in which he submits himself before her on one knee, while she stands with her hand placed in his. The second scene includes an armoured Cid kissing his wife, his hand on the small of her back pulling her toward him, while their two daughters look on, likely capturing the moment of his departure from his family and Castile into exile.69 These images of lovers construct both Jimena and the Cid as feminine and masculine archetypes, respectively, during a period in which love had become increasingly possible and in itself idealized as a matrimonial objective.70 It is also difficult to disentangle Jimena from the Cid in terms of her character. Jimena is made knowable through her husband’s existence and experiences; her responses to the circumstances occasioned by his actions, which confirm that the construction of the feminine relies upon interactions with the masculine, reflect a broader pattern of representation of women through masculinist idealizations. Women enrobed in the ideals of masculinity can be detected in these illustrations. One example, explored above, features Jimena aggressively demanding vengeance for her father’s death. But, even in that illustration, she is shown on her knees as subordinate to men and to all who look on from the periphery of the scene. Jimena has been masculinized in other contexts, too, as when she assumes the rulership of Valencia after the death of her husband. This moment has led some scholars to believe that she physically could dominate as well, which contrasts remarkably with how she has been visualized over the centuries. Stephen Clissold notes that “it also seems that she was as robust in body as she was in spirit. When her coffin was opened some centuries later, observers noted with surprise that her bones were of ‘awe-inspiring’ size, and more befitting a

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man than a woman.”71 Two additional considerations provide context for Clissold’s observation. First, Jimena is always illustrated as a slight woman and in no way tall compared to other characters in her midst. Second, the belief that a woman who rules a kingdom must possess large bones, ostensibly like those of a man, converts her into something monstrously deviant at the same time as the awe documented by Clissold was meant to provide proof of her greatness by virtue of that deviancy. The mere existence of a woman occupying a seat of power typically dominated by a man was viewed in itself as deviant. While it is true that, in more modern yet unillustrated versions of the Cid’s narrative, Jimena’s voice becomes louder – she complains that he is absent too often and for too long; she rejects his blood-stained armour and bemoans his fits of sleeplessness and nightmares; and she brings these concerns to the king and demands his intercession – these textual embellishments to the cidian narrative point to a version of her character that has yet to emerge in illustrated form but may be reflected in Sophia Loren’s character from the mid-twentieth-century film version. As Veronica Ortenberg observes, twentieth-century film’s treatment of medieval subjects promotes two primary architypes for women, whose badness or goodness gives them a onedimensional quality that lacks complexity.72 From another perspective, the contrasting qualities in the main characters of the cidian narrative in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries exemplify the increasing complexity with which the story was being viewed and interpreted. As Anthony Close proposes with respect to illustrators such as Gustave Doré, the flexibility to reinterpret the text and its characters likely drove the artists’ creative genius in the first place.73 Unlike her daughters, Jimena does not become an objectified sex object in text, an observation noted with respect to the poem by Lucy Sponsler in 1973 and one that “would certainly please our contemporary feminists.”74 Her illustration does, however, become increasingly sexualized in the modern and contemporary periods. The first indication of this transformation is on the title page of the 1840 Stuttgart edition on which the Cid’s placement of his hand on the small of Jimena’s back, an act intended to pull her closer to him while they kissed, expresses his sexual desire for the woman as well as his physical ability to guide her body toward him: Jimena becomes a yielding object to be taken and consumed. An early-twentieth-century painting by Marceliano Santa María features her naked, embracing her husband’s sleeping body, while making eye

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contact with the viewer. Jimena looks upon her husband coquettishly in some editions,75 and several recently published editions portray her curvaceous body rather than cloak her in voluminous layers of textile as other editions have. The cover of the 2003 Madrid (Ediciones Gaviota) edition includes an illustration of Jimena in which the curvature of her breasts is clearly delineated through her gown, finding their peaks in well-articulated nipples. Later in this same edition, the editor suggests that Jimena had become a prisoner of Yúsuf, the overlord of Valencia, who had her dance for his entertainment in a dress that exposed her stomach, chest, arms, and legs; with her rhythmic movements, Jimena hypnotizes her captor and manages to escape (see Plate 14). Indeed, she remains in this outfit for the remainder of the book despite later being rescued by the Cid and the city’s subsequent fall to him.76 Ironically, her daughters become less sexualized over this same period, which reveals how our esteem of childhood and mores concerning sexual development have evolved in more recent times. Certainly, this exploration of Jimena, Elvira, and Sol in illustration has yielded additional insight into the construction of the masculinist archetypes examined in the last chapter, but it has also scratched at the surface of an important connection between the feminine and the other. In the next chapter we will examine how illustrators have dealt with race and ethnicity in distinct epochs of significant cultural transformation.

4 Orientalization and the Revisioning of the Medieval Period

Several of the Cid’s enemies, including the king, the infantes of the Count of Carrión, and Martín Gómez – to name only a few mentioned in the cidian corpus – resemble the Cid as white, high-born Christian men who exert some power, whether economic, military, political, physical, sexual, or social, over the Cid or his interests. Their conflicts with our hero tend to be provoked by deficiencies in their characters and particularly by holes in their moral fibre. Together this cohort of antagonists demonstrates, for both young and adult target audiences, a range of undesirable qualities and characteristics which affect the decisions taken by them and which the reader should avoid replicating. Another considerably larger group of antagonists – Muslims – emerges in the cidian corpus, and this group tends, with some important exceptions and unlike the Cid’s Christian enemies, to be faceless. In different periods the reader possesses varying degrees of historical knowledge about this enemy, and she will need to use that knowledge to assess the Muslim friends and foes detailed throughout the corpus. Earlier in this book, we encountered the culture of chivalry that profoundly accelerated the reader’s anticipation and recognition of the hero, who was signified by medieval symbols of idealized masculinity and who successfully performed a range of masculine roles, from son and father to warrior and defender of the faith. So, too, can we study the means through which illustrators cast Muslim enemies as well as Muslim protagonists using a visual language that conveys antagonism and otherness across the generations. Orientalization in its varying forms became and remains a key method through which the Cid’s medieval enemies and Muslim collaborators have been understood. In tandem, both the nation of Spain and

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its medieval past became framed as orientalized subjects in foreign editions, which in turn affected the representation of both the nation and its history in text and image. Alongside the consideration of how book illustration and the emergence of the cidian narrative as an exemplar of medieval Spanish literature fulfilled the promise of orientalism and deviated from its ideals, in this chapter we will examine at length the issue of orientalization and its intersection with medievalism as at once temporal and atemporal phenomena that became means of othering both Muslims and Spaniards. Understanding the processes through which Muslims, the Cid’s enemies, and later Spaniards themselves became orientalized will enable a better understanding of how medievalism functions as an atemporal process that greatly affects how the world is viewed today. This subject will be revisited in the final chapter of this book during an examination of foreign illustrators’ interventions into the cidian corpus with assertions of orientalism as a visual language that represented medievalism.

o ri enta l i sm as a t e c hn olo gy o f me di e vali sm As a concept, orientalism went through two distinct phases before our time, according to Edward Said: during the medieval and early modern periods, the primary goal was the imposition of distance between the normative and aberrant; and during and after the Enlightenment, the objective changed to drawing the aberrant closer and making it familiar.1 Because Spain was conquered by Muslims as well as people who came from both the Middle East and Africa, the phenomena of distancing the Orient and drawing it nearer become ones that conceptually as well as physically occurred within the Western world. The geographic significance of the Orient as lying east of the epicentre of Christian rule and authority – as opposed to the Occident, which describes the West, including Europe and many of its colonial and post-colonial spaces – reveals its objectification in the eyes of Westerners as an othered space. The peoples of this space, categorized as Orientals, became objects of study in the medieval period at the Universidad de Salamanca and other Western universities. Polemicists insisted that non-Christians suffered from some misguided delusion and faithbased obsession that could be remedied best by conversion.2 Orientals – their cultures, geographies, commodities, and histories – were subjects to be studied by Westerners – sometimes quite literally in evangelical terms

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– a process that converted them into objects to be consumed and dominated. The authority to dominate, after all, was given to Europeans in the Old Testament and appeared to be sanctioned by God. Another consideration is the geographically conceived taxonomy of power that took shape in the early Judeo-Christian mindset, evidenced by the tripartite apportionment of territory to the sons of Noah following the Flood according to Genesis 9:25–7. The ordering of these territories clearly distinguished between Noah’s sons: Japheth received Europe, and his progeny would have use of Asia, the territory attended to by the descendants of Shem, who inherited from his father Asia; whereas Ham, whose descendants were to serve those of Japheth, obtained Africa. Noah scorned Ham for his abhorrent, disrespectful behaviour after he looked upon his father’s naked body, which in the end condemned the people of Canaan and the adjacent lands to be models of the monstrous and strange. Early medieval scholars such as Isidore of Seville (560–636) conceived of and related the characters of these three regions to the continents of Europe, Asia, and Africa. Medieval chroniclers later inscribed these parallels within chronicles that explained the genealogy and history of Iberian monarchies and their lands, usually connecting them to ancient antecedents that included, beyond the Roman emperors and the apostle St James, the likes of Hercules and Tubal, the son of Japheth, as founders of Spain.3 Spain was part of the lands of Japheth, and in 711 it became occupied by non-Europeans who, according to this biblical model, had no legitimate claim to it and therefore were deemed trespassers. The same medieval chronicles that extolled the Cid’s involvement in reconquering territory held by Muslims also took great pains to make a case for the Christian dominance of the territory as part of the inheritance authorized by God in the Old Testament. Scholars in recent decades have concluded that the medieval-era process of constructing the far-away and unknown as oriental was, in its underlying motivation, less religious than inherently racist and ideological. It was a process that, in brief, ensured Western dominance over most of the remaining parts of the world,4 for it was not only Asians and peoples of the Middle East who were orientalized by Europeans. The discourse was extended by medievals and early moderns to Africans, and in the decades that followed it was used to support the conquest of the Indigenous inhabitants of the Americas. This pattern demonstrates a lack of geo-specificity with respect to the application of orientalism: any people

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anywhere can be orientalized.5 An excellent example of orientalizing the far-away in new and appropriated contexts can be found in Vasco Fernandes’s painting of 1504 representing the three magi who visit Christ shortly after his birth. The painting substitutes the Africanized magus with a Native American man, and in so doing it converts the three magi into representations of the non-European world who pay tribute and pledge subservience to a Christian religious figure who represents the West.6 As Vasco Fernandes’s painting demonstrates, the construction of others depended on more than a sense of the far-away. It also relied upon religious and racial differences as perceived by white, European Christian men as well as some component of geographical displacement, all of which coalesced around a sense of here as opposed to over there, orthodox as opposed to heretical, and the familiar as opposed to the strange or unknown. Aligned with these sensibilities were the binaries of good and evil, right and wrong, Christian and Muslim, masculine and feminine, white and black, and the cross and the crescent that took firm shape in the medieval period, as seen in texts and images produced across Europe concerning the Crusades. The ethnic, biological, and religious binaries that came to be categorized as Christian and Muslim also extended to Jews and Babylonians in an Old Testament context, so that an alignment between the construction of Jews and Christians as peoples under siege by Babylonians and Muslims emerged. The eleventh-century Códice de Roda contains an illustration that reproduces the architectural styles that prevailed in Muslim Spain as an anachronistic means of representing the city of Babylon during the Jewish captivity, centuries before the emergence of Islam and well before that architectural style developed in the Arab world.7 Another illustration created during the same period grafts images of Islam upon scenes depicting the sinful and undesirable in their descent into hell during the Apocalypse.8 The binary also extends to early Christians and their Roman persecutors in the time of Christ, as evidenced in early manuscript illustrations contained in commentaries by Beatus de Liébana (730–800) and in Books of Hours in which Islamic crescent moons – again, well before the emergence of Islam – adorn objects wielded by the Romans.9 Indeed, the crescent moon epitomizes the discourse and ideology of orientalism, because it was not until the Ottoman Turks in the late fifteenth century that the symbol was positioned above mosques and placed on banners in war. Christian illustrators had assigned this symbol to Islam centuries be-

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fore and the Turks later appropriated it as a means of rendering impotent the visual language created by Europeans.10 In most medieval and early modern European contexts, Muslim voices remain muted and their iconography absent from both text and illustration. When this is not the case, the construction usually bears little conceptual resemblance to the original. One example from the cidian corpus is instructive. Describing how the Cid remained faithful to the king after being sent into exile, the editor intensifies the relationship between the Cid’s loyalty to the king and his spiritual convictions by invoking the Matamoros meme while sublimating the ethnic background of this opponent: “El Cid vigilando siempre por los intereses de su rey, había formado una especie de batallon sagrado, escogido de la flor de sus bravos, y al menor movimiento de los sarracenos, volaba al combate, y los obligaba á la paz [The Cid, while always watching out for his king’s best interests, had formed a sort of sacred battalion, chosen from the best of his brave men, and at the least movement on the part of the Saracens, he flew into combat and obliged them to seek peace].”11 The nineteenth-century editor should have known that Saracens were not the enemy encountered by the Cid in battle. The use of an ethnically and geographically displaced term either demonstrates his ignorance about Islam and the peoples of that religion or a willingness to use antiquated terminology as a means of further essentializing them. This last possibility also reveals a common strategy for representing medievalism, as will be discussed in due course. It is in this light that we can examine the first printed illustration of the Cid in battle from the 1498 edition. The illustration represents multiple frames of action combined into one composite image. Featuring the Cid in armour toward the right, it depicts him approaching and then engaging in battle with his turbaned enemy, who, except for his face covering, wears protective clothing identical to that of the protagonist (Fig. 4.1). From the very first illustrations portraying the Cid’s Muslim foes, this enemy remains faceless and othered compared to the Christian men who follow our hero into battle. This same illustration also visualizes other battles, including one between the king of Castile, Sancho, and the king of León, Alfonso. Sancho was later killed and Alfonso would reign over those territories as well as exile the Cid from them. Illustrations such as these exhibit a generic character that allowed them to signify completely distinct cultural contexts while, at the same time, demonstrating that men wearing turbans had become generic visual language for signifying the antagonist.

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Figure 4.1 The Cid in battle. Coronica del çid ruy diaz.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the emergence of engraving as an artistic craft as well as the technological difficulties involved in developing details in woodcut engravings also limited the use of the visual codification to differentiate friend from foe. Engraved illustrations in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries lacked shading, which helps to convey a sense of depth for the illustration’s contents. Many remain uncoloured, and the objects and backgrounds contain little nuance within the lines that delineate each component. Illustrators nonetheless included details like the cross and crescent for the purpose of lending a sense of specificity to their works. In fact, an image accompanying Carta dela gran Victoria y presa de Oran (Barcelona: Carles Amorós 1509) – which had nothing to do with the Cid but rather detailed the siege of Oran – used these symbols to distinguish the Spanish and Algerian forces. Curiously, when the same image was recycled for the frontispiece of the 1526 Toledo (Miguel de Eguia) edition

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Figure 4.2 The Cid in battle. Coronica del muy esforçado i inuencible cauallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador delas Españas.

of the cidian narrative, the crescent vanished and the lack of detail makes it impossible to relate the illustrated subjects to specific characters in the story (Fig. 4.2). This edition also includes on the final page a version of the illustration from the 1498 edition mentioned above. Rather than accompanied by his men, however, the Cid strolls into battle with Jimena on his arm and an architectural cross can be seen in the background. Evidently, the editors were not concerned that decades-old illustrations would make their product unappealing to the consumer, a fact that provides context for how

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readers appraised these images in terms of the book’s perceived value. The use of antiquated illustrations so early in the printed history of the cidian corpus also suggests that the narrative may have already begun to be viewed as medieval. Antiquated images helped to construct a sense of the far-away, distant past, as well as foster orientalist views of non-Christian peoples. It is perhaps for this reason that the illustration from the 1512 edition was republished later in the same century in the 1593 Burgos (Felipe de Junta and Juan Baptista Varesio) edition: the image remained relevant because of how its antiquated character continued to be informative about medieval personages and their activities. Technological limitations that influenced the quality of the woodcuts eventually relaxed, particularly because, as wood engraving continued to be utilized well into the nineteenth century, these images cost less to produce, which in turn kept book prices lower.12 Artists did become more adept at the form, but that does not mean that the images themselves lost their antiquated character, which is evidenced by the first engraving to restore the cross-crescent binary published in 1734 (Fig. 4.3). The use of visual indices for Islam to identify the Cid’s non-Christian opponents mixes, as we have seen, with a use of verticality through which the protagonist rises over the antagonist in a spatial expression of right over wrong and authority over weakness. In contrast, the less sophisticated battle scene contained in the late-fifteenth-century edition uses only one symbol – the turban – and lacks the complex spatial organization developed in later illustrations. This last image encompasses the typical means utilized by illustrators to distinguish Christians from others and evidently relies upon the same characteristics used for the Matamoros meme. Codified visual language, including turbans and banners featuring symbols such as the crescent moon, naturally grows in complexity in concert with the technological and artistic development of book illustration.

t h e sk ein o f m ed i e val i sm i n t he mod er n era With the increasing use of modern illustration techniques, including copperplate engraving and lithography and the use of depth and shading, the quality of detail finally realized its full potential. Beautifully crafted illustrations that assign identity to the Cid’s opponents to an extent that the woodcut never achieved emerged in the nineteenth century. One emblematic illustration of this sort joined a text prepared in Spanish, circulated

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Figure 4.3 The Cid in battle. Joseph Pereira Bayam, Historia verdadeira do famosissimo Heróe, e invencivel Cavalleiro Hespanhol Rodrigo Dias de Bivar.

and sold in Spain, but published in Germany in 1840 (Fig. 4.4). The artist makes use of the entire range of symbols to signify Muslims: crescent moons, ceremonial and overlarge turbans, curved swords, body language and facial expressions revealing their fear of the Cid, architectural stylings inspired by al-Ándalus, and, of course, the opponents’ position under the hooves of the hero’s horse. We can also observe that, despite the newfound technical ability of the illustrator to represent illustrated subjects

Figure 4.4 The Cid in battle, in Adelbert von Keller, Romancero del Cid.

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with greater nuance, most of these opponents are nearly identical to one another in terms of the shapes of their heads and bodies, particularly in comparison to the Cid, whose physical appearance is remarkably distinct. An important quality of the orientalized other is a sameness that both supports and reflects the vagaries of Western knowledge of Muslims or the East, converting both into an unknown and unknowable mass that threatens the Western order of things.13 The average Spanish medieval and early modern knew little about the East or about the faith of Islam, even after most of the peninsula was conquered by Muslims in 711. Like the crescent moon, the epistemological creation of Muslims by Europeans resulted in symbols in text and image that defined Islam as the faith of the enemy, often without differentiating the variegated fabric of its followers’ racial and cultural backgrounds. Exotic, cruel, bloodthirsty, lascivious, effeminate, irrational, darker-skinned, dangerous, outmoded – these are the qualities associated with Spanish Muslims before and during the early modern period. Some early literary critics explicitly state the connection between the Cid’s story and orientalism, so that one may read “oriental luxury” as a versified adornment of the romances crafted in the European chivalric mode that Muslims in Spain adopted.14 In this case, the backward compliment also culturally sublimates Muslims as people who could not have written good poetry without the influence of Europeans, which is an ironic claim in light of Arabic poetry’s influence on Spanish romances. One recently published illustration supports the conclusion that the phenomenon and qualities of orientalized sameness are, moreover, ahistorical in nature, which points to the ahistorical nature of medievalism itself (see Plate 11). Like earlier illustrations, this image published in 2007 contrasts the well-muscled arms of a Muslim knight, Muza, with his dainty, narrow ankles. As well, the masculine facial hair seems opposed to the voluminous, almost delicate pants that the Cid himself would never wear. As with the women in cidian illustrations, Muza’s legs remain undefined. The textual caption taunts at the temporal stability of the image because, while the components that construct and signify this enemy do not change much over the centuries, the editor felt it necessary to emphasize the exoticness of the subject, as if the reader might not know or recognize who or what he is: “Muza, un verdadero caballero musulmán [Muza, a real Muslim knight].” The reader is positioned to contrast the embodiment of Muslim chivalry through the illustration of Muza against the Christian chivalry for which the Cid became famous.

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Arguably, medievalness is the quality that enforces this sameness over the centuries, not a lack of cultural competency and knowledge alone. If Muslims and Islam were comparatively unknown to the average medieval Westerner, why has illustration not evolved alongside the increasingly accurate knowledge possessed by moderns after periods of sustained contact as well as cultural and racial intermingling? Let us consider W.J.T. Mitchell’s argument about the representation of dinosaurs: “Dinosaur images are seen as progressing from error to truth, from ignorance to understanding. Scientific images, including those of the dinosaur, evolve by steady, gradual improvement toward more and more accurate reflections of the actual thing they represent.”15 The progressive aspect of this evolution is evidently twofold: increased knowledge about the species and improvements in the technology used to visually represent it. In the case of the orientalized illustrations found in the cidian corpus, the narrative and certain of its characters – despite increased knowledge and improved technologies – are also shaped by the qualities of “unmoderness” and “medievalness” with which Westerners represent Islam, not unlike the obsolete quality of the dinosaur in more modern times. It appears that medievalness can subordinate knowledge and replace it with essentialism. The European construction of Islam eventually caught up with Spain in other ways that medieval predecessors could not likely have predicted. The illustrated edition published in Germany embodies this transformation in how Spain was viewed by other Western countries. When Enlightenmentera historians began to reconsider medieval orientalism in light of new methodologies and sources, Spain could not escape its considerable contact with Islam. Traces of the Oriental and Occidental left significant and observable impressions on the Spanish people and their landscape. Certain characteristics once reserved for the Muslim Oriental – opulence, passion, exoticness, explosiveness, and sexual aggression and prowess, as well as laziness, deceitfulness, effeminacy, and a lack of potency – became associated with Spaniards well over a century after the Muslims’ expulsion from Spain in 1609–14. That event had economically and socially crippling consequences for the country because Muslims were an important source of labour and provided much of the talent in skilled trades such as cloth production. Making the situation even more dire were the disappointing returns on investments in the Americas, the growing naval power of Britain, as demonstrated by the defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588, and several state bankruptcies in the sixteenth and

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seventeenth centuries. The seventeenth century was fraught with costly wars, both abroad and domestically, little economic development, and a continuing labour shortage. Economically vulnerable and increasingly isolated from international trade and political alliances, Spain was seen by its opponents as weak, and the tendency to orientalize the Spanish people as a whole gained momentum. The skein of orientalism became an important tool wielded by Europeans against foes within Europe, as Spain discovered in the early modern period when its record of colonial conquest, as well as religious persecution at the time of the Inquisition, were rejected by some contemporaries as barbaric. This concept of Spanish malevolence developed during the Reformation and blossomed in texts and images published throughout Europe, with epicentres in England, Germany, and the Netherlands. The propaganda asserted that the Spanish had become so obsessed with military conquest during the medieval period and so emboldened by their subsequent victories against Muslim invaders that they could not resist visiting the same violence on the peoples of the Americas, who were, after all, not even Muslims. Recent scholarship continues to assert a relationship between the Cid’s military accomplishments and the effectiveness of the conquistadors, one of whom, Lorenzo Bernal de Mercado, acquired the title “El Cid de los Andes” for his successes in Chile and was described by the author of a book published in 2001 as an “auténtico hijo del Cid [authentic child of the Cid].”16 Illustrated books – including English, Dutch, and German translations of Bartolomé de las Casas’s Brevísima relación de la destrucción de las Indias (1552) – reinforced Spain’s image, in the eyes of other Europeans, as a depraved nation. Besides las Casas’s Brevísima relación, examples include Narratio regionum Indicarum per Hispanos quosdam deuastatarum verissima (Frankfurt: Theodore de Bry 1598), which featured several plates including one that portrayed Spaniards mutilating Native Americans (pl. XVI), and Tears of the Indians (London: J.C. for Nathan Brook 1656), the frontispiece of which contains a widely circulated illustration depicting Spaniards, like operators of a butcher shop, selling Indigenous flesh. Another branch of propaganda adjusted this new paradigm to include Protestants in the Netherlands, where a Catholic coalition in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries proceeded from city to city in an attempt to reconcile the Reformed population to Spanish rule. Flemish-born engraver Franz Hogenberg (1535– 90) produced a series of plates in the period from the 1560s to shortly

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before his death that depicted the atrocities committed by Spaniards and their collaborators during these decades. In one image, the illustrator shows Protestants suspended by their genitals as punishment for their religious and political conduct. Better known as the Black Legend, the popularity of which owed much to las Casas’s Brevísima relación, this campaign of de-occidentalizing propaganda has influenced how many Westerners view the conquest of the Americas as well as the Inquisition today. Europeans applied the same descriptors of backwardness to Spaniards and Muslims; in this case, however, it was not Islam but Catholicism that was meant to be understood as misguided and delusional. Moderns began to view religious identity – particularly of the Spanish variety – as antiquated and unmodern. Not unlike the Turkish acquisition of the crescent moon, Spaniards did eventually embrace the orientalized version of their national identity, which significantly influences the visualization of not only Muslim but also Catholic Spain. The oriental quality of Spain became a means of attaching a reminiscent image of the country’s past to its present-day identity. As such, a sense of orientalness became a self-consciously adopted national signifier. Nineteenth-century Spanish illustrators accelerated this shift in national identity by providing, for the first time, copious details extracted from the Andalusian cultural inheritance that was so familiar to Spaniards, particularly those living in the country’s south. Simultaneously, the renaissance of cidian works in the nineteenth century benefited from significantly improved techniques for including a visual component alongside the text. As a result, new patterns in illustrated Cid editions emerged, and, for this reason, a close study of why and how orientalism became a key component of this renaissance is warranted.

n i ne t e e n t h- ce n tu ry s pan i sh orie ntal i sms The illustrators of the 1842 Barcelona (Imprenta de D. Antonio Bergnes y Compañía) and 1848 Madrid (Imprenta de Alhambra y Compañía) editions began to cover the walls featured in their images with the ceramic tiles one sees at the Muslim-era castles located in cities such as Cordoba, Granada, and Seville. Architectural details, including castle walls resembling those of an alcazar and horseshoe-shaped archways, emerged in illustrations for the first time. Surfaces of any sort became adorned with the vegetal and geometric patterns one finds throughout the Arab world

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and certainly in the south of Spain. Frames for the illustrations were conjured from those patterns as well as from the Arabic language itself, which, being illegible to the majority of the books’ target readers, was transformed into a means of decoration – much of it being, in this epoch, false Arabic. This was in stark contrast to the Spanish that the reader could understand, which in turn objectified the language of the other and empowered the language of the familiar. One of these illustrations synthesizes the conceptual fusion of the medieval with the oriental as a framework for structuring, branding, and understanding Spanish history (see Plate 12). The thematic use of aesthetics that the reader would easily associate with the Muslim world later solidified in twentieth-century editions and in scholarly works about the Cid. Perhaps the most popular and reprinted commentary on the Cid was authored by Ramón Menéndez Pidal in 1929. In its several subsequent editions, the reader finds chapter headings adorned with rectangular segments of illustrations prepared by Pedro Muguruza. They emulate either the sorts of tiles found in an alcazar or the illustrations that became attached to the Cántigas de Santa María and similarly illustrated texts produced in thirteenth-century alphonsine workshops. In this way, an islamified aesthetic became attached to the Cid’s narrative in both scholarly and literary texts in a subtle as opposed to overt fashion, and the practice is easily found in recent editions as well. This form of rebranding was embraced by Spaniards at the same time as American, British, French, and German scholars were discovering alÁndalus in the nineteenth century, if not before, and making some of the historical and literary content relating to the medieval period more broadly available in Spanish.17 Some of these Arabists were Spaniards, but others, like the Ottoman Syrian-born priest Miguel Casiri (1710–1791), were state-sponsored scholars from outside the country whose linguistic abilities allowed them to do some of the first cataloguing of manuscript collections contained in Spain – in his case, the Arabic-language manuscripts conserved at the Escorial in Madrid. He and his colleagues sought to unearth the Muslim history of Spain and to incorporate it within a wider understanding of national and, of increasing importance, world history. Their work would give rise to the discipline of orientalist studies, a second wave of orientalism that involved scholarly engagement with all things non-Western, ranging from Morocco to Japan. At the same time, by making the primary sources housed in Spain available to a generation of scholars,

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Casiri’s cataloguing efforts led to the production of histories of Spain that included a more complete and seemingly authentic picture of its past – one, moreover, that no longer relied exclusively upon Christian nationfounding mythologies, but rather drew on the work of Muslim historians as well. One of these efforts to make medieval sources available in published form resulted in the first published edition of the cidian poem based on a paleographic transcription of the fourteenth-century manuscript now housed at the Biblioteca Nacional in Madrid, which was included in Colección de poesías castellanas anteriores al siglo XV (1779). For the first time, the text of the poem came complete with scholarly commentary and context.18 While many of the texts that scholars pored over were housed in Spain, the documents had not originated there. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the authorities seized Arabic-language writings from Spanish Muslims, but much of this was deemed to be contraband and destroyed. Most of the Arabic material housed in Spanish repositories by the nineteenth century had arrived from outside of the country’s borders, acquired as bounty earned through military encounters at sea. By the late sixteenth century, thousands of manuscripts prepared in Arabic came to reside at the newly established and expertly curated library of the Escorial. They were joined by many more won at the Battle of Lepanto in 1571. Swelling these collections considerably was the library of Moroccan sultan Mawlay Zidan, captured in 1612 by Luis Faxardo and brought to Madrid.19 These collections, however, were not much studied, in part because knowledge and use of Arabic was viewed as evidence of deficient Christian faith. Indeed, Arabic continued to be banned by the Inquisition for most of the early modern period,20 with the result that most scholarship on these Arabic texts was done by non-Spaniards, like Casiri. In any event, unearthing these medieval-era texts and making them widely available resulted in another first that had a significant impact: history books began to contain and sometimes feature the voices and perspectives of minorities, the losers in conflict, the forgotten, and the powerless, instead of merely glorifying the interests and accomplishments of the monarchy, its genealogy, and its past. This movement foreshadows the destabilization of monarchical authority in the modern period. As we will see, the ascendance of new sources for what had been for centuries considered the official record directly affected the representation of the Cid. In addition to historical publications, an infusion of literature that

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had remained unknown up until the nineteenth century – such as aljamiado (Spanish fiction and non-fiction literature written in Arabic characters) and the more well-known kharjas and related forms of poetry like the muwashshah – provided scholars with a wealth of new material to be studied. Many of these works – especially the kharjas – earned a privileged place on the reading lists of students in Spain, and elsewhere, and they remain today an important part of the Spanish literary canon. While Spanish scholars were late to the study of Arabic, they soon caught up.21 The holder of Spain’s first chair devoted to the study of Arabic was Pascual de Gayangos (1809–1897). He was responsible for translating, commenting on, and publishing many of Spain’s primary sources in the mid-nineteenth century in both English and Spanish, and in both Spain and abroad. In one of his English-language articles, he introduced Hispanists to aljamiado literature,22 and throughout his career he made it his mission to inform scholars around the world about the collections held in Spain as well as the nation’s seeming love affair with its Arab past. It was also in the nineteenth century that Spanish academic journals began to enjoy international circulation. When scholarly study of Arabic developed in Spain at the dawn of the modern period, it was tied to factors beyond national identity and the increasing scholarly capacity of the Enlightenment. Continuing conflict between Spain and Morocco from the early modern period persisted into the nineteenth century, which forced Spanish authorities to devise means of obtaining intelligence about the activities of their opponents. One way in which this intelligence gathering was accomplished in the late eighteenth century involved missionaries who learned Arabic in Spain and then deepened their knowledge of the language during extended stays in Morocco where they attended to Christian captives. Many of them sought out and secretly acquired books about Muslim Spain and subsequently smuggled them back across the Strait of Gibraltar. Once repatriated, the missionaries undertook the translation of these works, many of which still reside in libraries such as the Universidad de Sevilla and the Biblioteca Nacional in Madrid. The humanistic program that supported these intelligence-gathering activities became a state-sanctioned one that was funded in part by the king prior to the French invasion in 1808.23 Along with the installment of French authority in Spain in the early nineteenth century came increasing scholarly interest in Spanish history on the part of French scholars, who brought with them Enlightenment-era

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methods. These methods then mixed with German philological trends and yielded an international fascination with Spanish history and literature, including the cidian corpus.24 Today, the Bibliothèque nationale de France holds many manuscripts relating to Muslim Spain, most in Arabic, clear evidence of the contact sustained between these two European nations. Like works of art by Velázquez and Titian contained in Spanish collections in the time of Joseph Bonaparte, some of these manuscripts returned to France in the custody of French authorities following the collapse of Napoleonic rule in Spain.25 Alongside these primary sources in both France and Spain were the first scholarly tools to access them inter-linguistically: the first Spanish-Arabic dictionary to be prepared since the appearance of Pedro de Alcalá’s dictionary in the early sixteenth century, compiled by Manuel Bacas Merino, would be followed by French-Arabic ones as well.26 Within a few decades, there was a great increase in the number of primary sources about al-Ándalus at the disposal of scholars throughout Europe, who immediately set to translate and use those sources, creating a significant explosion of works about or relating to Muslim Spain, which then attracted attention from outside the country, noticeably from French and German scholars. A German edition of the Cid’s poem was published in 1805, followed by an English version in 1808 by Robert Southey, who extolled the poem’s virtues as the oldest verse composed in the Spanish language and declared the poem’s author a Spanish Homer.27 Other critics explicitly elevated the Cid to the rank of Spain’s national hero while also including among his accomplishments the development of Spanish as a language and of the country’s literary tradition. Thomas Roscoe’s translation of Jean-Charles-Leonard Simonde de Sismondi’s critical work, titled Historical View of the Literature of the South of Europe, explains that through “the reign of Ferdinand the Great, and the exploits of the Cid, in the eleventh century, by exciting national enthusiasm, formed, in the same manner, a rallying point for the Castilian language, and merged the dialects of the villages in the language of the court and army.”28 In contrast, not all foreign literary critics valued the poem as a work of art. Friedrich Bouterwek’s History of Spanish and Portuguese Literature, translated from German into English by Thomasina Ross, dismisses the “versified chronicle” as an uninventive and imperfect example of early Spanish poetry, one that reflected the nature of the nation that produced it.29 Most of these translations, and the Spanish adaptations of them that followed, made fast and loose with the sources for the both poem and the chronicles, which is how the fusion

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of both genres became so commonplace in modern editions. Reinhart Dozy (1820–1883) of the Netherlands would become one of the first scholars to make use of historical material written in Arabic in order to learn more about the real Cid rather than the literary creation and historical fiction. Dozy portrayed the Cid not as a national hero but as a bandit and mercenary, while dismissing the poem of 1207 as having no historical and little literary value. However, other scholars – perhaps most famously Ramón Menéndez Pidal (1869–1968) – regarded the poem as Spain’s first epic, and one whose importance was magnified by the fact that it was written in Spanish. Menéndez Pidal argues passionately against the “cidophobic” mentality expressed by Dozy, complaining that el Cid que la Historia universal conoce sigue siendo siempre el que Dozy nos pinta como muy opuesto al Cid de la poesía … ese aventurero cuyos soldados pertenecían en gran parte a la hez de la sociedad musulmana, y que combatió como verdadero mercenario, ora por Cristo, ora por Mahoma, preocupado únicamente del sueldo que había de percibir y del botín que podía pillar [the Cid known in universal history continues to be the one that Dozy paints for us, being very much the opposite of the poem’s version of the Cid … some adventurer whose soldiers for the most part belonged to the dregs of Muslim society, and who fought as a true mercenary, praying for Christ, praying for Mohommad, concerned only with the salary that he might earn and the bounty that could seize].30 Some scholars claim that the Spanish presence in cities like Leiden in the Netherlands, which resulted in early-modern attempts to orientalize Catholic Spain, influenced scholars such as Dozy, who himself was from Leiden.31 In the end, Dozy’s version of the Cid could not outpace the romanticized version of the epic hero that otherwise flourished in the nineteenth century thanks in part to literary casticismo, which Anthony Close defines as an idealized form of cultural caste-purity. The exultation of Spanish literary and cultural genius allowed scholars such as Marcelino Menéndez Pelayo (1856–1912) to transform historical frameworks structured by blood and race purity into literary ones that informed nineteenth-century conceptions of Spanish culture, both in and outside of Spain, thus shaping national identity.32 German scholars abroad, including Friedrich Schlegel

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(1772–1892), already had shaped the cidian narrative within the binary of the purely Castillian hero and his morally or racially impure enemies.33 Like Schlegel, Dozy, and later Menéndez Pelayo, modern editors and copyists desired to provide a more complete picture of the Cid’s life than that set out in the poem by incorporating medieval context and content. Both Venezuelan-born Andrés Bello (1781–1865) and Ramón Menéndez Pidal (1869–1968), Menéndez Pelayo’s student, looked specifically to sixteenth-century sources – the former to Velorado’s chronicle and the latter to Crónica de Veinte Reyes – in order to supply content that was missing from the poem.34 The works of Bello, Dozy, Menéndez Pelayo, and Menéndez Pidal demonstrate how the literary dimensions of the scholarly field of Hispanism were forged on the back of the Cid and driven by scholars who produced a wealth of books and articles that strained the shelves of the world’s libraries in the nineteenth century.

s pan i s h i d ent i ty a n d t he s tab il iz at i on of a hi sto ri c m ed ieval ism Spanish identity in the modern era of nation-states was influenced by, and crystalized around, orientalism and the impact of scholarship executed by foreign Hispanists like Casiri and Dozy. Also playing a role in this process were travellers to Spain. The likes of Lord Byron (1788–1824) and Ernest Hemingway (1899–1961), to name only two scions of postEnlightenment literature, toured the country and subsequently wrote about their experiences, paying particular attention to the exotic offerings of Andalusia. American and British readers learned about the country through the lens of romanticized travel narratives that focused inevitably on Spain’s Arab past. Other Spanish literary figures, such as Don Quixote and Don Juan, also became romanticized in this period.35 As Frans De Bruyn observes, eighteenth-century references to the former figure were either intended as a term of derision or “could be worn as a badge of honour.”36 Such was the foreign knowledge of Spanish literary figures that vernacular phrases inspired by literature crossed into other languages. Histories also emerged: in Washington Irving’s The Alhambra: A Series of Tales and Sketches of the Moors and Spaniards (1832), the author related the country’s exotic-seeming history for the consumption of a rapidly expanding American and British readership at the same time that he emphasized its lack of modern development. Joining this historical context,

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works of scholarship provided English readers with access to primary sources such as Irving’s The History of the Life and Voyages of Christopher Columbus (1828), which was also simultaneously published in the United States and Britain, and William Prescott’s The History of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic (1837). These works reinforced the perception of Spain’s backwardness, particularly in comparison to the forward-thinking United States and industrializing Britain.37 To this day, scholars have relied heavily on such texts as English-language sources for Spanish primary material. At the same time, translations of Spanish literature continued to appear, including Archer Milton Huntington’s Poem of the Cid published by the Hispanic Society of America (1897–1903). Also nourishing the scholarship about Spain in the anglophone world was wider access to medieval art (which Huntingdon, incidentally, collected). The Hispanic Society of America, which housed a medieval-art collection, erected a bronze statue of the Cid outside its building in New York not long after Huntingdon’s translation appeared. The statue came to symbolize the society and the strengths of its collections.38 Foreign interest in the Cid increased at a time when Spain was growing steadily weaker as a country, both domestically and in its colonial possessions abroad. In this context, while translation became a vehicle through which knowledge of the country’s culture and history could be acquired, the process was not without hidden consequences. As Eric Cheyfitz observes, the acts of conquest and translation are intimately interconnected because translating a text into another language – particularly English, which in recent centuries has grown to become a global lingua franca if not culta – allows the text to serve new purposes which include the assignment of national identity from without.39 Translating the Cid into English or German becomes a civilizing act through which the barbarian tongue of Spanish is received as less savage, more humanized. The expanding British and German empires appropriated Spain’s past as a means of constructing their present.40 In one respect, publishers made Spain’s literature and history an object of desire, but British and German readers, in consuming this literature, increased their intimacy with Spain and its people in a way that was not necessarily reciprocated in Spain itself. At the same time as the cidian narrative grew to become Spain’s national epic, other nations increasingly viewed Spain as outmoded, unmodern, and underdeveloped, and some important historical events reinforced this

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perception. By the close of the nineteenth century, Spanish agriculture had still not embraced the technological innovations common elsewhere, and the country had few factories and no rail system of note. It also was plagued by deep-rooted social and political divisions throughout the nineteenth century, which dawned with Napoleonic rule and progressed through decades of civil war. As if this were not enough, Spain began losing its colonies, all of which successfully sought out and gained their independence, culminating in the emancipation of Cuba in 1898. With the loss of their empire, Spaniards required a new identity. The process of forging a collective sense of self led writers, artists, and scholars to romanticize the Spanish identity that had prevailed before the conquest of the Americas. The twentieth century therefore began with a heavy sense of how the country and its people had been shaped by the last epoch to yield sweet fruit such as the Cid. As will be explored in the next chapter, the glories of Spain’s past became important instruments in the reunification of Spain following the conclusion of its Civil War in 1939. In particular, the appeal of medieval militarism mirrored desires to see nationalism, its qualities and goals, valued and reflected in the twentieth century. Additionally, medievalism reinforced the homogeneity of the society that had given rise to the modern one, acting as a valuable organizing principle of both and tying them together through the concept of a shared social order based on ideals of militarism and masculinity. Both of these possibilities depend upon the tenet that the success of the past is once again achievable. Simon Barker has referred to this process as one that could forge a sense of “military heritage” in the contemporary period by making use of historical, popular, and Christian antecedents.41 With this mindset, Franco subsequently developed a tourism industry concentrated along Spain’s southern coast, which dovetailed with innovations in transportation as well as a cinematic adaptation of the cidian narrative shown throughout the world. International audiences and travellers came to Spain in ever greater numbers to learn about its Islamic heritage and its past military and cultural greatness. In recent decades, with the increasing economic importance of the Middle East, new binaries within the framework of orientalism have taken shape. The West now defines itself with reference not to its Christian faith but to the principles of democracy, which many claim are threatened by Islam. These new binaries become more consequential in light of some scholars’ belief that the West has embraced medievalism as a way of

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alleviating anxiety about its own identity in the modern period. Jeffrey Richards argues that neo-medievalism is a symptom of a universal disillusionment felt by moderns about their culture. Westerners turn to medievalism, as the Spanish did to the Cid, for clues about their identity, in search of new models and values.42 Thus, the models and constructs propagated by the cidian corpus have begun to ascend once again within popular culture, if not more broadly in society, not only in Spain but across the Western world. The construction of Muslims as contemporary enemies of the West also uses frames of reification that are distinctly medieval in origin. A movement away from democracy and economic sovereignty and an acceptance of an increasingly wider gap between the rich and the poor may foreshadow what lies ahead for the Western world. In any event, the codes that signify the medieval and contemporary definition of the West relative to the rest of the world remain legible so that the archetypes of the past are reified the same way in the present. One need only study the representation of the other in medieval-themed fantasy films and television series such as Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones, and Star Trek to find islamified portrayals of peoples that have nothing to do with Islam. Once islamified, characters can be easily defined as the enemy, which is why islamification has become an arguably inseparable component of orientalism, one used consistently as a means of constructing the visualization of the hero’s enemy in the first place. Recent illustrations deal with these contemporary means of orientalizing the Cid’s opponents in much the same way as in the past; however, technologies have increased the complexity of the cultural perspective exerted upon the image. Importantly, in some illustrations the distinction between the Cid and Muslims is expressed less through clothing and symbols and more through contrasts in colour, which has become a mainstay in book illustration, particularly for juvenile audiences. The means through which this orientalization is achieved emerged in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, enabled by technologies of illustration, and therefore were not present in either medieval or early modern visual contexts. The cover illustration of the 1959 London edition, which recycled illustrations prepared by Fernando Terán, portrayed an eerie individual clothed in a yellow tunic wearing slippers that curl slightly at the toe as well as a turban topped with a pointed helmet, his hand resting on the hilt of his scimitar. Illustrated in profile, the man’s facial features include one almond-shaped,

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glowing yellow eye.43 Other illustrators have similarly used unnatural eye colour as a way of dehumanizing the enemy or to depict them performing acts of hate against the protagonist. In the 1965 Barcelona (Ediciones Noguer) edition, Muslims practise their aim by shooting arrows at a wooden cross.44 However, the construction of the Cid’s enemies as monstrous, enabled in the 1950 edition and elsewhere by the use of colour, is not common; rather, they more often tend to be portrayed as weak or subservient. The cover of the 1962 Valencia (Ediciones Gaisa) edition – which was the “version ilustrada para jóvenes [version illustrated for youth]” and formed part of its “Héroes y Descubridores” series – exemplifies how subtle the codification of orientalism had become by the mid-twentieth century (see Plate 13).45 The illustration portrays a scene that has been deliberately crafted so that it would be reminiscent of one designed and executed by a medieval artist. Several flags fly in the background, for instance, but none of them are bevelled or depicted as if flapping in the wind. Instead, they are flat, lacking the artistry of movement that one expects of modern illustrations. The most interesting component of this scene is the contrast between the Cid and his enemy. The latter, situated at the bottom of the illustration, is faceless because his back is turned to the reader, but we know from his skin colour that he is African, which contrasts with the Cid’s whiteness. His sword is raised, just like the Cid’s weapon, in anticipation of their meeting in the air; but the Cid holds his sword perfectly straight on a horizontal plane, whereas his opponent holds his aloft, lacking the control or the strength to keep it straight, and, moreover, it curves at the end, emphasizing his unpredictability. The Cid’s rectangular shield features a cross upon it; his opponent’s rounded shield contains a white crescent moon. Unlike the helmet worn by the Cid, which has a protective nose strip, the enemy dons a white turban with a metallic cone to protect his head. His cloak, blue with white flowers, contrasts with the Cid’s white tunic emblazoned with crosses, and this choice of floral pattern emasculates the Cid’s opponent, despite his armour. Finally, the Cid sits on horseback while his opponent is on foot, echoing the importance of verticality for distinguishing protagonist from antagonist. Orientalization can also depict a friend rather than a foe. The illustrator for the 2003 edition portrayed Al-Mutamin and the Cid crouching in the sand, where the former traces a map of Valencia with his fingers. AlMutamin, while providing advice to his collaborator concerning how to

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overtake the city’s defences, places his arm around our hero in an expression of friendship that affirms the trust invested in him by the Cid. Both men wear tunics, but otherwise only an educated reader would understand the relationship of Al-Mutamin’s helmet style to historical representations of Spanish Muslim soldiers, who always possess black hair and certainly not red hair. Most often, it is the contrasting skin and hair colour that differentiates the two men, with the Cid possessing blond, brown, or red hair and exhibiting a comparatively fuller beard (see Plate 15). Al-Mutamin essentially becomes a servant to the Cid’s ambition to conquer Valencia and tends to be characterized as obedient and loyal. The image captures the camaraderie shared by both men while hinting at the construction of distinct masculinities for Christian and Muslim men in the original text. Even Muslims who were not necessarily friends but rather had been defeated, and in some cases captured, displayed fealty to their new Christian overlord within medieval narrative contexts. As a result, many illustrations represent Muslims bowing their heads, which are inevitably covered by turbans or great lengths of cloth that resemble the head-coverings worn by Christian women in the medieval period, and the textual component reinforces the subservience of them to Spanish men in a position of power. The 1848 Madrid (Alhambra y Compañía) edition features a group of Muslims in Toledo bowing before the king upon horseback (see Plate 10). Located in a chapter titled “Los moros de Toledo desisten en reclamar su mezquita [The moors of Toledo stop trying to reclaim their mosque],” this image represents attempts by the newly conquered, predominantly shoeless – according to the illustration – Muslims of Toledo to find a space where might practise their faith. In the end they accept that all mosques have now been made churches and show their allegiance to the king. Another image, from the 1956 Zaragoza (Editorial Ebro) edition, also provides in a caption a quotation from a “rey moro,” who is portrayed bending his knee before the king while he pledges his armies to Sancho’s service: “Tienes, señor, un vasallo / de quien lo son quatro reyes [You have, Sire, a vassal / who is worth four kings].”46 In the cidian corpus, Muslims when illustrated almost always are either attacking, fleeing, or demonstrating their subservience, typically by bowing their heads, an approach that usually emasculates the other while accentuating in some way the power of the Christian male who dominates them.

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Referring to canonical texts such as the poem and to an assortment of Spanish frontier ballads composed between the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries, Louis Mirrer summarizes this contrast in Christian and Muslim masculinities: “Muslim men console their Christian captives by offering them their sisters as concubines; they speak with great courtesy to Christians who seek to divest them of their holdings; they address their Christian opponents as amigo; and they weep sorrowfully when their Christian captors set them free. Christian men, on the other hand, threaten, insult, intimidate, and act violently toward Muslim men freely. They enslave them, they starve them, and they rape their women.”47 From a literary perspective, medieval authors deprived Christian warriors’ opponents of their masculinity as a means of othering them; they appropriated a model based on gender roles in order to subordinate the Muslim enemy, sometimes directly feminizing him. The conversion of religious difference into sexual difference provides a concrete and still orientalized framework through which the enemy can be dominated. Objects that corresponded to and therefore helped to signify Muslim soldiers included curved swords – whereas their Christian opponents carry straight blades – as well as voluminous cloaks that often made their feet appear small and feminine. The 2003 Madrid edition features an illustration in which the Cid contrasts these symbols – in one hand he bears one of his own swords and in the other the curved blade of a fallen enemy, at whom he charges, with both swords raised, while the recipient of his attack fends him off with an impotent candlestick.48 These same objects and qualities occasionally represent Christian antagonists as well, as we saw to a degree in the case of the smallness, slightness, and eventually unarmed physicality of the infantes of the Count of Carrión. The physiques of the infantes typically appear less masculine compared to that of the Cid, who represents the fully realized masculine ideal. In the 2010 Madrid (Castalia) edition, the infantes possess feminine-seeming coiffures, their clothes hang on them in a way that reveals curves, and their slender, pointy fingertips gently gesticulate toward some mischievous end. One particular image contrasts their presence with that of an angry Cid following his discovery of what occurred at Corpes (see Plate 16). Feminization remains an important means of othering the enemy, and the strategy is manifested more subtly as well. Many of the images containing Muslims portray their facial hair somewhat differently than that of Christians, whose beards are almost always longer and fuller than those of their

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Muslim counterparts, who often possess goatees and sculpted, stylized beards. The symbol of potency embodied by a man’s ability to grow a beard distinguishes him from women, whereas a sculpted beard suggests effeminacy because women historically tend to coif their hair, and men less so. In this way, Muslims are constructed as less masculine by their facial hair, but the removal of the beard altogether can also communicate overt emasculation. An example of this practice again involves the infantes. Unlike the other Christian characters, the illustrator of the 2008 Barcelona (edebé) edition portrays them clean-shaven throughout the book, putting them in the same company as the Jews Raquel and Vidas, neither of whom possesses facial hair either, in stark contrast to the other male characters.49 The illustrators of both the 1992 Madrid (Ediciones Rialp) and 2008 Madrid (Anaya) editions also feature the infantes as clean-shaven or, in the case of the latter, with sparse fringes along their jawlines similar to the appearance of Muslims, whereas the Cid and his men possess robust beards that cover the entire lower region of the face.50 Rarely are Christians overtly represented using symbols otherwise reserved for the orientalized subjects within the cidian corpus. Exceptions include the 1498 edition, which contained illustrations depicting turbaned enemies that were recycled elsewhere to lend visuality to the Cid’s Christian enemies. One of the few other examples of an overt association of Islam and the Cid’s non-Muslim opponents occurs in a twentieth-century edition. The 1954 Barcelona (Ediciones G.P.) edition provides explicit visual context for the moment in which the king exiles the Cid after his taking the oath to serve him. The door frame through which the Cid is to exit and toward which the king signals his demand with an exigent finger is decorated with crescent moons, which identifies two otherwise distinct peoples as common antagonists to our hero.51 The perception on the part of other nations that Spain lacked potency and was medieval as opposed to modern was mirrored by the country’s engagement with its own medieval idealizations, which were driven by the dream of a refashioned sense of national identity. At the same time, in the modern period the sources for Spanish history and literature abounded in multiple languages. Works such as those of Irving and Prescott reinforced the orientalizations of the past, inscribing them within the ancestry of both Muslims and Catholics alike, while Spain’s dearth of industrial advancement and modernization in part affirmed the outmoded, medieval state of things. The development of the literary canon, moreover,

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resulted in extolling medieval epics as exemplary and foundational works of literature, and thus of the language and nation. Literature tied together an historical identity with a modern sense of Spain extracted from the medieval period. Reinforcing these associations were organizing mythologies that informed generations of readers about the Spanish-Catholic war on Islam and similar activities in the Americas, in addition to the Spanish imperial program in Europe which continued across the centuries. This knowledge and way of seeing the world was enabled by post-Enlightenment engagement with, and the accessibility of, primary sources in both published and translated form. That being said, historians such as Brazilian-born Américo Castro (1885–1972) argued against the romanticized ideal of a Christian medieval Spain in a way that fundamentally challenged Spanish identity. His contention that the modern nation of Spain did not originate until after the Muslim conquest of the peninsula, however, met resistance in the cidian corpus, which greatly relied upon the spiritual and historical mythologies in popular, as opposed to academic, culture.52 Castro was trying to counter the nationalist positioning of the Cid as a regenerative device for Spain championed by the likes of Joaquín Costa toward the end of the nineteenth century.53 For different reasons, this intersection between medievalism and orientalism became an important component in the book illustration of the cidian corpus in all epochs. Muslims and Spaniards become orientalized according to the rhetoric of the era in which the representation was created. By examining the phenomenon of orientalization, moreover, we can appreciate how the representation and construction of the medieval shifts considerably in signification from one epoch to another. The visual codification of orientalism extends to antagonists of all forms and communicates to readers of all ages qualities and behaviours to be avoided or emulated. In the next chapter, we will return to medievalism as a tool for forging a nation while considering the political uses and appropriations of the Cid’s narrative.

5 Political Uses of the Cid in Text and Image

The final illustration of a recent edition of the Cid’s narrative captures not the death of the Cid, which artists typically render with an image of him dying in bed, lying on a funerary table, or the now emblematic coffin containing his remains. Rather, the illustrator attempts to convey the sentiment felt by those who survived him (Fig. 5.1). A sombre background allows the staffs positioned in the foreground to dominate the illustration. Symbols of Christianity and Islam flank a white dove, representing the Cid’s spirit as it ascends to heaven, and the use of black flags reminds us of the Western custom of donning black as an outward sign of mourning. Certainly, Muslims and Christians did not stand united in 1099, because the reconquest continued for nearly three centuries afterward. The contemporary artist instead means to suggest that the Cid was mourned by both friend and foe. Yet, that said, it is curious that Islam has been inserted into this episode devoted to the Cid’s death. Never before have the two religions come together in illustrations of his story, whether at the moment of his death, which occurs either on the battlefield or while he is lying in his bed as an aged man surrounded by loving family and friends, or after his death. This last scenario was the subject of an episode that involves the transformation of the Cid’s sacralized body into a mechanism for demanding religious observance from a Jew, who tugs at the dead man’s beard; the possibility of converting Muslims in this fashion has yet to arise. Perhaps the artist believed that the reader expected the two cultural groups to find reconciliation in the demise of Spain’s historical saviour, which subtly communicates to the juvenile reader the ways through which Spaniards continued to best their enemies. J.S. Bratton has observed that

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“fiction had the advantage of a much more nearly universal availability: anyone educated to the level of basic literacy was accessible through a story.”1 Viewed in this way, these messages of political and ethnic dominance and orthodoxy reach not just children but also the parents and teachers exposed to the book. The inclusion of Muslims mourning the hero of their enemies subjugates them in the eyes of contemporary readers and overtly orientalizes them for no purpose other than to expose the power of the deceased protagonist as a charismatic, benevolent leader respected by all. These decisions made by artists, authors, and editors allow us to understand their world view at the same time that political and cultural allegiances form between the text and the reader or are expressed by the creators of the image and text, either in support of their personal views or in anticipation of those held by the target audience. These allegiances arouse what Martin Green has termed a caste mentality through which males in particular cultivate a sense of self rooted in the social character attached to their father’s or their own professions.2 Arguably, this concept has generational implications when caste-like formulations emerge from the literature to which children are exposed in democratized educational systems that transcend questions of class. Through the mass-produced page, the caste itself can connect or exclude individuals according to demographic similarities such as age, gender, race, citizenship, and religious upbringing. In addition to Green’s military and merchant castes, we can add the temporally flexible ones of little boys and girls, husbands, fathers, wives, and mothers, and the fixed ones of Spaniards and Catholicism. Green concludes that, for moderns, “caste thinking is the prototype of class- and race-thinking – something dangerous and disgraceful, although we all do it.”3 As the purveyors of the cidian corpus negotiate varying audiences over time, they rely upon socially meaningful vocabularies in either textual or visual form that relate the contents of the narrative to the reader’s own reality so that he finds the narrative relevant: they update and maintain caste self-identification. The political and social relevance of the corpus is contextualized by its earliest target audiences. As Charles Aubrun observed about the men who created the first romances and juglares in the medieval period, these singerpoets were more than interpreters for the stories that their patrons wanted to hear:

Figure 5.1 After the Cid’s death. María Teresa León, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, el Cid Campeador.

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A su servicio pone su arte, su cultura y su experiencia vivida. Sus poemas sobre las hazañas del Cid o las de Fajardo, el caudillo murciano, no son taraceas de pedazos o versos sueltos sacados de acá o allá, de la tradición oral o escrita. No se engendran unos a otros en el vacío de la historia exclusivamente literaria. Cada uno de ellos es fruto de una coyuntura política, social y cultural precisa en el curso del siglo XVI [They utilize their craft, their culture, and their lived experience while serving their patron. Their poems about the exploits of the Cid or those of Fajardo, the caudillo from Murcia, are not bits and pieces or a few singular verses taken from here or there from within the oral or written tradition. One does not engender another in the void of some exclusively literary history. Each one of these poems is a product of a precise political, social, and cultural collective from the sixteenth century].4 Because the texts that gave rise to the poem and romances, as well as the chronicles, and together make up the cidian corpus were created by authors for a patron with political or economic purposes in mind – that is, in aid of making a living as an entertainer or historian – at the core of the this corpus lies a multifaceted political motivation designed to celebrate a cultural icon or consequential individual, to laud the victory of Christianity over Islam, or to extol the potency of Castile as opposed to that of other regions of Spain, to name only a few possibilities. These motivations, as we have seen, also manifest themselves in the moment of illustrating these texts when the artist must designate the power relations inherent in the image as well as the races, genders, postures, and facial expressions possessed by the characters. Symbols of the monarchy, such as the coat of arms included upon a shield or breast plate or perhaps featured on the frontispiece, often express and help to differentiate protagonists from antagonists. They inscribe within the illustration a political presence that either seeks alliances with the reader or are designed to be rejected as illegitimate or unauthorized. The political import of the Cid was the subject of Edmund de Chasca’s mid-twentieth-century essay subtitled “El Cid es un verdadero hero nacional [The Cid is a true national hero],” in which the author discusses the political actions of the protagonist but not the extra-literary uses of the text itself.5 Since the subject has been little explored, in this chapter we will consider how cidian illustrations reflect and empower an array of

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political programs, beginning first with a brief examination of how Spain’s national symbolism was typically grafted upon the representation of the Cid.

sy m bo li zin g t h e n ation thro ug h the c id National symbols, as well as the politically motivated foundation for both text and image, evolve transhistorically and become, as Rachel Hutchins observes about material included in American and French textbooks, important means of transmitting “national culture” both within and outside of the classroom.6 An excellent example of this practice is found on the front cover of the 1936 Paris (Librería de la Viuda de Ch. Bouret) edition of the poem and romance published the same year in which Civil War erupted in Spain.7 The illustration contains Spain’s coat of arms, which consists of a castle, representing Castile, and a lion, representing León, in the top two quadrants. The arms of Aragon (five yellow and four red stripes) and Navarra (cross-shaped chains) reside in the lower two quadrants, with a pomegranate representing Granada situated beneath them. The placement of the pomegranate should be understood within the taxonomies of power used and observed over the past number of centuries. What is missing from this shield, and exists today, is the fleur-de-lys symbol for the Bourbon dynasty, and its exclusion has political consequences. Alfonso XIII (1886–1941), the same king who in 1921 brought the Cid’s remains to rest at the cathedral in Burgos, fled the country in 1931 after the republican movement gained significant strength and he later died in exile. In his absence, an attempt at a republic soon gave way to Franco’s dictatorship. The adjustment in the coat of arms therefore reflected the political situation of the day, and, in J.A. Mangan’s view, propaganda of this nature can serve one of two purposes: “to turn resentment into rebellion or loose coalition into unity.”8 The back cover of this cidian edition, moreover, features a lion raising a sword in the air and seated upon a castle tower, which further orders the constituent kingdoms of Spain along a taxonomy of power that elevates León above Castile while raising Castile and León above all of the rest. These symbols together represent the modern nation of Spain and, while they could be viewed as discrete emblems for each of the constituent states or realms, their unity as a whole rather performs national identity by becoming and being recognizable as a brand. This visibility functions, as Michael Geisler has argued, as a form

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of mass media,9 delivered in our case through the vehicle of the Cid’s body when the symbols are worn upon his armour or through his narrative. When the Cid is illustrated with symbols of the nation, he almost always wears some piece of clothing or armour emblazoned with a castle, even while in exile, and that symbol is occasionally joined by a lion as a post-medieval signifier of the eventual unification of those two kingdoms. The practice appears to be more popular in modern editions, likely because the technologies of illustration have become more advanced and details of this nature have become part of the reader-viewer’s expectations while reading the book.10 A particularly intriguing example can be found in José Querol’s description of the Cid’s life in Vidas de hombres ilustres (1933), the front matter for which contains an illustrated initial that makes use of the lion and castle to form the word Arduo (arduous), a characteristic Querol associated with the national brand.11 A rare exception to the visual codification of the Cid’s loyalty using these symbols for Castile and León is found in the 1962 Valencia (Ediciones Gaisa) edition. Rather than the castle and the lion that symbolize these two kingdoms, the story commences with our hero’s tunic emblazoned with a castle and a striped shield representing Aragon.12 The rationale is straightforward: the Cid’s fealty to Sancho, who was the king of Castile and Aragon, is demonstrated by these adornments. After Sancho’s death, Castile passes to Alfonso, who becomes king of both that realm as well as his own, León. It is for this reason that illustrators typically illustrate Castile and León as the Cid’s patrons and, vice versa, they demonstrate through these symbols his sustained loyalty to Alfonso despite the hardships encountered by the protagonist as a result of the exile imposed upon him by the king. In another illustration portraying a battle later in the same edition, only the arms of Aragon are featured on our hero’s shield.13 The choice to ignore the lion, despite its presence on banners at the oath of Santa Gadea, as well as the symbol for Alfonso’s other kingdom, Castile, suggests that the quality of loyalty has become more important than that of subjectification and service, a nuance that rumbles with political significance, as will be argued later. These symbols of Spain’s medieval kingdoms remain known by the modern Spanish reader today, so much so that illustrators have allegorized them. The 2007 Burgos (Ediciones Gran Vía) edition, in its illustration for the Oath of Santa Gadea, features the dramatic moment of the Cid pointing at a cross-emblazoned Bible. The black glove of the king, in con-

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trast to the Cid’s much lighter glove, communicates the former man’s villainous side and rests on the cross; neither of their bodies otherwise form part of the scene. In the background, the illustrator portrays a castle tower, representing Castile, around which the claws of a lion sink into its walls, the lion itself taking a bite out of Castile as a means of criticizing the quality of leadership experienced in the kingdoms once they were united under Alfonso. The image also conveys the antagonism of the lion, which represents León, toward Castile, and by extension allegorizes the harm Alfonso would do to Castile through the murder of its king, Sancho.14 More complex iterations reveal how the Cid and his narrative have been used to advance the agendas of individuals, institutions, and even cities. These episodes have developed a visual component often independent of the text and in medial forms beyond illustration, such as painting, sculpture, photography, and film. The earliest proponent of the Cid’s story for some political end also became the progenitor of the legend of the monastery of Cardeña, a legend that later grew in consequence and popularity so that all Spaniards would come to know the story of the Cid.

m o nas t e ri o d e san pedro de card e ña Perhaps the earliest and most consequential use of the cidian legend involved the Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña. Founded in 899, the monastery, located not far from Burgos, played a key role in the Christian effort to eliminate Islam from the Iberian Peninsula.15 The Cid’s remains would be interred there in 1103 by his wife. From the twelfth century onward, this monastery deliberately sought to incorporate the cidian narrative into the proto-national chronicle of Spanish history. In that regard, the Cid’s sanctification found its roots in mystical encounters with not only the man but also his remains. Alfonso X himself, in 1272, visited Cardeña and apparently the Cid’s body emanated an aura that convinced the king to have the remains moved to a more deserving and noble place in the monastery.16 Relics with such power tend to be popular with biographers who surround their subject with “the aura of sainthood,” whether or not the individual was elevated for beautification.17 Publication of the Cid’s chronicle also promoted this connection between the monastery and the Cid, as evidenced in the illustrations alone – the 1498 edition features one illustration in which a monk sees the Cid off from the monastery. This is the image that became edited in 1525 so

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that the monk was replaced by a dog, which hints at the degree of opposition that might have been felt in the sixteenth century about the suitability of the Cid as a candidate for sainthood. As we have already established, the abbot of this monastery funded one of the first published editions of the Cid’s chronicle, published in Burgos in 1512, which reasserted the importance of the monastery as part of the cidian mythology of the period. Its dedication to the king, moreover, emphasizes that the monastery possessed more than divine motivations for producing this volume; it needed the continued support and recognition that came with royal patronage. The king required, for example, that peasants give donations to the monastery; this meant, in the tenth century, for which there are figures, that nearly 35 per cent of the income collected by Cardeña came from the local population through the directives of the king.18 In the twelfth century, the king donated the monastery to the Cluniac order, which arguably had the additional impact of drawing in a militaristic spiritualism and approach to theological thought that would have been spurred on by the Cid’s legend and apparent connection to the monastery – a subject discussed in the next chapter.19 The monastery, therefore, possessed an economic, political, and social investment in the continued relationship between itself and the Cid, whose relics were conserved within its walls. Relics, like coats of arms, can be thought of as part of the monastery’s branding, which by extension fits into its mass-media programming. In fact, it bears noting that the monastery relied upon three sets of relics that subsequently ensured its continued subsistence. Besides the Cid’s remains, which became perhaps the most valuable set of relics to be situated at Cardeña, the monastery possessed relics of the martyrs of Cardeña – the monks who defended the monastery against encroaching Muslim conquerors – and also of Abbot San Sisebuto, who died in 1086. These relics all possess some critical interconnections that coalesce around the monastery as an important spiritual location. The overlap in the chronologies of Sisebuto and the Cid signifies that the two men knew each other or of each other, and that the former man would have been entrusted with the care of the Cid’s family when the Cid went into exile. As we discussed earlier in this book, the martyrs’ heroic resistance in the face of Islam’s encroachment finds parallels in other defenders of the faith such as Santiago de Matamoros, who also has been grafted onto the shoulders of the Cid. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, Cardeña offered re-enactments and readings of bal-

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lads detailing the famous battles in which the Cid proved his singular abilities, and these ballads were geared toward attracting tourists and pilgrims who in turn donated to the monastery.20 The plan to sanctify the Cid officially would further entrench the legend and its importance to the monastery. It is not an accident that the 1512 edition of Crónica particular del Cid, and subsequent editions of 1552 and 1593, dovetailed with formal bids to achieve his sanctification, which was supported by other efforts – including his instalment alongside other saints on the sillería of San Benito de Valladolid in 1525 by Andrés de Nájera. Around 1570, the Cid’s likeness as well as Cardeña’s coat of arms were added to the Gothic façade of the church next to the image of St Peter. Not even the country’s most famous and important monarchs earned such a privileged position,21 which implicates the Cid in the monastery’s strategic plan as an institution to exercise power and garner the support it needed for its continued survival. Attempts to memorialize the Cid continued later the same century and in 1593, the same year in which his chronicle was republished in Burgos, Felipe II visited the neighbourhood where the Cid’s house was thought to have once stood.22 Authorities subsequently decided to mark its location for posterity with a monument that displayed the coat of arms of both Cardeña and the Cid; this monument was finally completed in the late eighteenth century following a renewal of interest in the Cid as a national hero and model for the citizenry.23 The publication by Guillén de Castro of the mocedades in 1618, which then created significant interest in the Cid outside Spain – particularly in the world of theatre – further raised him up as a national hero while also serving the interests of Cardeña. Efforts to make him appear saintly were well underway by the late sixteenth century when the formal application to make the Cid a saint was sent to Rome. While this attempt was unsuccessful, individuals remained invested in sustaining the relationship between Cardeña and the Cid. A symptom that not everybody agreed with Cardeña is the action taken by one of the monastery’s monks, Francisco de Berganza, in 1719 when he prepared and published a defence of the veracity and value of the cidian narrative in Antigüedades de España. Subsequently, in the late 1730s, the monastery was sufficiently aware of certain criticisms of the Cid that it renovated its façade so as to have it include a Matamoros-inspired image of the Cid on horseback dominating his Muslim foe. Cardeña also developed a chapel entirely devoted to the Cid and in which all of his relics became consolidated,24

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with the aim, no doubt, of attracting visitors to the monastery and perhaps convincing them of the prestige that further investments in the monastery would bring them. It is precisely this approach that cities such as Burgos continue to take today in order to leverage the historical connection it enjoys with the Cid’s story.

b ur go s One of the cities that lays greatest claim to the Cid is Burgos. A Roman and then Visigoth city, it was hardly occupied by Muslims before they were expelled from the region. The city became the capital of Castile, where the king resided and from which the Cid departed into exile. Textual references to this city, along with visual references in the cidian corpus, make it clear that the Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña lay a few kilometres away from the city’s walls. On his first visit to the city, Flemish-born Carlos I, who, without the ability to speak Spanish, had ascended to the throne of Spain as a result of his grandparents’ marriage (a strategic match that joined the Hapsburg and Burgundian lines), encountered one of the first political uses of the Cid in architecture found outside Cardeña. Carlos sought the support of Castilian cities, including Burgos, in order to impose a tax which would assist in funding his journey north to be crowned emperor of a significant portion of Europe. As he passed into the city through the Puerta de San Martín, he would have seen not only the Cid’s image but also inscriptions such as “naturales de aquí fueron / estos siempre vencedores / tantas batallas vencieron / que sus famas los pusieron junto a los emperadores [people born here were / the ones who always were victorious / so many battles did they win / that their fame puts them alongside that of emperors].”25 The inscription certainly contained a reminder to Carlos – once it was translated for him – that his investment in Castile’s interests would gain the respect of that region’s inhabitants. It also included the subtext that, just as the Cid had bested his own king from a moral perspective, so, too, might the soon-to-be emperor be overpowered by the will of his subjects. Burgos reinforced this message in other architectural projects that featured the Cid as well as some similarly motivated inscriptions, including one created by Juan de Vallejo y Ochoa de Arteaga that became part of the Arco de Santa María by 1553 following the revolts of the comuneros.26

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These power relations and their political significance for the Cid and the king also materialized in Burgos’s countryside because it was in the Iglesia de Santa Gadea that the legendary oath of that name was taken by the Castilian nobility. Following the death of Sancho II, Alfonso VI rose to the throne and asked the nobility to swear oaths of allegiance to him, giving him use of their territories and lending him their armies. In return, the king swore that he would protect the interests of the nobility. According to the cidian narrative, the Cid, for his part, vacillates in taking this oath of allegiance to Alfonso because he suspects that Alfonso murdered, or was complicit in the murder of, his brother Sancho. He requests that the new king swear that he did not kill Sancho, which the king agrees to do, and then, feeling humiliated by the entire episode, Alfonso exiles the Cid from Burgos. In the case of the oath sworn at Santa Gadea, the oath sworn by the king is to the Cid alone and he does this in order to receive the Cid’s loyalty.27 In this way, a fictitious event that nonetheless was set in a real place converted the church into one of the Cid’s relics, which made the city of Burgos a locus of interest that could be exploited under the right circumstances. Those circumstances came together as the monarchy’s power waned. René Jesús Payo Herranz notes that, in the middle of the nineteenth century, there developed for the first time a significant interest in visually representing the Santa Gadea scene. As evidence, he points to the Hartzenbusch (1848) edition in which the oath was illustrated, in addition to other editions produced during the ensuing decades. In 1864, moreover, Marcos Giráldez de Acosta’s painting portraying the oath was unveiled at the Congreso de los Diputados, an act that Payo Herranz describes as ideological in nature because the state then purchased the painting for display in the Senate. Copies of the painting appeared in provincial buildings; for example, in 1880 Andrés García Prieto reproduced it for the Diputación Provincial de Burgos, and other reproductions emerged throughout the twentieth century as well.28 One of these reproductions became the cover art for the 2003 Madrid (Anaya ele) edition of the 1207 poem. As we have seen earlier in this book, illustrations of the oath portrayed the Cid dominating the king in both a physical and social fashion. The prominence of painted versions of this scene emphasizes the movement toward a non-monarchical structure of governance, while at the same time reminding lawmakers of their obligation to comport themselves with honesty and integrity.

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Burgos’s interest in the Cid persisted into the twentieth century, and at different times the use of his story would be reframed. In 1921, in anticipation of the 700th anniversary of the city’s cathedral, the Cid’s remains were moved there.29 At the beginning of the Civil War in 1936, the nationalist mayor of Burgos, García Lozano, delivered a speech to the city’s council in which he characterized the ascendance of communism and socialism, through the vehicle of the republican movement, as an incursion into the heart of the nation that needed to be repulsed.30 To this end, he proposed erecting a monument devoted to the Cid as a symbol of Old Castile.31 This appropriation of the Cid’s legend for the authority it might lend to the identity politics of the twentieth century evidently contrasts with the nineteenth-century use of it as part of an anti-monarchist ideology. Other nationalists subscribed to and deepened this rhetoric during the remainder of the Civil War, and, in the decades that followed its conclusion, they ensured that a monument as well as a bridge featuring statues of the characters from the cidian narrative would be erected. Walking through Burgos today, we are confronted by representations from the cidian narrative in architectural and artistic form; the city itself has become visually cidian and an iconic place tethered to both the story and this period of Spanish politics. For Spaniards visiting Burgos, moreover, the city’s cidian aesthetic memorializes the nationalist stronghold on the city and continues to alienate republicans, although perhaps less so now than in earlier times.

g e n e r al fr a nc i sc o f ran c o an d t h e fala ng e The historical uses of the cidian legend for political purposes typically responded to longer-term unrest or circumstances that unfolded over the course of years, and, in the case of Burgos, it resulted in the legend becoming an engrained aspect of the city’s identity and a primary attraction for travellers interested in visiting the Cid’s historical home and resting place. In other cases, however, the legend served the shorter-term agendas of politicians and to some degree became part of their identities as public figures. Such was the case when the cidian legend was adopted by nationalists in the 1930s and then by Francisco Franco and his party, the Falange. This choice on the part of Franco was partly inspired by the Portuguese dictator António de Oliveira Salazar’s parallel self-embodiment as a hero among heroes, a tactic mimicked by other fascist dictators.32

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The nationalist movements in both countries viewed communism and other forms of resistance to their ideology as subversive of the fabric of the nation. This perspective, moreover, identified Muslims and certainly non-Europeans in Portugal’s African colonies as part of the same anti-fascist resistance. By embracing a framework that saw both Portugal and Spain as in need of strong leadership – which, it was believed, had yielded past periods of greatness – Salazar and later Franco could easily and convincingly communicate an idealized future to their countrymen during periods of deep civic divide.33 The Cid became one of the tools seized upon by Franco, and popular belief in the former’s successes and achievements were meant to inspire confidence in the latter’s contribution to a better future for Spain. The media during the Civil War, including Lusophone newspapers, portrayed Franco as Spain’s saviour, a godlike figure deserving of the respect and loyalty of the citizenry. For example, his decision to repatriate prisoners from the International Brigades, who fought on the republican side during the Civil War, rather than execute or imprison them, made him appear a benign and humane leader. During political speeches he would speak glowingly about his military victories, and he took care to affirm his devotion to his forces just as Alfonso did. The people, for their part, looked upon him as a source of inspiration, or at least that was the impression that circulated in mass media. According to one newspaper report in 1937, twelve hundred pilgrims from Mecca converged on Seville that year in order to pray for Franco’s victory in the Civil War. The construction of him as cidian, and thus worthy of deep respect, culminated in 1939 when he was portrayed in Diário de Lisboa touring the lowerclass neighbourhoods of Seville out of concern for the residents’ poor quality of life.34 At that point, however, directly linking Franco to the Cid was still uncommon; only after 1939 was the comparison made explicit again and again, sometimes in a manner favourable to the dictator and sometimes not. As early as 1941, one work of scholarship, by Miguel Capella, deliberately recast the Cid as a role model for all Spaniards, declaring that the poem was the “gesta de una raza [epic of a people]” and an answer to the problems faced by Spaniards in the present day.35 Similarly, a photographic essay documenting Franco’s 1947 tour of the final city to fall under his command aligned Franco and the Cid in its title: El Caudillo en Valencia del Cid. The text that followed was effusive in its praise: “Entre

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manifestaciones de admiración patriótica, Valencia desbordaba así sus entusiasmos ante el Generalísimo y le abría sus puertas y corazones [Between parades of patriotic admiration, Valencia overflowed with enthusiasm about the Generalísimo and opened to him its doors and hearts].”36 Both the poem and the chronicles portray a Valencia that welcomed the Cid within its walls after he conquered it, which foreshadowed his benevolence as its ruler. Naturally, when Franco assumes the Cid’s place within this meme, history easily becomes revised so that his arrival, too, is welcomed rather than resisted or detested. This edition was published in Valencia and one cannot escape the suspicion that perhaps the author’s words were a deliberate exaggeration intended to conceal his contempt for the general, who most certainly had not been welcomed in that city only eight years prior to the appearance of this book. The decision of the illustrator of the 1962 Valencia (Ediciones Gaisa) edition repeatedly to omit the arms belonging to the Cid’s new king, Alfonso of León, from the representation of cidian fealty subtly echoes an increasingly coherent rejection of homogenous nationalism. This rejection, as will be argued later, signals a desire to celebrate regional identities and nationalisms rather than embrace the one crafted by the government of the day. Franco’s centralizing ideology had stimulated within his opponents a desire to return to regional forms of governance rather than subject Spain’s variegated set of identities to one overarching authority that rejected linguistic and cultural diversity. In heraldic terms, the Gaisa artist embraced the arms of Aragon but refused to adorn the Cid with Alfonso’s arms, which came to include both León and Castile. Rejecting an increasingly centralist form of nation that eroded regional identities and autonomies underlies these visual expressions that expose critical political allegiances and interests. The cidian narrative and references to it begin to reflect this struggle between nationalism and regionalism by the mid-twentieth century, as many cidian references to Franco emphasized his contribution to the project of national unity. In the dedication to his 1954 book that offered a synopsis of a representation of the Cid in film, José Pérez Cerón compares Franco to our hero: “A nuestro Invicto Caudillo Generalísimo Franco, Salvador y Liberador de España, a cuyo lado estamos todos los españoles y le seguimos, igual que seguían al Cid Campeador, aquellos que buscaban la Justicia y la Victoria [To our undefeated caudillo Generalísimo Franco, Saviour and Liberator of Spain, at whose side we, all

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Spaniards, remain, and we follow him, just as they who sought Justice and Victory followed the Cid Campeador].”37 Another book published the following year, in 1955, built upon this rhetoric by including a motto that had gained popularity among the nationalists during the Civil War. The reader first consumed the cover illustration that depicted the Cid in battle on his horse, sword raised and trampling Muslims who wear turbans that partly obscure their necks, before opening the book and reading the dedication: “A su excelencia el Generalísimo Franco, Caudillo providencial de España, ¡una, grande y libre! [To his Excellency Generalísimo Franco, providential Caudillo of Spain, one, great, and free!].”38 Similarly, first published in 1955 and republished nearly two decades later, José María Gárate Córdoba’s scholarly monograph, Las huellas del Cid, also refers to the hero as “un caudillo genial” and “caudillo de la Cristiandad,”39 demonstrating that the term caudillo had come to unite Franco with the Cid during the course of his dictatorship in Spain. In one Francoera edition of the Cid’s chronicle, the editor inserted a section with the heading “El caudillo de la cristiandad,” in which he explained the importance of this title: Todos los reyes cristianos terminado por reconocer que el Campeador era el caudillo indiscutible, capaz de contener y derrotar al invasor almorávide … Por eso, todos estaban dispuestos para, en cualquier momento, acudir en su ayuda, ya que de esta forma se defendían a sí mismos, con la ventaja de que, luchando al lado del caudillo castellano, estaba asegurada de antemano la victoria [All Christian kings end up realizing that the Campeador was an undeniable caudillo capable of containing and overcoming the Almoravid invader … Because of this, everybody was ready at any given moment to serve him. By doing so, they could defend themselves while having the advantage of fighting alongside the Castilian caudillo who assured in advance their victory].40 The parallel drawn between the two men construes them as strong leaders, and the author’s claim that, by following leaders of this type, the reader, too, would find success resonated during the period of Franco’s rule, in particular because the exiled king did form a relationship with Franco and eventually returned from exile. Within the context of the cidian narrative, the reunion of the Cid and Alfonso stabilizes the kingdom once

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again; in the reader’s eyes, however, it is the king who has shown contrition for his poor judgment and the Cid who has been vindicated. The grafting of this power dynamic onto Franco and the exiled Spanish king in the twentieth century cannot go unnoticed. Another work published in 1955 situates this rhetoric within the historical context that gave rise to Franco’s ascension to power. It contains a chapter titled “Aquel primero de Abril … 1939 [That first of April … 1939],” in reference to the conclusion of the war. Here, the author links the Cid’s journey and the greatness that he is thought to have brought to Spain to the achievements of Franco: La amada España se ha partido en dos; es la Guerra civil de nuestros tiempos, y Burgos otra vez es erigida cabecera del reino. En ella es proclamado jefe de la Nación y los Ejércitos el invicto Caudillo, que traza la victoria desde aquí. El viejo Monasterio de las Huelgas recoge las palabras del Caudillo que jura defender hasta la muerte los derechos de Dios y de la Patria. Y desde Burgos oyó el mundo entero el histórico parte de que la guerra había terminado [Our beloved Spain has been parted in two; it is the Civil War of our times, and Burgos once again has become the head of the kingdom. In her is the proclaimed chief of the Nation and the Armies, the undefeated Caudillo who traces his victory from here. The ancient Monasterio de las Huelgas gathers together the words of the Caudillo who swore to defend to the death the rights of God and of the Nation. And from Burgos the entire world heard the historical news that the war had ended].41 The editor echoes the oath sworn by the Cid to protect Alfonso’s kingdom, linking it to the oath taken by Franco to serve his country through God. At the same time, the illustrations that accompany this work and others like it become backdrops for contemporary events involving Franco and other political actors as much as the historical ones featuring the Cid. Cidian editions paid homage to Franco in explicitly visual ways. Produced in conjunction with the Charlton Heston and Sophia Loren film, one pamphlet intended for juvenile audiences and published in 1962 accompanied a film roll; it joined a cohort of similar productions that exploded from Spanish presses following the film’s release.42 Whereas the front cover features the Cid on horseback, bearing a shield emblazoned with a castle

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Figure 5.2 The back cover of El Cid.

on it, donning a rounded helmet and raising his sword in the air, on the back cover is the coat of arms for Spain during the time of Franco: modified with a banner across the top that reads “Una Libre Grande,” it was joined by the symbol for the Falange at the bottom (Fig. 5.2).43 After the death of Franco in 1975 and the subsequent rebirth of democracy in Spain, the Cid’s legend became appropriated by individuals who claimed to possess the moral high ground over that of the deceased dictator. An important author who redacted the poem, the chronicles, and the mocedades into a prose compilation intended for a juvenile audience embodies this reorientation. Along with her husband, the poet Rafael Alberti,

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María Teresa León (1903–1988), several of whose editions are cited throughout this book, went into exile after the Civil War concluded, first in Argentina (until 1963) and then in Rome (until 1977). León was a friend of the Menéndez Pidal family, and in her prolific literary career she received great acclaim both at home and abroad: tens of editions of her cidian adventures have been released since the publication of her first book in 1954. Following her death and upon the release of a revised edition of her version of Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, el Cid Campeador in 2007, Benjamín Prado explicitly compares her exile to that of the Cid: “Resulta obvio que la escritora veía en las desventuras del Cid injustamente desterrado por el rey Alfonso VI un aviso y un reflejo de lo que a ella misma iba a sucederle in 1939, al acabar la Guerra Civil española con el triunfo de los sublevados y el advenimiento de la dictadura [It is obvious that the author found in the misadventures of the Cid, who had been unjustly exiled by King Alfonso VI, a warning and reflection of what was about to befall her in 1939 upon the conclusion of the Spanish Civil War with the rebels’ triumph and the instalment of the dictatorship].”44 Prado continues in his praise of León’s heroism after her return to Spain in 1977 from her exile, “cargada de esa honra que merecen las personas que, con sus aciertos y sus errores, son capaces de entregar su vida a la zdefense de un ideal [burdened with that honour that people deserve when, whatever their accomplishments and failures, they are capable of giving over their life to defend an ideal].”45 Prado thanks León for returning the Cid to the Spanish people and credits her with fighting for his memory and the nation’s history. Clearly, there remains a heavy sense of political involvement related to the cidian corpus and specifically with respect to this particular editor. Even more interesting is the transgression of typical gender boundaries in the application of cidian attributes, which are generally applied to boys rather than girls. The fact that María Teresa León has been recognized for demonstrating cidian qualities seems consequential, given the paucity of feminist ideals within the history of book illustration attached to this corpus.

t he ci d g eo gr a p h ic a lly p osse s sed While Burgos is perhaps the most consequential city from the perspective of the text, there are other means through which the Cid and the cities referred to in the corpus became geographically appropriated in ways that

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likely involved the reader, whose recognition of the place is activated by the illustration. Teichoscopia, which describes a narrative phenomenon of gazing and viewing performed by the characters in the text, becomes a phenomenon through which the readers can view subjectified examples of their cultural and national history and link their own selves as citizens to those past frames of reference. An example of teichoscopia in the poem is when the Cid shows Valencia to his family from the vantage point of a high wall or rampart. The family comes to an appreciation of the Cid’s actions and victories winnings based on what they see of the city that he now governs.46 The reader, similarly, performs this action of gazing upon and valuing objects and places that she considers part of her background. Certainly, Spanish readers possessed intimate experience with the places mentioned in the cidian corpus, perhaps having visited or lived in them. Certain vistas or perspectives historically emerged as emblems representing a place. For example, the prayer room of the mosque-cathedral of Cordoba resonates as a symbol for the city but also for the important cultural transformation that occurred there centuries ago. While the city itself was not conquered until 1236 by Christians, it had flourished in the tenth century as a consequential city within the Islamic world and caliphate governing all of al-Ándalus. Over the eleventh century, the caliphate crumbled into several smaller kingdoms known as taifas, and Christians set about retaking these states with great success in the thirteenth century, when all but Granada fell. The cidian relationship with the province began most notably after the king had sent the Cid to collect the tribute owed him by the king of Cordoba and Seville, Al-Mutamin. In the Battle of Cabra in 1079, the hero defeated the emir of Granada as well as Count García Ordóñez, who had allied himself with the emir and whose beard he later plucked; the wealth acquired by the Cid was then redistributed. Ramón Menéndez Pidal asserted the historical consequence of the city of Cordoba, as opposed to the place known as Cabra, in his illustrated scholarly monograph, La España del Cid. This work about the Cid provides context for the narrative and points to several primary sources of interest to scholars working on the subject. The artist chose to utilize either an arabesque aesthetic or a medievalized one that drew upon authentic illustrated sources such as the thirteenth-century alphonsine text Cántigas de Santa María as a source of inspiration for the rectangular-shaped illustrations attached to each chapter heading. Some of these simulacra are based on physical locations with which the reader would be familiar. In the

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Figure 5.3 The prayer room in Cordoba’s mosque. Ramón Menéndez Pidal, La España del Cid.

chapter “De la España de Almanzor a la España del Cid,” for example, the image fixed above the title features the rows of horseshoe-shaped arches that the Spanish reader would immediately associate with the prayer room of the mosque-cathedral located in Cordoba (Fig. 5.3). Curiously, rather than provide a photograph of the prayer room, which more accurately resembles scholarly practice in this period, Menéndez Pidal instead includes an illustration. Prior to the episode featuring the Battle of Cabra, the Cid visits the king in Seville. Another modern edition entitles this episode “Fué muy bien recibido por el rey moro Almoctader.”47 The accompanying illustration depicts a scene in the alcazar of that city, whose lavishly tiled walls as well as scalloped-horseshoe arches frame the scene. The specificity of the physical space cannot be determined from the illustration, but certainly the illustrator has attempted to make use of the aesthetic style of the Muslim castle. In the background – through the arch – is a minaret reminiscent of the Giralda (the bell tower of the Seville cathedral) and positioned next to a dome, likely representing the mosque that stood there before its spiritual and subsequent architectural conversion into a cathedral in the early modern period. Curiously, when the Cid visited the city in the late eleventh century, the Giralda had yet to be constructed. Its erection took place in the late twelfth century, decades before Seville was reconquered in 1248. In the foreground sit the Cid as well as the Moorish king, and, as we might expect, there is a striking degree of contrast between the two men: the king reclines on pillows, whereas the Cid sits erect on a stool; the former wears a turban, and the latter is bare-headed with his sword sheathed and

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resting between his legs. These details – which also include the castle and lion as symbols of Christian regal power – tend to represent the Cid emblematically at the point in his life when he found himself displaced from Catholic landscapes and situated within Muslim urban contexts. Positioning these two men together in this way also elevates the Cid to the rank of kings, albeit Muslim as opposed to Catholic ones. Another edition demonstrates these circumstances in an illustration titled “El Cid entra en Sevilla seguido de los numerosos cautivos hechos en la batalla [The Cid enters Seville followed by numerous captives taken in battle].”48 To the far left is a trumpeter, after whom the Cid trots on horseback, his posture relaxed, wearing a rounded helmet and cloak. Some of his men follow, also on horseback and carrying flags and shields bearing the arms of León and Castile. Behind this last group of the Cid’s men are the slaves, herded by a man on horseback. They wear robes and turbans and look down as they walk. Rarely do illustrators lend any quality of specificity – such as the Giralda – to these scenes. We can observe, therefore, that geographic appropriations almost always involve buildings and cities from Christian Spain during the time of the Cid and rarely from al-Ándalus; the depiction of Cordoba’s mosque and a veiled reference to the Giralda are perhaps among the few exceptions. For instance, the cover art for the 1955 Burgos (Imprenta Casal) edition clearly depict the towers of that city’s cathedral as the background for an image of the Cid on horseback.49 Burgos is likely the most represented and recognizable city that appears in the illustrated cidian corpus, yet its iconic towers simply did not exist during the Cid’s lifetime. In the case of the Giralda, the cathedral was not completed until after the Cid died; therefore, this chorographic emblem denoting Andalusia’s capital city and Burgos’s cathedral today are anachronistic elements in any illustration of the Cid’s activities during his lifetime. Many modern editions produced prior to the twenty-first century, as well as scholarly monographs from the last two centuries, make use not of illustrations but rather of photography. The introduction of photography enabled authors, editors, and publishers to include concrete geographic signifiers without relying on the inventions and knowledge of artists. Photography allowed modern sites to become tethered to the cidian narrative and for modern places to become new loci of consequence. For example, before the monument to this childhood home was erected in the middle of the twentieth century, the location that was thought to be “El llamado

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solar del Cid, en Burgos [The so-called house of the Cid, in Burgos]” was captured in a photograph of the place in ruins published in the 1933 Barcelona (Ediciones Hymsa) edition.50 Photography became a means of exerting claims to cidian space and linking them to specific sites that existed and were believed to be accurate because photographs captured reality. Many of these photographs of the Cid’s family home contain no reference to an actual structure but rather represent an empty space that nonetheless holds a claim to the hero. A virtual series of such photographs are found in modern editions and scholarship, many of which include – beyond a photograph of the space where the Cid’s house once stood or the monument that is now there in its place51 – photographs of the statue of the Cid on horseback in Burgos;52 the Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña;53 and the Cid’s coffin, located at the Cathedral in Burgos.54 Photography has resulted in increased memorialization of the Cid. The use of photography presented another issue because editions once again began to incorporate material that was extraneous to the text as a means of providing additional context for the narrative or of demonstrating the continued importance accorded to the Cid by the Spanish people, as exemplified by a photograph of a street in Zamora named for the Cid.55 Other books reproduced in photographic form the title pages and frontispieces belonging to early modern editions as a way of illustrating the publication history of the corpus.56 And such was the popularity of a certain series of photographs of objects that signified the Cid that illustrators sought to replicate them. For example, the 1963 Barcelona (Ediciones G.P.) edition features an illustration subtitled “El cofre del Cid [The Coffin of the Cid]” from the cathedral in Burgos that is based on the popular photographs included in previous editions.57 The same edition also crossed medial lines, this time capturing a place that was portrayed in cinema when it provided an illustration of the city of Peñíscola “de la producción de Bronston ‘El Cid’ [from Bronston’s production of ‘El Cid’].”58 The placement of this particular illustration is strange because it comes too early in his story; underneath the illustration, the narrator describes his adventures in the year 1081, but in fact the Cid does not lay siege to Valencia until 1092, and Peñíscola was the twentieth-century cinematic stand-in for a medieval Valencia. A second example of illustrations based on photographs involves the Cid’s house as well as the famous statue of our hero also located in Burgos.59

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As the above example suggests, intermedial simulacra involved film too. Whereas the Valencia of the Cid’s time had long before been transformed and thus was unsuitable as a set for the film, the Heston-Loren filmmakers sought a suitably medieval substitute in Peñíscola. Illustrators and photographers subsequently captured a vista of this town and included it as illustration for the scenes involving Valencia within the cidian corpus.60 This practice echoes the earlier one followed by the publishers of chivalresque novels who borrowed from the aesthetic of chronicles when designing the illustrative material to accompany their stories. That is, illustrators and photographers decided that including a visualization of a film set, despite the represented city’s lack of relation to the text itself, added important context for the reader’s understanding of the cidian narrative. In any event, we are reminded that Peñíscola’s agreement to be used for the film likely came with great socio-economic benefits both during and following production. Given Franco’s interest in the Cid, this Valencian city’s agreement to host the film may also have had political benefits. Not only does Franco’s use of the Cid coincide with Hollywood’s interest in the legend, but the presence of an American film crew in Francoist Spain inserts a politically foreign presence into the cidian legend. In effect, the filmmakers acted as collaborators in the regime’s emphasis on the national heroism of the Cid while also broadening the audience for the Cid’s story; viewers of the film learned about Spanish history and literature through the cidian frame.61 There is some irony in the fact that Valencia, one of the republicans’ last strongholds, was also a safe haven for the members of the International Brigades, including Americans. Hollywood’s interest in the Cid also illustrates the colonizing gaze of cultural forces such as the American film industry, whose acquisition of the Cid as a cinematic subject facilitated and continues to facilitate the appropriation of Spanish literature and history by non-Spaniards. At the same time, these film projects allow the Cid to cross media boundaries, while at the same time relocating him from one cultural and historic context to another that American and certainly anglophone audiences can better appreciate. Another perspective on the geo-political uses of the cidian corpus involves the regions of Spain in which cidian editions have been published. Madrid and Barcelona have established themselves in the modern era as the printing hubs of the nation, so it seems reasonable that a proportionately greater number of editions has been released from those cities in the

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last two hundred years. In contrast, nearly no editions were issued from these cities during the first two centuries of print because they had yet to emerge as loci for culture and political power. A second group of cities – notable among them Burgos and Valencia – also have produced several editions. Unlike the first two cities, these comparatively smaller urban centres provide important landscapes for the Cid’s adventures and the protagonist has long formed part of their municipal identities and franchises, which generates an assured market for Cid-related publications. Tourists descend upon Burgos for various reasons, one of which is to view the Cid’s relics, and it is no accident that the published version of his life is often available in gift shops translated into other languages. One series of comic books based on fictitious extensions of the cidian legend and developed for juvenile audiences can be found at the Monasterio de las Huelgas in both Spanish (Las aventuras de mío Cid en la estatua del buen conde) and English (The Adventures of Mio Cid in the Statue of the Good Count), both published in 2011 (Burgos: Miribind). As we have seen, twentiethcentury editors and authors also directly related the Burgos and Valencia of the Cid’s day to the setting of contemporary events. It is thus not surprising that they would also expand the corpus to welcome new readers in languages other than Spanish in order to enable them to learn about the Cid and, by extension, the cities in which the narrative unfolds. Conspicuous by their absence are editions of the Cid produced in other peninsular languages spoken in Spain, such as Galician, Euskara, and Catalan. The dearth of non-Spanish editions featuring a national symbol and hero suggests that the Cid is a figure of Castile and León, which we can easily apprehend when studying how illustrators have portrayed him. Evidently, the popularity of this narrative does not create a demand for translations of the text into these other languages. Editions also tend not to be produced in the regions dominated by minority-language groups, Barcelona and Zaragoza aside, which suggests that the market for books about the Cid is not universally strong throughout the country. Is it significant that only Spanish-language editions have been produced in Barcelona? Why is there no market for translations produced in Catalan? It seems that no edition of the Cid’s narrative appeared in the Basque Country until 1982 when Antonio Hernández Palacios released his fourvolume children’s series in Spanish titled El Cid, published by Ikusager Ediciones in Vitoria. The illustrated series appeared ten years earlier in Madrid (Ediciones Doncel) and was re-released in the Basque Country

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with a new introduction by Antonio Lara, who emphasized the refreshing approach to the historical figure taken by Hernández Palacios. Highlighting the grittiness of conflict in the wake of Franco’s dictatorship rather than some romanticized vision of the Cid, Lara argues that “son señores y víctimas de las guerras, hispanos que aprenden a sobrevivir en el combate, con el sabor de la sangre. En este Cid, mucho más auténtico que el que nos enseñaron de pequeños, podemos volver a aprender, de verdad, la historia que se nos escamoteó [Spaniards who learn to survive in combat are men and victims of war, with the taste of blood. This Cid is much more authentic than the one they taught us about when we were young and allows us to attempt again to learn the true history that has been whisked away from us].”62 This edition goes beyond politicizing language by offering a Spanishlanguage book following a period of significant linguistic oppression of the Basque language on the part of the central government in Madrid. The story and its illustrated component extol the Basque peoples’ ancestral connection to Vasconia, first by introducing and portraying men from that region as good, giant-like, simple, and devoted allies of the Cid. Converted into noble savages, the Basque warriors in the second volume of this series teach the Cid their art of sword fighting;63 a second group, known as the montañeses, also emerges in the Vitoria edition, and their nobility – like that of the Basques – is tied to their not having been conquered during the eighth-century Muslim invasion. As a taxonomy of blood purity developed during the medieval period, these northern peoples became viewed as pure Christians who remained untainted by Islam and “Arabness.” The introduction of both peoples, and particularly the Basque warrior who pledges allegiance to not only the Cid but also to King Sancho by the end of the third volume,64 seems significant given the intended audience of the book. These allegiances are also important because the book appeared after decades of repressive laws that had damaging effects on minority cultures and languages, such as Euskara, in Spain; by the 1980s, this period of majoritarianism had given way to a revival of regional the identities throughout the country. It is precisely for this revival of regional identity that Enric Sio passionately argues in his prologue to the final volume of the series, titled “Viva la Iberia de los Taifas [Long-live the Iberia of the Taifa era].” Identifying a litany of fanatical “ayatollahs,” a group in which Sio includes not only the Almoravids and Nasrids but also the Romans and Catholics, Sio congratulates Hernández Palacios for positioning the Cid as a supporter

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of Muslim kings and a victor over Christian overlordship, and for breaking away from Franco-era nationalism anchored to a certain version of the Cid’s legend that portrayed him as homogenously loyal to a Castilian, Catholic order of things. This demythification allows “the other reality” to be known and felt, which Sio insists has become an imperative for Spaniards of his day if they are to realize their respective national identities.65 Sadly, however, this message appears in Spanish rather than in Euskara, which underlines the continuing cultural and political divisions affecting Spain today. This overview of the political uses of the cidian corpus in text and image has allowed us to understand the extent to which our hero became projected into strategic contexts that have shaped Spanish national identity. Along the same lines, the next and last chapter sheds light on the degree to which that national identity, as represented in the corpus, became shaped by foreign hands.

6 Foreign Transformations of and Influences on the Cidian Corpus

When preparations for this book initially got underway, one of my research assistants related to me her father’s surprise upon learning that she would be studying the Cid as part of her Spanish professor’s book project: “Isn’t that considered French literature?” he asked her. It was at that moment that I became alerted to the importance of examining how the cidian corpus was manifested outside the Spanish-speaking world, for her father’s assertion was partly correct, as he well knew because, as a high school student in a French literature class in Lebanon years ago, he and his peers read Pierre Corneille’s Le Cid. The exposure those students had to the cidian corpus was such that they believed the literary creation to be of non-Spanish literary origin. To what extent do considerably adulterated versions of the Cid’s story dominate foreign understandings of the Cid? Do these versions appear more readily in foreign libraries compared to the poem and chronicles we have focused on thus far? And how do they influence the foreign construction of Hispanicity associated with the history, language, and culture of the Spanish people? All these questions are of central importance to our inquiry. Of greatest concern to us, however, is how the visual dimension of such books compares to that on display in works intended for Spanish-language readers, and the degree to which foreign illustrations and foreign cidian narratives intervened into Spanish editions. Finally, the Cid’s narrative and the illustrations accompanying it change through translation. How do these adjustments reflect more widespread changes in the manner in which Europeans and the rest of the world viewed Spain, particularly after the Enlightenment?

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Two starting points for answering these questions will foreground our consideration of versions, editions, and translations of the cidian narrative produced outside Spain, the first of which involves a study of foreign attention paid to the Cid prior to the appearance of Corneille’s Le Cid in 1636. Interest in our hero after Corneille’s work of theatre debuted accelerated greatly in the eighteenth century, when German philology gave rise to an interest in Spanish literature that extended to other languages and thus to new readerships. Toward the end of this chapter, after considering how other cultures interpreted and gave visuality to the Cid, we will look at Spanish readerships in Latin America as well as foreign-language classrooms located outside of the Hispanic world for additional insight into the reception and visual construction of the Cid in new environments.

t he ci d i an cor p us a broad be fo r e c or ne i ll e As we saw in chapter 1, the earliest known illustration of the Cid appears in a chronicle that was not written in Spanish. Depicting our hero decapitating his fallen enemy, Martín Gómez, at Calahorra, the image is titled “Como os reis veherom ao prazo da batalha que foy antre Martym Gomez e Rodrigo de Vyvar sobre Callafforra [How the monarchs came for the battle that occurred between Martín Gómez and Rodrigo de Vivar in Calahorra].”1 It appeared in the Portuguese-language Crónica Geral de Espanha, prepared in 1344 but not illustrated until the early fifteenth century. The image later became transposed to the mocedades in a recent edition prepared in both English and Spanish by Matthew Bailey, which demonstrates the transfer of visuality from one genre and linguistic context to others across time and space.2 From an historiographical perspective, the Cid joined the celebrated ranks of medieval conquerors credited with fighting against the expansion of the Islamic world into Europe. On the Iberian Peninsula, this campaign began in the north – since the Muslim invasion had successfully taken the entirety of the peninsula except for the northern-most regions – and these efforts counted on some support from France, particularly in the form of private militias that included Normans and Franks.3 Story-telling practices from north of the Pyrenees made their way to the peninsula along networks formed by soldiers. Portuguese interest in the cidian narrative cannot be surprising given the political and historical interconnections between these two Iberian

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nations and their predecessors as kingdoms in the medieval period. Like Christian Spaniards, Christian Portuguese also found themselves invaded by Muslims in the eighth century and soon after launched various campaigns to recover their territory. The Order of Santiago was founded in the twelfth century for the express purpose of combatting Islam in the Iberian south, a move that dovetailed with the cult of the apostle by the same name. Santiago de Compostela was already developing during the medieval period into a significant locus of tourism as well as a symbol of national identity as it related to both the country’s patron saint and Santiago de Matamoros. The geographic proximity of a key site of Spanish national identity to Portugal’s northern border highlights the fact that the Galicia region shared common demographic, economic, and political interests with the north of that country. In addition, as Colin Smith concludes, literary, dance, and musical activities emerging from this region in the twelfth century shared common sources of inspiration that, along with lyrical traditions, were imported into the peninsula by pilgrims and new settlers from Provence in France.4 This French influence coalesced with a pre-existing literary and cultural tradition in the kingdom of Portugal, which was established in 1139, whereby poets and musicians related popular stories in both lyrical and dance form. French influence therefore mixed with traditions already practised in this area of Iberia in the eleventh to thirteenth centuries.5 The presence of French-speaking militiamen and pilgrims on the Iberian Peninsula during the first two centuries of the new millennia reflected increasing French influence in other spheres as well. The introduction of Cluniac monasticism in the eleventh century and the participation of the Knights Templar – an order of warrior monks – in the Iberian war effort later gave way to Spanish military orders of religious extraction. These orders both protected the faith from the incursions of Islam and assured the safety of pilgrims as they headed toward important sites such as Santiago, some of them travelling along the so-called French Road that connected Santiago to various points of origin in France. As one historian insists, “the French gave the Spanish a religious motive for fighting the Arabs, imbuing the Spanish with the notion of holy warfare against the enemies of the church. Churchmen then added a political angle to the religious quest by propagating the myth that Spain had once been a ‘unified and indivisible’ Visigothic kingdom.”6 Importantly, the legends and stories that reached pilgrims, soldiers, and religious devotees, and that were

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relayed by them to others, supported this propaganda and later served as a rich source of epic poetry which influenced the contents of historical chronicles.7 Through forms of verse such as the chanson de geste, the tales of French predecessors such as Charlemagne and then Roland could be transferred to men in other places, imbuing their actions with a sense of imperial identity.8 Following in the footsteps of the Cid as well as his contemporaries such as Alfonso VI, who took Toledo in 1085, the Portuguese campaigns in the next century gave rise to the warrior known as Geraldo sem Pavor (Gerald the Fearless, d. 1173). Geraldo has been likened to the “Cid of Portugal” and he was active after the Cid’s death in the twelfth century when songs about the Cid could be heard across Castile.9 Historians tend to view the actions of these men similarly because both conducted themselves as leaders of mercenary forces charged with wresting territory from Muslim control for the benefit of their co-religionist kings, although they were also known for fighting on behalf of Muslim taifas as well.10 Thus, a Portuguese analogue to the Cid existed while the Cid’s legend was emerging from its chrysalis and becoming known throughout the Iberian Peninsula. As Américo Castro casually observed of the pair, the Cid “served as a subject for poetry in Latin and Romance, whereas [Geraldo] is remembered only in fragmentary Christian and Arabic anecdotes. Besides, Geraldo seems to be a foreigner judging not only from his name but also from his epithet (Sem Pavor), which seems French rather than Portuguese.”11 Castro’s erroneous linguistic conclusion aside – pavor refers to fear in Portuguese whereas the French analogue is peur – his observation demonstrates a scholarly willingness to view French influence in the origins of Iberian conquest narratives dating from the medieval period. Medieval Portuguese interest in the Cid’s story, moreover, reflected an engagement with the events of the day that had also whetted an appetite for great men exerting legendary influence. At the same time, this brief examination of why the Cid’s story would have attracted sufficient interest in Portugal so as to result in an illuminated illustration of the Cid in action has revealed significant French influence in the Cid’s story in terms of form, the networks along which oral accounts of the Cid were transmitted, and the archetypes borrowed from popular lore. While most cidian scholars have acknowledged the poem’s indebtedness to French verse,12 little scholarship has examined the representation of the Cid in Frenchlanguage verse or prose prior to Corneille.

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As documented in the introduction, the Cid’s story developed into a stand-alone text first published in Spanish in 1498 and likely illustrated by German artisans living in Seville, since it was through German knowledge that the printing press flourished in Spain, and a German firm published the princeps edition. Little is known about the dissemination of these late-fifteenth- and subsequent sixteenth-century editions abroad; that is, we cannot estimate the foreign readership that may have consumed the chronicle in that period. Other vehicles for sharing information about the Cid abroad did emerge, such as the theatrical creation of Guillén de Castro titled Las mocedades del Cid, composed in 1612 and published in 1618 (Valencia: Felipe Mey), which clearly influenced Corneille’s version of the tale in the seventeenth century. As Matthew Bailey points out in his scholarly translation of the mocedades, these versions by Castro and Corneille were inspired by popular romances and knowledge about the Cid; they were not based on any specific manuscript such as the one residing at the Bibliothèque national de France, which Bailey translated and believes may date from the medieval period.13 It is in the romances and the mocedades, where the Cid and King Fernando bring their armies to Paris in an attempt to invade France, that the events of Rodrigo’s life became known outside the confines of the Iberian Peninsula. The early modern popularity of the romances in published form may eclipse that of either the chronicle or the theatrical creations inspired by Castro. It is notable that the first volume of romances published by Lorenzo de Sepúlveda was published not in Spain but rather in the Lowlands. Titled Romances nuevamente sacados de historias antiguas de la crónica de España, it was published by Juan Steelsio in Antwerp in 1551. A quarter of the romances contained in this book detailed the Cid’s life. Other romances, to provide some context, dealt with biblical stories like the contest between David and Goliath, borrowed from episodes contained in the Metamorphoses, narrated historical mythologies such as how Hercules separated Africa from Europe, and so on. Just like the development of the chronicle of Spanish history in prose, the emergence of the romancero heavily relied upon the Cid’s narrative as a fundamental component that structured the history of Spain in lyrical form. Romanceros were best-sellers and were published in Antwerp (Martinus Nutius, c. 1551; Philippus Nutius 1566; and Pierre Bellère 1580). During the same period in Spain, they appeared in Alcalá de Henares (Francisco de Cormellas and Pedro de Robles 1563; and Sebastián Martínez 1571),

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Granada (René Rabut 1563), Medina del Campo (Francisco del Canto 1562, 1570, and 1576), Valladolid (Diego Fernández de Córdoba 1577), and Burgos (Felipe de Junta 1579). While none of these volumes is illustrated – which speaks to the texts’ performativity – the interest both domestically and abroad in the romancero helped to cement new content into the cidian narrative that was not included in the sixteenth-century chronicles. This content later attracted the eyes of illustrators. There was one cidian romancero that did have an illustrative component: Juan de Escobar’s Hystoria del muy noble, y valeroso cavallero, el Cid, Ruy Diez de Bivar: En Romances (Lisbon: Antonio Alvarez 1601 and 1605). The 1605 edition – no copies of the first edition are known to exist – contains a page featuring several illustrated typologies of a soldier, both on foot and on horseback, one of which is the same engraving that was later used in the early-twentieth-century Paris edition of the poem and romances discussed and reproduced in chapter 1 of this book. Many editions of Escobar’s romances contain a form of generic illustration portraying soldiering, and some visual accompaniment of this nature can be found in most editions of Escobar’s work published in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Like the romances, Castro’s version of the mocedades was intended to be performed, this time on the stage, and it inspired several subsequent versions – for instance, the burlesque comedy by Jerónimo de Cáncer y Velasco, published in 1651 – all of which were mainly concerned with the development of the Cid into the great man celebrated in the romances, chronicles, and poem. Focusing on this part of his life also made room for increasingly popular dramatic genres through which the love story of Jimena and the Cid could be explored in comedic form. The themes addressed in comedy and tragicomedy were chiefly responsible for reshaping which episodes became more popular and thus illustrated after the waning of Golden Age theatre, particularly in the nineteenth century. Perhaps not surprisingly, given the visual nature of theatre and the possibility of transitioning the action from the page to the stage through a theatrical production, nearly none of the dramatic works designed for the theatre were illustrated. Corneille’s Le Cid is distinct from a visual perspective because many editions of that work did include a portrait of the author, but, even so, nearly none provided any other illustrative component. The popularity of Le Cid cannot be exaggerated, and evidence of the play’s impact can be found in the preponderance of commentary published about it, includ-

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ing Les sentimens de l’Academie Françoise sur la Tragi-comedie du Cid (Paris: Boutique de G. Quinet 1678). Both because of Corneille’s primary source of inspiration, Castro, and because of the former’s success on the stage, certain episodes that became central in the play later found themselves translated back onto the page by artists. For instance, the apocryphal theatre versions envision a romance between the Cid and Jimena that is torn apart by family conflict, which results in the Cid killing her father. This action later provides the impetus for Jimena to beseech the king for revenge for the Cid’s actions. The king agrees to permit a duel to the death between the Cid and another knight who fights on behalf of Jimena. In a comedic twist, she agrees to marry whoever survives the duel, which then results in the episode where the Cid declares that it is her hand against which he fights, and he will not wound her; that is, he declares that he will not defend himself. Moved, she convinces the Cid to do what is required to win so that they may be wed. None of these scenes appears in either the chronicles or the poem; all of them were generated from romances and theatrical works and then made popular through the vehicle of the stage. As we have seen in previous chapters, it is precisely this arrangement of episodes that captured illustrators’ attentions in modern editions produced after the Enlightenment. Some of the most popular episodes reflect apocryphal moments that at the same time reshaped Jimena’s character into one capable of anger, poor judgment, and instability, as well as into a woman who would suffer despite her virtues as a good mother and wife. Importantly, the impetus to cast light on these episodes also came from French audiences, which then spread to English, German, and Dutch ones14 and resulted in spinoff adaptations published elsewhere in Europe.15 It is for this reason that Corneille’s Le Cid enjoyed an international life through translation. The episodes depicted there also became inserted into illustrated translations purportedly of the chronicle and poem.16 It cannot be surprising, then, to encounter the similarly international origins of modern book illustrations that became attached to the cidian narrative.

he r d e r’s

DER CID

The example of Johann Gottfried von Herder’s translation of the cidian romances allows us to understand the international complexities undergirding book illustration in the nineteenth century, particularly in light of

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the individuals who created the illustrations, a subject that we have not yet examined. Herder’s German translation of the Cid appeared posthumously in part in 1803 and in its entirety in 1805. While it was structured as a collection of romances within the text, this German-language translation was rather based on Couchu’s French translation published in the Bibliothèque universelle des Romans in 1783. Couchu looked to the Juan de Escobar edition of the romances, which had been translated into French, titled L’Histoire en Romances du très-valereux Chevalier Don Rodrigue de Bivar, le fier Cid Campéador. Some scholarship has demonstrated that Herder also consulted to a limited degree Sepúlveda’s edition of the romances published in 1551.17 In any event, his version of the Cid became a nineteenth-century best-seller and subsequent editions attested to its popularity and resulted in the fixture of this translation on the reading lists of intermediate students of Spanish in Germany. Readers of all ages enjoyed the idealism of the medieval knight and his deeds, while the romantic elements of the story appealed to the juvenile imagination.18 Scholars in the meantime used this text to deepen their knowledge of the emerging fields of orientalist studies and medieval Spanish literature, and arguably it is this confluence of the two disciplines that most influenced foreign illustrations of the cidian narrative. While the first edition of 1805 was unillustrated, the text’s growing popularity justified the additional expense of developing a visual component. Thus, Johann Gottfried von Herder’s sämmtliche Werke: zur schönen Literature und Kunst (Wein: C. Haas’schen Buchhandlung 1813) was the first edition of Herder’s translation to include an illustration relating to the narrative (Fig. 6.1). As we will see in other German editions, many of these illustrations portray the Cid, or some generic noble or knight, being endowed with power or illuminated with knowledge. In his discussion of emblematic title pages, Alastair Fowler observes that “one might almost think of the frontispiece as an emblem pictura, with the title as motto.”19 In light of Fowler’s observation, visualizations such as the frontispiece from Herder’s translation served as totalizing, emblematic guides that foreshadowed the themes addressed by the text. A subsequent edition published in 1817 includes on the title page the scene in which an angel – presumably Gabriel, as related in the poem and in the romances – appears at the Cid’s bedside (Fig. 6.2). During this episode Gabriel tells the Cid to go out and seek his prosperity, which then gives rise to our hero conquering in the name of the king.20 As Alfonso

Figure 6.1 Frontispiece of Der Cid: Nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen durch Johan Gottfried von Herder.

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Boix Jovaní points out, the trope of Gabriel’s apparition in medieval epics can also be found in the Chanson de Roland, and a model for this scene exists in several passages of the Bible. The similarity highlights the French influence upon the cidian story, on the one hand, while bathing the Cid’s character with the divine light of God’s ambassador Gabriel, on the other.21 In contrast, most Spanish editions that contain a single, emblematic illustration for the work rather choose to include an image of the Cid on horseback engaging the Muslim enemy. These differences must highlight distinct cultural values and views of history. They also uncover the German construction of Spanish history as one intimately tied to religion rather than intercultural conflict, which likely inspired the Spanish picture of its past. Signalling the prosperity occasioned by increasing demand for Herder’s translation during the ensuing two decades, the first richly illustrated edition of his translation appeared in 1838. The illustration history of this edition warrants closer examination, because, unlike the previous editions, the name of the illustrator appears as part of the title: Der Cid nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen durch J.G. von Herder mit Randzeichnungen von Eugen Neureuther (Stuttgart and Tubingen: Verlag der J.G. Cottaschen Buchhandlung 1838; reprinted 1839, 1843). The last part of the title credits Eugen Neureuther as the artist who created the border drawings that frame each romance. This style of border drawing owes its debt to medieval marginalia, which, like the Cid’s story, inspired the European romantic imagination from a visual perspective by incorporating images that related directly to the text that they frame in terms of subject matter – which is not usually a characteristic of medieval marginalia.22 Neureuther incorporates into his drawings an orientalized frame reminiscent of medieval Muslim visual culture of the Iberian Peninsula. Inspired by geometric and vegetal arabesques found in alcazars throughout Andalusia, Neureuther endows most illustrations with orientalist qualities denotative of Islam, the antiquity of medievalism, and the exotic. The lavish nature of these illustrations and their sheer volume in this edition mean that a cidian text, for the first time, becomes without doubt orientalized in the hands of the reader who was hungry to learn more about Europe’s southwestern exotica, thereby objectifying Spain, its history, and our protagonist.23 These illustrations ensured that Herder’s volume appeared in catalogues outside of Germany through which foreign readers could procure copies

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Figure 6.2 Gabriel visits the Cid, in Der Cid: Nach spanischen Romanzen besungen durch J.G. von Herder.

of the book. Vincent Salva’s Catalogue of Spanish and Portuguese Books, with Occasional Literary and Bibliographical Remarks (London: C. and H. Senior, c. 1838), for instance, offers Herder’s Cid “beautifully illustrated with wood engravings, after designs by Neureuther,” for eighteen schillings.24 Five years later, the value of the book had increased to one pound, and to ten schillings in another English catalogue: “illustrated with engravings on almost every page, from the designs of the most celebrated

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ancient and modern artists, complete in one large volume,” this tome had red Moroccan leather and gilt leaves.25 Evidently, the bookseller believed that a dressed-up version of an illustrated German translation of a Spanish story offered to an anglophone audience would reward him with increased sales that more than made up for his costs. The 1838 edition’s illustrations were designed by Neureuther but, interestingly, they were executed by British and French craftsmen who were contracted to develop the engravings based on Neureuther’s designs.26 Each engraving is signed with British names that include George Wilmot Bonner; Frederick Branston, a London-based wood engraver; Charles Gray; R. Hart; John Orrin Smith, also a wood engraver whose previous profession was architect; John Thompson, a specialist in wood engraving who contributed to a number of illustrated German-language literature translations; Mary Ann Williams, a printmaker and wood engraver; Thomas Williams; and John Wright and William A. Folkard, who collaborated on engraving projects. There were also engravings signed by the firm “Andrew, Best, Leloire – Paris.” The contents of these illustrations oscillate between an aesthetic simulacrum, on the one extreme, and a disengagement with and seeming ignorance, on the other, of the landscapes, peoples, and cultures of Spain past and present as well as of the cidian narrative itself. In Herder’s 53rd romance, which details the arrival of the Cid’s friend and loyal servant, Álvar Fáñez (more popularly known as Minaya), in Burgos for the purpose of bestowing upon the king presents from the Cid, Neureuther’s design – and the engraver Charles Gray’s execution of it – portrays the travellers and their accompanying army proceeding along an arid landscape that includes palm trees and a camel resting on its haunches.27 The story mentions neither camels nor palm trees, and certainly these varieties of flora and fauna are not suitable for the chillier climate of Burgos, which sees winter. The inclusion of these elements rather served to orientalize and exoticize the scene, and perhaps the illustrator was unaware of the location of Burgos and the city’s Gothic as opposed to Andalusian architecture. Other romances, such as the 68th, in which the Cid’s posthumous appearance on a battlefield is celebrated, visibly omit details from the text that should catch the reader’s attention; in this case, the Cid is cleanshaven whereas he should have a fine and voluptuous beard.28 In contrast, the 54th romance, in which the arrival of Jimena and her daughters to Valencia is described, features an engraving by Frederick Branston of the

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family beholding Valencia from the tower of its alcazar while a battle ensues outside the city walls. This time, the illustrator has accurately reflected both these moments in the text and the aesthetic environment of medieval Valencia through a vista of the ocean in the distance.29 Interestingly, the same publisher of the 1838 edition and its subsequent reprints refashioned and minimized the illustrative component for the 1849 edition of Herder’s text, titled Der Cid nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen durch, again published both in Stuttgart and Tubingen. By condensing the illustrations from more than seventy to one single frontispiece, the publisher could produce a less expensive volume, which suggests either that demand for the Cid’s narrative had either diminished or that, because there was great competition for cidian readers, it was believed that a cheaper volume would sell better than a luxuriously designed one. The singular illustration chosen for the 1849 edition, as in Spanish versions, emblematically describes the contents of the tome with a bearded, ironclad Cid upon his horse, Babieca, tranquilly trampling Muslim enemies who are stereotypically signified by large turbans and a flag whose crescent moon contains a face. It is in this edition that we see Spanish tastes for representing the Cid reflected, which suggests that one of the core markets comprised Spanish readers residing in Germany. Engraved by Bavarian-born painter and artist Aquilin Schad, the illustration was designed by painter Phillip Foltz, also German. The trend away from foreign engraving continues for the Berlin 1869 edition, whose illustrations were designed by Anton von Werner, also a painter, and engraved by Gustav Adolf Closs and Johannes Ruff. German influence on how the Cid’s narrative took shape and was visualized in the nineteenth century cannot be understated. The best-selling edition of 1838 released in Stuttgart and Tubingen found its way into other countries and its visual component became integrated into Spanishlanguage editions prepared by other editors. One curious case will suffice to demonstrate the intersecting networks of publishers, illustrators, booksellers, and readers throughout Europe. Titled simply “El Cid” and published in 1842 (Barcelona: Imprenta de D. Antonio Bergnes y Compañia), this edition was uniquely dedicated to “al heróico ejército español [the heroic Spanish army].” The editor, in his brief preface, clearly expresses nationalistic sentiments. Attributing the volume to one prepared by GeorgesBernard Depping in 1825, titled Coleccion de los mas célebres romances antiguos españoles (London: Imprenta Española de M. Calero), the editor

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argues that the edition was “considerablemente enmendada por un Español refujiado en Inglaterra [considerably amended by a Spaniard seeking refuge in England].” He then expresses his confidence that the book will be positively received by the public: “No dudamos que será bien recibida del público, como lo fue en Inglaterra, y especialmente en Alemania, donde se tiene en mas estima que en nuestro país esta antigua literatura esclusivamente española [We do not doubt that it will be well received by the public, as it was in England, and especially in Germany, where this ancient, purely Spanish work of literature is held in even higher esteem].” Just in case, however, the editor decided to enhance the present work with “láminas grabadas por artistas españoles [plates engraved by Spanish artists].”30 Certainly, the images bear the marks of Spanish engravers but they are copies of the same illustrations that were commissioned for Herder’s 1838 edition published in Germany and originally executed by a team of British engravers. The Barcelona edition was reprinted by Juan Oliveres in Barcelona in 1848, such was its popularity. The engravers who worked on the first Barcelona edition include José Gaspar y Maristany (who later went on to co-found the imprint Gaspar y Roig Editores) and Miguel Torner. Importantly, both Gaspar and Torner had previously engraved the same images in a literary magazine published two years prior, in 1840, El Museo de Familias, which included a summary of the chronicle prepared by Vicente Gonzáles de Reguero in addition to three of the romances from Depping.31 In contrast, the same volume of the magazine contained a separate engraving of Rubens prepared by the Andrew, Best, and Leloire firm in Paris,32 which also contributed to the Herder edition. Such was the popularity of the Museo that this same issue was reprinted by Juan Oliveres in 1848 – the same year in which he reproduced Bergnes’s edition of the Cid from 1842. Antonio Bergnes de las Casas was fascinated by English Quaker culture and he began the El Museo de Familias magazine project as a means of improving access for lower- and middle-class readers to liberal and humanistic content. After growing up in a family that worked in the book trade, he spent a number of years in England, France, and Germany, and, after returning to Barcelona, he founded his press in 1828, attracting Manuel Rivadeneyra to run the workshop.33 Much of the work produced there included translations of literary texts by foreign writers such as Walter Scott and Goethe. During the constitutional crisis in the nineteenth century, Bergnes joined the Milicia Nacional in the 1820s and sympathized

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with Spaniards who lived in exile as a result of this political turmoil. Both the dedication to the 1842 edition – addressed to fellow members of the army – as well as his indication that the work had been improved by a Spaniard in exile attest to Bergnes’s allegiances.34 Once again the cidian narrative lent itself well to real-life political and social contexts. The themes of exile, political unrest, and incompetent authority, and the perception that the monarch should be replaced by a person more representative of the nation’s interests (as the Cid demonstrated when he ruled Valencia), resonate with Bergnes’s lived experience. His interest in producing literary works informed by foreign perspectives and his political activities dovetailed with the El Museo de Familias project, which was fashioned after the Penny Magazine, a richly illustrated, liberal, encyclopedic publication directed at the middle classes that had already inspired the Musée des familles in France; indeed, Bergnes copied the frontispiece illustration and design of the Musée for his Museo.35 The style of illustration contained in the Herder edition of 1838 influenced Spanish-language editions published elsewhere in Germany (Fig. 6.3 and Plate 17), as subsequent editions adopted an architectonic aesthetic that was meant to inspire thoughts of Muslim Spain. Keller’s Romancero del Cid (Stuttgart: Liesching y Comp. 1840) idealizes this aspect of Spanish history by featuring the Cid bursting through an architectural frame and trampling his Muslim enemy. Drawn by the German illustrator, painter, and publisher Peter Carl Geissler (1802–1872), and engraved in the workshop of painter-engraver Carl Mayer (1798–1868) in Nuremberg, the image demonstrates an increasing complexity in book illustration as illustrators managed to communicate movement relative to the reader’s position before the book, giving birth to the sensation that the Cid would erupt from the page itself. Prior to Herder’s title page, the cidian narrative did not enjoy this degree of visual complexity. The language in which the 1840 edition was written, moreover, ensured that the book could be sold abroad to Spanish-language audiences as much as to second-language audiences in Germany and elsewhere in Europe: the cidian narrative was developing a pedagogical purpose and thus a new market attracted the gaze of booksellers. German illustrations were influential in other ways. Herder’s edition of 1838 was the first to include a stylized title page reminiscent of the arabesques that one could see in Andalusia, although the overall design – the arch, for example – does not reflect the architectural traditions of Muslim

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Spain. It is not too surprising that German authors, whose interest in Spain’s oriental past was first pursued in textual form, were later joined by German illustrators who helped to spread this orientalization in visual form throughout Europe. Other than the reissuing of these illustrations alongside the text by German printers, the complexity of this title page was not seen afterward nor beforehand in German editions of the Cid, and not in any other European edition with the exception of those produced in Spain. After Bergnes reproduced these images, other Spanish booksellers and editors responded by offering their editions with a similarly rich visual accompaniment. In this way, Spanish editions became orientalized from without. The trend appears to have been spurred on by the Herder edition because the move toward increasing both the cultural complexity of the title-page design and the number of illustrations associated with the cidian narrative can be found only in Spanish editions after both Herder (1838) and Bergnes (1842). The first of these title pages following Bergnes’s best-selling editions frames a Madrid edition of romances that detailed the Cid’s life and adventures (see Plate 18). Antonio Bravo and Manuel Lázaro Burgos designed and executed the illustrations, and they were assisted by colleagues who performed the lithography and helped to complete the wood engraving. Herder, furthermore, is not the author of the text. The original compiler of these romances is Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch (1806–1880), whose name betrays his German ancestry, yet he was born in Madrid and worked as the director of the Biblioteca Nacional. As a translator, and then playwright, Hartzenbusch celebrated the Cid in his literary creations, among them the play La jura en Santa Gadea (Madrid: Imprenta Nacional 1844), which was published without any visual component. In his prologue to the romancero, Hartzenbusch acknowledges the impact that popular lyrical culture has had abroad, since these romances have been “transmitidos en su origen por la tradicion, impresos luego en hojas volantes, coleccionados despues, divididos, subdividios y vueltos á reunir por último, ya en España, ya en países estrangeros, toda Europea, todo el mundo los lee, los estudia, y admira [originally transmitted by traditional means, then printed on sheets, then collected together afterward, then divided and subdivided, and then gathered together once again, whether in Spain, foreign countries, or Europe; the entire world reads, studies, and

Figure 6.3 Title page of Der Cid: Nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen durch J.G. von Herder mit Randzeichnungen von Eugen Neureuther.

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admires them].”36 This prologue acknowledges the past practice of publishing romances with some form of wood engraving, however tosco (crude); in contrast, this book comes adorned with a series of woodcuts and lithographs of such quality that “en esta forma no sabemos que hasta ahora se haya impreso en España ningun romancero [we know of no other romancero in Spain that has been printed with this content].”37 And Hartzenbusch is correct: books illustrating each romance were published, until this point, only outside Spain. The editor indirectly acknowledges the impact of Herder’s edition abroad and attempts to position his own contribution to the cidian corpus as singular because of the number and quality of its illustrations, and the fact that it was produced in Spain as opposed to Germany. The configuration of the Herder illustrations is also reflected in subsequent Spanish attempts to engineer new sets of images, as opposed to copies, for later editions. While we can acknowledge that Herder’s illustrator usually tethered most of the images to the contents of the text, and thus the Spanish illustrators may have conceived of the same moments in an identical way, it seems more likely that the Spanish team that gave visuality to romanceros after Bergnes, as, for example, in Hartzenbusch’s work, continued to be influenced by illustrations included in subsequent editions of Herder’s text published in Germany. The title page of Manuel Milá y Fontanals’s Romancero selecto del Cid (Barcelona: Biblioteca Arte y Letras 1884) acknowledges that the illustrations come from Anton von Werner, who produced illustrations for the 1869 edition of Herder’s work, as well as from Francisco Gómez Soler and Fernando Xumetra, and that the engraving was completed by an engraver with the surname Kaesberg and Enric Gómez Polo, who studied in Paris. Werner recycles some of his previous cidian illustrations for the Barcelona edition: the frontispiece depicting Jimena kneeling before the king and demanding vengeance for her father’s death in Herder’s 1869 edition becomes the illustration chosen to follow the 6th romance about the death of Count Lozano by the Cid’s sword in the Barcelona 1884 edition. It is situated before the 7th romance, in which the Cid’s courtship of Jimena is described (Fig. 6.4). The images in both the 1869 German and 1884 Spanish editions are initialled “AvW.” Several other Werner illustrations appear in both editions, with the goal, clearly, of visualizing the most popular moments of the story. For example, both feature in the fourth chapter an engraving of the Cid extending his sword in the air during his marriage to Jimena, as well as another engrav-

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Figure 6.4 Jimena before the king, in Manuel Milá y Fontanals, Romancero selecto del Cid.

ing depicting the murder of Alfonso to King Sancho, to name just two of several images recycled by the German illustrator in the 1884 edition. The prologues of both the Bergnes and Hartzenbusch editions reveal a keen awareness of the popularity of the Cid abroad as well as the importance and value of illustrating these contributions to the cidian corpus. Foreign influence on the structure and contents of Spanish-language editions read

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in Spain is one consideration; the focus that foreign editors placed on certain episodes over others is an important subject that requires further attention. The example of the Oath of Santa Gadea demonstrates that in the nineteenth century this episode rose in popularity in prose and lyrical traditions but not in the poem. It was first popularized outside Spain before becoming one of the most salient features of the modern cidian corpus and subsequently used as a powerful model for young boys’ behaviour. The Bergnes edition of 1842 was the first one issued in Spain to illustrate this scene, and of course the illustration was copied from Herder’s 1838 edition in which the Cid is depicted looming over the king with a demanding finger pointing to the heavens while he exacts the king’s promise that he had had nothing to do with the murder of his brother (Fig. 6.5). Similarly, Milá y Fontanals’s Romancero selecto del Cid (1884) copied its depiction of this episode from the Herder edition of 1869, which was illustrated by Werner. No depiction of it dated before Herder’s edition has been located, so we may for now conclude that the iconic visualization of this scene originates from German sources. The ideological impetus that enticed editors to draw attention to this episode likely radiates from anti-monarchical sentiments in Europe and the greater importance attached to individual rights. Perhaps it was for this reason that the scene, based on Herder’s configuration, became the subject of an 1864 painting by Marcos Giráldez de Acosta that resides at the national Senate in Madrid (in 1962 Franco made it into a stamp),38 and also of a work by Cuban painter Armando Menocal in 1887, which was given in 1965 to the city hall of Alfafar (Valencia). Evidently, the authorities’ reassertion of the centrality of this episode in the 1960s echoes the political importance of the cidian narrative explored in the last chapter. In any event, the rising popularity of certain episodes resulted in standalone works entirely devoted to shining light on them and related apocrypha. Vicente García y García’s La Jura en Santa Gadea, novela histórica (Burgos: Calisto Ávila 1865), a beautifully illustrated historical novel, was published in Burgos where a bourgeoning tourism industry with roots in pilgrimage as well as the Cid was located. A need for Cid-related materials that could be sold to tourists and pilgrims is perceived today in Burgos. Similarly, it was the Bergnes edition that first imported, from Herder’s illustration in the 1838 edition, the image of an angry Jimena beseeching the king for revenge following her father’s death at the hands of the Cid. It seems that one or the other edition later inspired the 1845 British edi-

Figure 6.5 The Oath of Santa Gadea in Herder’s Der Cid.

tion, which shows Jimena in the same posture, with both hands extended upward and her long tresses cascading down her back while the town watches on from the sidelines (Fig. 6.6). These three editions (Herder 1838, Bergnes 1842, and Dennis 1845) collectively expose the itinerant nature of book illustrations as well as the German origins of some of the more popular episodes visualized over the last two hundred years. They also reveal that illustrations crossed textual

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genres. The romancero is composed of a collection of verses that originally were sung but later came to be written down in order to be read, either silently or aloud. It seems that the romancero was most popular in Germany whereas the theatrical version dominated in France, and in England it is the prose format that met with greatest success. The author of the 1845 edition prepared a chronicle based on the poem; however, the episode involving her father’s death does not occur in the poem, which begins rather at the moment of her husband’s second exile. Therefore, content that did not traditionally appear in one genre became included by translators and editors who exercised poetic licence when they incorporated episodes found in other branches of the cidian corpus. In Spanish editions, this image of a vengeful Jimena appeared in two romanceros: Hartzenbusch’s of 1848 (p. 33) and Milá y Fontanals’s of 1884 (p. 39). It is also consequential that the English prose edition of the poem first appeared in 1841 as a serial piece published over several volumes of the Penny Magazine (no. 568, vol. 10, p. 19); this particular image was illustrated by William Harvey and engraved by J. Jackson, and was no doubt based on the work prepared for the Herder edition of 1838. To what degree did Herder’s illustrations influence the textual component of the 1845 edition? And, with additional context for the illustration history of the Santa Gadea episode, which finds its roots in Germany, to what extent has apocryphal cidian content become inserted into the narrative and dominate the story in more recent times? Finally, given Bergnes’s engagement with British book culture, could he have been influenced by the English edition of the chronicle published in the Penny Magazine?

spa n ish e d i t io n s p u b li s he d ou tsi de s pa in It seems that we have come full-circle in this discussion of foreign influence on both the cidian narrative and its visualization, but the subject of scholarly editions and editions published outside Spain requires some additional consideration. While many of the editions discussed thus far were published in Spanish abroad in cities such as Antwerp, London, Paris, and Berlin, the intended readership varied according to the century. For example, the 1551 Antwerp edition of the romancero would have been directed at a native-speaking audience. The clientele that the publisher had in mind likely included Spaniards living in exile – such as merchants, travellers, and clergy – and it also possible that he aimed to export this edition

Figure 6.6 Jimena demands revenge, in George Dennis, The Cid: A Short Chronicle Founded on the Early Poetry of Spain.

to Spain itself. In contrast, Antony Rénal’s translation of Le romancero du Cid (Paris: Baudry 1842) provided the text in both French and Spanish. Parallel translation indicates that the work was intended for non-native speakers and for students of Spanish language and literature. This last edition contained a gloss that was available only in French, which emphasizes that this book was not intended primarily for both French- and Spanish-language audiences.

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Illustrating El Cid

In terms of the contents of the cidian narrative, clearly a fusion of distinct cidian traditions came about in the nineteenth century, one that was enabled by the exchange of one genre for another. Nowhere is this more evident than in the editors’ choices regarding book illustrations because they indicate which of the episodes the readers most desired to see on the page. Scholarly editions, however, tend not to be illustrated and they also tend to be interested only in the poem as a work of literature. Therefore, we also see at the end of the nineteenth and particularly throughout the twentieth centuries a fission in the cidian corpus whereby the poem is cleaved away from the rest of the textual sources and mass-produced in primarily unillustrated editions and translations for scholarly audiences of all ages. As we saw earlier in this book, scholarly editions published in Spanish by the likes of Menéndez Pidal – who was the first to perform a meticulous transcription of the poem and then to provide a critical edition, and whose work continues to be the most read in modern times – almost always include some aesthetic embellishment in the form of the book cover or, within the text, illustrated arabesques and adorned initials reminiscent of Al-Ándalus. These enhancements remind the student about the cultural environments of medieval Spain. They also serve as remnants in our memory storehouse of nineteenth-century constructions of an orientalized Spain, which also reifies the medieval. The European project to orientalize Spain finds its culmination in the islamification of the Cid himself. This outcome likely was encouraged by scholarship performed by Dozy, among others, who extracted new information about the Cid and his contemporaries from Arabic-language manuscript sources. Instead of period-suitable armour and clearly delineated legs, nineteenth-century illustrators increasingly represent him wearing long cloaks often covered in ornamental decoration. His skin tone and hair colour darken, perhaps reflecting how northern Europeans viewed Spaniards. These qualities also are evident in Spanish illustration, seemingly without any critical awareness of the likelihood that the Cid would not have worn, as he does in the 1875 novelized edition, a turban (Fig. 6.7). Over a century later, illustrators continued to represent the Cid in that fashion; see, for instance, the frontispiece to Luis Guarner’s Edición facsimilar del manuscrito del Poema de Mío Cid (Madrid: Amigos del Círculo del Bibliófilo 1982).

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The practice of visualizing the Cid in this way reached Spain from other places in Europe, a fact that highlights the itinerate nature of orientalism as a means of constructing and assigning identity, in this case through literature and book illustration. Spaniards eventually appropriated this mode of representation at a time in which national identity was keenly discussed and doubted, and while the door slowly closed on their country’s imperial saga. This development evidences the Spanish need to stabilize a sense of self that was rooted in some glorious past and could not, like the colonies, be taken away. In tandem, a new, highly illustrated genre specifically targeted at young audiences emerged toward the end of the nineteenth century as one of the principle vehicles through which Spanish children first learned about the Cid. The cidian narrative for children often infantilizes the hero or otherwise makes great use of the mocedades as a means of connecting the reader to the protagonist through a shared sense of identity. At the same time, the achievements and character of the Cid as set out in the other branches of the cidian corpus become values that the young reader is meant to aspire to and uphold. As a result, popular knowledge about the Cid, which relied upon the romances and the theatrical incarnations of Castro and Corneille – and even the Heston and Loren film – differed from scholarly knowledge, which drew rather on transcriptions of the manuscript housed at Spain’s national library. Increasingly throughout the twentieth century, the cidian narrative was viewed as either juvenile or scholarly material, and its value for conducting any authoritative research about Spanish history gradually vanished. As Basque-born Ramiro de Maeztu demands, “Let’s leave the Cid in his grave … The glitter of history only attracts children!”39 While the influence of Spanish scholars such as Menéndez Pidal cannot be doubted, a consideration of the influence of non-Spanish scholars on the formation of the literary corpus provides critical context for the intervention of other nationalities into the construction of Spanish identity abroad, if not domestically. Bostonian George Ticknor, who spent only a few months in Spain during his life, was an Hispanist who had studied in Germany. He compiled one of the first surveys of Spanish literature in English, History of Spanish Literature (1849), which, of course, included the poem. Hired as Harvard University’s chair in Romance languages, his work was so influential that Spanish-language translations of his book

Figure 6.7 An episode from the novelized story of the Cid’s life, in Manuel Fernández y González, Cid Rodrigo de Vivar. Novela histórica original.

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circulated both in Spain and abroad, being first published by Rivadeneyra in Madrid between 1851 and 1856. It was also translated from English into French (Paris: A. Durand 1864–72) and eventually appeared in the Americas in Spanish-language editions (Buenos Aires: Editorial Bajel 1948). Certainly, the object of Menéndez Pidal’s work was to provide audiences with an authoritative text of the poem for scholarly study, but his predecessors’ contributions, which included those of Ticknor, to the development of the field of Hispanic studies were cultivated outside Spain and the Spanish-speaking world. These foreign scholars’ work subsequently influenced that of Spanish scholars – Menéndez Pidal even responds directly to the work of Dozy, engaging with an international array of voices and scholarly opinions – which reflects how we have seen the Cid in text and image evolve into the modern period. Editions published in other languages had an impact on Spanishlanguage authors such as Nicaraguan-born Hispanist Rubén Darío. His poem, “Cosas del Cid,” which appeared in his Prosas profanas, first published in Buenos Aires in 1896 and then in Paris in 1901, found its inspiration in one of the romances that had been circulated by Jules-Amadée Barbey d’Aurevilly in his 1872 poem “Le Cid” about a leper.40 Similarly, Jorge Guillén pays tribute to Corneille’s Le Cid in a poem dedicated to “Doña Jimena,” whom he refers to as “Chimène,” in Homenaje: Reunión de vidas, which he published after he left Spain in 1938 and went into exile; it appeared in Milan (All’Insegna del Pesce d’oro 1968). The theme of the Cid resonated with these poets, who, like Rafael Alberti in Buenos Aires, went into exile during or after the Spanish Civil War. They were joined by the many Spanish academics who left Spain during and following the war and integrated themselves into Hispanic studies programs in the United States and elsewhere around the world.41 These exiles remained loyal to their idealized vision of Spain. As a result of their writing from various places around the world, the themes of the Cid gained interest among foreign audiences. They do not, however, appear to have become popular in non-peninsular Spanish-speaking contexts, other than in elementary school where children become exposed to the legend of the Cid in an age-appropriate way. The conqueror of Spain and the great consolidator of national Spanish identity held little appeal for Latin Americans desiring independence and sovereignty from Spain. None of these poetic or scholarly works contain a significant visual component relating to the cidian narrative. As such, we can conclude that the

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Illustrating El Cid

principal means through which the Cid’s story is visualized today is in children’s books published in Spanish and circulated, mainly, in Spain and to a limited extent in Latin America, and rarely in English or other languages. Exposing children to the gendered and racial archetypes explored earlier in this book continues to have important implications for historians of book illustration, and it will be intriguing to see how the image of the Cid continues to evolve as new audiences and mediums are created.

Notes

abb re v iat io ns acl bne bnf rah us

Academia das Ciências de Lisboa Biblioteca Nacional de España Bibliothèque nationale de France Real Academia de la Historia Universidad de Sevilla

p ro logue 1 Catalán, La épica española; Lindley Cintra, Crónica Geral de Espanha de 1344. 2 For more on transmedial storytelling, see Scolari, “Transmedia Storytelling,” 586–606. 3 Discourses of civilization delivered through mass media are explored in Martín-Barbero’s Communication, Culture, and Hegemony, 165–71.

i n t ro du c t io n 1 Bound together with other works and titled Gesta Roderici de Castella, qui Campi Doctor appellatur: versibus rythmicis, it is edited and reproduced by Montaner and Escobar in Carmen Campidoctoris o Poema latino del Campeador. 2 Smith, The Making of the Poema de mio Cid, 71–2. 3 Payo Herranz, “La imagen del héroe medieval castellano,” 113; Pattison, “El Mío Cid del Poema y el de las Crónicas,” 24.

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Notes to pages 4–10

4 Matthew Bailey’s excellent study and critical translation provides a useful bibliography and description of the importance of this work. See his Las Mocedades de Rodrigo. Concerning the poem version of the mocedades, see the manuscript located at the bnf, ms espagnol 12, fols. 188r–201v. Also see Bailey’s edited collection of essays about the mocedades, Las “Mocedades de Rodrigo.” 5 Pattison, “El Mío Cid del Poema y el de las Crónicas,” 25. 6 Foucault, Archeology of Knowledge, 7. 7 Driver, The Image in Print, 151. 8 Martín-Barbero, Communication, Culture, and Hegemony, 76. 9 Marsden, “Television Watching as Ritual,” 124. 10 One attempt in particular highlights the illustrations attached to the text, but it is not a complete bibliography: Sutton, The Cid: A Tentative Biography, 95. Also see Infantes, “Tipologías de la enunciación literaria,” 845–55. 11 Cacho Blecua, “Texto, grabados y configuración genérica de la Crónica,” 343. 12 Banús and Galván, “De cómo Mio Cid y su Poema viajaron a Alemania y retornaron a España,” 21; Bernard-Griffiths, Glaudes, and Vibert, La fabrique du moyen âge au XIXe siècle, 992; Galván, El Poema del Cid en España, 1779–1936, 1; Magnotta, Historia y bibliografía de la crítica sobre el Poema de mío Cid, 78; J. Menéndez Pidal, El Poema del Cid, 23; R. Menéndez Pidal, Poema de mío Cid, 45; Smith, “The Personages of the Poema de Mio Cid,” 580; and Vaquero, “La Crónica del Cid y la Crónica de Fernán González,” 99. 13 Fletcher, The Quest for El Cid, 89. 14 Ibid., 200. 15 Ibid., 93. 16 Harvey, “Medieval Spanish,” 148–9. 17 Montaner and Escobar, Carmen Campidoctoris, 13–16 and 200–1. 18 Cited in Montaner and Escobar, eds., Carmen Campidoctoris, 87–9. 19 Cited in ibid., 98. My thanks to Hans vanderLeest for his assistance in interpreting this segment of text. 20 The oldest manuscript of the poem is located in Spain at the bne, vitr/7/17. The chronicles can be divided into two groups, those that specifically focused on the Cid and his life (i.e., Crónica particular del Cid, fifteenth century, bne, ms/1810), and those that

Notes to pages 10–17

21 22 23 24 25

26

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

36

37 38 39

197

touched on the Cid as part of the history of Spain and its monarchs (i.e., Crónica popular del Cid). Together these two groups of chronicles and the poem compose the three arterial branches of the cidian corpus. Catalán, La épica española, 278. Catalán refers to this period as “la edad de los Sumarios” in La épica española, 339. Crónica de España, fifteenth century. us, a 331/143, fol. 137v. Ibid., fol. 142r. Estoria de los godos, fourteenth century. bne, res/278, fol. 78r. Also see a similar copy, Historia de los godos, fourteenth or fifteenth century. bne, ms/302, fols. 53 and 56r. See the fourteenth-century illuminated manuscript at the bne, ms/10134/2. A chapter from Jiménez Rada’s chronicle, titled “De como se partió Castiella de Leon” and written in red ink, describes the Cid’s exile in Tratados varios, fourteenth century. bne, ms/10046, fol. 67v. Fifteenth century. bne Madrid, ms/830, fol. 1v. Crónica de Castilla, fifteenth century. bne, ms/830, fol. 21v. Ibid., fol. 62r. Ibid., fol. 81v. Fletcher, The Quest for El Cid, 100. Ibid., 101–2. On this topic, see Smith, The Making of the Poema de mio Cid, 93–4 and 214, and Fletcher, The Quest for El Cid, 107. Fletcher, The Quest for El Cid, 199. Diego de Valera, Crónica de España (Salamanca: Juan de Porras 1499), bne, Inc/647, fols. 48v–70r. This edition was reprinted (Salamanca: Juan de Porras, 1500), and a copy is also located at the bne (Inc/2432). See, for instance, Florian do Campo, Los cinco libros primeros de la Cronica general de España (Medina del Campo: Guillermo de Millis 1553), fol. 55v. Salter and Pearsall, “Pictorial Illustration of Late Medieval Poetic Texts,” 103. Driver, The Image in Print, 29. Salter and Pearsall, “Pictorial Illustration of Late Medieval Poetic Texts,” 106.

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Notes to pages 17–21

40 Cacho Blecua, “Texto, grabados y configuración genérica de la Crónica,” 339–40. 41 I wish to thank Massimo Ceresa at the Vatican Library for examining the manuscript on my behalf. 42 My thanks to Ingeborg Formann for confirming that the incunabula edition (Ink. 4.H.58) contains uncoloured woodcuts on fols. 1r, 12r, 20v, 29r, 42r, 44v, 46r, 50r, 57v, 65r, 69r, 70r, and 70v. These illustrations are reproduced in the facsimile published by FoulchéDelbosc in “Suma de las cosas marauillosas,” 316–428. Also see Haebler, Bibliografía ibérica del siglo XV, 79. 43 Hernández Valcárcel, “Narración breve medieval e imagen,” 120. 44 Driver, The Image in Print, 1. 45 Sánchez Mariana, “El Poema de Mío Cid,” 415–21. 46 Infantes, “Tipologías de la enunciación literaria en la prosa áurea,” 854. 47 It was later published in 1946: Álvarez Álvarez, Proyecto de una bibliografía cidiana, 21. 48 A second edition of this work was released by Ochoa in Paris, 1840. See Álvarez Álvarez, Proyecto de una bibliografía cidiana, 20. Also see J. Menéndez Pidal, El Poema del Cid, 23. 49 R. Menéndez Pidal, Poema de mío Cid, 45. 50 Galván, El Poema del Cid en España, 31. 51 Explored by Payo Herranz in “La imagen del héroe medieval castellano,” 120. 52 Nerlich, Ideology of Adventure, vol. 1, 42–3. 53 Galván, El Poema del Cid en España, 32. 54 Smith, “The Personages of the Poema de Mio Cid and the Date of the Poem,” 580. 55 Banús y Galván, “De cómo Mio Cid y su Poema viajaron a Alemania y retornaron a España,” 21. 56 Vincent-Munnia, “Le Moyen âge dans le poème en prose,” 987–97. 57 Cabanillas Cárdenas, “El Cid en el siglo de oro a través de una comedia burlesca,” 63; Montgomery, “The Poema de Mio Cid,” 92. 58 Deyermond, “Mio Cid” Studies, 17. 59 Díez de Revenga, “El Poema de mío Cid y su proyección artística,” 59. 60 Cacho Blecua, “Texto, grabados y configuración genérica de la Crónica,” 339–63. The collection of studies edited by Alvar,

Notes to pages 22–4

61

62

63 64 65 66 67

68 69 70 71 72

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Redondo, and Martín is another important source alongside that of Catalán. Also see Lucía Megías, “Las dos caras de un héroe,” 705–36. Conde, “Construcción de sentido y dinamismo textual,” 211–41; Gómez Redondo, “Recitación y recepción del cantar,” 181–210; Magnotta, Historia y Bibliografía de la crítica sobre el Poema de mío Cid; J. Menéndez Pidal, El Poema del Cid; R. Menéndez Pidal, Poema de mío Cid; Montaner Frutos, “Ecdótica, paleografía y tratamiento de imagen,” 17–56; and Payo Herranz, “La imagen del héroe medieval castellano, el Cid.” Agüera Ros, “Santiago, de lo literario a lo pictórico,” 7–21; Ordax, “Imagen y memoria del Cid Campeador,” 247–60; Driver, The Image in Print; R. Lejeune, La Légende de Roland dans l’art du Moyen Age; Molina i Figueras, “Un manuscrito catalán de la ‘Chirurgia Magna,’” 23–38; Paredes Núñez, “Contar con imágenes,” 169–80; and Vittore, Boccaccio visualizzato. Deyermond, Mio Cid” Studies, 40–1. Also see Gilman, Tiempo y formas temporales en el Poema del Cid, 12. Lucía Megías, “Las dos caras de un héroe,” 712. Luna Mariscal, “Aspectos ideológicos de la traducción y recepción,” 149. This point is made by Cacho Blecua in “Texto, grabados y configuración genérica de la Crónica,” 356. Henry Jenkins observes, however, that franchises have stable audiences and customer bases, whereas the cidian narrative’s target audiences vary over time and space. That being said, it seems reasonable that publishers’ franchising of the cidian narrative, when viewed transhistorically, demonstrates an ability to meet evolving consumer demand. See Jenkins, “Transmedia Storytelling.” Lucía Megías, “Las dos caras de un héroe,” 724, and Luna Mariscal, “Aspectos ideológicos de la traducción y recepción,” 149. Machado, Early Childhood Experiences in Language Arts, 283. Klein, Reading into Racism, 59. Hourihan, Deconstructing the Hero, 57. Las aventuras de mío Cid series, which includes titles such as Las aventuras de mío Cid en la Tarasca and Las aventuras de mío Cid en la estatua del buen conde by José Luis Fernández Malvido and Gregorio González Vilches (Burgos: Miribind 2011), exemplifies

200

Notes to pages 24–37

the ways and means through which modern illustrators codify illustrations as a vehicle for communicating good and evil in comic-book illustration. 73 Bratton, “Of England, Home and Duty,” 73–93. 74 Foucault, Archeology of Knowledge, 24. 75 Tormos, Las viejas series icónicas de los reyes de España, 28. ch ap te r on e 1 Quintana, Vidas de los españoles celebres, vol. 1, 12–13. 2 Estoria del noble cavallero el Conde Fernán González, n/p. 3 Cronica del muy esforçado cauallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador (Seville: Juan Cromberger, June 1533), title page; this edition was re-released in 1541 by the same publisher. Also see Coronica del muy esforcado y inuencible cauallero el Cid Ruy Diaz Campeador de las Españas (Toledo: Miguel de Eguia, 2 July 1526). 4 Driver, The Image in Print, 6. 5 Salter and Pearsall, “Pictorial Illustration of Late Medieval Poetic Texts,” 111; Lucía Megías, “Las dos caras de un héroe,” 715, 724. 6 See, for instance, Fariñas, El Cid. 7 Marrero and Fraile, El Cid, un héroe medieval, 37. 8 Coronica del Rey Don Fernando, fifteenth century. bne, ms/1810, fol. 4r. 9 Driver, The Image in Print, 6. Also see Beck, “Annotation and Books in Early Modern Spanish Painting,” 71–93. 10 This edition of the chronicle was approved by the king at Burgos on 7 October 1511; the privilege for printing it was awarded by the same city on 9 March 1512. Not all copies contain the engraving, such as the one held at the Biblioteca de Castilla-La Mancha (Toledo), Sign. Res. 37. This edition is based on Crónica particular del Cid (bne, ms/1810). See Inventario general de manuscritos de la Biblioteca Nacional, 217. 11 This book’s content was approved for publication by D. Alfonso Vaca de Santiago in Valladolid on 19 March 1593; the volume cost 8 reales, 4 maravedis. In the licence, Gonçalo de la Vega notes that this edition was based on an earlier one, and, before becoming approved, it was compared with the original. The title reflects that of the 1552 edition and contains the same prologue as the 1552 (1512) edition. The epilogue notes that “fue hecho esta escriptura

Notes to pages 37–48

12 13

14 15

16 17 18 19

20

21

22

201

jueves a veynte y uno de Enero de mill y quinientos y quarenta y un años” (317), which rather points to the Cromberger edition of 1541 published in Seville. Vaquero, “La Crónica del Cid y la Crónica de Fernán González,” 99. Similar series of illustrations can be found in a fifteenth-century illustrated manuscript of Tristán de Leonís held at the bne, ms/22644/1–51. Aubrun, “Romances y opinión pública en el siglo XVI,” 8. Most churches and fine-arts museums will possess at least one portrait of Santiago de Matamoros upon his horse, sword raised, with his enemy trodden over by his horse, and the configuration from one period to the next does not change. See, for instance, Santiago de Matamoros (early sixteenth century) by an unknown artist, Museo de la Fundación Lázaro Galdiano, Madrid, and Santiago Battling the Moors (1690) by Lucas Valdés Carrasquilla, Museo de Bellas Artes, Cordoba. Cacho Blecua, “Texto, grabados y configuración genérica de la Crónica popular del Cid,” 341. Fletcher, The Quest for El Cid, 199–200. Museo de la Real Academia de Bellas Artes de San Fernando, Madrid. See, respectively, the Lawmaker of Licurgo, in Desiderius Erasmus, Libro de Apothegmas que son dichos graciosos y notables de muchos reyes y principles ilustres (Zaragoza: Esteban de Nagera 1552), fol. 149r; and the frontispiece of Fermán Pérez de Guzmán, Cronica del serenissimo rey don Juan el segundo (Seville: Andrés de Burgos 1543). Some additional representative examples include a compendium of chivalresque literature titled Espejo de caballerías (Seville: Juan Cromberger 1533), frontispiece; Palmerín de Oliva: Libro del muy valiente y esforçado cauallero Palmerin de Oliva (Medina del Campo: Francisco del Canto 1562), frontispiece; and Don Florisel de Niquea (Zaragoza: Pierrez de la Floresta 1568), title pages for parts 1 and 2. For a discussion of the historical context of these characters, see Martínez Díez, “Los infantes de Carrión del Cantar cidiano,” 207–23, and Rubio García, Realidad y fantasía en el Poema de mío Cid, 127–9. Valls, El Cid (1941), 11–12.

202

Notes to pages 48–63

23 Huertas Ventosa, El Cid Campeador, 79. 24 Ibid., 6. 25 Cacho Blecua, “Texto, grabados y configuración genérica de la Crónica popular del Cid,” 343. 26 Galván, El Poema del Cid en España, 32; Hernández Valcárcel, “Narración breve medieval e imagen,” 121. ch ap te r t wo 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

Driver and Ray, The Medieval Hero on Screen, 6. Driver, “What’s Accuracy Got to Do with It?,” 20. Brito Díaz, “‘Porque lo pide así la pintura,’” 155. Parrondo, Creamdes, and Bozal, El grabado en España, siglos XV al XVIII, 25, 72. Bleichmar, Visible Empire. Parrondo, Creamdes, and Bozal, El grabado en España, siglos XV al XVIII, 126–7, 174. Conley, Self-Made Map, 170. Griffin, The Crombergers of Seville, vol. 1. Brown, Painting in Spain, 1500–1700. Parrondo, Creamdes, and Bozal, El grabado en España, siglos XV al XVIII, 247, 255–7, 260–6. Duplessis, The Wonders of Engraving, 83. El Cid: Romances históricos, 3–5. Parrondo, Creamdes, and Bozal, El grabado en España, siglos XV al XVIII, 440, 648, 652. Ibid., 105. Parish, Monks, Miracles and Magic. Cited in Scorpo, Friendship in Medieval Iberia, 146. Richards, “From Christianity to Paganism,” 217. De Bruyn, “Edmund Burke the Political Quixote,” 700. Richards, “From Christianity to Paganism,” 218–21. Mazo Karras, From Boys to Men, 1–19. Parrondo, Creamdes, and Bozal, El grabado en España, siglos XV al XVIII, 99. Fernández y González, Cid Rodrigo de Vivar (el Cid Campeador) (1875), vol. 2, Plate 5; El Cid (1842), 234. El Cid (1842), 234.

Notes to pages 63–70

203

24 Capella, El poema del Cid (1941), 35. 25 Fernández-Flórez, Breviario del Mío Cid (1945); Navarro Durán, El Cid contado a los niños (2008); Rodríguez Serrano, El Cid Campeador (2007); García Domínguez, El cantar de Mío Cid (2008). 26 Dutton, Charlemagne’s Mustache. 27 Marull, El Cid Campeador (1946), 12. 28 Beck, Transforming the Enemy in Spanish Culture, 248. 29 Cheyfitz, The Poetics of Imperialism, 70–2. 30 Conde, “Construcción de sentido y dinamismo textual,” 217. 31 See, for instance, Ayala, Más fuerte que el amor… ¡El Cid! (1940), front cover; Valls, El Cid (1941), 31; and Muntada, El Cid (1962), 147. 32 Blackburn and Economou, Poem of the Cid (1998), 169. 33 Griffin, English Renaissance Drama and the Specter of Spain, 186. 34 Fernández Rodríguez, El Cid Campeador (1934), front cover. 35 Horswell, Decolonizing the Sodomite, 44. 36 Ibid., 45. 37 An arresting example of this contrast in beards can be found in Villarta, El poema del Cid (1940), 19. 38 Zaderenko, El monasterio de Cardeña y el inicio de la épica cidiana, 37–8. 39 Monreal, Las espadas del Cid (2006). 40 Trueba y la Quintana, El Cid Campeador (1852), 234. 41 Zaderenko, El monasterio de Cardeña y el inicio de la épica cidiana, 55–6. 42 Gárate Córdoba, Las huellas del Cid, 131. 43 García Domínguez, El Cantar de mío Cid (2008), 52–3. 44 Navarro Durán, El Cid contado a los niños (2008), 159. 45 Eugenio Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintorescoa (1848), 35–6. 46 El Cid campeador (1986), chapter XII, n/p. 47 bne, ms/1750, fols. 469r–485v. See Inventario general de manuscritos de la Biblioteca Nacional, 132; and Parrondo, Creamdes, and Bozal, El grabado en España, siglos XV al XVIII, 110. 48 Traça y orden para la composicion de la historia del cathólico rey don Felipe el segundo y apuntamiento de materias por sus años desde 1527 a 1593 dispuesta en forma de tablas cronologicas y explicacion de su desarrollo, 1598. bne, ms/1750, fol. 469r–485v: 477r.

204

Notes to pages 71–84

49 Olivier de la Marche, El caballero determinado traducido de lengua francesa en castellana por Hernando de Acuña, sixteenth century. bne, ms/1475. The illustrations appear to have been inspired by French illustrations included in the Schiedam edition published in the late fifteenth century and conserved at the bnf, mfm. 2045/R 52788, but the Spanish cohort possess greater detail and more text than the French ones. 50 De la Marche, El caballero determinado, fol. 13r. 51 Ibid., fol. 38r. The illustration is on fol. 37v. 52 Nievergelt, Allegorical Quests from Deguileville to Spenser, 67. 53 Bullough, “On Being a Male in the Middle Ages,” 41. 54 Zaderenko, El monasterio de Cardeña y el inicio de la épica cidiana, 82. 55 Ibid. 56 Ibid., 84–5. 57 Navarro Durán, Cantar de mío Cid (2007), 65. 58 Lago, El Cid (2004), 34–5. 59 Scorpo, Friendship in Medieval Iberia, 151. Also see 147–51. 60 Murray, “Masculinizing Religious Life,” 27. 61 Clissold, In Search of the Cid, 15. 62 Berganza, Antigüedades de España, vol. 1: 388. 63 Fernández Rodríguez, El Cid Campeador (1934), 49. 64 Molina Candelero, El Cid en el Romancero (1955), 5. 65 Lobo Bermejo, Burgos y el Cid (1955), 29. 66 Fernández Rodríguez, El Cid Campeador (1934), 65. 67 Infante, El Cid Campeador (1954), 29–30. 68 Vos, El Cid (1962), 17. 69 See, for example, Querol, Vidas de hombres ilustres: el Cid (1933), 5. 70 El Cid, la leyenda (2003), 29. c hap te r t h ree 1 Clissold, In Search of the Cid, 219. 2 Ross, Figuring the Feminine, 81. 3 Caldin, “Women Characters and the Limits of Patriarchy in the Poema de mio Cid,” 97. 4 A notable exception includes a chapter devoted to early woodcuts of female saints in Driver, The Image in Print.

Notes to pages 84–92

205

5 See, for instance, the discussion on this subject as well as the sources cited in Parrondo, Creamdes, and Bozal, El grabado en España, siglos XV al XVIII, 174. 6 Pascual-Argente, “‘A guisa de varón,’” 540. 7 Ganim, Medievalism and Orientalism, 20. 8 Harney, “The Cantar de Mio Cid as Pre-War Propaganda,” 85–6. 9 The letter is reproduced in Gárate Córdoba, Las huellas del Cid, 75–7. 10 Ibid. 11 For more on dowries and women’s socio-economic power, see my article, “Women’s Power and Material Exchange in Early Modern Transatlantic Spain.” 12 Barahona, Sex Crimes, Honour, and the Law in Early Modern Spain, 41. 13 Vines, Women’s Power in Late Medieval Romance, 85. Also see Livingstone, “Powerful Allies and Dangerous Adversaries,” and the essays contained in Erler and Kowaleski, Women & Power in the Middle Ages. 14 Lucía Megías, “Las dos caras de un héroe,” 731. 15 Galván, “A todos alcança ondra: consideraciones sobre la honra y la relación del Cid,” 21. 16 Smith, Estudios cidianos, 84. 17 Barahona, Sex Crimes, Honour, and the Law in Early Modern Spain, 28–9. 18 Smith and Walker, “Did the Infantes de Carrión Intend to Kill the Cid’s Daughters?,” 2–3. 19 Barahona, Sex Crimes, Honour, and the Law in Early Modern Spain, 63. 20 Findlen, “Humanism, Politics and Pornography in Renaissance Italy,” 102–3. 21 Reproduced in Foulché-Delbosc, “Suma de las cosas marauillosas,” 389. 22 Floyd, Gender, Rhetoric & Print Culture in French Renaissance Writing, 134. 23 Findlen, “Humanism, Politics and Pornography in Renaissance Italy,” 59. Also see 52–4, 78. 24 Boccaccio, De las mujeres ilustres, fol. 71r. 25 Boccaccio, Libro de Jua[n] Bocacio que tracta delas illustres Mugeres (Seville: Jacobo Cromberger 1528), title page.

206

Notes to pages 92–100

26 This work was illustrated in some editions and translations, including one authored by Nicolas Chorier. See L’Acadéime des dames, divisée en sept entretiens satiriques (Ville-Franche: Michel Blanchet 1680). 27 Orrells, Sex: Antiquity & Its Legacy, 56. 28 Taylor, “Reading the Dirty Bits,” 284–6. 29 Laskier Martín, An Erotic Philology of Golden Age Spain, xiii. 30 Cited in Novissimus librorum prohibitorum et expurgandorum index (Madrid: Diego Díaz 1640). See Parrondo, Creamdes, and Bozal, El grabado en España, siglos XV al XVIII, 245–6. 31 Hunt, “Introduction: Obscenity and the Origins of Modernity, 1500–1800,” 35. 32 Ross, Figuring the Feminine, 85. 33 Peakman, The Pleasure’s All Mine, 215. 34 Clark, Desire: A History of European Sexuality, 68. 35 Schlau, Gendered Crime and Punishment, 139, 168. 36 Peakman, The Pleasure’s All Mine, 356–7. 37 These concepts are explored in Stahualjak, Pornographic Archaeology. 38 Bataille, The Tears of Eros, 83. Also see 103. 39 Scott, The History of Corporeal Punishment, 216. 40 Stahualjak, Pornographic Archaeology, 111. 41 de Rojas, Celestina, act 18.1, 223. 42 Maydeu, “The Sinful Scene,” 24–36. 43 Laskier Martín, An Erotic Philology of Golden Age Spain, 166–7. 44 The subject of the gaze is discussed in Goldhill, “The Erotic Experience of Looking,” 374–99. 45 Jimeno, El Cid Campeador (2012), 177. 46 Zorrilla, La leyenda del Cid (1882), 519; Romancero del Cid (1998), 91. 47 The first edition to do this was de Trueba y la Quintana’s El Cid Campeador (1852). It was followed by Fernández y González, Cid Rodrigo de Vivar (1875), and Milà y Fontanals, Romancero del Cid (1884). Many modern editions do not include an illustration of this episode. 48 Monreal, Las espadas del Cid (2006), 30–1. 49 García Domínguez, El Cantar de Mío Cid (2008), 54, with the illustration on 55.

Notes to pages 100–12

50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63

64 65 66 67 68 69 70

71 72 73 74 75 76

207

Alejo, Cantar de Mío Cid (2010), 86–7. Burke, Structures from the Trivium in the Cantar de Mio Cid, 148. Luz Morales, Hazañas del Cid Campeador (1914), 124. Jiménez-Landi Martínez, El poema del Cid (Madrid: Aguilar 1961), 80. Navarro Durán, El Cid contado a los niños (2008), 131. Ibid., 133–5 and 139. Clissold, In Search of the Cid, 176. Zaderenko, El monasterio de Cardeña y el inicio de la épica cidiana, 121. Manent, Poema de Mío Cid (1968), 307. León, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, el Cid Campeador (2007), 158. Driver, Image in Print, 115. Luz Morales, Hazañas del Cid Campeador (1914), facing 78. Martínez, Las mocedades del Cid (1956), 167. Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco (1842), facing 33; Zorilla, La leyenda del Cid (1882), 82; and Milà y Fontanals, Romancero del Cid (1884), 39. Martínez, Las mocedades del Cid (1956), 135. Milà y Fontanals, Romancero del Cid (1884), 41. Barahona, Sex Crimes, Honour, and the Law in Early Modern Spain, 7. Also see Zorilla, La leyenda del Cid (1882), 123–34. Clark, Desire: A History of European Sexuality, 51. Keller, Romancero del Cid (1840), title page. See, for instance, illustrations depicting the couple kissing as toddlers and sitting together as adolescents, which adds an element of destiny to their relationship, in Trueba y la Quintana, El Cid Campeador (1852), 9 and 18. Clissold, In Search of the Cid, 168. Ortenberg, In Search of the Holy Grail, 208. Close, The Romantic Approach to “Don Quixote,” 53–5. Sponsler, “Women in Spain,” 428. Alejo, Cantar de Mío Cid (2010), 116. El Cid, la leyenda (2003), front cover and 52. This book is based on the animated film produced for children by Filmax Animation.

208

Notes to pages 114–23

chapte r four 1 Said, Covering Islam, 27. 2 Smith Rousselle, Gender and Modernity in Spanish Literature, 34. 3 Chronicles such as the ones explored in this book’s introduction exemplify this practice. Concerning Isidore of Seville’s view of the world, a map that clearly associated the continents with the sons of Noah is sometimes included in manuscript copies of his Etymologies. See the seventh-century copy at the bnf, Latin 10293, fol. 139. 4 Said, Orientalism, 247. 5 Recent scholarship on this subject includes Beck, Transforming the Enemy in Spanish Culture, 157–203; Bindman and Gates, Jr, The Image of the Black in Western Ar; Fuchs, Mimesis and Empire; Lewis and Williams, Early Images of the Americas; Nagy-Zekmi, Moros en la costa; Taboada, “Mentalidad de Reconquista y primeros conquistadores”; and Wheatcroft, Infidels. 6 The Adoration of the Magi, 1504. Oil on wood, 131 x 81 cm. Museu Grão Vasco, Viseu (Portugal). 7 Códice de Roda, eleventh century. rah, cód. 78, fol. 197v. 8 In Apocalipsin (Códice de Fernando I y Sancha), 1047. bne, vitr/014/002, fol. 182v; also see fol. 224v for an illustration of the Whore of Babylon complete with a crescent-moon-decorated hat. 9 The illustration of the crucifixion, contained in the Book of Hours used by the Garcilaso de la Vega’s daughter Leonor, features crescents on buildings in the background representing Jerusalem and varying degrees of Arab dress worn by Christ’s tormentors. Libro de horas de Leonor de la Vega, fifteenth century. bne, vitr/24/2, fol. 21v. This relationship becomes more acute in early modern Spanish painting. See, for example, Calvario by Antonio Moro, 1573, Museo Nacional de Escultura, Valladolid. 10 Beck, Transforming the Enemy in Spanish Culture, 75–84. 11 Izgonde, El citador histórico, 141. 12 The title page of one romance contains a woodcut featuring the Cid battling a turbaned enemy. See Famosos romances de El Cid Campeador (between 1805 and 1844), part 2, 274. 13 This subject is explored in depth in Mitchell, Cloning Terror. 14 Bouterwek, History of Spanish and Portuguese Literature, vol. 1, 64.

Notes to pages 124–32

15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26

27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36

209

Mitchell, The Last Dinosaur Book, 103. Pizarro Vega, Lorenzo Bernal de Mercado, 13. Martín-Márquez, Disorientations: Spanish Colonialism in Africa, 26. Sánchez, Colección de poesías castellanas anteriores al siglo XV, vol. 1, 231–373. Beck, “The Travelogue of a Moroccan Ambassador to Charles II, 1690–1691,” 293. Anderson, Daily Life during the Spanish Inquisition, 114, 203–4; and Bald, Literature Suppressed on Religious Grounds, 172. Altschul, Geographies of Philological Knowledge, 11. Published under the title “The Language and Literature of the Moriscos,” in the British and Foreign Quarterly Review 8 (1839), it appears to have been translated into English from his original composition, which was in Spanish; the manuscript of this article can be found at the bne, ms/18545/6/2. Beck, “The Travelogue of a Moroccan Ambassador to Charles II, 1690-1691,” 284–302. Banús and Galván, “De cómo Mio Cid y su Poema viajaron a Alemania y retornaron a España,” 21–49. Tyson Stroud, The Man Who Had Been King, 129–30. Pedro de Alcalá, Arte para ligeramete saber la legua arauiga (Salamanca: Juan de Varela 1505); and Manuel Bacas Merino, ‫رٌاصَتِخْإ‬ َ‫ ةِيَّ مِّ اعَلْآوَ ةِيَّ وِغَلُّ لآ ةِيَّ فِيْكَلْآ ىلَعَ ةِيَّ بِرَعَلْآ ِ سرْدَ يفِ يٌّ وِحْن‬Compendio gramatical para aprender la lengua arábiga, así sabia como vulgar (Madrid: Imprenta de Sancha 1807). Altschul, Geographies of Philological Knowledge, 115. Simonde de Sismondi, Historical View of the Literature of the South of Europe, vol. 1, 37. Bouterwek, History of Spanish and Portuguese Literature, vol. 1, 28–9. R. Menéndez Pidal, El Cid en la historia, 17. Otterspeer, “Introduction,” 1–6. Close, The Romantic Approach to “Don Quixote,” 95–6. Ibid., 40. Altschul, Geographies of Philological Knowledge, 54. Anthony Close looks at this subject for Cervantes’s Don Quixote in The Romantic Approach to “Don Quixote.” De Bruyn, “Edmund Burke the Political Quixote,” 699.

210

Notes to pages 133–46

37 Mann, Romanesque Architecture and Its Sculptural Decoration in Christian Spain, 31–2. 38 Codding, “Archer Milton Huntington, Champion of Spain in the United States,” 167. 39 Cheyfitz, The Poetics of Imperialism, 100–1. 40 For more on this subject in a non-Spanish context, see Kiernan, “Tennyson, King Arthur, and Imperialism,” 126–45. 41 Barker, “The Double-Armed Man,” 109–10. 42 Richards, “From Christianity to Paganism,” 213–34. 43 Merwin, The Poem of the Cid/El poema del mio Cid (1959), front cover. 44 Gefaell, El Cid (1965), 14–15 and 22–3. 45 Cots Navarro, El Cid Campeador (1962). 46 Martínez, Las mocedades del Cid (1965), 85. 47 Mirrer, “Representing ‘Other’ Men,” 170. 48 El Cid, la leyenda (2003), 57. 49 Navarro Durán, El Cid contado a los niños (2008), 159. 50 Conde Obregón, El Cid (1992), 115; García Domínguez, El cantar de mío Cid (2008), 52. 51 Infante, El Cid (1954), 29. 52 See Castro, The Structure of Spanish History, as well as Close, The Romantic Approach to “Don Quixote,” 232–7. 53 See, for example, Costa, “Representación política del Cid en la epopeya española,” 86–95; and Close, The Romantic Approach to “Don Quixote,” 122–3. cha pte r fi ve 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Bratton, “Of England, Home and Duty,” 76. Green, Dreams of Adventure, Deeds of Empire, 15. Ibid., 16. Aubrun, “Romances y opinión pública en el siglo XVI,” 8. Also see Redondo, “Recitación y recepción del cantar,” 181–210. Chasca, Estructura y forma en “El poema de mio Cid,” 122–33. Hutchins, Nationalism and History Education, 157. El cantar de mío Cid y el romancero del Cid (1936). Mangan, “‘The Grit of our Forefathers,’” 113. Geisler, National Symbols, Fractured Identities, xxviii.

Notes to pages 146–51

211

10 Representative examples include Valls, El Cid (1941), front cover; Capella, El poema del Cid (1941), front cover; Marull, El Cid Campeador (1946), front cover; León, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, el Campeador (1954), facing 33; del Río Malo, Poema de Mio Cid (2003), 37; Navarro Durán, Cantar de mío Cid (2008), front cover; and El Cid Campeador (1950), tomo X, núm. 3, front cover. Some illustrators add accoutrements of power to this representation. The title page of another edition portrays a shield representing Castile by its castle, behind which two swords are crossed – Tizona and Colada – and above it is a cone-shaped helmet like the one most illustrators portray him wearing in this period. See Huertas Ventosa, El Cid Campeador (1942). 11 Querol, Vidas de hombres ilustres: el Cid (1933), 3. 12 Cots Navarro, El Cid Campeador (1962), between 8–9. 13 Ibid., between 52 and 53. 14 León, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, El Cid Campeador (2007), 52. 15 Fletcher, The Quest for El Cid, 66. 16 Payo Herranz, “La imagen del héroe medieval castellano,” 116. 17 Salvador Martínez, Alfonso X, The Learned, 34. 18 Davies, “Monastic Landscapes and Society,” 134. 19 Reichert, “Hermann of Dalmatia and Robert of Ketton,” 50. For more about the expansion of Cardeña relative to agricultural needs and practices of the medieval period, see the second chapter of Glick, Islamic and Christian Spain in the Early Middle Ages, 42–112. 20 Nader, “Encountering the Cid,” 180. 21 Payo Herranz, “La imagen del héroe medieval castellano,” 118. 22 This and several other apocryphal stories can be found in Gárate Córdoba, Las huellas del Cid. 23 Payo Herranz, “La imagen del héroe medieval castellano,” 132. 24 Ibid., 120. 25 Quoted in ibid., 125–6. For an overview of this conflict, see Oliva Herrer, “Interpreting Large-Scale Revolts.” 26 On this position, see Escolar and Escolar, La nación inventada; and Payo Herranz, “La imagen del héroe medieval castellano,” 127–8. 27 For information about oaths and the ceremonial meaning of them in Castile, see Nieto Soria, “Political Ceremonies of the Trastámara Monarchy in Castile,” 236.

212

Notes to pages 151–62

28 Payo Herranz, “La imagen del héroe medieval castellano,” 123–4. 29 Fletcher, The Quest for El Cid, 199; Payo Herranz, “La imagen del héroe medieval castellano,” 142. 30 See Townson, The Crisis of Democracy in Spain. 31 His speech is quoted in Payo Herranz, “La imagen del héroe medieval castellano,” 143. 32 Blamires and Jackson, World Fascism. 33 Pena-Rodríguez, “Los grandes héroes ibéricos,” 36–51. 34 Ibid., 42–3. 35 Capella, El poema del Cid (1941). 36 El Caudillo en Valencia del Cid, 21 37 Cerón, El Cid Campeador (1954), n/p. 38 Candelero, El Cid en el Romancero (1955), n/p. 39 Gárate Córdoba, Las huellas del Cid, 25-6. 40 Lacier, El Cid Campeador, (1968), 104. 41 Lobo Bermejo, Burgos y el Cid, 29. 42 Fariñas, El Cid (1961). In addition to other editions cited in this chapter, also see Frank, El Cid (1962). 43 El Cid (1962), front cover. 44 León, Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, el Cid Campeador (2007), v. 45 Ibid., vi. 46 Díaz, “Ticoscopia cidiana y visión épica,” 72. 47 Valls, El Cid (1941), 49. 48 Huertas Ventosa, El Cid Campeador (1942), 48–9. 49 This work contains a photographic essay about the life of the Cid relative to the city of Burgos. 50 Querol, Vidas de hombres ilustres: el Cid (1933), 6. 51 For representations of the solar del Cid, see Marull, El Cid Campeador (1946), between 14 and 15. 52 Lobo Bermejo, Burgos y el Cid (1955), front cover. 53 Querol, Vidas de hombres ilustres: el Cid (1933), 39; Marull, El Cid Campeador (1946), between 22 and 23. 54 Querol, Vidas de hombres ilustres: el Cid (1933), 29. 55 Ibid., 16. 56 The title page of the 1525 Seville (Cromberger) edition is reproduced in the middle of the story, without any referential content that explains its purpose, by Velasco Martorell, El Cid (1963), 64. 57 Ibid., 21.

Notes to pages 162–76

58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65

213

Ibid., 69. Ibid., 73. Ibid., 69. Ortenberg, In Search of the Holy Grail, 221–2. Hernández Palacios, El Cid: Sancho de Castilla (1982), 7. Hernández Palacios, El Cid: Las cortes de León (1982), 25. Hernández Palacios, El Cid: La toma de Coímbra (1982). Hernández Palacios, El Cid. La Cruzada de Barbastro (1982), 6–7. ch ap t er si x

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Crónica Geral de Espanha, c. 1344. acl, ms Azul 1, fol. 189r. Bailey, Las Mocedades de Rodrigo (2007). Catlos, Infidel Kings and Unholy Warriors, 111. Smith, The Making of the Poema de mio Cid, 13–21. Ibid., 20. Nadeau and Barlow, The Story of Spanish, 58. Baldwin, A History of the Crusades, vol. 1: 232. André de Mandach has addressed this subject, particularly in Naissance et développement de la chanson de geste. Also see Smith, The Making of the Poema de mío Cid, 13. Lay, The Reconquest Kings of Portugal, 128. Makki, “The Political History of al-Andalus,” 72. Castro, The Spaniards, 441. A summary of this position is provided by Bailey in The Poetics of Speech in the Medieval Spanish Epic, 11–17. Bailey, Las Mocedades, 8–9. De Cid, Treurspel: Uit het Fransch van den Heer Corneille. Ximena: or, The Herock Daughter. A Tragedy Written by Mr. Cibber. Dennis, The Cid: A Short Chronicle (1845); Markham, The Chronicle of the Cid (1883). Clark, Herder, 430. Ibid., 431. Fowler, “The Emblem as a Literary Genre,” 20. For more on the Cid represented as sleeping, see Bandera-Gómez, “El sueño del Cid en el episodio del león,” 245–51. Boix Jovaní, “Aspectos maravillosos en el Cantar de Mio Cid,” 12.

214

Notes to pages 176–93

22 Novonty, Painting and Sculpture in Europe, 1780–1880, 236. 23 Charnon-Deutsch, “Exoticism and the Politics of Difference in Late Nineteenth-Century Spanish Periodicals,” 251. 24 Salva, A Catalogue of Spanish and Portuguese Books, 33. 25 White, Catalogue (Part I) Consisting of Standard Books, 74. 26 Buchanan-Brown, Early Victorian Illustrated Books, 73. 27 Herder, Der Cid (1838), 181. 28 Ibid., 227. 29 Ibid., 187. 30 El Cid (1842), 5. 31 Gonzáles de Reguero, El museo de familias (1840), vol. 3, 340. 32 Ibid., 356. 33 For more about their collaboration, see Lafarga Maduell, “Nombres proprios en la literatura francesa en El Vapor,” 48–9. 34 Soriano-Molla, “Antonio Bergnes de las Casas,” 342–8. 35 Ibid., 354–5. 36 Hartzenbusch, Romancero pintoresco (1848), 1. 37 Ibid., 2. 38 Fernández Senís, “Un canon literario armado hasta los dientes,” 88. 39 “Dejemos al Cid en su sepulcro … ¡Los oropeles de la historia sólo seducen a los niños!” In de Maetzu, Hacia otra España, 182. 40 Díez de Revenga, “El Poema de mío Cid y su proyección artística,” 61. 41 Close, The Romantic Approach to “Don Quixote,” 212–13.

Bibliography

p u b lis h ed i ll u st r ate d ci di an e dit io ns This bibliography of illustrated cidian editions is fairly complete and was composed over months of residency at the Biblioteca Nacional de España, as well as during visits to large research and national libraries located in Canada, Chile, England, France, and the United States. The work also has relied upon foundational bibliographical studies cited in the introduction. The bibliography is subdivided by literary genre, which allows us to appreciate the varieties of textual genres that became illustrated and to draw some conclusions about why certain forms were once popular and why this popularity waned. More than one title appears in numerous categories because the work contains two varieties of text; for example, the Paris edition of 1910 features both the poem and the romancero. Furthermore, we have omitted theatrical representations because all editions consulted have only an illustration of Pierre Corneille, which materially has nothing to do with the cidian narrative. Indeed, the practice appears to have influenced a Chinese translation of the play, which included a photograph of the translator situated on the page next to a painted portrait of Corneille.* Also, the books are listed according to the year of publication *Wang Weike yi, trans. Xide/希德. Beijing: Beijing zhong xian tuo fang ke ji fa zhan you xian gong si 2012. This edition of Pierre Corneille’s Le Cid has enjoyed more than one printing; the Weike Wang translation was originally published in 1937 (Shanghai: Sheng huo shu dian) and again in 2007 by the firm that produced the 2012 edition. The illustration following the title page contains a painted portrait of Corneille as well as one of the translator.

216

Bibliography

so that the reader can easily locate bibliographical information for an edition referred to in one of the preceding chapters. The first grouping contains the earliest published cohort of text – the crónica particular and popular. This category did not enjoy popularity beyond the sixteenth century because the historical component became mixed with legend to a degree that involved novelization. Also, the writing of chronicles without access to primary sources fell out of favour during this same century. With chronicles of discovery and exploration in the Americas becoming best-sellers in the Spanish marketplace, each of which attempted to convince the readership of the veracity of its contents by providing first-hand accounts as well as maps and illustrations, the cidian chronicle looked outdated and certainly no longer conformed to expectations for historical narratives. The next grouping contains the second wave of cidian text in published form – the romances and popular songs that appeared either as standalone texts or within the nation’s cancionero or romancero. Just like the medieval chronicle, the romancero, too, became increasingly devoted to the Cid and eventually stand-alone, cidian romanceros emerged. These enjoyed incredible popularity in the nineteenth century, particularly abroad, and it is in this century that the lyrical form gave way to prose, which reflected readers’ changing tastes. The smallest and third grouping contains illustrated editions of the poem. The poem was published in the eighteenth century but was not illustrated until much later. As we have seen in this book, the poem was not at all popular until Arab and medieval studies emerged as disciplines in the late eighteenth century and particularly in the nineteenth century. While there are hundreds of editions of the poem or anthologies that contain the poem that have been published since that time, almost none are illustrated with visual material that pertains to the cidian narrative. This practice no doubt reflects the tastes of the readership as much as the desire by publishers to produce scholarly books as cheaply as possible. It also speaks to the expectation that children, whose reading material typically comes with some form of visual stimulation, would not be interested in the poem, and that adults would not be interested in illustration. The largest and fourth grouping contains either versified or novelized works that attempt to portray the contents of the chronicles, poem, romances, and mocedades in some combined form. Essentially, by the nineteenth century, cidian editions relied on multiple sources and elastically

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extended across genres. Children’s books are also listed in this category because it appears that the intended audiences for this type of text became increasingly juvenile, so much so that it proved impossible to consider separating children’s books as a distinct category because the readerships overlapped so much. The creation of medievalism and its intersection with orientalism as both discourses and disciplines ensured that the Cid’s story enjoyed a renaissance of popularity throughout Europe, which increasingly viewed Spain as its own piece of oriental exotica. The final category contains works that appear to be fictionalized biographical accounts or extensions of the cidian narrative. Some of these editions were destined for older audiences whereas others appear to have been intended for juvenile ones, and all seemed different enough that they could not quite fit into the aforementioned categories. The following bibliography of illustrated editions naturally excludes editions that did not include engravings or photographs.

1 Chronicles (Particular and Popular) 1493. Diego de Valera. Crónica de España. Zaragoza: Paulo Burus. 1498. Coronica del Çid Ruy Diaz. Seville: Tres Compañeros Alemanes. The incunabula copy, reproduced by Foulché-Delbosc (“Suma de las cosas marauillosas: Coronica del Cid Ruy Diaz, Sevilla, 1498,” Revue Hispanique 58 [1909]: 316–428), is located at the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna, Ink. 4 h. 58. 1512. Cronica del muy noble y esforçado y siempre vitorioso Cid ruy diez Campeador. Burgos: Fadrique Alemán de Basilea. 1525. Cronica del muy esforçado cauallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador. Seville: Jacobo Cromberger and Juan Cromberger. 1526. Coronica del muy esforcado y inuencible cauallero el Cid Ruy Diaz Campeador de las Españas. Toledo: Miguel de Eguia. 1533. Cronica del muy esforçado cavallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador. Seville: Juan Cromberger. 1541. Cronica del muy esforçado cavallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador. Seville: Juan Cromberger. 1546. Cronica del muy esforçado cavallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador. Salamanca: Juan de Junta. 1552. Cronica del famoso i inuencible cauallero Cid Ruy Diaz

218

1562.

1567.

1568.

1579.

1587.

1593.

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campeador. Medina del Campo: Juan María da Terranova and Jacome de Liarcari. Summa de las coronicas de los muy valerosos y Esforçados Caualleros castellanos Cid Ruy diaz de Biuar y el conde Fernan Gonçalez. Alcalá de Henares: Sebastian Martínez. Summa de las coronicas del muy valeroso y esforçado cauallero castellano el Cid Ruy diaz de Bivar, ahora nueuamente sacada de las Coronicas generales de España. Alcalá de Henares: Casa de Sebastian Martínez. Los famosos, y eroycos hechos del ynuencible y esforçado Cauallero, onhra y flor de las Españas, el Cid Ruy diaz de Bivar. Antwerp: Casa de la Biuda de Juan Lacio. Los famosos y heroicos hechos del invencible y esforçado Cauallero, honra y flor de las Españas, el Cid Ruy Diaz de Bivar. Alcalá de Henares: Juan Iñiguez de Lequerica. La coronica del muy valeroso i inuencible cauallero el Cid Ruy Diaz campeador. Seville: Alonso de la Barre y D. Pedro de Pineda. Chronica del famoso caballero Cid Ruy Diez Campeador. Burgos: Imprimeria de Philippe de Iunta y Juan Baptista Varesio.

2 Romances 1605. Hystoria del muy noble, y valeroso cavallero, el Cid, Ruy Diez de Bivar: En Romances. Lisbon: Antonio Alvarez. This edition was reprinted from the now-lost one of 1601. 1804. Famosos romances del Cid campeador. Cordoba: Rafael García Rodríguez. 1813. Johann Gottfried von Herder. Der Cid: Nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen durch Johan Gottfried von Herder. Vienna: C. Haas’schen Buchhandlung. 1817. Johann Gottfried von Herder. Der Cid. Nach spanischen Romanzen besungen durch J.G. von Herder. Vienna: C. Kaulfuss and C. Armbruster. 1838. Johann Gottfried von Herder. Der Cid nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen durch J.G. von Herder mit Randzeichnungen von Eugen Neureuther. Stuttgart and Tubingen: Verlag der J.G. Cottaschen Buchhandlung. Reprinted in 1839 and 1843.

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1840. Adelbert von Keller. Romancero del Cid. Stuttgart: Liesching. 1840. Vicente Gonzáles de Reguero. “Epítome histórico de la vida de Rodrigo Diaz de Vibar.” In El Museo de Familias, ó Revista Universal. Barcelona: A. Bergnes y Compañía, vol. 3, 340–55. 1842. El Cid. Barcelona: Imprenta de D. Antonio Bergnes y Compañía. 1844–45. El Cid. Romances históricos. Palma: Imprenta de Pedro J. Gelabert. 1848. Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch. Romancero pintoresco. Madrid: Alhambra y Compañía. 1849. Johann Gottfried von Herder. Der Cid nach Spanischen Romanzen besungen durch. Stuttgart and Tubingen: J.G. Cottaschen. 1884. Manuel Milà y Fontanals. Romancero del Cid. Barcelona: Biblioteca Arte y Letras. 1910. El cantar de mío Cid y el Romancero del Cid. Paris: Sociedad de ediciones Louis-Michaud. 1936. El cantar de mío Cid y el romancero del Cid. Paris: Librería de la Viuda de Ch. Bouret. 1955. José Molina Candelero. El Cid en el Romancero. Madrid: Tesoro. 1998. Valentín de la Cruz. Romancero del Cid. Burgos: Editorial La Olmeda.

3 Poems 1910. El cantar de mío Cid y el Romancero del Cid. Paris: Sociedad de ediciones Louis-Michaud. 1936. El cantar de mío Cid y el romancero del Cid. Paris: Librería de la Viuda de Ch. Bouret. 1941. Miguel Capella. El poema del Cid: Gesta de una raza. Madrid: Librería y Casa Editorial Hernando. 1945. Darío Fernández-Flórez. Breviario de mío Cid. Madrid: Ediciones de la Subsecretaria de Educación Popular. 1957. Camilo José Cela. El Cantar de Mío Cid. Palma de Mallorca: Real Academia Española. 1959. Antonio Jiménez-Landi Martínez. El poema del Cid. Madrid: Aguilar.

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1959. W.S. Merwin. The Poem of the Cid / El poema del mio Cid. London: J.M. Dent and Sons. 1968. Albert Manent. Poema de Mío Cid. Barcelona: Editorial Juventud. 1982. Luis Guarner. Edición facsimilar del manuscrito del Poema de Mío Cid. Madrid: Amigos del Círculo del Bibliófilo. 1989. El Cid campeador. Madrid: Europa-Ediexport. 2003. Alberto del Río Malo. Poema de Mio Cid. Madrid: Anaya ele.

4 Novelized or Versified Chronicles and Children’s Books 1767. Hilario Santos Alonso. Historia verdadera, y famosa del Cid Campeador, Don Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar: sacada de los mas celebres, y gravísimos autores, y expurgada de varias fabulas, y mentiras que trahen algunas Historietas, ó Romances antiguos. Madrid: Manuel Martín. 1831. Estanislao de Cosca Vayo. La conquista de Valencia por el Cid: Novela histórica original. Valencia: Mompre. 1845. George Dennis. The Cid: A Short Chronicle, Founded on the Early Poetry of Spain. London: Charles Knight and Co. 1852. Antonio de Trueba y la Quintana. El Cid Campeador: Novela histórica original. Madrid: Imprenta de D. José María Marés. 1865. Vicente García y García. La Jura en Santa Gadea, novela histórica. Burgos: Calisto Ávila. 1875. Manuel Fernández y González. Cid Rodrigo de Vivar (el Cid Campeador). Novela histórica original. Madrid: Urbani Manini. 1882. José Zorrilla. La leyenda del Cid. Barcelona: Montaner y Simón. 1883. Richard Markham. The Chronicle of the Cid. New York: Dodd, Mead and Co. 1914. María de la Luz Morales. Hazañas del Cid Campeador relatadas a los niños. Barcelona: Casa Editorial Araluce. 1934. Antonio Fernández Rodríguez. El Cid Campeador. Serradilla, Cáceres: Editorial Sánchez Rodrigo. 1940. Fernando de Ayala. Más fuerte que el amor…¡El Cid! Barcelona: Ediciones Hymsa. 1940. Ángeles Villarta. El poema del Cid: Te voy a contar… Madrid: Boris Bureba Ediciones.

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1942. José M. Huertas Ventosa. El Cid Campeador (Espejo de caballeros hispanos). Barcelona: Editorial Molino. 1946. T.B. Marull. El Cid Campeador. Gerona: Dalmáu Carles. 1950. El Cid Campeador. Madrid: Ediciones España. 1954. Eduardo Infante. El Cid Campeador. Barcelona: Ediciones G.P. 1954. María Teresa León. Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, el Campeador. Buenos Aires: Ediciones Peuser. 1956. Eduardo Julia Martínez. Las mocedades del Cid. Zaragoza: Editorial Ebro. 1961. Enrique M. Fariñas. El Cid. Barcelona: Ediciones Cedro. 1962. Frederic M. Frank. El Cid. Bilbao: Editorial Fher. 1962. Jorge Cots Navarro. El Cid Campeador. Valencia: Ediciones Gaisa. 1962. Jorge Vos. El Cid. Valencia: Editorial Aitana. 1963. Manuel Velasco Martorell. El Cid. Barcelona: Ediciones G.P. 1965. Maria Luisa Gefaell. El Cid. Barcelona: Editorial Noguer. 1968. Joseph Lacier. El Cid Campeador. Barcelona: Editorial Bruguera. 1990. Juan A. Marrero and Abilio Fraile. El Cid, un héroe medieval. Madrid: Ediciones S.M. 1992. Ramón Conde Obregón. El Cid. Madrid: Ediciones Rialp. 1992. José Luis Olaizola. El Cid, el último héroe. Barcelona: Editorial Planeta. 2003. El Cid, la leyenda. Madrid: Ediciones Gaviota. 2007. María Teresa de León. Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar, el Cid Campeador. Burgos: Ediciones Gran Vía. 2007. Esteban Rodríguez Serrano. El Cid Campeador. Madrid: El Rompecabezas. 2008. Ramón García Domínguez. El cantar de Mío Cid. Madrid: Anaya. 2008. Rosa Navarro Durán. El Cid contado a los niños. Barcelona: edebé. 2010. Francisco Alejo. Cantar de Mío Cid. Madrid: Castalia. 2010. María Teresa de León. Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar. El Cid Campeador. Habana: Editorial Arte y Literatura. 2011. José Luis Fernández Malvido and Gregorio González Vilches. Las aventuras de mío Cid en la estatua del buen conde. Burgos: Miribind.

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5 Pseudo-Biographical 1734. José Pereira Bayam. Historia verdadeira do famosissimo héroe, e invencivel cavalleiro hespanhol Rodrigo Dias de Bivar, chamado por excellencia o Cid Campeador. Lisbon: Francisco da Silva. Reprinted in 1751. 1933. José Querol. Vidas de hombres ilustres: el Cid. Barcelona: Ediciones Hymsa. 1941. M. Valls. El Cid. Barcelona: Colección Imperio. 1955. El Cid. Madrid: Ministerio de Educación Nacional. 1955. Mario N. Lobo Bermejo. Burgos y el Cid. Burgos: Imprenta Casal. 1961. Enrique M. Fariñas. El Cid. Barcelona: Ediciones Cedro. 1962. Eduardo Luis Muntada. El Cid. Barcelona: Editorial Miguel Arimany. 1965. El Cid. Madrid: Ministerio de Educación Nacional. 1965. Stephen Clissold. In Search of the Cid. London: Hodder and Stoughton. 1982. Antonio Hernández Palacios. El Cid: Las cortes de León. Vitoria: Ikusager Ediciones. 1982. Antonio Hernández Palacios. El Cid: La Cruzada de Barbastro. Vitoria: Ikusager Ediciones. 1982. Antonio Hernández Palacios. El Cid: Sancho de Castilla. Vitoria: Ikusager Ediciones. 1982. Antonio Hernández Palacios. El Cid: La toma de Coímbra. Vitoria: Ikusager Ediciones. 2004. José Ignacio Lago. El Cid: La espada de la reconquista, 1048– 1099. Madrid: Almena. 2006. Violeta Monreal. Las espadas del Cid. Madrid: Editorial Bruño.

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Index

Abbat, Per (poet), 3, 7, 9, 14, 15, 19, 89 accuracy, 9–10, 14, 69–70, 87, 124, 160–2 Adolf Closs, Gustav (engraver), 179 Afrenta de Corpes, 22, 68, 87–103, 138; sanitization of, 99–103 al-Ándalus. See Muslim Spain Alberti, Rafael (poet), 193; and María Teresa León, 157–8 de Alcalá, Pedro (author), 130 Alcocer (town), 34 Alfafar (city), 186 Alfonso VI (Alfonso of León), 63–4, 75, 79, 117, 151–4, 158, 170. See also Oath of Santa Gadea Alfonso X (el Sabio), 4, 10, 147 Alfonso XIII, 145 Alhambra, 132 Alhambra y Compañía (publisher), 126, 137 aljamiado, 129 Almoravid dynasty, 155, 165–6 alphonsine historiographical tradition, 4–9, 58, 127, 159 Alvar, Carlos (scholar), 21, 25 Andrew, Best, and Leloire (publisher), 178, 180 Antwerp, 171, 188 Apocalypse, 116 Arab, 64, 169; architecture, 116–17, 126–7; as feminized enemy, 85; invasion of Spain, 67; presence in Spain, 129, 132 arabesque aesthetic, 127, 159–61, 176, 190, 208n9

Arabic (language), xv, 123, 127–31, 190; and Pascual Gayangos, 129 Arabists, 127–8, 216 “Arabness,” 165 Aragon (kingdom), 10, 54, 77, 100, 145–6, 154 de Arce, Francisco (copyist), 17 Arco de Santa María, 150 Argentina, 158, 193 arras, 68, 86, 205n11. See also dowry Arthur, xv, 16 Atlantic world, 38, 54, 61, 115, 124–6, 134, 140, 193 audience, xvi–xvii, 5, 15, 23, 26, 52, 55, 60, 68–9, 81–2, 85, 90, 99–100, 110, 113, 134–5, 142–4, 156–7, 163–5, 193; foreign, 133–4, 173, 178, 181, 188–191, 193–4. See also readership authenticity, 7, 14, 20, 44, 53, 69–70, 125, 128, 159 authority, 22, 30, 37, 40, 42–4, 56, 66–7, 71, 79–80, 111, 114; verticality and, 40–1, 61–3, 79–80, 110, 120; women and, 87 authorship, 9, 30 de Ávalos, Hernando (Marqués de Pescara), 42 Babieca (horse), 35, 37–8, 40–1, 42, 44, 46, 48–9, 65, 121, 136, 149, 155–6, 161–2, 176, 179 banned books. See prohibited books barbarity, 85, 125, 133. See also savagery Barcelona, 16, 56, 163–4, 180

242 Baroque, 55, 99 Basque Country, 164–5, 191; language of, 164–5 beards, 15, 61–5, 137–9, 141, 159, 178, 179, 203n37 Beatus de Liébana (author), 116 Bello, Andrés (author), 132 de Berganza, Francisco (author), 76–7, 149 Berlin, 188 Bible, 7, 27, 59, 65, 81, 115, 146–7, 171, 176 Biblioteca Nacional de España (bne), 4, 19, 128–9, 182, 191, 215 Bibliothèque nationale de France (bnf), 4, 130, 171, 215 Black Legend, 125–6 blood, 78, 97, 100–2, 111; bloodthirsty, 123; taste of, 165 bloodlines, 8, 15, 73, 377, 40, 73, 115 blood purity, 67, 95, 131–2, 165 Boccaccio (author), 92–3, 199n62 Bonaparte, Joseph (nobleman), 130, 134 Bonner, George Wilmot (engraver), 178 book illustration, 5–7, 26; cidian illustrations, 25, 215–17; field of analysis, 21–5; gender and, 84; nudity and, 90, 92, 98; stability and instability of, 30, 32, 44, 53; technique, 54–5, 121–3; use of antiquated images in, 119–20; use of calming devices in, 101; use of distance in, 99–103 book illustrators, 16–17, 42, 53–4, 69– 70; from England, 178, 188; from France, 56, 178; from Germany, 121, 124–5, 171–80; from the Netherlands, 125 Books of Hours, 52–3, 116, 208n9 Bourbon dynasty, 24, 145 Branston, Frederick (engraver), 178 Bravo, Antonio (artist), 182 Brevísima relación de la destrucción de las Indias, 125–6 Bucar (king), 10 Burgos (city), 9, 16, 26, 65–6, 76, 79, 81, 145, 147–9, 150–2, 162, 164, 178, 186, 200n10, 212n49 Burgos, Manuel Lázaro (artist), 182 Byron, Lord George Gordon (author), 132. See also Don Juan caballerías (libros de). See chivalresque: genre

Index Cabra (battle of), 159–60 Cacho Blecua, Juan Manuel (scholar), 21 Calahorra (city), 168 Camino de Santiago, 34, 66. See also pilgrimage; Santiago el Mayor Cantar de mío Cid. See Poema de mío Cid Cántigas de Santa María, 127, 159 caricature, xvi, 40–1, 49 Carlist wars, 80 Carlos I (king; Carlos V, emperor), 35, 71, 150 Carmen Campidoctoris, 3, 8, 195n1 Casiri, Miguel (scholar), 127–8, 132 Castelaro y Perea, José (painter), 41–2 caste mentality, 131, 142 casticismo, 131 Castile, 8, 48, 51, 64, 79, 110, 117, 144–7, 150, 152, 154, 161, 164, 170, 211n10, 211n27 Castro, Américo (scholar), 140, 170 Castro, Guillén (playwright), xvi, 77, 149, 171–3, 191 Catalán (language), 9, 164 Catalán, Diego (scholar), 21 Catholic Church, 58; and Cardeña, 61 Catholicism, 31, 35, 58, 78, 126, 142– 3, 161, 165–6 Catholic kings, 78. See also Fernando and Isabella Catholics, 31; and the Cid, 77; comportment of, 31; and Muslims, 139– 40, 161; Spanish, xv, 41, 78, 126, 131, 166 caudillo, 144, 153–6 Cela, Camilo José (illustrator), 44 Celestina, 19, 97. See also de Rojas, Fernando censure, 101. See also prohibited books de Cervantes, Miguel (author), 20, 209n35 chanson de geste, 170 Chanson de Roland, 83, 170, 176 Charlemagne, xv, 52, 170 de Chasca, Edmund (scholar), 144 children’s literature, xvi–xvii, 23–4, 26– 7, 34, 48–9, 65–9, 77–8, 80–2, 85, 99–100, 103, 106–7, 112–13, 135, 141–2, 156–7, 164–5, 174, 186, 191– 4, 216–17 Chinese (language), 215 chivalresque: genre, 20, 22–5, 30–4, 37–

Index 8, 40–50, 58–9, 201n20; tropology, 25, 58–60, 78–9, 83, 85, 106, 113, 123, 163 Christ, 27, 35, 59, 63, 98, 116, 131 Christianity, 35, 60–1, 114; and Spanish identity, 128, 134, 140, 144, 147, 161, 169 Christians: as audience, 15; behaviour of, 15, 34; and blood purity, 165; and the Cid, 75, 77, 138; and Cordoba, 159; femininity of, 95, 105, 137; and Granada, 159; and Jews, 59–63, 116, 120; Judeo-Christian mindset of, 115; masculinity of, 44, 48, 59, 62, 85, 113, 116, 123, 137–9; monogamy and, 107–10; and Muslims, xv, 34–5, 64, 79, 113–14, 116–17, 120, 128–9, 137–9, 141, 144, 147, 165–6; and Santiago, 41, 48, 66–7; territory of, 79, 114–16 Chronica Ruydias de rebus gestis in Castellae regno, 17, 198n4 chronicle (genre), xv, 3–4, 6–7, 9–20, 22–3, 27, 29–34, 37–8, 42, 44, 63–4, 70, 83, 85, 93, 103, 115, 130, 132, 147–9, 154, 180, 196–7n20, 200n10, 208n3, 216–17; aesthetic of, 163; as element of cidian corpus, 144, 157, 167–8, 170–3, 188; as living documents, 10, 16; structure of 9, 19–20, 27; in verse form, 130 Chronicon Mundi, 4, 9 Cid, the: attempt to canonize, 41, 148– 9; beard of, 15, 61–5, 123, 137, 139, 141, 178–9, 203n37; biographies of, 4; coffin of, 41, 65–6, 141, 162; death of, 26, 61–3, 65–6, 86, 141, 161; early illustrations of, 7, 27–34; enemies of, xvi, 24, 26, 40, 46–8, 113; excommunication of, 69; exile of, 51, 64, 74–5, 80, 83, 110, 117, 148, 188; genealogy of, 37; goodness of, 12; home of, 162; masculinity of, 11, 73– 82; name of, xv; orientalism in illustration of, 134–40; orientalization of, 24–5; swords of, 34, 67–73, 136 cidian corpus, xv, 13; chronology of, 3– 6; didactic uses of, 20, 78; earliest illustrations in, 21–5, 29, 55–9; early print editions of, 17–19; femininity in, 83–112; foreign influences on, 114, 129–34, 167, 179–94; as franchise, 23, 199n67; masculinity in, 51–82;

243 medieval antecedents of, xv, 6–17; modern and contemporary editions in, 19–21, 52; orientalization and, 113– 40; theatre and, 172–3 cidian landscape, 158–63 cinema. See film civility, xvii, 133, 195n3 class (economic and social), 5, 55, 59, 68, 86, 107, 113, 142, 153, 180–1 Clavijo (battle of), 35, 67 Cluniac order, 148; and monasticism, 148, 169 coat of arms, 79, 144–5, 148–9, 154, 157 colonization, 5, 38, 63, 114, 125, 133– 4, 153, 191; Heston-Loren film as, 163; translation as, 133 colour, use of, 27, 34, 49, 52–3, 64, 100–1, 118, 135–7, 190, 198n42 comic books, xvi, 24, 164, 199–200n72 comingling of fiction and non-fiction, 7, 13–14, 33, 58–9, 65–6, 85 commodification, 66, 86, 92, 97 Compostela (city), 35, 66, 169 comuneros, 150 Condes de Carrión. See Infantes de Carrión Congreso de los Diputados (chamber of Spanish parliament), 151 Conquista del Perú, 38 Copilación delos establecimientos dela orden dela cauallería de Santiago del Espada, 38–9 copperplate engraving, 37, 55, 70, 120–1 coquetry, 57, 112 Cordoba, 159–60 Corneille, Pierre (playwright), xvi, 77, 167–8, 170–3, 191, 193, 215–16 Coronica del Çid Ruy Diaz (1498 Seville edition): Cardeña and, 147–8; the Cid in battle and, 117–18; the Cid enthroned and, 42, 61–3; as commercial product, 37; comparisons with other early editions, 30–2; eroticism of, 90, 92, 96; illustrations in, 17–19, 23; influences on, 3–12; legacy of, 24, 90; orientalism in, 139; as stand-alone text, 29–30, 171 Costa, Joaquín, 140 costumbrismo, 56–7 Council of Trent, 105 Count of Gormaz (character), 103–4

244 court (royal), 16; of Alfonso X, 4; of Ferdinand the Great, 130, 160–1 courts (legal), 88 courtship, 64, 89, 104–7, 184–5 Cromberger, Jacobo and Juan Cromberger (publishers), 30–2, 42, 48; use of eroticism, 90–3, 96, 98 Crónica abreviada, 17 Crónica de Castilla, 11–13, 34–7 Crónica de España, 9–12, 16, 29, 37 Crónica de Juan II, 44 Crónica del muy esforçado cavallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador del muy esforçado cauallero el Cid ruy diaz campeador (1525): Cardeña and, 147–8, 200n3, 200–1n11, 212n56; differences from 1498 edition, 30–3; eroticism of, 90–3, 96, 98; femininity in, 102; influence of 1498 edition, 30– 2, 90 Crónica de los reyes de Castilla (Estoria de España), 10 Crónica Geral de Espanha, 168 Crusades, 7, 116. See also Knights Templar Cuba, 134, 186 cultural hegemony, 4 culture of display, 25, 41–2, 55, 59–60, 65, 93, 98, 151, 186 Darío, Rubén (scholar), 193 democracy, 5, 15, 134–5, 142, 157–8 de-occidentalization, 126 Depping, Georges-Bernard (author), 179–80 De Rebus Hispaniae, 4, 9–11 Deyermond, Alan (scholar), 21–2 dialogue, 11–12, 77, 80–1, 102 Díaz, Rodrigo. See Cid, the Díaz, Ruy. See Cid, the Diego (son of the Cid), 83–4 Diputación Provincial de Burgos (provincial legislature), 151 dispersio apostolorum, 35 Dolfos, Vellido (character), 75 Don Juan (character), 132 Don Quixote (character), 6, 20, 23, 132, 209n35 Doré, Gustave (artist), 111 dowry, 66, 68, 86, 88–9, 103–5, 205n11. See also arras; swords; Tizona and Colada

Index Dozy, Reinhart (scholar), 131–2, 190, 193 Driver, Martha W. (scholar), 5, 16, 52–3, 103, 204n4 Duke of Olivares, 56 Dürer, Albrecht (artist), 96 Ebro River, 8 Ediciones Gaisa (publisher), 136, 154 Editorial Ebro (publisher), 104–6, 137, 164 education, xvii, 4–5, 20–1, 24, 27, 52, 56–7, 78–81, 85, 100, 106, 129, 132, 134, 142, 145, 163–5, 167–8, 174, 189–91, 193 ekphrasis, 21–2 El Cid (1961 film). See Heston-Loren film El septimo libro de Amadis en el que se trata de los grandes fechos en armas de Lisuarte de Grecia, 42 Elvira and Sol (the Cid’s daughters), xvi, 10–11, 15, 17, 21, 26, 46–7, 51, 60, 66, 75, 83, 86–103, 110; objectification of, 68, 93, 98, 112. See also Afrenta de Corpes; marriage emasculation, 64, 68–9, 102, 123, 136– 9. See also feminization England, xv, 125, 132, 180, 188, 215 English: audience, 133, 173, 177; books, 125; as civilizing language, 133; influence, 188; language, 129– 30, 164, 168, 188, 191, 194; Quaker culture, 180. See also England Enlightenment, 56, 114, 124, 128–30, 132, 140, 167, 173 enthronement, 61–3 epic (genre), xv, xvii, 5, 8, 20–1, 24–6, 49–50, 61, 83–5, 131, 133–4, 139– 40, 153, 169–70, 176 episode of the lion, 46–7, 69, 73, 88–9, 95, 102 erotic book illustration, 87–103 Escorial, the, 127–8 Espejo de caballerías, 48, 201n20 Estoria de España, 3, 4, 9–10, 58, 75 ethnicity, 24, 112, 116–17, 142 ethnocentrism, 24, 142 Eurocentricism, 24, 116, 142 Euskara (language), 164–6 Eve, 92

Index Falange (political party), 79, 152–8 Fáñez, Álvar (character), 178 Faxardo, Luis (captain), 128 Felipe II, 58, 70; attempt to canonize the Cid, 41; at Cardeña, 149; erotic works by Titian and, 91 femininity, xvii, 60, 73, 83–7; ideals of, 60, 110–11; medieval, 60 feminism: medieval epistemology of, 85, 102, 110; modern, 60, 87, 106, 158 feminization, 61, 63, 85, 102–3, 112, 123–4, 138–9 Ferdinand the Great, 130 Fernandes, Vasco (painter), 116 Fernando (prince), 35–7 Fernando and Isabella, 28, 36–7, 58, 78, 133, 171 film, 33, 52–4, 59–60, 111, 133, 135, 147, 154, 156–7, 162–3, 191, 208n76. See also Heston-Loren film Floyd, Gray (scholar), 91 Folkard, William A. (engraver), 178 Foltz, Phillip (painter), 179 foreign-language study, 127–30, 132–3, 168, 174, 188–9 Foucault, Michel, 4–5, 24 France, xv, 3, 97, 130 168–9, 180–1, 188, 215. See also French Franco, Francisco (dictator), xvii, 78–9, 101, 134, 145, 152–8, 163–6, 186 French: audiences, 72, 130, 127, 173; and Corneille’s Le Cid, 167–70; Couchu (translator), 174; illustrations, 56, 178, 204n49; influences on cidian corpus, 56, 83, 129–30, 145, 167–70, 176; language, 130, 169–70, 174, 189, 193; occupation of Spain, 129– 30, 169 Galicia, 35, 169 Galician (language), 164 gallantry, 57. See also nobility (characteristic) Game of Thrones, 135 García Prieto, Andrés (painter), 151 García y García, Vicente (author), 186 Gaspar y Maristany, José (engraver), 180 Gaspar y Roig Editores (publisher), 180 de Gayangos, Pascual (scholar), 129 gaze, 23, 27–8, 31–2, 40, 54–5, 87, 92– 4, 98, 111–12, 159, 163, 181; and

245 colonialism, 163; and voyeurism, 93– 4, 206n44. See also audience; readership Geissler, Peter Carl (artist), 181 gender, 24, 60, 144; illustrated subjects and, 54–5, 69–71; as othering device, 85. See also emasculation; femininity; feminization; honour; identity; masculinity; orientalism; women genitalia, 64, 66, 69, 90, 92, 97–9, 126 genre, xvi, 22, 23, 27, 84–5, 131, 168, 187–8, 190–1, 215–17; chivalresque, 23, 33, 48, 58; chronicle, 10, 38; drama, 172; epic, 19–22, 84; eroticism and, 91; historical non-fiction, 33, 38; of medieval film, 52 Gerald the Fearless, 170 German philology, 20–1, 121, 127, 129–32, 168 Giralda, the (tower), 160–1 Giráldez de Acosta, Marcos (painter), 151, 186 Gómez, Martín (character), 77–9, 113, 168 Gómez Redondo, Fernando (scholar), 21, 25 González, Fernán (noble), 30 Granada, 126, 145, 159, 172; emir of (character), 159 Grant Coronica, 11 Gray, Charles (engraver), 178 de Guevara, Vélez (playwright), 98 de Guimel, Diego (publisher), 23, 38, 42 hagiography, 8 Ham (son of Noah), 115, 208n3 Hapsburg monarchy, 20, 56; and union with Burgundian lines, 150 Hartzenbusch, Juan Eugenio (author, publisher, and librarian), 80, 151, 182, 184–5, 188 Harvey, Leonard Patrick (scholar), 8 Harvey, William (artist), 188 Hemingway, Ernest (author), 132 Henry V (king), 53 Henry V (play and film adaptation), 53 Hercules, 54, 115, 171 Herder, Johann Gottfried von (author), 173–88 de Heredia, Juan Fernández (author), 11 heroism, xv, 4, 15, 19–20, 24–5, 40–2, 44, 48–50, 51–2, 60–1, 64–5, 73, 77,

246 81, 83, 113, 131–2, 148, 162–3, 179; of María Teresa León, 158 Heston, Charlton, 33; portrayal of the Cid, 59–60 Heston-Loren film, 33, 59–60, 156, 163, 191 de la Hinojosa, Gonzalo (bishop), 9 Hispanic Society of America, 133 Hispanic studies (the discipline), 94, 127–30, 139–40, 191–3 Historia Najerense, 4, 8–9 Historia Roderici, 4, 8–9, 195n1 Hollywood, 3, 33, 53–4; collaboration with Franco regime, 163; medieval chivalric cinema of the mid-twentieth century, 33, 53–4 honour, 6, 66, 88–9, 94–5, 102–3, 158; gender and, 102–3 horses, 35, 38, 71, 86, 136–7; as arras, 86; in battle, 37–8, 41, 149, 155, 176; Infantes of Carrión and, 46, 49; Matamoros meme and, 35, 38, 40–2, 49, 201n15; mounted, 42, 44, 48, 136–7, 149, 156, 161–2, 172; swords and, 68. See also Babieca horseshoe-shaped archways, 126; and arabesque aesthetic, 127, 160 Huntington, Archer Milton (scholar), 133 Ibero-American Expo, 81 iconicity, 6, 21, 26, 30, 35, 40, 144, 152, 161; Burgos and, 152; stock images and, 16, 22, 28–9, 186 iconography, 33, 46, 117 identity, 24; of the Cid’s enemies, 120– 3; civic and regional, 152–4, 164–6; gender and, 70, 73, 85; nation and, 5, 8, 23–4, 59, 126, 129, 131–5, 139– 40, 145, 152–4, 166, 169–70, 191, 193; politics of, 152; values and, 6; visual, 22. See also femininity; masculinity; nationalism; orientalism ideology, 24, 115–16, 151–4, 186 Iglesia de Santa Gadea, 151 Ikusager Ediciones (publisher), 164–5 illumination (technique), 17, 33, 38, 52–3, 61, 170, 197n26 illustration: the medieval period and, 7; placement on the page, 18. See also book illustration incunabula, 10, 18, 198n42 Indigenous peoples (of the Americas), 63, 115–16, 125, 208n5

Index Infantes de Carrión (Diego and Fernando), 21, 46, 66, 68–9, 73, 87–91, 94–6, 98, 100–3, 113, 138–9 Infantes de Navarra, 10, 21, 100 Inquisition, 125–6, 128 International Brigades, 153, 163 Irving, Washington (author), 132–3, 139 Isidore of Seville (scholar), 115, 208n3 Islam, 24, 34, 116, 126, 134–5, 140, 144, 147–8, 165, 168–9; Cordoba and, 159–61; stereotyped and caricatured, 49–50, 117, 123–4; symbols for, xvi, 24, 41, 49, 116, 120–4, 135– 6, 141. See also Muslims; Muslim Spain Islamic architecture, 116, 127. See also arabesque aesthetic islamification, 127, 135, 139; of the Cid, 190; of Spain, 126–8 Jackson, J. (engraver), 188 Japheth (son of Noah), 115, 208n3 Jews, 61–5, 116, 139, 141. See also Judaism Jimena, 12, 26, 33, 52, 64, 75, 83, 86– 7, 103–12, 119, 147, 172–3, 178, 184–9, 193 Jiménez de Rada, Rodrigo (historian), 4, 9–11 Jocasta, 92 Judaism, 61–5, 116, 139, 141. See also Jews Judea, 35 juglares, 3, 142–4. See also poetry (as news) de Junta, Felipe (publisher), 120, 172 de Junta, Juan (publisher), 38 Keller, Adelbert von, 122, 181 Keller, John Esten (scholar), 6 kharjas, 129 Kinkade, Richard P. (scholar), 6 knighthood, 26, 30, 40–2, 48–9, 51, 57–8, 71–3, 76–8 107, 123, 169, 173–4 Knights Templar, 169 La Jura en Santa Gadea, novela histórica, 186 Lancelot, 16 language of publication, xv, 3, 13–14, 20–1, 129, 130, 132–3, 139–40, 164–

Index 5, 167–8, 170, 174, 179, 181, 185–6, 189–91, 193–4 de las Casas, Antonio Bergnes (publisher), 180–1 de las Casas, Bartolomé (author), 125–6 Las mocedades del Cid, 171–2 La serrana de la Vera, 98 Latin (language), 3, 8–9, 13–14, 170 Leiden, 131 León (kingdom), 79, 117, 145–7, 154, 161, 164 León, María Teresa (author), 143, 157– 8; comparison with the Cid, 158 Lepanto (battle of), 128 Leyenda de Cardeña, 4 Libro primero de la historia de don Hernando de Ávalos, Marqués de Pescara, 42 lingua franca, 133 literariness, 20 literary canon, 4, 6–7, 21, 129, 139–40; cidian, 4, 23, 65, 138 literary franchise, 23, 164, 199n67 lithography, 120, 182–4 Lizcano, Ángel (painter), 105 London, 135, 178, 188 Lord of the Rings, 135 Loren, Sophia, 33, 111 Los trabajos de Hércules, 54 Lozano, Count of (character), 48, 106, 184 Lozano, García (politician), 152 Lucas of Tuy (scholar), 9 Lucía Megías, José Manuel (scholar), 25 Lusophone, 153, 168, 170. See also Portugal Lyell, James P.R. (scholar), 6 lyrical tradition, 8, 83, 169, 171, 186 Machiavelli, Niccolò (author), 37 Madrid, 127–8, 129, 163, 165, 182, 186 de Maeztu, Ramiro (author), 191 magi, 116 manuscripts, xv, 3–4, 7, 9–11, 14–17, 19, 34, 38, 57–8, 63, 70, 116, 127–8, 130, 171, 190–1, 196n4, 196n20, 197n26, 201n13, 208n3 de la Marche, Olivier (author), 71–3, 204n49 marginalia, 14–15, 17, 27–8, 48, 176 Marquis de Sade (author), 95–6 marriage, 4, 11, 64, 66, 68, 75, 86–8, 94, 100, 103–5, 107–8; of the Cid’s

247 daughters, 11, 46, 66, 88–9; consent and, 105–6; between Hapsburg and Burgundian lines, 150; monogamy and, 107–10 Martín, Georges (scholar), 21, 25 Martín-Barbero, Jesús (scholar), 5 martyrdom, 35, 67, 75, 102; monks at Cardeña and, 148 masculinity, 57, 83–5, 87, 106; crisis of, 60; domination of women and, 106–7; facial hair and, 61, 63–5, 123, 137–9, 203n37; hypermasculinity, 25, 59, 78; ideals of, xvii, 11, 27, 32, 34, 40–4, 48–9, 51–3, 56, 59–60, 75–7, 94, 110, 113, 116, 134; Jews and, 139; masculinized women, 60, 98, 102, 110; medieval, 51–3, 58, 59, 60, 73– 4, 79–80, 84, 106–7, 113; Muslims and, 137–8; reification of, 60, 95; swords and, 65–7; throne and, 61–3. See also beards; emasculation; feminization; phallic symbolism; swords mass media, 5, 51–3, 145–8, 153, 195n3 mass production, 5, 52–3, 56, 58, 69, 91–2, 142, 190 Matamoros meme, 35–6, 38, 40, 42, 48, 57–8, 61, 75, 81, 117, 120, 201n15 Mawlay Zidan (sultan), 128 Mayer, Carl (painter-engraver), 181 Mecca, 153 medievalism, 52–4, 57–9, 76, 96, 114– 26, 132–40, 176, 217 medievalness, 57, 124 medieval studies (discipline), xv, xvii, 6– 7, 9–10, 13–15, 20–1, 22, 51, 89, 94, 115, 127–34, 159–60, 170–1, 174, 190–1, 216 Menéndez Pelayo, Marcelino (scholar), 131–2 Menéndez Pidal, Gonzalo (scholar), 6 Menéndez Pidal, Ramón (scholar), 20– 1, 127, 131–2, 158–60, 190–3; and María Teresa León, 158 Metamorphoses, 90–2, 171. See also Ovid (author) militias, 168–9 Ministry of Education (Spain), 79 miracles, 35, 61 Mitchell, W.J.T. (scholar), 124, 208n13 mocedades, 4, 26, 75, 77, 149, 157, 168, 171, 191, 216–17; good and evil in, 103–4; Jimena in, 104–5

248 Mocedades de Rodrigo, 4, 35, 196n4 modern disillusionment, 134–5 Monasterio de las Huelgas, 156, 164 Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña, 4, 15, 19, 30–2, 37, 41, 61–2, 65–7, 74– 6, 147–50, 162, 211n19; and cidian relics, 67–8, 148; connection to Santiago and the Cid, 66–7; as custodian of cidian legend, 147–50; and masculinity, 74–6 monogamy, 107–10 montañeses, 165 de Moraes Cabral, Francisco (author), 33 morality, xvii, 4, 6, 8, 27, 40, 59, 65, 78, 80–2, 113, 132, 150, 157 Muguruza, Pedro (artist), 127, 160 multiplicity, 5, 9–11, 216–17 Muñoz, Félez (character), 89 Musée des familles (magazine), 181 Museo de Familias, El (magazine), 180– 1 Muslims, 3, 24, 150; beards of, 137, 159 138–9; as enemies in the cidian corpus, 24, 34–5, 67, 74–5, 77–9, 113–19, 121–31, 168–70; expulsion from Spain, 124–5; facelessness of, 113, 117–19, 123, 155; legacy of medieval representations of, 135–40, 153, 155, 160–1, 165–6, 176, 181; masculinity and, 137; and Matamoros mythology, 26, 30, 34–5, 37–42, 44, 46, 48–9, 149, 179; mourning the Cid, 141–2 Muslim Spain, 78, 114–16, 120–1, 129– 30, 132, 159–61, 181, 190 muwashshah, 129 Muza (character), 123 de Nájera, Andrés (sculptor), 149 Napoleonic rule, 130, 134, 169 Nasrid dynasty, 165–6 nationalism, 4–5, 16, 23–4, 35, 126, 165–6, 168–9, 191, 193; Burgos and, 152; the Cid and, 61, 78, 144–7, 149, 152–5, 165–6, 191; Franco and, 78, 152–5, 165–6; Heston-Loren film and, 163; masculinity and, 61; medievalism and, 58; orientalism and, 126–7, 129– 34, 139–40; Santiago de Matamoros and, 35–8, 48–9; St James the Great and, 35; teichoscopia and, 159 nationalists (Spanish), 140, 152–5

Index Navarra, 145 neo-medievalism, 44–6, 52–4, 135–6; in contemporary erotica and pornography, 95–6; as symptom of modern disillusionment, 134–5 Neureuther, Eugen (illustrator), 176–8, 183 New York City, 133 Nicaragua, 193 niqab, 74 Noah, 115, 208n3 nobility (characteristic), 6, 8–15, 20, 48–9, 61, 73–4, 165 nobility (class), 4–5, 6, 8–15, 40, 51, 55–6, 77, 107, 151; as enemies, 113, 139 noble savage, 165 Nuremberg, 181 Oath of Santa Gadea, 10, 12, 79–80, 146–7, 151, 156, 182, 186–7 Occident, 85, 114, 124 Oedipus, 92 Olaizola, José Luis (author), 7 Oliveres, Juan (publisher), 180 Olivier, Laurence (actor), 53 Order of Santiago, 40, 169. See also Santiago de Matamoros; Santiago el Mayor Ordóñez, Count García (character), 64, 159 orgies, 97 Orient, 85, 114, 124, 174 orientalism, 24–5, 49, 113–14, 134–6, 190–1, 208n13; in early modern Spain, 120–6; of foreign Hispanists, 129–34; gender and, 85; nineteenthcentury, 126–32; perceptions of Spain and, 126, 133–4; as technology of medievalism, 114–20 oriental luxury, 123–4 Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, 18 Ovid (author), 90–2. See also Metamorphoses painting, 7, 40–2, 55–7, 69, 81, 91, 94, 147, 208n9, 215; of the Cid, 41–2, 179; erotic, 91, 94; of Jimena, 105, 111–12; manuals for, 69–70; of the Oath of Santa Gadea, 151, 186; and race and racialization, 115–16; in state buildings, 151, 186; of St George, 38; of St James, 35, 40; of

Index St Michael, 38; of women, 90. See also portraiture papacy, 93; papal bacculus, 69. See also Rome; Vatican Library Paris, 44, 145, 171, 172, 173, 178, 180, 184, 188–9, 193, 198n48, 215 patronage, 55–6, 142–4; and the Monasterio de San Pedro de Cardeña, 148; and the Oath of Santa Gadea, 146 patron saint, 27, 35–40, 38, 66, 169. See also Camino de Santiago; Order of Santiago; Santiago de Matamoros; Santiago el Mayor Payo Herranz, René Jesús (scholar), 151, 198n51 Penny Magazine, 181, 188 de Peripinyà, Pere Ribera (translator), 9 Perr Abbat. See Abbat, Per phallic symbolism, 64, 66, 69, 71, 97–8, 107, 184 photography, 33, 81, 147, 153–4, 161– 3, 212n49, 215–16 pilgrimage, 34–5, 65–6, 71–3, 153; the French Road and, 169. See also Santiago el Mayor Poema de mío Cid, 3–9, 13–15, 19–21, 51, 64, 77, 80–1, 100, 102–3, 138, 190; femininity in, 83–4, 88, 89–90, 100–3, 105, 111, 138; foreign transformations of, 131, 167, 170, 172–4, 186, 188, 190–3; masculinity in, 51, 63–4; political uses of, 143–5, 153–4; publication history of, 3, 14, 44, 128– 32, 133, 190–1, 196–7n20, 215–16; teichoscopia in, 159 poetry (as news), 3, 8. See also juglares pornography, 90–7; and imagination, 98; and neo-medievalism, 96, 206n37; prohibition of, 94. See also erotic book illustration portraiture, 26–34, 54–6, 64, 70, 172, 201n15, 215–16; erotic, 91, 94 Portugal, 33, 35, 130, 152–3, 168–70, 177. See also Lusophone post-alphonsine historiographical tradition, 4, 9–10 Prescott, William (historian), 133, 139 Primera crónica general, 4. See also Estoria de España print culture, 16, 171–88 prohibited books, 92–3 publishers, 5–6, 23, 26, 30, 31, 33, 90, 216; and the Afrenta de Corpes, 87–8;

249 birth of modern-day pornography, 93; book costs and, 17, 33–4, 55, 57, 120, 179; foreign (non-Spanish), 133, 179– 94; as franchisers of the cidian corpus, 23, 199n67; illustration of women, 90–2; and Peñíscola, 163; photography, 161–3; recycling images and, 23, 44–6, 61, 87, 119–20, 135–6, 163, 180, 184 Puerto, Alfonso del (publisher), 16, 17, 54 Quakers, 180 race and racialization, xvii, 24, 112, 115–16, 123–4, 132, 135–6, 142, 144, 194. See also ethnicity; ethnocentrism Raquel and Vidas (Jews), 65, 139 reader. See audience; gaze; readership readership, 19, 23–4, 26, 55, 132–4, 216–17; evolution of, xvi, 33–4, 85, 168; female, 85; foreign, 171, 188; juvenile, xvii, 21, 27, 48–9, 68–9, 77, 80–1, 98–9, 106, 135–6, 141–2, 157– 8, 164, 174, 191, 217; political allegiances with, 142–4, 155–6. See also audience; gaze Real Academia de San Fernando, 56 reconquest, 3–4, 40–1, 58, 141 Reformation, 58, 125–6 de Reguero, Vicente Gonzáles (author), 180 reliquary, 65–6, 147 republicans (Spanish), 80–1, 140, 145, 152–3, 163 revisionism, 16; of the Cid, 9; Franco and, 153–4; of medievalism in the early modern era, 76–7, 113–20; of medievalism in the modern era, 120– 6, 132–40; and orientalism, 113–20; of Spanish history, 16, 153–4 Rincón, Serafin (painter), 81 de Rojas, Fernando, 19, 97 role models, 8, 15, 31–2, 35–7, 48–9, 52–3, 57–8, 60, 65, 74–5, 103, 153–4 Rolewinck, Velmer (author), 54 romances (romanceros; literary genre), 15, 44–5, 57, 69, 78, 143–4, 171–2, 215–16, 218–19; apocrypha and, 188, 193; Bibliothèque universelle des Romans (1783), 174; as element of cidian corpus, 85, 144–5, 171–4, 180,

250 186, 191; gender and sexual relations in, 83, 85, 99, 107–10, 122–3; geopolitics of book publishing and, 179–80, 182, 184, 185–6; of Herder, 171–88; orientalism and, 178, 181–2; of Sepúlveda (Lorenzo de), 171, 174 Rome, 69, 149; ancient, 58, 74, 92, 95, 97, 115, 116, 150, 166; María Teresa León and, 158. See also papacy; Vatican Library Ruff, Johannes (engraver), 179 Rule of Saint Benedict, 74, 76 sadism, 87–103. See also Afrenta de Corpes; sexual violence Said, Edward, 114 Salamanca, 16, 38, 197n35 Salazar, António de Oliveira, 152–3 San Benito de Valladolid (monastery), 149; sillería of, 149 Sancho II, 63, 75, 79–80, 117, 137, 146–7, 151, 165, 185 San Sisebuto (abbot), 148 Santa María, Marceliano (painter), 111–12 Santiago de Matamoros (St James the Moor Killer), 27, 34–49, 148–9, 117– 20, 169, 201n15; halo of, 38; posture of, 37–49. See also Order of Santiago Santiago el Mayor (St James the Great), 27, 28, 34–5, 66, 115; Camino de Santiago, 34, 66; connection to the Cid, 66–7; sword of, 67–8. See also Order of Santiago; patron saint; pilgrimage Saracens, 48, 117 savagery, 133, 165. See also barbarity Schad, Aquilin (painter), 179 Schlegel, Friedrich (scholar), 131–3 Schmidt, Rachel (scholar), 6 science, 54, 91, 124 science fiction, 52 sculpture, 7, 35, 41–2, 133, 147, 162 Segovia, 15–16 Senate of Spain, 151, 186 de Sepúlveda, Lorenzo (author), 171–4 Seville, 8, 10, 16, 17, 22, 23, 25, 32, 38, 40, 42, 44, 48, 81, 126, 153, 159, 160–1, 200n11; 1498 edition, 18–19, 23, 29–30, 61, 171 sexual desire, 95, 111 sexual deviancy, 89, 94 sexualization, 93, 98, 111–12

Index sexual violence, 22, 75–6, 87–103, 138; death and, 96–7; neo-medievalism and, 95–6 Shakespeare, William, 53 Shem (son of Noah), 115, 208n3 simulacrum, 53–4, 60, 66, 178–9; in film, 163; geographic, 159–62 Smith, John Orrin (engraver), 178 Southey, Robert (author), 130 Spain: and the Cid, 5, 15–16, 19–20, 61, 130, 141–66; economy, 5, 59, 78, 133; empire, 5, 38, 56, 133; history of, 9–10, 15–16, 19–20, 74, 114, 127–8; nationalism and national identity, 5–6, 16, 20–1, 24–5, 27–30, 58, 129, 134, 152–3, 164–6; politics of, 78; reconquest of, 3, 58; reification of, 44, 113–14, 124–6, 131–4, 139–40, 167–94; sexual violence in, 89, 99– 100; Visigoth heritage of, 58, 67, 150, 169 Spanish Armada, 124 Spanish Civil War, 27, 78–81, 134, 145, 152–3, 155–6, 158, 193 spousal abuse, 89, 100. See also gender; masculinity; sexual violence Star Trek, 52, 135 surrogacy, 7, 53–4 swords, xvi, 38, 61, 71–4, 76–7, 81, 96, 102, 145; of the Cid, 30, 34, 42, 48– 9, 65–6, 68–9, 121, 136, 155, 157, 160, 184; as dowries, 65–6, 68–9, 88– 9; of St James, 49, 201n15; of Muslims, 121, 136, 138; as phallic symbol, 66, 69, 71, 97–8, 107, 184; sword fighting, 165; women and, 104 taifas, 159, 165, 170 taste, 20, 34, 56, 90, 94 179, 216 teichoscopia, 159 Terán, Fernando (illustrator), 135–6 textual instability, 22–3, 58 Thompson, John (engraver), 178 Ticknor, George (scholar), 191–3 Tirante el Blanco, 23, 38 Titian (Tiziano Vecelli painter), 130; erotic works, 91 title language, 22–3, 32 title pages, 18, 24, 32, 38, 41–5, 47, 49, 54–5, 107–11, 121–2, 162, 174, 177, 181–4, 208n12, 211n10, 212n56, 215 Tizona and Colada (swords), 65–8, 211n10. See also swords

Index Toledo, 16, 17, 30, 33, 46, 137; and 1526 edition of the Cid, 32, 38, 118– 19, 200n3, 200n10; reconquest of, 170 Torner, Miguel (engraver), 180 tourism, 66, 152, 164; Franco and, 134; pilgrimage and, 169, 186 Trajan, 58, 74 transmediality, xvi, 52, 147, 162–3, 195n2, 199n67 travel narratives, 132, 134; of the Cid, 8, 178 Tres Compañeros Alemanes (publisher), 17 Tubal, 115 United States, 127, 132–3, 145, 163, 193, 215 Universidad de Salamanca, 114 Universidad de Sevilla, 9, 129 unmodernity, 124, 126, 133–4, 139–40 Urraca (Queen), 75 Valencia, 15, 42, 44, 49, 56, 159, 164, 171; and the 1962 Ediciones Gaisa edition, 136, 146; and Al-Mutamin, 136–7, 159; and the Cid, 62–3, 79, 81, 88, 102, 181; conquest of, 10, 11– 12, 17, 49, 54, 162, 178–9; and Franco, 79, 153–4; and Hollywood, 162–3; and Jimena, 87, 107, 109–10, 112; and Peñíscola, 162–3 de Valera, Diego, 16–17, 19, 28–9, 197n35 Vallejo y Ochoa de Arteaga, Juan de (artist), 150 Vasconia, 165 Vatican Library, 17, 198n41 de Velázquez, Diego, 55–6, 130 Venus, 92 Vidas de hombres ilustres, 146 Vidas de los españoles celebres, 26 de Villena, Enrique (author), 54 violence, 6; Black Legend and, 125–6; masculinity and, 64, 138; sanitization of, 42, 89, 94; sexual, 87–103. See also sexual violence virginity, 86–8, 103 Virgin Mary, 103 virility, 63–4, 95. See also beards; gender; genitalia; masculinity; phallic symbolism; swords visual cues, 12, 27

251 visual language, xvi, 56, 60, 113–14, 116–17, 120 visual literacy, 15, 53–4, 56–7, 60 visual signification. See visual cues; visual language; visual literacy; visual symbolism visual symbolism, 4, 15, 22–5, 35, 41, 48–50, 55, 60–1, 67–9, 96, 100, 113, 117, 121, 123, 133, 138, 140, 145–6, 162; of the beard, 15, 61–5, 137–9, 141, 159, 178, 179, 203n37; masculinist, 69–72; of the monarchy, 61; neo-medievalism and, 54–60; of Spain, 145–6; of swords, 67–73, 97. See also visual cues; visual language; visual literacy Vitoria (city), 164–5 de Vivar, Rodrigo. See Cid, the Werner, Anton von (artist), 179, 184, 186 Williams, Mary Ann (engraver), 178 Williams, Thomas (engraver), 178 women, 11, 123, 137; bodies of, 95; in book illustration, 84–5, 90, 102, 103; the Cid and, 75–6; in costumbres and usos amorosos, 57; dignity of, 102–3; facial expressions of, 100; gendered violence and, 100–2, 138; gender roles and, 73, 110–11, 139; impregnation of, 73; masculine domination of, 107; medieval femininity, 60; norms for beating, 95–6; power of, 105–6, 205n11; as prostitutes, 97–8 woodblock engraving (xylography), 18, 28, 37, 56, 90, 120–1, 183–4; recycling and, 33, 37 Wright, John (engraver), 178 Xérez, Francisco (historian), 38 Ximena. See Jimena Yúsuf (character), 112 Zamora, 162 Zaragoza, 16, 23, 44, 48, 54; in the 1956 Editorial Ebro edition of the Cid, 104–6, 137, 164 de Zurbarán, Francisco (painter), 55–6 Zurita, Jerónimo (author), 54