Cervantes and the Don: A New View
There is more to the story of the writing of Don Quixote than simply that of a one-armed war vet
trying to earn a Real. While we suffer a severe dearth of data about Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra,
we do know that at least one of his ancestors had been a true war-lord who fought the Moors and
played a role no less prominent than that of El Cid. Nuno Alfonso was granted estates at Toledo for
these services, and he and his line were raised to the nobility.
By Miguel’s time, the title has drifted away and his father was reduced to working for his living,
which he did as a surgeon, barber and bonesetter. He was victim of a persistent, pernicious and
implacable impecuniosity; curiously parallel to the conditions of the fathers of Dickens, Shakespeare
and Joyce. Miguel’s education was sufficient to enable him to win employment as secretary to a
Diplomat-Cardinal and to travel to Rome with him, then the centre of the cultural world.
Although this job exposed him to the greatest literature of the then flourishing Renaissance, which
he apparently relished and absorbed, an insistent itch in his young feet soon led him into a Spanish
Navy infantry regiment. He sailed with it and fought at Lepanto against the Ottoman Turks on 7
October 1571, which battle was pivotal; it broke the stranglehold of the Moors on the
Mediterranean. Despite a raging fever Cervantes insisted on taking a musket and fighting alongside
his shipmates; he nearly died, shot twice in the chest, a third ball disabling his left arm for the rest of
his life.
After some seven or eight months of recuperation, he returned to active naval duty and in 1575 his
ship Sol was attacked by Algerian Corsairs who – after a fierce battle in which they killed his captain
and most of the crew – took Cervantes and some others captive. He was imprisoned and enslaved in
Algeria for five years, until his family raised the ransom to redeem him.
During his captivity he repeatedly organised escape attempts and was severely punished for these.
The Captive’s Story in the first book of the Don appears part autobiographical, and shows him for a
very courageous, valiant and honourable officer. On his return to Spain ‘needs must’ obliged him to
join his old regiment marching into Portugal to support Phillip II’s claim to its crown.
After this adventure Cervantes – still financially famished – was appointed a chandler for the navy,
and later a form of regional tax collector, in which latter position he was cheated by a merchant he
had trusted to carry tax revenue money to the Court, which resulted in his imprisonment – the
setting of Man of La Mancha. He was jailed at least twice, in 1597 and in 1602. It’s said it was while
in durance vile in the La Mancha pokey that the Don introduced himself to Miguel’s mind. It is also
said that he based the character of the Don on an uncle of his wife’s; but we shall see about that. He
had published his first book, La Galatea, in 1585, along with some plays, none of which received
much notice and certainly not acclaim. The first printing of the Don – in 1605 - did not bring in much
money, but it brought international literary recognition and with it – professional jealousy.
Let’s leave Cervantes there for a moment and look at his world: Spain was then the richest and most
powerful nation on earth, heart of an empire which through Phillip II’s alliances with Portugal,
Catalonia, Castile, Netherlands, Naples, Burgundy and Jerusalem ‘owned’ most of the Americas, all
of the Philippines and all of the Portuguese possessions. Phillip as a Hapsburg monarch was related
Cervantes and the Don: A New View
to the Holy Roman Emperor and other monarchs, and as Europe’s best bankrolled blueblood Phillip
effectively called the shots far and wide – quite the grandest of enchiladas. He had also in passing
become King of England, but had to hand back the office key; perhaps even the most acquisitive of
emperors draws the line somewhere as to what he wants on his résumé?
Phillip II gets bad reviews from the Anglo-Protestant historian clique, which is no less than to be
expected from such thin-lipped urea-whitened sepulchres as they; he comes out quite well in nearly
all other opinions, however. He was a control freak, which at the time was perhaps justified - Yes I
know that I’m paranoid, but am I paranoid enough? In this he followed Henry VIII’s lead, with certain
minor variations. In coercing the Church and emasculating the Regional Parliamentary Courts, he
devolved all decision-making – and therefore power, and revenue flow – unto himself. In doing so he
invested his undoubted energy and unstinted time in personal oversight of and intervention into all
of the processes of Government, just like Napoleon Bonaparte a couple of centuries later. By the
latter years of his reign he had made an absolute monarch of himself; unfortunately he had nothing
of the brilliance of the Augustus / Livia combination that established the Roman Empire so soundly.
Phillip II lived in a curious age. One would have thought that all that gold gushing in galleons from
the New World would have increased prosperity, but no; it only increased individual wealth. It
generated runaway inflation of a like never seen since the Queen of Sheba visited King Solomon to
get him to pop the question; she pork-barrelled the Israelites so much gold they felt funded for
retirement and downed tools, at which the economy all but expired, regretted by all. Also, Phillip’s
centralising of government took the spending power from the regional councils which tended to
invest and employ within their regions and applied that spending to his own external ‘big picture’
global projects, further fouling the Español economy.
He initiated some successful schemes for enhancing Spain’s global power and wealth; unfortunately
he also engaged in – and funded – vast numbers of ventures that were not successful, some of which
were even downright silly. By the end of his reign Spain was not quite a financial basket-case, but it
was not economically or governmentally healthy. Indeed, one might be forgiven for saying that he
neglected his activities and even the management of his birth-right … as Mr C in the second
paragraph of his book says of the Don’s squandering money on his addiction, books of chivalry:
Y llegó a tanto su curiosidad y desatino en esto, que vendió muchas hanegas de tierra de sembradura
– ‘to such a pitch did his eagerness and infatuation go that he sold many an acre of tillage-land …’
Nowadays we would say that he had bet the farm …
Phillip II’s eldest son and heir intended turned out mentally defective, most likely due to inbreeding,
and predeceased him; it was Phillip III who succeeded, and his first action on taking the job was to
appoint a buddy to run things for him. Just like Dubya Bush and Quagmire, his Vice. Quick as
thinking, the buddy had installed his good friends into all of the positions of power and revenue in
the Empire, and happens, the people of Spain very quickly tired of this. At the same time, he was a
believer in ‘freedom for the people’ – of a sort – so his relaxation of Phillip II’s strict absolute control
and personal intervention must have been received with some relief.
The Spanish Armada – El Grande y Felicísima Armada – was Phillip II’s solution to the recent
Protestant disorder that plagued Europe and that had cost him the Kingship of England. He had won
the title through marriage to Mary I, who had died in 1558, thereby somewhat truncating the
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Cervantes and the Don: A New View
arrangement. The idea was to send a bunch of ships – more than 100 merchantmen escorted by 44
warships – into the English Channel to board 30,000 soldiers of Spain then fighting in Holland and
take them to England to conquer and invest the place. The result you know. And here is where the
tricky Cervantes wit – his personal Ingeniosa - comes in.
Here is Miguel, scion of genuine warrior knights of the old nobility; he has proved himself in battle
several times, he has taken serious wounds and fought on, he has suffered capture and enslavement
for his king and country, and he has been deserted, disgraced and dishonoured. He sees himself as a
litterateur in a society that won’t pay to read his well-crafted but un-acclaimed books, while they
just can’t throw enough money at the garbage that ruled the media of the day –call it Kni-fi! - the
chutzpah confections of corny Chivalry, of the far-out phoney knights of former days, poorly penned
and even more indigently indited, the Murdock media of its moment. (Hey! I just realised quite why I
relate so well to Miguel …)
And here is Phillip II whom he could be forgiven for seeing as an ingénue; his King of course but
without the background at arms or the valour of the old warrior nobility. Phillip II had organised the
alliance which won Lepanto without leaving home; he never saw action, never fired a shot, never
risked a scratch. As an active Navy man, one still involved in and connected with Navy affairs through
his provisioning commission for the Grand Armada, Cervantes must have been privy to the sotto
voce professional criticism by the Admiralty General Staff of the King’s plans for invading England.
The Chanel had no deep water ports that would be accessible to the Armada, which they needed for
embarking the invading army. The Spanish ships from its Mediterranean service were plagued with
shipworm, which weakened them. Spanish ships’ cannon were located in such cramped ‘tween-deck
spaces that the men could only fire one round per cannon per engagement; they would then run
into the rigging to await their next task, which was boarding, which battle tactics had won at
Lepanto. A ‘mini Ice-age’ then affected north Atlantic waters, caused by an expansion of the
Greenland ice shelf; this was distorting wind patterns and causing freak gales, the like of which were
responsible for smashing 35 of the Armada’s ships on the west coast of Ireland.
Professional naval wisdom dictated that a different strategy should be adopted for Spain’s Crusade
into England. But Phillip – then aged sixty-one, with God and his own good opinion on his side in
equal agreement - would have his way, and the ships sailed in 1588. Only half came back, meaning
that of Miguel’s fellow officers and men of the Armada, at least half had died - thanks to this
dilettante fantasising himself a fighting man, a commander of battle, a Knight Errant. How expensive
this Emperor’s ego! What a cost to incur for incompetence! How selfish this senile self-deception!
Phillip had won a reputation as a bungler, in part because he demanded that he run everything
himself – which of course led to mistakes, to getting it wrong and again. Problem was in doing so
much that he got it wrong so often, and would not listen to the voices saying ‘perhaps you are not
right, Don Philippe!’ Then again of course, voices telling absolute monarchs that they are mistaken
tend to be very whispered indeed. He would have it his way, this despot dotard. He was quite the
horse’s petouche, if you will pardon my Pictish.
And a horse’s thingummy is indeed what Cervantes called him. Not out loud, or quite so
straightforward that the lads running the Inquisition would notice, but effectively enough.
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Cervantes and the Don: A New View
Curiously, of the foremost half-dozen Spanish writers of the sixteenth century, five of them hailed
from the Atlantic seaboard mountains of the north, from Celtic Galicia and Catalonia, whence
Miguel’s people originated. They still have their own languages in these lands, and in Catalan cuixot
(pronounced ‘key-shote’) translates as ‘a horse’s rear thigh’. If my dear reader can’t work out that
anatomical geography, perhaps he – or she - should turn to the sports or comic sections where his –
or her – readership skills might be more nearly equal to the intellectual demands of the literature.
And permit me another translation: the Brits call the ditch to their south ‘the English Channel’ in
their usual grabby grasping way; the French call it La Manche which of course means Partie du
vêtement qui entoure le bras – that which covers the arm; ie. sleeve. This name would have been
known to Miguel’s better educated Spanish audiences, who would positively pick up on such a pun
on La Mancha. And that’s not all – La Mancha translates as The Blot or The Smudge or The Mark.
Cervantes had a patron even before he started on the Don, by title the Duke of Bejar, Marquis of
Gibraleon, Count of Benalcazar and Banares, Vicecount of the Puebla de Alcocer, Master of the
Towns of Capilla, Curiel and Burguillos, who must have had a real problem with autograph hunters.
Cervantes would read his recent work in progress at weekly soirées hosted by the Duke, and the Don
appeared first as a characterisation rather than a character, perhaps a satirical send-up rather than a
dramatis persona. Doubtless the hint would be passed around beforehand – first and most especially
to the noble Patron, to make him look even smarter (in return for supporting the scribe) by being
earliest in the know of the covert jest. Think of Don Phillip where he says ‘the Don’! So here we have
Señor Cervantes, perhaps within a year of the Armada disaster, regaling his up-market readers and
listeners – them without the guts or the gall to gab anything even close to covert condign criticism
contra their king – with the character M’Lord the Horse’s Arse of the English Channel mess, aka Pip
Two.
The Don, wits wizened by his reading of romances and his aching ambition to be admired as doer of
great and good deeds, protector of the innocent and righter of wrongs, acquires the trappings for his
new career – a noble name for his bony nag, antiquated armour assembled with spit and string, an
old lance long past its lifespan and the prerequisite pretty for his pedestal. He works hard at
preparing for this project – no-one could deny the dedication described. On his first foray he finds a
country inn which his poor pixelated pate pictures as a castle keep, the lord of which – and a
landlord indeed he was – he convinces to ‘knight’ him. The Don’s first of his knight-errantly errata
comes about in the form of a fight with inmates of the inn; then follows another on the road with
some traders from Toledo who ‘insult’ his unaware inamorata Dulcinea; and next another with a
man who is about to beat his apprentice for having the audacity to ask for his earnings.
From Chapter XX: ‘… of Heaven's will I was born in this our iron age to revive in it the golden or age of
gold; I am he for whom are reserved perils, mighty achievements, valiant deeds.‘ This can only be
Phillip, who despite his many virtues, laudable ambitions and dedication was apparently a slave to
form and appearance at the cost of contact with the concrete of reality. Perhaps the reading of so
many self-glorifying, puffed-up and frequently fictional reports from his generals and governors
spread across the fantastic New World had given Phillip a lust for a life in la-la land. The Don’s
disposition to swing sword or lunge lance into the violent resolution of matters that were no affair of
his own – and which he all too often misapprehended - was a further failing in Phillip. Of course one
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Cervantes and the Don: A New View
did not mention this to His Maj. himself; the absoluteness of the monarchy being nothing to the
absoluteness of one’s abhorrence of the concept of conversion into rib roast by the holy horrors of
the Inquisition, however doleful their dirge at their duty.
***
It is not good for Man to be alone, God said, and God knows, She could have been right. Cervantes
seems to have been of a like mind in that prior to his second sally the Don acquires the services of a
local peasant for his squire. This is Sancho, certainly not the shrewdest of serfs. He has a certain
peasant practicality and a sort of soily sophistication about him, but his thinking tackle is a touch
triceratopic. He is prodigal in his prolixity; he is a wellhead of words, a vast vallium of verbiage; he
talks and talks. And talks. Such a susurrus of syllables, such a surging of sentences, such an onslaught
of non-thought. Sancho Panza is a married man when he is introduced to us; he has a young
daughter, is a man with responsibilities, with commitments; yet he allows himself to be seduced
away into the service of the Don, abandoning wife and child to the maintenance of their own
ménage. In fact, he appears even eager to get away from his home … how odd for a husband!
Here let me introduce another contemporary of Cervantes; he is literary, and he is a character, but
not a literary character; perhaps not a good character, or perhaps even a nice character. He was
reading Spanish and Latin by age five, and wrote his first play at age 12; all in all he produced some
3000 sonnets, three novels, four novellas, nine epic poems and – get this – 1800 plays. Ladies and
Gentlemen, a big hand please for Lope de Vega.
Cervantes was the only literary figure of greater eminence than Lope in Spain’s Siglo de Oro, its
Golden Century, and perhaps this rankled; but that only came about after publication of the Don in
1605. Cervantes is said to have called him The Phoenix of Wits and The Monster of Nature. Perhaps
because of this the Loop did not like Cervantes, or perhaps he had earlier earmarked the Cervantes
talent as a threat; or perhaps there was some quite independent interaction between them hidden
from history that roused the rancour. Certainly the Loop’s followers got stuck into Cervantes, quills
well sharpened and dipped in venom, codpieces charged and cocked. (You were nobody as a nib in
them nether days if you couldn’t conjure a contrail of yes-men, touts, thimble-riggers and various
other lickspittles ready to defame, denounce and denigrate your opponents and competitors.) In
one Lope-inspired book of literary review, a broad selection of Spain’s prominent literary figures
were critiqued and praised; only the work of Cervantes was derided. Yet Cervantes’ is the only name
known today in that tome.
When a man has fought in real battles, and has endured real hardships that have tested the human
condition to its breaking point, he becomes intrinsically better natured. He loses what pettiness he
may have had, he sees life’s values differently, and he tends to accept and understand his own and
others’ weaknesses, vices and villainies. He becomes a real Man. Cervantes had to be essentially
good-humoured and fun-loving – not only based on the fun in the Don’s story, but how else could he
have survived his hospitalisation in those days before hygiene and anaesthetics, how else could he
have endured the punishments inflicted during his slavery, his disappointments in literature and in
career aspirations, his imprisonments? As a good soldier his instinct would have been to not allow an
enemy attack to go unanswered; but he was too generous, too ‘big’ to respond in kind to the Lope-
style backbiting and venial vituperation.
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Cervantes and the Don: A New View
While the Don apparently first featured as a characterisation prior to the idea of writing him into a
story, Sancho appears only after the Don’s adventures have started. The Don’s debut gave Cervantes
enough encouragement to start a story to play him in, but after his first forays it became clear that
he called for a counterpoint. Enter Sancho.
Did Cervantes satirically cast the Loop as Sancho Panza? Look at them both! Words, words, words –
can so many words possibly share enough sense to justify them all? Sancho deserts his wife and
daughter to squire his demented Don in La Mancha in the southern tablelands of Spain; Lope, who
had wed into wealth through the innovative ingenuity of knocking up the daughter of a much
moidoré’d magnate, promptly deserts her and child to forward Phillip’s fantasy in the English
Channel – La Manche.
Sancho’s surname Panza means ‘belly’. He talk is of basics – of food and wine, sometimes of
friendship and family and farm; his is a practical world, his is no great or more elevated mind. He is
an illiterate, he has no wit; his talk is dull, and what is funny about him is that he is a dullard who
can’t stop producing words that show his dullness. What a line to lay on Lope de Vega, wordy
windbag that he was! Sancho is totally self-centred, he is servile, he is mercenary – he wants that
Island Governorship which his Don promised him. (Had Lope been promised an administrative
sinecure in a certain Island Kingdom then expected soon to be in Phillip’s gift? Was that what
induced him to so disgracefully desert his young wife and child?) This is not a character description
one would care to have of oneself; this is not a nice man, could not be an agreeable companion. And
yet it is perhaps because he is so remiss in any redeeming qualities other than his practicality –
which encompasses his servility – that he and his dotty Don get along.
Sancho’s satirical characterisation in the style of the Don’s is most of all that of a villain of varicose
verbosity – too many words. Who could miss such a signpost to the Señor of the 3000 sonnets and
the 1800 plays? Surely all of the Spains couldn’t supply a smidgen of sufficient sense to spread
however sheerly across such a tsunami of syllables as that of Lope de Vega?
Sancho’s many beatings in the story, and his blanket tossing, could be what Cervantes would like to
have seen landed on Lope, but that is as close as he comes to violence and vitriol. Perhaps it’s an
invitation from Cervantes to his readers to not waste their time or money patronising the Loop’s
literary lugubriosity - how gallant can commercial literary rivalry be? Surely it is a very gentle and
considerate pen that appoints Lope de Vega as an immortal of literature in the form of the character
of Sancho Panza; and that in return for the cheap, bitter and low ill-treatment offered to Cervantes
by Messrs Loop and Co.
But then, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra was a witty, funny, gentle man, truly an Ingenioso Hidalgo
himself – perhaps so gentle, or so ingenioso, that the needle of his rancour rested unremarked until
now.
© Hugh O’Connor
Sydney, 10 March 2010
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